Page 5 of One Small Spark
“Extensive ones.”
I’m not a fan of this conversation. Not just because I’ve got his undivided attention. Callahan’s focus on me always leavesme a bit unmoored. If he’s looking for faults, I’ve got plenty to find. As he apparently knows all too well.
But it’s been so long since I really dated, I feel like a fraud to even talk about it. What do I want, assuming all I had to do was ask? Finding someone steady and loyal but up for anything would be the dream. Someone to talk and laugh with and—ugh—cuddle with would be even better. But that’s too ooey-gooey to say out loud.
Instead, I describe the polar opposite of the man who owns the bike rental and repair shop right next to our family’s bakery. “I want someone outgoing and popular. The life of the party. Cerebral. Skilled in the kitchen.”
I just know he lives off ramen and cold cereal.
“Is that the only room he should be skilled in?”
I shrug. “I don’t want to make you self-conscious about your shortcomings.”
“You’re so thoughtful.”
I take a bite of the bread I slathered with butter and moan. His eyes narrow, and his jaw ticks beneath his beard. I don’t care if my response is over the top, this bread is heaven. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“It’s that good?”
“It’s a perfect boule. Chewy crumb that’s light and airy with the right amount of flavor and a crisp crust begging to be an entire meal.” My focus in culinary school was pastries, so I know bread. I’ll need to ask around to find out where this one came from. “I would marry a man who can make bread this good.”
Callahan’s slow smile sets something off in my stomach. Indigestion, probably.
“Thank you.” His gaze is back on my mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I stare, my lips parting. “You couldn’t,” I breathe out. “I can’t even make bread this good.”
Not consistently, anyway.
His smile widens until it’s comically large. “I don’t want to make you self-conscious about your shortcomings.”
“Where did you?—”
“Is everyone ready to discuss?”
Ada’s loud question startles me out of my confusion. Well, mostly.Hemade the bread that has me drooling for more? Impossible.
The theme of the day.
“Callahan said he made the bread we’re eating.” My interjection makes me sound like a ten-year-old tattler. I don’t care. No way will these ladies let it go if he’s taking credit for something somebody bought.
To my dismay, a chorus of compliments about his bread follows. Apparently, he brings it every month, at their request. The bicycle mechanic moonlights as a bread wizard.
Distressing.
“I’ve married men for less,” Fran says, aiming a slow wink his direction.
He twists so he can whisper in my ear. “Two proposals in one day. How will I choose?”
I elbow him back to his side. “Nobody wants to marry you.”
His dark brown eyes sparkle at me. “Not even with the promise of endless bread?”
I mean…the bread is good. But, no. It’s not so good I’d sell my soul for it. Or marry a guy who can’t stand me, which is basically the same thing. I set my empty plate aside and cross my arms, bumping him needlessly in the process.
“For our newcomer,” Ada says, waving over at me, “our book discussions are casual, as you can see. Everyone can jump inwhenever they like, but we ask that nobody hogs the conversation entirely.”
She shoots a pointed look at the woman to her left.
