Page 102 of One Small Spark
He glances around. “Do you have something for taking down notes? You don’t want to forget anything.”
“Are you going to make this as difficult as possible?”
“Most likely.” He moves closer until we’re toe to toe. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly leans down and presses a quick kiss to my mouth. “But there will be perks.”
I slip on a mask of indifference. “You mean the bread?”
“Oh, Krause. You’re going to learn so much today.”
I snort, but I really do want to know his secrets. Mostly, so I can exploit them for myself. And…okay, I’m looking forward to spending the day baking with him. I have issues, what can I say?
He gets out his mixer, and my veneer of indifference goes to crap. I never would have guessed that a man owning a KitchenAid appliance would get me hot, but apparently my issues run deeper than I thought.
“I’m going to need a minute before we start.”
He plugs it in, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Okay there, Krause?”
“No. Why is everything I learn about you some kind of shock to my system?”
“How am I blowing your mind now?”
I frown at his phrasing. Also his smirk. “You must be more serious about baking than I thought.”
“Is that a problem?” He’s still teasing, but a hint of sincerity lurks beneath his question.
“No. I just never knew.”
He pulls ingredients from his pantry and sets them on the counter. Bread basics I already know: flour, salt, yeast. This recipe isn’t revolutionary.
ButShepherdis.
“I told you I worked at the lodge for years, but I struggled to find my place. Front desk was a misery, and anything dealing with special events was right out the window. Housekeeping was fine, and I helped with maintenance when I could.” He pulls measuring cups and spoons from a drawer and lays them out next to the ingredients. “More often than not, I wound up in the kitchen with my grandma. Whatever she baked for our guests, I baked, too.”
The more I learn, the more my tiny, ice-cold heart melts for this man. Maybe it’s melted already. Nothing but a puddle of goo and admiration. Possibly even more contents I can’t centrifuge out right now.
“I’m not skilled enough to come up with new recipes like some people.” He takes one of my braids between his fingers and smooths over the twists, lightly tugging at the end. “But I learned enough from her to feed myself well.”
“That’s really sweet.”
He runs his hand back up the braid. “Always so surprised.”
Enamoredis probably the better word. But actually saying that? Impossible.
“As a woman who’s not sweet myself, maybe it’s always a surprise to experience it in someone else.”
His eyebrows tug together, his gaze intense. “You’re sweet, Wren.”
Of all the things he’s said to me, this one feels like the biggest lie. At the hot spring when he told me I was perfect, the down-deep part of my soul wanted to believe it, but I’m not that delusional. I don’t want him to tell me things just to make me feel better. And maybe that involves both of us accepting the truth.
“I’m really not, though. You know better than anyone. I was a jerk to you for actual years. As opposed to, say, your ex-girlfriend, who is the literal embodiment of sweetness to everyone.”
Oh, wow. I’m just laying it all out there, huh? Blurting things out is way more fun when it’s snarky commentary and not my deepest insecurities.
It’s impossible to get that toothpaste back in the tube, so why not smear it around a little?
I slip away from him, moving down the counter toward the array of ingredients. “I’m not anything like Rose.” A name I already wish I didn’t actually say out loud. “And I’m not jealous.”
A comment that doesn’t help my case at all.
