It didn’t take long to find all the bowls and pans and utensils I needed. Containers of flour, baking powder, cocoa powder, and sugar lined my workspace as I concentrated on the real magic I wanted to happen. I started the brownies first since they’d take the longest to bake. As I whisked the dry ingredients together, I caught glimpses of movement in my periphery.
Mr. Hottie was carrying crates upon crates of eggs into the walk-in fridge. The view was nice, even in slacks, but I gave myself a mental smack. Potential new boss aside, I sucked at dating. The universe had proven that time and time again. If I got the job and tried dating my boss only to have it fail as miserably as the rest, I would have to quit, and I didnotwant to give up this kitchen.
No matter how hot Mr. Hottie was. I wasn’t even hired yet and I was hooked.
I jumped when the ceramic cooktop flipped itself on. Glancing nervously to where he walked back toward the truck, I leapt over and flipped the burners off. I seriously needed to calm down before I started an actual fire. Popping into the fridge before he came back, I grabbed a few eggs and a couple of sticks of unsalted butter, then snagged a brick of cream cheese for the cookies.
Once I mixed it to the perfect consistency, the creamy brownie batter flowed into the square pan, then I slid it into the oven and set the timer. I pulled a sleeve of graham crackers from a shelf in the storeroom and started crushing them, using a minor bit of magic and praying it didn’t break the counter underneath. I was much better at controlling my powers when Itriedto use them than when I wasn’t.
The crushed graham crackers went into a bowl with the flour and baking powder and I whisked them together. The cream cheese and butter needed to be softened, so I held them—still wrapped—between my hands and used a tiny bit more magic.
A tingle on the back of my neck made me turn in time to see Mr. Hottie disappear into the fridge again. I frowned, wondering if he’d sensed that. When I’d shaken his hand that afternoon, I hadn’t detected anything odd about him. My mother had taught me about the presence other supernaturals gave off when we touched them, or if they were powerful enough, when we got near.
So far as I could tell, he was human. Then again, my father could mask his power like that, too, but he was a god and one of the few who could. I couldn’t honestly see someone as powerful as that starting a bakery on a college campus.
No, the only thing inhuman about Mr. Hottie was hissinfullygood looks.
I groaned at my own joke and dumped the butter into the bowl. Who in their right mind would start a shop if they had access to magic anyway? The idea was absurd. He could just be sensitive to the energy, or maybe he was just watching me work, which was the most likely scenario. I was being paranoid, though with good reason.
Humans didn’t usually react well to the supernatural. I needed to be careful with my powers while he was around. No bad luck charm, no casual usage,nada. I pursed my lips at the perfectly straight break in the eggshell, then crumpled it a bit before tossing it.
Checking my brownie timer, I grinned. I spooned the cheesecake filling into the depressed centers of the cookies, then exactly at the twelve-minute mark, I slid the trays into the center oven with the brownies. While those baked, I set a couple small saucepans on the cooktop and started small batches of cherry topping and caramel sauce from scratch.
The kitchen smelled like home. Hell, it felt like home, like I belonged there. He had it so well organized I felt like I already knew where everything was. All the ingredient bins were labeled and dated, each utensil had its own identified hook, and the pots and pans hung in order by size. Even if I didn’t get the job, it had been absolutely worth it to bake in a kitchen like this. It certainly went a long way in helping my disappointment with the whole Brad situation.
With a few minutes left to spare and the sauces cooling, I started poking around casually as I cleaned up. Most of what I’d used was easily accessible, but there was a multitude of shelves and drawers I was dying to inspect. Pulling one drawer open, I peeked inside to find refrigerated foodstuff. The things I’d just snuck past Mr. Hottie to grab from the fridge had been right here.
A cold drawer was the coolest thing I didn’t know I wanted, but now I felt like an idiot for missing it.
He hadn’t spared a thought for cost when equipping the place, and I was eager to play with all the toys I didn’t have space for in my and Sophie’s apartment. If anything, it made me eager to get my own place and equip it exactly like this.
Not start a bakery or anything. I’d never baked for anyone other than myself, though a couple of people had wormed their way into a share. It was something I’d honestly never even considered before Sophie had pointed the place out for me. I wanted to do something more in the world, give back in a bigger way. Maybe make up for my father’sentirehistory.
That prickly feeling washed over the back of my neck again just as a throat cleared behind me. I spun from the cooling racks I’d been looking at in the back. Mr. Hottie stood right behind me, and he’d been watching me take liberties with his shop. His eyes were a beautiful but unusual teal that stood out brilliantly against his tanned skin and dark hair. The hair he’d had pulled back into a hipster man-bun while he was working now hung loosely about his shoulders.
I hadn’t even registered that the truck had left. My heart went into overdrive with embarrassment, my face hot.
Then he grinned proudly.
Brad who?
“What do you think of my shop?”
The breath whooshed from my lungs, along with a steady stream of rambling. “Oh, it’s so amazing! Everything was so easy to find and your organizational skills are top-notch. I adore the appliance garages built into the walls, and these ovens are huge! I love that you have them set for different temps, because obviously you bake different things at different temperatures, and that walk-in fridge is to die for! There’s so much space! I haven’t gotten into the freezer yet, but—”
He laughed, and I clamped my mouth shut, effectively cutting off my word fountain. I tried to rein in the thought half a second too late as the one sprinkler right above us went off. I shrieked and dove for the shut-off valve by the back door.
Damn it, I’d already screwed this up. He was going to ask me to leave. Water rolled off my coat and dripped from my nose. I turned to him and winced as he pulled his wet t-shirt over his head. Those muscles were no joke.
“Sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” he asked, a grin still stretched across his perfect face. He opened a small closet, where a mop and bucket were stashed, pulled them out, then poked his head in his office and grabbed a fresh shirt. “Accidents happen all the time. It obviously malfunctioned. I’ll have someone come by in the morning and take a look.”
I wasn’t going to argue with him about it. After what I’d experienced, I really fucking wanted the job. If it meant begging for it, even for one day a week, I wanted to be in this kitchen with him. Or without him. Mr. Hottie didn’t matter to me.
I gave myself a mental facepalm. Hisname. “Oh, I feel stupid for waiting so long to ask, but I never got your name.”
He chuckled low in his throat and held out his hand. “Sam Rivers.”
