Page 35 of Sweets and Sycamores
Dominic put her out of her misery when he said, “I’m free.”
“Great!” Allie cheered. She smiled at him and could have sworn his cheek ticked up the tiniest bit.
Dominic turned his back on her, grabbed one of the bowls, and started mixing the ingredients. He always used the whisk at first, then his strong hands to knead the perfect dough. Allie leaned against the doorframe, ogling the muscles on his back as they tensed with every movement. She realized in the almost two weeks she’d been here that watching Dominic had become one of her favorite activities.
“Can you bring me—” Dominic turned swiftly, and Allie bounced from the frame like it burned her. She faced it and rubbed the wood with her thumb, fixing an imaginary issue.
“Thought there was a splinter,” she muttered as if she had been utterly occupied by the task of assessing the doorframe. She turned fake-innocent eyes to her boss, hoping to all the gods hedid notjust catch her gawking at him. “What do you need, Mr. Ranford?”
Was her voice too high? It sounded pitchy. And why was she rocking on her heels?
“Apron,” Dominic said, narrowing his eyes at her.
Allie marched to the storage room and took a moment in the hallway to catch her breath. What was wrong with her?
Don’t answer that.
She took one of the clean aprons and returned to the kitchen after taking five—seven—deep breaths.
“Here you go,” she said and extended it out to her boss.
Dominic looked from her to his hands, wrist deep into the dough. He lifted his hands to his sides and leaned down, facing her. She stared at him like an idiot with the apron in her hands until her boss spelled out the obvious.
“Can you put it on?” he said, dragging the words out.
Allie blinked.
“Yes?”
“Are you asking me?” Dominic’s patience slipped. “I don’t have all day.” He gestured with his raw-dough-covered hands.
Right.
Allie stepped closer to him and hung the string over his head, careful not to disturb the perfectly tied bun. Then Dominic stood to his full height and turned around. This close, the smell of spicy cedarwood with a faint scent of leather enveloped her, and she fought against taking a full breath in. Allie cleared her throat and stretched her arms to grab the apron string and tie them around his back. She avoided hugging her boss from behind, but her arms grazed against his waist as she pulled at the ropes.
Knotting the damn things was hard with trembling hands, but mercifully she managed a lopsided bow and stepped back.
“Thanks,” Dominic said.
Allie nodded and left the kitchen, her coffee forgotten. This was the perfect moment to go back out into the cold air.
After their lunch break, Dominic left Alecsandra to handle the customers while he worked on perfecting his dulce de leche recipe. This was Mia’s favorite dessert, and he didn’t make it for the bakery anymore since everyone complained it was “too sweet.” Dom couldn’t argue; itwastoo sweet. But Mia loved it, and he hadn’t made it in a while, and now with Alecsandra’s help, he had a bit more time on his hands.
Dominic wiped his palms on the apron and was immediately reminded of this morning, of Alecsandra’s fingers brushing his sides, the goosebumps that blossomed all over his skin. He should have washed his hands and put the damn apron on by himself, or risk getting his sweater dirty.
He was a fool.
A fool who could bake a mean dulce de leche, but a fool nonetheless. The dessert was cool enough to taste now. It was as sweet as he remembered, and Dom couldn’t suppress a shudder. He scooped a bit onto a small plate and went to the front to have Alecsandra taste it too.
Dom had come to appreciate having the Witch help around the bakery, not that he’d ever admit it out loud, especially not to Brandon. The smugness that would fill him would be eternal, and Dom would never hear the end of it. But it was nice to have someone else taste what he baked and give him feedback, even ifher feedback was always the same: “Everything is delicious, Mr. Ranford.”
From the small hallway that led to the front, Dominic saw Alecsandra standing in front of the register. But her posture was rigid, her arms wrapped around her. He stepped behind the counter and met one of the few men he loathed from the bottom of his heart.
“Afternoon, Dom,” Jared Finn said in an overfriendly tone, as always. They were not friends, they would never be friends, and every time he crossed the bakery’s threshold, Dom fought the urge to shove a “We reserve the right to select our customers” sign in his face and kick him out. But that was not the image he wanted to create for Dom’s Sweets, and he wouldn’t let the asshole ruin it.
Hopefully.
“Jared,” he spat through his teeth. His eyes went to Alecsandra, who stood there staring at the man, back ramrod straight and lips pressed into a thin line. Jared was the first customer she didn’t smile at. Dominic had witnessed his customers treat her with contempt, with ugly sneers and not-so-much-whispered comments, yet she had always smiled at them.
