Something truly of my own, and it’s him.
Matt’s mouth descends on mine, getting me right at the edge of worked up. Then he sits up with a knowing grin. “Okay, you hit the shower, and I will see what I have for breakfast.”
I look down to where my too-big pants,hispants, were carelessly tossed. I haven’t seen my own in days. Matt moves over to his dresser while I pick up my—his—discarded clothes.
“Here.” Matt hands me the jeans and Black Diamond tee and hoodie I was wearing when I arrived, all freshly laundered. “I took the liberty of putting some Bear Valley stuff in this drawer in your size, but I liked how you looked in mine better. So, if you don’t want to go all the way out to Mirror Lake tonight, you have things here.”
“Thanks.” He still thinks I live in Mirror Lake. Guilt sinks into my gut. One more reason to keep this casual. One more half-truth.
The items in the drawer don’t surprise me. Clothes and toiletries are merely a storage room or gift shop away for his family, and Matt’s nature is to share the bounty. I’ve been here three days and haven’t missed my own things at all. Instead, replacements showed up before I even thought about needing them. Not much is necessary when you are too weak and feverish to even get out of bed.
“I also took the liberty to buy you more underwear.” Matt presses a silky black pair into my hand. “That was before I realized how nice it was when you weren’t wearing anything under my clothes.”
Heat crosses my face as I take the tight briefs. “Oh, thank you.”
Matt pulls me in by the hips. “Too heavy-handed? To want to know you are wearing these all day? And I bought them for you?”
I shake my head, though I appreciate the check-in. I wonder if he feels as possessive as I do about this casual arrangement. Letting this go without claw marks will prove difficult. I know that already.
“Do you drink coffee?” he asks when we pull away from each other. I nod.
Despite feeling better, I’m going to need caffeine today. I have a cake to do—special order—for Maxine. Not for the coffee shop exactly, but a customer asked Maxine if such a thing would be possible. If I please them, I might expand beyond coffeehouse fare. And, even paying for the use of her kitchen and ingredients, I can make much more off a cake than the hourly rate Maxine gives me. As it is, I should have been working on the project already. I don’t have much time or margin for error.
Of course, the ruse is I’m merely delivering the cake. I’ve used that one before for large orders of muffins and cookies. Maxine talked to the customer, and I followed up on the phone. However, if the cake is successful, it may bring a new host of problems as much as solutions. Matt wants to know who is baking at Maxine’s, and if I’m doing custom cakes, he might find me out.
And he can’t find out.
With that pressure firmly affixed to my shoulders, I eat the breakfast sandwich, drink my coffee, and promise him I will be back after my late shift at the bar.
Chapter 11: Matt
“You okay, Chef?” Jordy asks me as he enters the kitchen, furiously typing notes on his tablet.
“Yeah,” I wave an impatient hand, frowning at the notes from the Mirandas. They want a simple enough flavor profile, a fusion well-suited to some of my best-selling bites. My menu has always been light on the molecular gastronomy components and heavy on flavor. But one detail sticks out. “What’s this, with the Miranda quinceañera? Nothing sweet from Pat? Doesn’t seem like much of a party.”
“Oh.” Jordy takes a step back, and I know I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
“I’m not going to shoot the messenger, Jordy.”
“Even if the message is the Mirandas are having the cake from outside Summit House?”
I frown. “That’s perfectly fine. It’s in the contract.”
“It’s from Maxine’s.”
“The fuck? She’s doing cake now?” My hand comes down hard on the steel table, but Jordy doesn’t flinch. The show of anger isn’t my best moment, but I’m not an asshole.
“Here. This is from this morning.” Jordy slides a box over to me, and I open it with a grumble. It’s just past noon, and we only have a dinner service tonight.
“Is this Lemon Delight?” I know damn well what the perfectly decorated little domed cakes are.
Fruit in Colorado is a seasonal thing, June and July being the best months, with stone fruits in August. But despite the state’s growing season, people want spring flavors in, well, spring. So far, Maxine’s baker knows what will sell when. Citrus is a perfect way to bring spring in before anything local ripens. Not that Maxine seems to be intentionally sourcing her ingredients, not by the low prices, but the baker certainly is.
Jordy sighs dreamily. “There’s this place in Denver, Sal’s—Bishop may have mentioned it. Anyway, some of the best Italian I have ever had in the states, and this rivals what they can make.”
“Genoise cake, limoncello, and lemon cream.” While I know what goes into Lemon Delight, I would never be able to actually make one. Not like this.
“You never go to Maxine’s, but you are always quick to eat what we bring.” Flipping off his teasing, I take a bite. The burst of lemon is like sunning myself on the Amalfi coast. Either the baker sourced the correct lemons or found a way to mimic their distinctive bite.
