Page 13 of Cookies & Kisses

She groans. “Another test? Come on, you know I’ve passed everything you’ve wanted.”

“You’re right, you have. So for now, I’ll allow you back here in the kitchen, but only after hours. And each morning, I’ll bring you a new treat, and you have to tell me what’s in it.”

“And when is the test complete?” she asks. “Because that’s the question I should have asked two weeks ago.”

“You’re right.” I take a bite of the almond cookie and unexpectedly gag at the flavor combination. “That’s not very good.”

“I didn’t say they were all good,” she says with a wicked grin.

“Fine.” I spit the cookie into a napkin before I realize what a turn-off that must be. “Two more weeks of tests. At the end of that, we’ll decide if you can be a full assistant in the back with me.”

She watches me carefully, and I can tell she’s deciding if she wants to agree.

“What do you have to lose?” I ask.

She blinks at me. “Nothing, I guess.” Then she sighs. “Fine.”

I put out my hand for a shake, because I have to be professional, boss Mason again. She puts her hand in mine, and the warmth that flooded my body the first time we touched is back again.

“It’s a deal,” she says.

We’re on.

Madeleine

Mason has been flavor-testingme for a week, and I’m doing just as well as I bragged I would. The first day, I could smell the cayenne pepper in the chocolate drizzle on his orange cookies even before I took a bite. The next day, he put potato chips in his banana bread cookies (I was not a fan). My favorite was the lemon pudding cookies. He wassosure I wouldn’t figure it out, but I knew instantly. You can’t hide pudding flavor.

There’s been a huge shift in the way he interacts with me now, too. I don’t know what got into him that night at the bakery, but Iknowhe was thinking about kissing me. And I wasn’t about to push him away. If that timer hadn’t gone off, I might have initiated a kiss.

He hasn’t tried again, but he pops into the front area at least once an hour, testing me on flavors or asking my opinion onsomething new. It’s like he actuallyenjoysbeing around me now. And his attitude is completely different. Where he was once cold and aloof, now there’s a playfulness that I absolutely adore.

I’m falling.

Hard.

I’m slowly adding little touches here and there around the shop to improve business. I brought in a few sunflowers in mason jars that I’ve set on the windowsills. I even bought some decorative chalkboards and watched a few YouTube videos from Amy Carter’s calligraphy series so I could make cute signs for the daily cookie special. Mason assesses all the little changes, but he doesn’t comment on them. He hasn’t told me to stop, though, and the customers seems to be loving the new decor.

And every evening, we work together in the kitchen. Sometimes we listen to my French music, a habit from working at Petit Fours, and sometimes we listen to his choice, Jim Croce. I’ve worked on Luna’s family cookie recipe and experimented with my own creations that I’ve been imagining for the last few weeks. While we talk occasionally, usually when one of us is waiting for our cookies to bake and cool, other times it’s comfortable, companionable silence.

Last night, I tried out my latest creation: sweet potato cookies with a maple glaze and candied pecans. I wanted something that felt like autumn but was a little different from the stereotypical pumpkin spice. After a couple batches that weren’t quite right, I finally nailed it. Mason was quietly scooping chocolate chip cookies onto a baking tray, and I bounced over, holding one of the warm cookies out to him.

“Try,” I commanded.

He looked over at me, his chocolate brown eyes full of warmth, and took the cookie from my hand. I could feel where his fingers had grazed mine, still alight with fire. He took a big bite of the cookie, his eyes locked on mine, and chewed.

“This is amazing,” he said.

“Right?” I squealed.

“I think these would be perfect to sell here.”

I sucked in a breath. He had never said anything like that to me, never any implications that he considered letting me produce anything to sell. “Really?”

“Really.” He smiled widely, then raised his brows. “We’ll just have to see how the rest of your tests go.”

I rolled my eyes and walked back to my area, but a rush of excitement flowed through me, knowing that he was finally considering my future here.

So this morning, I set my sweet potato cookies out in the display. I didn’t tell Mason, but I’m sure he won’t be upset when someone buys them. After all, he’s the one who gets the money from the sale. I haven’t had any takers yet, but it’s only mid-morning. I’m watering the sunflowers in the windowsill when Mason emerges with another cookie.

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