“We’re friends, that’s all.”
“Uh huh. Does he know that?” Serena grinned before taking another bite.
“Of course. He hasn’t made any kind of move that would indicate otherwise.” Gloria set her spoon down. “I’m not the one who needs more people in her life.”
“What is it with everyone? I’m not a hermit. I see people, I get out, but most of all I do my job. I have a busy, active business, in case you hadn’t noticed. And pots don’t throw themselves.”
“Sorry. Your parents on your case again?”
Serena nodded. “Before they left on Saturday, along with the usual suggestion that I should head back to L.A., if only for their Fourth of July party.”
“That could be fun.”
“No. It really wouldn’t.” Serena had told Gloria who she was—mostly because her friend had asked straight out—but she didn’t know everything. Not even her parents knew the whole story. And it was best if it stayed that way. Going back to L.A. would just reopen all her scars and, well-meaning or not, the questions people asked would undoubtedly reveal entirely too much. “Besides, I’m too busy. I get special orders almost every day now. People seem to like the mixture of techniques I use.”
“That’s because they’re spectacular. The fern-like patterns you get with the coffee thing...”
“Mocha diffusion.”
Gloria waved a hand. “Whatever. They’re so delicate. People always compliment the mug you made for me. I keep it at the station.”
Serena grinned. “I’m glad it’s a hit.”
The radio on Gloria’s shoulder squawked. She bent her head to listen and sighed. “That’s my cue. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Paperwork calls.” Serena stood. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You know it. And do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Swing by Slice of Heaven and say hi to Micah.”
She pressed her lips together. “Next time I’m in town.”
“Best I’m going to get?”
Serena nodded.
“All right. Later.”
Serena stood on the deck and watched Gloria drive off. At least she wasn’t running the lights and siren this time, so it must not be too urgent. Her gaze drifted to her studio and her mind filled with the image of the vase she’d started that morning. It wouldn’t take that much longer...no. Paperwork had to be done.
Especially if she was seriously thinking about going into town to see a certain handsome baker and ask if he was free for dinner tomorrow night.
* * *
Serena pulled the plastic off the vase she’d started that morning and eyed it as she carried it back to her wheel. Paperwork had taken longer than she’d anticipated, and by the time she’d wrapped up, there was no point in trying to catch Micah at the bakery. She could probably call Gloria and get his home address. Or phone number. But it seemed a little over the stalker line to do that. Instead she’d spend some time in the studio, finish her vase, and maybe tomorrow she’d wander into town and see if she couldn’t run into Micah.
“Wow.”
Serena took her hands off the vase and spun down the potter’s wheel before looking up, her heart thundering in her chest. Her gaze landed on Micah and she blinked. Just think of him and he appeared? “Hi.”
Micah shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I knocked, but you were caught up.”
She nodded. It happened frequently. Which was why she didn’t usually throw pots when she was expecting company. “What brings you up this way?”
“Special delivery.” He lifted the small white box he had in his hands and cleared his throat, moving a little closer. “You seemed to enjoy these on Saturday and we had a couple left this evening when we locked up.”
“Yeah?” She’d enjoyed all of the bakery treats he’d brought that weekend. What was in the box? Serena wiped her hands on the towel she kept in her lap and stood. “Let’s see then.”
With a chuckle, Micah handed her the box.
She grinned and flipped open the lid, revealing a small stack of bright pink macarons. “Ooh. These were fantastic. Thanks.” Serena studied him for a moment. “Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make a pot of tea, and we can share.”
“I don’t want to interrupt more than I already have.” Micah gestured to her workspace. “That’s...amazing.”
Serena turned to look at the wheel. Her latest vase rose nearly three feet from the base to the top, curving into an almost perfect ovoid shape. She’d just finished fluting the lip for a little variety. When it dried, she’d carve shallow rings along the bottom quarter for texture. Overall, she was pleased with it. But amazing seemed a bit too much. “It’s coming along. But I’m basically finished. It needs to dry for a few days before I can do more with it. Can you wait a few minutes while I clean up?”
“Sure. Anything I can do to help?”
He was dressed for the bakery in dark jeans and a nice shirt. Nothing formal, but still. “I can’t promise you won’t get dirty.”
He shrugged. “One hundred percent machine washable.”
“All right.” Serena lifted the bat with her vase attached to it from the wheel. “Can you grab the pan around the wheel and empty it in the sink, then give it a rinse? It pulls apart into two pieces, and I don’t think there’s enough water in there that it would be a problem.”
She slid the vase onto a table and chewed her lower lip. To cover or not, that was the question. With a shrug, she reached for the plastic she’d used earlier that day and made a loose tent. It might take a little longer to get to the leathery stage she needed that way, but the last thing she wanted was for it to crack because it dried unevenly. The shape had turned out better than any of her previous attempts.
“Yuk.”
Serena turned, her gaze landing on Micah holding the two halves of the drip pan, the front of his jeans covered in water. She bit back a laugh. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m good. I think you might have overestimated my manual dexterity though.” Micah shook his head and took the pieces to the sink.
“The latch can be a little tricky. Sorry.” Serena took a sponge and wiped up the floor. She crossed to the sink and rinsed it out, ignoring the goose bumps she got standing next to him. After wiping down her wheel and workspace, she carried her sponge and tools back to the sink.
Micah held the clean, dripping halves of the water pan. “Where do I put these?”
Serena nodded to the towel stretched out on the counter. “I keep meaning to buy a drying rack. But the towel works just as well, so...”
“Good enough.” He smiled and set the pieces down then stepped out of the way. “Do you ever do custom orders?”
“All the time.” She spread her tools out on the towel and turned off the faucet, drying her hands on her jeans. “Need something?”
“Maybe? Have you been into the bakery? I haven’t seen you, but I’m not always out front.” Micah grabbed the box of cookies off the table.
“Not yet. It was on my list for tomorrow.” Serena held open the studio door and waited for Micah to step out. He smelled like a bakery should—that mixture of bread and sugar and coffee—it was better than any cologne she could imagine.
“Was?”
She winced and checked the lock. “I wasn’t actually going to visit for the bakery itself. I thought I might stop by and say hi to you.”
His eyebrows lifted and one corner of his mouth poked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Serena stepped into the house and gestured toward the sitting area. “Have a seat. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Micah followed her to the kitchen and leaned against the island. “You can’t just leave it there.”
“Sure I can.” She grinned and held her cobalt blue tea kettle under the tap. He was entirely too much fun to tease. And he could give as well as he took. That was a definite point in his favor. So many guys were willing to flirt and poke fun, but if a girl turned the tables, suddenly they got pouty.
Pouting was unattractive on a man. “Tell me about the macarons.”
He drummed his fingers on the island while she carried the kettle to the stovetop and turned on the gas. “Okay. First you have to understand there’s a difference between a macaron and a macaroon. The second one is basically a sticky ball of coconut. Also, for the record, gross. Now, a macaron, that’s a light, meringue-based cookie usually made with ground almonds. In this case, since they’re pink, we went with a strawberry jam as the filling. They’re one of the few cookies I enjoy playing with, because they have a lot of scope for improvisation.”
“You made these?” Hmm. He had said he helped out with the baking when needed. She’d assumed that meant his help was infrequent. “How often do you get in the kitchen?”
“Every morning, for sure. But then I pitch in throughout the day as needed, too. Sometimes we run low on an item or get a special order.” He shrugged. “It’s just the way it works.”
Serena took two mugs down from a cabinet and set them next to the stove. She turned and grabbed the small box she used to hold her tea from the shelf above, flipping it open before she set it next to the mugs. “Do you enjoy it?”
“I do. I like working with my brothers. Most days, at least. And it’s nice to know we’re brightening some people’s lives in the process of making a living.” He snagged a tea bag and dropped it into one of the mugs. “These are really nice.”
“Thanks. Mugs are always fun. They’re easy to throw—relatively—and the surface is easy to play with when it’s time to glaze. Something about the cylindrical shape seems to really make the mocha diffusion look like leaves.”
“Mocha diffusion?”
When the kettle began to whistle, she flicked off the gas and poured the boiling water over the tea bags. “Sorry. That’s a glazing process I frequently use. Basically, you drip an acidic solution onto the slip—that’s, effectively, liquid clay that you dip the dried-but-not-fired piece into—and the reaction makes these patterns.”
“Interesting.” He picked up his tea and turned toward the sitting area.
Serena laughed. “You say that, but your tone implies the exact opposite.”
Micah’s cheeks reddened. “No. It is interesting. But chemistry was never my thing. So you kind of lost me at ‘acidic’.”
“Whatever.” Serena sat, tucking her legs under her and cradling her mug in her hands. “You bake. That’s chemistry.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I guess.”
“Well, your macarons would suggest you do better than guess.” She bit into one of the airy cookies and sighed. They were the perfect blend of crisp and tangy. “What kind of jam did you use?”
“I made it.” He shrugged and pulled the teabag from his mug.
Serena pushed a ceramic bowl from the center of the coffee table toward him. “Just drop it in here.”
Micah shook his head. “That’s too pretty to use for trash. I can just—”
“It’s fine. They’re all dishwasher safe. I don’t bother with things that aren’t useful. Usually. I mean, I’ve made some fancy pieces and decorative ones. But they’re not my preference. I like to know things I’ve made are being enjoyed every day.”
“You’re sure?” At Serena’s nod, Micah dropped the teabag into the bowl. “Anyway, jam’s easy. It’s basically fruit, sugar, and citrus.”
“’Cause it’s acidic?”
He chuckled. “Touché.”
Serena grinned and nudged the box of cookies toward him. “Aren’t you having one?”
“I hadn’t planned to. I brought them for you.”
“I’m just greedy enough not to push. But I’ll leave them on the table in case you change your mind before I eat them all.” She eyed him over the top of her mug. “What are we going to do about this?”
“Do?”
He looked genuinely confused. It was adorable. She didn’t think she’d misread him though. After all, he was here with cookies for no other discernible reason. “This. You and me?”
Red crawled up his neck to his cheeks and his gaze darted away before slowly returning. “You’re very direct.”
She shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. But she also wasn’t going to apologize for something she didn’t consider a bad thing. Her entire life had been based on the premise that you went after what you wanted. And you did it with confidence. You didn’t survive in Hollywood otherwise. Sure, she wasn’t in L.A. anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that it was a reasonable way to live. “Does that bother you?”
“I’m not sure.” He leaned forward and set his scarcely touched tea on the coffee table. “I mostly came by to ask what it would run to have you make maybe twenty mugs, possibly some small plates, too, that we could use at the bakery.”
Oh. She took a long drink of tea, willing her stomach to stop twisting. She hadn’t misread a cue that badly in a long time. But he didn’t need to know that. No one did. Had it been so long since she was attracted to a man that she’d lost her ability to read their interest? “Did you have a design in mind?”
He shook his head. “My brother is tinkering with a logo on a mug—you know the plain white ones with something printed on them you can get everywhere? I wanted something more unique.”
“I can’t compete with that price.”
“Who’d want you to? That’s like asking us to sell a loaf of bread for the same buck fifty it costs at the grocery store. Different product, different cost. It’s just a matter of knowing what that cost might be.”
Serena tapped her finger on the side of her mug before naming a price.
Micah nodded. “That’s probably doable. Do you have any sort of advertising cards? Like a postcard or something you’d use at a craft show?”
She snickered before she could stop herself. “I don’t do craft shows.”
“Okay. I only ask because we figured we could set up a little corner telling about your work over near the mugs. We’re doing that for Grant Ward at the Beanery—he’s our coffee bean supplier. Anyway, we like to drive business to locals when we can. But it’s no biggie.” He stood, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ll get back to you next week. I like the idea, but I have to convince my brothers it’s worth the extra expense. How long would it take if we decided to go for it?”
“Just the mugs?”
He nodded.
She could probably throw five mugs a day before making herself crazy and needing to switch to something else. Then they’d need to dry. So she could start glazing the first day’s work after she finished the last batch. Then they’d need to be fired. “Maybe two weeks?”
“Nice. Thanks. I’ll let you get back to your evening.”
“Okay. I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t have to do that. Just enjoy your cookies.” He grinned. “I’ll be in touch.”
Serena frowned as he pulled the patio door closed behind him. Had she ever been so roundly rejected before in her life? She couldn’t drag up any memories of it happening if she had. So. First time for everything?
Or...since they hadn’t even known each other a week yet, maybe she’d have to find a way to change his mind.
5
“Let me get this straight. You go to her house, bring her cookies, she basically asks you out, and you leave with a quote for mugs.” Malachi shook his head. “I’m not sure we’re actually related.”
“Mal’s got a point. Even I wouldn’t have managed to screw that up.” Jonah tossed a slab of dough onto the counter and began to knead. “But the mugs sound cool. I like the idea of using a local artist.”
Malachi frowned. “They’re so much more expensive. And they’re not really an advertisement for the bakery.”
“Yeah, but they’re for people to use when they’re already at the bakery. Why do they need to be an ad?” Micah scooped batter from the giant mixing bowl into muffin tins as he spoke. Everything with Mal ended up being about the bottom line these days. “You’re awfully focused on the chance for profit—is there something
you’re not telling us?”
Malachi shook his head. “No. We’re fine. Better than fine, honestly. If that’s the route you two want to go, then go for it. Can she do plates, too?”
“I don’t see why not, but I didn’t specifically ask about those.”
“Guess you know your next assignment then.” Jonah punched the dough he was working on and dropped it with a plop into a bowl before covering it with a towel and setting it under the counter where it could rise. “And this time, if she asks you out, say yes.”
Micah rolled his eyes and continued to scoop the muffin batter into tins. She wasn’t going to ask him out—she hadn’t really in the first place. And even if she did, was that the kind of woman he wanted to date? He found her attractive. He wouldn’t deny it. But he was a reasonably traditional guy. His parents had seen to that, and he didn’t have a problem with it. Was it wrong to want to open doors and do the asking when it came to dates? Maybe not modern...but not wrong.
It was probably a moot point. After last night, she was unlikely to want to speak to him again, let alone try and ask him out. Which was too bad. She was the first woman to pique his interest in quite a while.
He carried the muffin tins to the ovens and slid them in before setting the timer. Two more trips got them all loaded. “I’m heading out front to open up. Don’t let the muffins burn.”
“When have I ever?” Jonah shook his head. “Oh. We’re getting rave reviews on the macarons, so think about some variations you can do on them next week. I might like to make them a standard.”
A standard? Micah pushed through the door out into the storefront and flipped on the lights. The empty display cases gleamed. They’d be full soon enough. The first batch of bread was nearly ready to come out of the oven, as were the cookies and muffins. Friday was a good day for one-off purchases. They’d get husbands stopping in on their way home from work to grab a loaf of bread for something their wife forgot. Or a box of muffins for a Saturday morning treat. Cookies for an evening get together.
He smiled as he measured fragrant coffee beans into the grinder and punched the button to get it started. Maybe he never imagined living in Idaho, owning a bakery with his brothers, but they were making it work. And it was a pretty good place to be.
Cookies & Candlelight Page 4
