Page 23 of Baking and Angels

Rafferty took the card, knowing he would never call it. “Thank you,” he saidpolitely.

She nodded and went back toher cake.

“What is it youwouldlike to do?” Éliott asked, refilling his own glass with fresh inebriant as soon as Eleanor left them. “I mean, if you could do anything, nothing inyour way.”

Rafferty stared over his glass into the far middle distance, where the past and the future collided. “I always wanted my own place, like a shop or a café, where I could explore and push the boundaries of cooking. To follow my curiosity and do whatever catches my attention. There are so many recipes I have never gotten to try, so many…” It was definitely the drink talking, pulling those words out of his heart like shards of glass long lodged inside. He didn’t even entirely know what he meant by them. It was certainly nebulous as far asdreams go.

The sick part of his heart reminded him that once he had wanted to be the head chef for the king, and he had done anything, including selling his own soul, to try to achieve such a thing.

“You don’t want to have your own full-blown restaurant or something?” Éliott asked, clearly a bit flummoxed by his answer.

He shook his head. “No. I’ve already been there. Done that. Worked my way up the ranks, cutting every throat I could, making choices and compromises no one should ever make.” He downed the rest of the brandy. “I never want to do that again. But I still lovethe work.”

“Wow. You are like a tragic noble in a romance story. A fallen man seeking redemption,” Éliott whispered sincerely, propping his cheek onhis fist.

“There’s nothing noble about me, I assure you,” Rafferty said, not stopping Éliott as he refilled his glass yet again. Why not? “I’ve just been given a second chance that I don’t deserve, and I have no freaking idea what to dowith it.”

Chapter 10

Then I

Threw Up

The world rolled and swirled around Rafferty. And hehated it.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”he asked.

“You drank like a fish, and I get the distinct impression that you’ve been on land a long while,” Éliott said, his voice coming from Rafferty’s left. Apparently, his arm was around the other man’s shoulders, and without his help, he was pretty sure the ground would be rolling more.

“This is all your fault,” Rafferty declared as they walked off the elevator. Or at least he thought he declared it. It was startling to realize they hadn’t already been in motion, so who knows how the words actually sounded.

“Yes, it was me that made your Adam’s apple bob up and down,” Éliott said dryly, or at least his version of dryly. He always sounded like he was about to burst outlaughing.

Which made Rafferty giggle.

Just then there was a tentative knock at a door. Éliott’s hand lowered, so he must have done it.

“Hang on a second, someone is here,” came Helena’s voice.

“Don’t open the door!” another, smaller voice ordered.

“I’m not, I’m just looking out the peephole,” she responded softly.

Éliott straightened, lifting Rafferty so his wobbling head looked more or less straight at the peephole. “Oh, dammit, it’sRafferty.”

“Good to know how soundproof these doors are not,” Éliott noted. “That cuts down on my amorous plans considerably.”

The sounds of the locks undoing cut off any follow-up questions, which spilled out of Rafferty’s head as fast as he could evenform them.

He really wanted tothrow up.

The flap at the bottom of the door scraped across the carpet as Helena opened it. He had hoped she would be asleep when he got back. How late was it? Or maybehow early?

“Good evening,” Éliott said cheerfully, as if hauling back another man whose arm was draped over his shoulder was the most normal thing in the world. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Helena had a mobile phone in one hand on speaker, though when she got it back, he had no idea, but she hit a button and pressed it to her ear. “Charlie, I have to call you back. Rafferty just came back,” Helena said as she stepped back, pulling the doorwith her.

“Uh, I am sorry, but I cannot go any further,” Éliott said, hesitating at thethreshold.

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