Austin pulled on a green apron and stood next to Cindy. He watched and listened intently to her demonstration of pouring batter into the muffin mold. From across the table, I studied him as I prepared my bread, for which I had to double the recipe. The shop sold out of my sweet bunny bread yesterday.
Austin looked over and met my eyes. “Once I graduate from Cindy’s training, I’m heading to yours.”
Cindy laughed, and I smiled.
When the rest of the crew arrived, all were surprised to see Austin in the kitchen. Everyone got to work, and the hours flew by. I knew the shop was crowded from all the customer chatter that traveled back into the kitchen. Cindy ran out to help Bianca, Rosie, and Donna, leaving me with Austin. My body became aware of his presence.
“Business has been great since you started.” Austin stepped over to my table, standing beside me. A smear of batter clung to the side of his chin.
Should I tell him? Or should I be naughty and leave it?
Though a part of me wanted to embarrass him, the better side of me knew I’d want someone to tell me if I had something unattractive on my face.
“You have a smear on your face.” I tapped my chin.
“Where?” He touched his forehead, cheek, nose, and neck, missing the smear on his chin.
“Right here.” I wiped the batter from his chin with my finger. “See?”
“Oh, thanks.” A smirk flashed onto his lips before I cleaned the dough off my finger.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and a silent conversation exchanged between us. This was what we used to do. We just had to look at each other and know what the other was thinking. I’d never been able to read anyone the way I could him. More so, no one had been able to read me the way he could.
Ava:You did that on purpose.
Austin:Did what?
Ava:Pretend you didn’t know where the smear was.
Austin:Don’t know what you’re talking about.
“I’m ready to learn from the best.” He flexed his fingers, changing the subject.
We both knew what had just occurred. Despite that, an icicle in my heart melted a little. Was I being too soft on him? I still hadn’t answered him regarding his explanation. Yes, I wanted to know everything. But I feared it would drag me through hell again.
I sectioned off a portion of dough and dropped it in front of him. “Knead it.”
He watched me knead the dough and mimicked my hands as I rolled it into a ball. But his dough looked oblong.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
The words drew my attention to his face, but he was talking to the dough.
“I’m so sorry.” He pressed the heel of his palm into thedough. “Ikneadyou to forgive me, okay?” His attention focused on the dough. “Please forgive me.”
Normally, I talked to dough, ingredients, and supplies when I baked, but that was me. He didn’t bake or cook when we dated.
Was he indirectly talking to me? Was he asking for my forgiveness?My heart hammered as I pretended not to notice his conversation with the dough.
But sarcasm sparked in me. “Love is made of kneading, stretching, cutting, and shaping.”
“Sounds painful, doesn’t it?” Cindy asked.
“No pain, no gain,” Austin replied.
I should have stopped commenting, but my rebellious inner self was unstoppable today. “Love is an extraordinary pastry made of happy flour and sweet ingredients. Too bad some people add too much salt, yeast, and other distasteful things to the mix and ruin everything.”
The room grew quiet for a moment. I could almost feel Cindy and Austin holding their breaths.
