Page 21 of Building Romance
I step inside and smell something wonderful. Raising my face into the air, I sniff. “What is that?”
She grins. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Sounds ominous,” I retort.
She shrugs and I follow her into the kitchen.
She places her hands on her hips and motions to three plates.
“Cranberry cupcakes with orange frosting.” She points to some cupcakes. “Everything-but-the-kitchen-sink peppermint cookies.” She motions to a plate of cookies and a pie. “A pine soda pie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Pine soda?”
She nods. “I heard the theme is childhood Christmas memories. My mom always made orange cinnamon rolls and I used to like to eat them with some candied cranberries. Peppermint candy canes were my fave. And my grandmother always made a pine soda pie. I don’t have her recipe, so this is my twist on it.”
Interesting. The fact that she shared these things with me feels very…intimate as if we’re on a date. For the briefest of moments, I wonder what her family is like. Does her family have one of those big American holiday parties that you see in movies? Did her grandmother live with her family? A dozen questions pop into my head but I don’t ask a single one. Instead, I step forward.
She motions for me to try one. I take a bite of a cupcake because the orange smell is calling to me. I hold back a groan. Damn. This is good.
I chew and am surprised by little pops in my mouth. I swallow. “Is that…are the cranberries…” I trail off as I examine the cupcake more closely.
“I candied the cranberries first and then dipped them in powdered sugar so they wouldn’t sink to the bottom,” she explains. I’ve heard of pastry chefs rolling things like blueberries in flour to prevent them from sinking, but this is genius.
I nod and set the cupcake down. I move on to the cookie. I take a bite. Shockingly, the peppermint isn’t as overpowering as I thought it would be. There’s just a hint of it.
I look over at her. “I did the smallest amount of crushed peppermint. I didn’t think people would want to be overpowered.” She pauses and reaches over, taking a bite of one of them. She chews it and tilts her head to one side as if contemplating something.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not a hundred percent about this one. I like it, but peppermint is a strong flavor. I might lose some judges with it. What do you think?” she asks.
I nod. She’s not wrong. “I agree. Maybe we consider a different cookie just to be safe.”
She reaches over and cuts a piece of pie and sets it on a plate with a fork. She pushes it over to me after adding a dollop of what looks to be homemade whipped cream.
I examine it, still unsure about this one. With a slight shrug, I take a bite. It’s shockingly good, like really good.
“This is great,” I admit begrudgingly.
She smiles, and with another fork, she takes a small bite right from the pie. She grins. “Gan-gan would be proud.”
“Gan-gan?” I ask, fighting a smirk.
She blushes and the color of pink roses coats her ivory skin. I watch it bloom across her neck and I wonder if it goes all the way to her breasts which are covered by the T-shirt she’s wearing. I give my head a little shake to clear my thoughts. I absolutely cannot think about her that way. What the hell is wrong with me?
“That’s what we called my grandmother.” Her blush grows a little darker. “I couldn’t say Grandma.”
I smirk. “You seem to have recently mastered it. Well done, you.”
The blush dissipates and she glares at me.
“So, what are we going to do for the cookie?” I ask, deciding to ignore her cute angry stare.
She whips around and pulls a tray of cookies off her cooling rack. She places it in front of me.
“What am I looking at here?”
“I read an article about your family and it inspired this cookie,” she states as she motions to the cookies.
