A bit of cookie fell from the side of Heather’s lip, but it did not deter from the fact that she was the boss and this was her kitchen.
Although, the cookie was damn good. Better than her own recipe. And she was pretty committed to her ability to bake just about anything.
“I am sorry.” Babushka went about working the dough in her hands. “About this morning. You arenicegirl. I lend you my car until you have a vehicle, and I vill vork off my debt to you vith pastry. Ve vill have some fun, yes?”
There were not enough deep sighs in the world for this day.
Heather only needed to step aside and think this through. Treat Babushka like she would any other business challenge. Step back, evaluate, make the best decision for the company.
So, yes, her van had been creamed by a demented old woman. A demented old woman who’d thought she was defending the honor of her grandson. Heather could, on some really weird level, appreciate that kind of dedication. It was, in its own screwed-up way, sort of sweet.
Jase was buying her a new van and making that situation right. She didn’t even have to pay a deductible.
And she could use Babushka’s Buick. That would come in handy.
Babushka had apologized and made exceptional cookies.
Perhaps the time had come to start embracing all that was Babushka. This was a woman offering to bake for free. Heather had been thinking she needed to bring on another baker, anyway. This would essentially lower overhead. And boy, the woman couldbake.
“What if we start this as a temporary experiment and see how it goes?” Candy suggested. “I’ll supervise. You don’t have to do anything.”
Babushka nodded as though she had no doubt this was the decision that would be reached. “I vill come in early every morning.”
“Oh, we don’t do that,” Candy replied. “We aren’t that kind of bakery. We just do cookies, so we have a solid eight a.m. start.”
“Vell, that vorks even better.” Babushka nodded. “I vill be here again tomorrow. Eight a.m.”
“Okay,” Heather heard herself say, against her better judgement.
“You sure you want to do that?” Jase sounded as unconvinced as Heather felt.
“Of course she is sure.” Babushka laid her weathered, floured hands on the table and nodded toward Heather. “I vill vork in your kitchen until I die. Vhich vill not be long. I vill leave you my recipes vhen I am gone.”
“She’s gonna leave the recipes.” Candy squeezed Heather’s arm. “Isn’t that the best?”
The best? Heather might not take it quite that far.
“This is just a trial. We’ll see how it goes. It’s temporary,” Heather confirmed.
And she almost believed it.
7
Chapter Seven
Jase was bringing Heather flowers. A bouquet of two dozen carrousel roses, to be exact. These were now his so-you-hate-flowers-I’m-going-to-make-you-love-them flowers. Officially, he was just calling them “Heather’s flower” from here on out.
He had a system—a flower for every occasion. From sorry-your-ex-got-married-today to I’d-like-in-your-pants-please. For Heather? He was going all in. Sometimes a florist just knew the right type of flower for a person.
While he waited in the shop, he shifted from foot to foot like a teenage boy. This time he didn’t barge into her kitchen. Today he waited out front for her cashier to go get her. Like a good little Jase.
Babushka pushed through the kitchen doors and headed for his bouquet. “Jason, you brought me flowers. You are good boy.” She leaned a cheek up so he could kiss it.
Shit, he couldn’t exactly give Heather flowers in front of his grandmother. The grandmother he had convinced of the breakup that never was.
Babushka smiled a wry smile and took the bouquet.
Heather emerged from the kitchen in her apron, a smudge of flour against her cheek. “Hey, Jase. Your grandmother was just teaching me to make kolaches. They’re freaking awesome.”
