Page 5 of Bittersweet

“Sorry about that.” I make a face at Elio. “And for staying here all morning.Again.”

"Are you kidding? I love it when you'rehere."

Warmth spreads through my body. "Youdo?"

"Absolutely. In fact, before your friend came in, I was hoping I could interrupt your work for a moment to ask you afavor."

"Anything." I'm quick to reply, too quick, and I scold myself.Play it cool,Romy.

He glances around the empty shop, left, right, then left again, before lowering his voice as if he's about to reveal his deepest, darkest secret. "I've been working on a new recipe. It's a modern twist on an Italian lemoncake."

"You're breaking tradition?" I gasp in horror, clutching at my chest. "But what would your nonnasay?"

“How did you know I have a nonna?” he asks, his head to theside.

“You’re Italian, and you know how to bake.” I raise my eyebrows. “Of course you have anonna.”

He laughs. “You’re right, I do, and if she knew about my plans, she would be horrified. I’m trying to make the menu more modern. A little . . . sexier.” A dark glint enters his eyes. Desire arcs through me, warming my already heated flesh. “That’s why I need a reliable taste tester. Someone without bias. And, as a professional muffin critic, I thought you would be the perfectcandidate."

"It's not just muffins. I also love yourbuns."

What did I justsay?

Oh Lord, no. DidI. . .?

I glance up at Elio's dark eyes. They dance with laughter. "You like mybuns?"

"Yes," I squeak. "Your cream buns. Not your . . .your—"

"Well, I didn’t think you meant the other kind." He turns and walks around the counter, picking up a clean dish towel and flinging it over his shoulder before glancing back at me. "Now, come on. Are you going to help me ornot?"

Hmm. Decisions,decisions.

Should I race into a deserted room with my hot coffee guy to taste his buns—I mean, bakedgoods?

Abso-damn-lutely.

3

Romy

The kitchen is big,bigger than I expected from the small café space out front. Everything is stainless steel, from the countertops to the industrial ovens and the racks upon racks of coolingtrays.

I take a deep breath, and holy hotcakes, if I thought the shop smelled good, being in here is like taking that scent and bathing in it. I can practically feel the delicious warmth sinking into mypores.

"Just a sec." Elio opens the door to what looks like a small cool room. Coming out two seconds later, he’s holding a whiteplate.

On it lies one of the most enticing treats I've everseen.

A perfect, round pastry shell with scalloped edging houses a glossy golden curd. It’s so shiny I can see my silhouette in it. I lean closer, inhaling the scent of lemon, of white chocolate, and of something else almost savory. It truly looks amazing.Delicious.

"This is just a sample. Of course, if it makes it to the menu, I was thinking of doing something special on top. You know, a drizzle of chocolate, a tuile of some sort . . ." Elio places the plate down and opens a drawer, pulling out a knife and the world's smallestfork.

"Tuiles are very on trend right now," I contribute, because damn it, if this is what the role of cake tester looks like in Elio's life, I very much want to ace this interview and get thejob.

He holds the knife out to me. "Would you like to do thehonors?"

"I couldn't." It’s too perfect. Tooexquisite.

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