Page 14 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Seven

Patrick

The stand mixer clattered loudly as the large K-shaped beater clanged against the sides of the metal bowl. That was the only problem with industrial mixers: the noise. Still, it was a lot easier than making the mix for four giant cakes individually. I didn’t think any of my other mixing bowls could accommodate a thirty-egg cake mix.

Perhaps I’d gone overboard on the amount of cake, but it was better to over-cater than under. And I knew Connor wouldn’t complain about eating leftover cake for breakfast. Connor seemed to think cake was suitable for every meal, no matter the time of day.

I chuckled to myself as I watched the creaming mixture of butter and sugar. At least he’d be happy, and that was all that mattered. I didn’t want to admit that I’d chosen the cake flavours because I knew Connor would love them, even though the cake wasn’t even for him.

I resisted the urge to scrub my face with my hands. What the fuck was I doing? Connor and I weren’t dating. This was all fake. I could pretend as much as I wanted, but the number one rule of our arrangement was that this was just for the weekend.

Four days. That was it. Then it was back to reality.

Something squeezed in my chest as I thought about Connor writing the terms on the list. It had been the first thing he’d mentioned, and he’d been very clear in his expectations. This was not going to be a long-term thing, and no matter how much I secretly wanted it to magically transform into a real relationship, that wasn’t going to happen.

Connor was never going to want to date me. If the four-day rule hadn’t made that clear, his insistence on finding me a boyfriend after this was all over had. I had zero relationship experience, zero sexual experience, and zero points in my favour, unless you considered being able to make a cake a plus, which nobody had in the past. I was not the sort of person Connor wanted, and I needed to stop thinking about it.

There was absolutely no use in me mooning over Connor when nothing was going to happen between us. I just had to get through the next few days without screwing this up and giving myself away. At least when I inevitably had to tell my parents that we’d broken up, I wouldn’t have to fake the emotion.

The mixer continued clanking away, and I looked down to check its progress, slowly losing myself in the process of cake making—hefting in scoopfuls of flour and cracking in several trays of eggs, along with tablespoons of baking powder. This really was baking on an industrial scale. When the mixture was finally done, I poured it into four large cake tins and slid them into the oven, double-checking the temperature before I left them to bake.

Looking around the kitchen, I began thinking about everything I needed to prep for the lunch and dinner service I was working. I also wanted to get as much prepped for Darcie as possible since she was going to be on her own until I got back to work on Tuesday. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her or think that she could cope, but I was a worrier by nature, and I didn’t want Darcie to feel like I’d left her in the lurch. I opened the under-the-counter fridges, taking stock of everything.

We were doing pretty well since my Tuesday night stress baking had helped us get ahead. But I wasn’t sure it would quite be enough. I’d have to check how many covers were booked in for the weekend. That would either ease my mind or send me into rapid production.

“Fucking hell. What the actual bloody fuck is this?” I heard Aaron grumbling loudly. Clearly he was working lunch service today and had arrived to prep. I had no idea what bee was in his bonnet, but I was sure I’d find out in the next few minutes. I’d become the unofficial mediator between Aaron, Josh, and several other members of the kitchen staff over the years because I didn’t have the hot temper some of them did. I really should have asked Ben for a raise at this point, considering how much I’d done to keep the peace.

“Pads, did you have something to do with this?” Aaron asked. I looked up to see his grumpy head sticking around the corner of the kitchen. His dark-red hair was pulled back into a bun, and his heavily tattooed hands were clutching a large Kilner jar with a label stuck to the front. The label had the words Aaron’s Fucking Swear Jar written across it in neat printed letters.

I laughed. “Nope, that’s not me.”

“Who the fuck thinks I swear too much?” he muttered, turning the jar around in his hands. “What the fuck? It’s even got a bloody price list on it! I bet this is all that bastard Josh’s fault.”

“Don’t you blame Josh,” I said, raising an eyebrow and giving him a hard stare. “You deliberately antagonise him, and you know it.”

“But, Paaads,” Aaron whined, trying to pout and failing. “He deserves it.”

“You’re lucky you still have a sous-chef. Don’t you think you could be a little nicer to him?”

“I knew you’d take his side.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. And you know if he was here I’d be saying the exact same thing. You’re both in your thirties for God’s sake. Grow the hell up and stop acting like toddlers.” It came out sharper than I’d intended, but I’d been putting up with their arguments for years, and I did not have time for it right now. Aaron stared at me.

“Okay…”

“And another thing. Would it kill you to shout and swear less? No, it wouldn’t, and you’d probably make everyone a lot happier. You’re not Gordon bloody Ramsay.”

“But, Pads—”

“Don’t you ‘but, Pads’ me. Head chef or not, you are not God here, so stop bloody acting like it.”

“Yes, Chef,” Aaron said. For a minute he looked pensive, then he gave me a wry smile. “See? I always know when I’ve gone too far when I get a Patrick lecture.”

“Hmmm. I shouldn’t need to give you them in the first place.”

“I suppose.” The oven timer dinged, surprising me. Aaron was nearest, and without prompting, he grabbed some gloves and opened the oven. “Jesus, you looking to start your own cake shop?”

“I wish,” I said, shaking my head as Aaron pulled one of the tins out, holding it outstretched for me to inspect. I tested it quickly, watching the cake spring back into place where I’d touched it. The top was a perfect golden brown and nearly level. I nodded at Aaron, and he put the tin carefully on the counter before reaching for the next one. There wasn’t a lot of counter space, and we had to do some creative placement, but eventually we got all the cakes out to cool.

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