Ezra chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Thought I’d try my hand at something different. Branch out a bit, you know? After how well last night’s samples went over, I decided to play around a little bit once I got my work for the day done. Try some things that have been on my radar, but I wasn’t sure about.”
I smirked. “Branching out suits you. And I love that seeing how much people enjoy your food is helping you step outside your comfort zone.”
He flushed, a light pink dusting his cheeks. He looked down at his shoes for a moment before lifting his gaze to mine. “Thank you. If you can grab this other tray, we can find a place to sit and chat.”
“Lead the way.” We settled into a small booth at the back of the dining area to pare down the menu for the Christmas event.
That wasn’t easy when everything I tried was even better than the last sample he gave me. He might be a master at decorating cookies, but it seemed Ezra had mad skills at everything in the kitchen.
“You know what? Change of plans,” I told him. Anson wouldn’t care about what we served as long as there was enough food for everyone who showed up. “I want you to take complete creative control over the menu. It’s obvious you know what you’re doing, and I loved how you crafted this whole story with food last night. Do that, and we’ll be golden.”
“Are—are you sure? I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“Positive.” If left to my own devices, I’d have told him to bring some of everything, and we’d be eating leftovers for a full week after the party. Plus, it got me off the hook for the food. I could sign my name on the contracts once they were drawn up.
“Oh, that reminds me. I have a couple more desserts I wanted you to try.” Ezra jumped out of his seat and was already pushing through the kitchen door before I could tell him I really didn’t need anything else to eat.
And as I sat there waiting for him to return, I wasn’t sure I wanted to say anything. The times I’d seen Ezra before last week, he’d kept to himself. When he wasn’t in the kitchen frosting cookies, he’d been sitting at this very booth with his nose buried in a video or article on his laptop. I wasn’t conceited enough to think I was the reason for his change in demeanor, but it was pretty fucking cool to see.
“This one here is a white-chocolate raspberry tart,” he began as he sat, his voice filled with excitement. I watched as he took a bite, his eyes closing in bliss. “Mmm. And over here, we have a spiced pumpkin cheesecake bite. I know pumpkin is typically associated with Thanksgiving, but I tried this recipe and fell in love with it.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ezra, you’ve outdone yourself. Every one of these looks and sounds incredible.” My gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, but he seemed too engrossed in his desserts to notice.
Wanting to change the dynamic a bit, I smirked at Ezra. “Alright, how about we add a bit of fun to this? A friendly wager? We try our hands at decorating a cookie. Loser buys dinner.”
So much for being full. I’d pay the price later, but dinner was the only thing I could think of to do because I didn’t want him to think I was a barfly. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do in Harmony Grove other than eat and drink.
Ezra’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but amusement danced in his eyes. “Are you challenging me? The baker? To a cookie decorating contest?” He leaned in, a playful glint in his gaze. “Are you sure you’re ready to lose?”
I winked at him. “I might surprise you. And besides, I’m always up for a challenge.”
Ezra laughed heartily, the sound echoing warmly in the bakery. “Alright then, game on!”
We moved to the cookie decorating station that looked like Ezra had already cleaned up for the day. I stood there twiddling my thumbs while he pulled out everything we’d need. Judging by his sudden burst of enthusiasm, following my gut hadn’t steered me wrong.
Before long, bowls of colorful icing, sprinkles, and other decorations were laid out in a carefully organized line. He’d set up two work areas, each with three cookies to decorate. It didn’t escape me that he’d given me simple shapes and bowls of icing while there was an array of decorating bags in front of him. There was no way I was winning, but that was fine by me.
It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. As we started, our hands occasionally brushed against each other when we reached for the sprinkles and containers of sugar in the center of the stainless work table. Every touch, no matter how fleeting, sent a jolt of electricity through me.
I found myself getting more and more distracted, stealing glances at Ezra, watching the way his fingers expertly maneuvered the icing, creating intricate designs on his cookie. He decorated part of the first before moving on to the next, and then he came back and added something to each. Sometimes, the icing was clearly defined, while other colors blended together.
I gave it my best. Honest. After a while, I held up my creation. It was a rather lopsided Christmas tree with unevenly spread green icing and a star that looked more like a blob. I tried to hide my embarrassment behind a grin. It reminded me of the cookies my family used to decorate during the holidays. It was nothing like the artistic masterpieces he showed off, but something as simple as lumpy frosting patched another small hole in my heart.
Ezra, trying to contain his laughter, presented his cookie. It was a flawless snowflake with intricate patterns and shimmering edible glitter. “Well,” he said teasingly, “I guess dinner’s on you.”
I chuckled. “Fair enough. I knew what I was getting into by challenging a baker in his domain. Any place in mind?”
Ezra’s fingers drummed on the table, his gaze distant for a moment. “How about Stella’s? It’s just around the corner. They make a mean pot roast.”
I nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
We cleaned up our mess, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Every moment was punctuated by fleeting touches and lingering glances. Our laughter echoed in the room, light and carefree. As we prepared to leave, Ezra handed me a box.
“For you,” he said with a shy smile. “Some of the samples and a few extra treats. I figured you might like them. Or maybe you could take them to the garage and share with your coworkers.”
I accepted the box, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Thank you, Ezra. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he replied, a soft sincerity in his voice. “I offered to pay Shiloh for the ingredients, but he blew me off. Said that if we wound up expanding the catering menu, it was a worthwhile investment.”
