Page 5 of The Sweetest Season
Beatrice retorted, “You did stroll into my kitchen uninvited.”
“Ah, there’s the truth,” he said.But before she could respond, he asked, “Where did you learn to bake?”
“Paris.I worked under several chefs of considerable repute.”
“Why?”
She blinked in confusion.“Why?Because one ought to study under the best possible teachers, and that means one goes to Paris to cook!”
“I meant why did you choose to learn a trade like this?”
Beatrice took a steadying breath, then said in an even voice, “I like good food.”
“Who doesn’t?”His gaze was keen, questioning.“But it seems rather unusual for a lady of your class, isn’t it?”
She frowned, not at all comfortable with the turn in conversation.“I thought no one in the States cared about class,” she said.
“Is that why you came here?To get away from all that?”
“I came here to start a business, a business with which you are currently interfering, Mr Forrest.It would be best if you left now.”
He raised one eyebrow.“You treat all your customers like this?”
“Only the ones who invade my kitchen.”
He lifted one side of his coat away from his body, showing his frame (or as much of his frame as the linen shirt allowed).“You might not believe it, but I’ve filled out considerably since I first ate your food.My doctor sends his thanks as well.Nothing he recommended worked.I wanted to thank you personally.”
And by refusing his invitation, she’d made this war hero come all the way to town to do so.Did she want to lose a customer, agoodcustomer?What sort of businesswoman was she?She took a steadying breath, then said, “I am reclusive by nature, Mr Forrest.There’s a reason I hired Ivy to work the front while I stay out of sight.Today must be quite disappointing for you.”
“I’m not disappointed at all,” he said with an expression that was harder to read.“Though I’ll let you return to your work.What are you making next?”
“I must prepare an order for a party.I have to make the pastries for the cream puffs and then the filling for the raspberry tarts, and after that the maple buttercream to fill the chocolate bonbons.”
“All of that sounds magical, but I like the marzipan best,” he said with the air of confessing a great secret.“That was the first one of yours that I tasted.I couldn’t believe it was real.”
She felt a little glow at the acknowledgment.Her marzipanwasvery special.“Marzipan is made on Tuesdays.”
“I’ll be sure to order more on Wednesdays, then.”His smile came slowly, but with enough warmth to melt even the iciest demeanor.“What smells so good?”He pointed to a pot on the stove that was nearly bubbling over.
“Ah, that’s lemon curd.I use it in some pastries and cakes.”As she spoke, she reached over to stir the pot, and the thick, silky curd clung to the wooden spoon.“Oh, it’s done.You nearly distracted me, Mr Forrest.”
“And thus nearly ruined the batch?That would have been a hanging crime.”
He sounded so sincere that she couldn’t stop a smile.“Would you like a taste?”
“Please.”His eyes lit up at the prospect.
Beatrice scooped a small portion of the lemon curd onto a bit of vanilla cake that she’d prepared, spreading it over the top with the back of the spoon.She offered it to Mr Forrest, and as he took it, their fingers touched.Even that brief contact gave her a strange jolt of pleasure.Or was that just due to watching him enjoy the taste of lemon and sugar and vanilla swirled together?
His eyes closed as he bit into the treat, and a look that could only be described as bliss spread over his face.He chewed and swallowed, then said, “Marvelous.”
“It is,” she agreed.
“I meant you’re marvelous, Miss Holliday.I could consume that whole pot.”
“You’d make yourself sick!”she said with a laugh.Itwasnice to hear praise for her work.
“A challenge I’m prepared to accept.I could eat that with anything.”
