by Jackie Lau
Instead of kissing her, I try a bite of the pumpkin pie, and it’s the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever tasted. The banana cream pie is delicious as well.
Sarah watches me as I eat, but she doesn’t try anything herself.
No, that won’t do.
I pick up a forkful of pumpkin pie and hold it to her mouth.
“I don’t need to try my own pie,” she says. “I know what it tastes like.”
“Indulge me.”
She parts her lips—God, her lips—and takes the bite of pumpkin pie from my fork.
I could feed this woman all day. I love watching her eat.
I have the impression she spends a lot of time at Happy As Pie and doesn’t get out much. I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to take her to fancy restaurants so she can enjoy something other than her own baking.
She cuts a slice of key lime pie, and rather than pushing the plate toward me, she picks up a forkful of the pie—a bite with a little whipped cream and lime zest. She holds it up toward me and leans in.
I lean in, too. Even if she were about to feed me turnip cake or liver, I would be eager to taste it.
I slide the key lime pie off the fork with my teeth. Tangy citrus explodes in my mouth. God, it’s good, and her face is so close to mine; I study her as I chew. She has a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose, which I never notice before, and her lips are full and pink, ready for my touch. Heat flares within me, and once I finish my pie, I cup the back of her head with my hand.
This. This is the moment.
“Sarah,” I murmur, and close the remaining distance between us.
“Sarah!” shouts someone else.
The next thing I know, there’s a stabbing pain in my upper arm.
Chapter 9
Sarah
I can’t believe it.
I just stabbed a CEO with a fork.
I’d fed Josh a bite of key lime pie with the offending utensil, and he leaned in, presumably to kiss me. But then someone shouted my name, jolting me out of my daze, and I startled, somehow stabbing Josh in the process.
Now, instead of kissing me, he’s clutching his upper arm.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I say.
Shit, shit, shit. This is something I’ve never had to deal with in the food business before. I’d never actually stabbed a customer until today.
I’ve screwed up everything. He isn’t going to kiss me now.
I give my head a shake. That’s not important. No, the important part is his business. He’s not going to want to work with someone who goes around stabbing people with dessert forks.
I jump up to get a first aid kit. Fatima is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes wide. “Did you just stab him with a fork?”
“I did. Why did you scare me?”
“I wasn’t all that loud. You were just off in your own world.” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I came out to tell you that the new mixer has arrived. You want to sign for it?”
I’d decided to buy a second thirty-quart mixer with the deposit Josh gave me—I’ve been meaning to get one for a while.
Now I’m afraid I’m going to have to refund that deposit.
“Thank you.” I manage a smile for Fatima—this isn’t her fault. As she says, I was off in my own world. How stupid of me.
But with Josh, I can’t seem to help it.
I sign for the mixer, grab the first aid kit from the kitchen, and hurry back to the shop. Josh isn’t at the table anymore, but there’s light coming from under the washroom door.
I knock. “I’m so sorry. Can I come in? I have a first aid kit.”
He opens the door for me then turns toward the mirror, examining the stain on his light gray Henley. I look closer. It appears the fork went through the fabric and drew blood.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, stepping toward him. I roll up the sleeve of his shirt, except the sleeve is too snug around his arm, and I can’t get as far as the stab wound.
The stab wound.
Jesus. This is such a mess.
“You should clean it.” I open up the first aid kit. “Here are some bandages. I’ll be just out there when you’re finished.”
“I thought you were going to play nurse?” He raises an eyebrow.
Is that supposed to be suggestive?
No, I must be imagining it. I just stabbed him with a fork, after all.
But here’s the thing about the washroom in Happy As Pie. It’s not huge, and Josh and I are rather close together. I find myself breathing heavily because of his nearness. Because I can’t even roll up the sleeve of his shirt due to his big arm muscles.
It might be hard to believe, but I’m usually a pretty cool and composed person. There are minor disasters at Happy As Pie on a regular basis, and I handle them all as required, but right now, I’m flailing.
And then Josh takes off his shirt.
My eyes widen at the sight of all that lickable skin.
Focus, Sarah.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to be focusing on.
“Why did you take off your shirt?” I ask stupidly. I’m staring at his pecs, his arm, the hint of definition in his abs...
Oh, God. Am I drooling? I’d better not be drooling.
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “So you can tend to my stab wound.”
“Right. Of course.”
He leans over the sink. I help him rinse the wound—the four little pinpricks on his arm— with water, then clean it with mild soap. There isn’t much blood. But still.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” I say.
“Stab a man who was about to kiss you, you mean?”
My breath rushes out. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much anymore, though it hurt quite a bit at the time.” He pauses. “Perhaps I should assume you aren’t interested in a kiss anymore? You’re allowed to change your mind.”
His voice is calm and collected, but he’s breathing heavily, too. I look up from his arm to his reflection in the mirror. He’s studying the wound, or maybe he’s studying my fingers on his skin.
I apply a bandage. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.”
His hand caresses my jaw, and he tips my face upward.
“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers, “and I’ll do it.”
I can’t get any words out of my mouth, but I nod vigorously.
He chuckles before dipping his head, and his lips brush mine. Once, twice...and then he’s kissing me, really kissing me. His lips coax moans from me—and I rarely moan, not even when I’m eating my chocolate tart, which is my very favorite of all the things I make. I’m not accustomed to moaning when a man kisses me, or when a man grabs my ass and molds me against his body.
My body is aflutter with sensation. Everything he’s doing is perfect. Utterly perfect.
I grasp his arms, which I’ve been dying to touch properly since I met him, and squeeze, and then it’s his turn to groan.
“Sarah?” he says. “Maybe don’t squeeze my right arm.”
“Right. The stab wound.”
“We can stop calling it a stab wound. It’s really not a big deal.” He removes my hand from his right arm and places it on his waist. I take the opportunity to scrape my fingernails over his abs and up his chest.
It’s been such a long time since I touched a shirtless man. I hope I’m not making a further mess of it.
When he pulls back, however, I can tell from the look in his eyes that I haven’t made a mess of it. It’s clear he wants more, and I don’t know what to do. I feel out of my depth.
Somehow, I manage to catch my breath and remember the reason for his visit today.
“There are four Nutella pies waiting to be tasted,” I say.
“Just a moment,” he murmurs. “It’s payback time.”
“You want to stab me?”
“I want to leave a mark on your skin.”
I inhale sharply at his words, and my skin prickles with awareness.
> He pulls aside the neckline of my T-shirt, then raises his head and looks me in the eye. When I nod, he sucks on the skin of my shoulder, and I can’t help but clench my thighs. Can’t help but think of him using his mouth elsewhere on my body. I arch into him as he continues to suck, then bites me lightly.
“There,” he whispers, sounding pleased with his handiwork. He pulls on his shirt. “Now let’s taste those pies.”
How can he sound so calm right now? How can he sound like he didn’t just give me a hickey in the washroom at my place of work?
Dazed, I follow him out into the shop. I cut a small sliver of each of the Nutella pies and explain to him what they are. Although I want to feed him the pie myself, after the stabbing incident, I figure I should stay away from forks. Too dangerous.
He tries all the pies without saying anything.
“Well?” I’m impatient.
He doesn’t reply but instead picks up a forkful of the Nutella and strawberry pie and feeds it to me. I close my eyes and savor it.
I really did a good job with that one, if I do say so myself.
“They’re all good,” he says, leaning close to me and sliding his hand up my leg. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to choose, though I definitely want the banana one. My father will love it.”
“Your father? I thought this was a work party.”
“My parents will be there too, I hope.”
Okay, my heart is like melted chocolate right now. He must be close to his parents if he’s inviting them to a work function. His parents are probably really proud of him, unlike my mother, who is still baffled by my life choices.
I push that thought aside.
“You decide,” he says. “Whatever ones you want to make, just as long as the Nutella-banana pie is one of them.”
“You’re the customer. You’re supposed to decide.”
“And I decide that I trust your judgment.”
“Even though I stabbed you?”
“An aberration, I’m sure.” He slides a hand up my thigh and presses a slow kiss to my lips. He tastes of Nutella, and it’s glorious. After the kiss, he rubs the spot on my shoulder where he gave me a hickey.
I need to say something before I melt into the floor. “Would you like some individual-sized tarts at the party, too? I was thinking chocolate hazelnut and maple hazelnut.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“I’ll make some for the next time we meet up.”
“What about mini savory tarts for appetizers?” he asks. “Like mini quiches, and...I don’t know what else. Or is that too much work?”
“Nope. You want to throw the ultimate Pi Day party, and I will deliver. Do you want to taste-test these ones, too?”
“If possible.”
We discuss the logistics of the party and make a list of all the pies and quantities needed, subject to change once Josh has the final numbers. We also discuss having a few salads so there’s something to eat other than pie.
Seeing the list of everything we need to make is a bit intimidating, but at the same time, I’m excited. I’m up for the challenge. We’ve already been making extra meat pies in preparation and putting them in the freezer. I’ll have to make up a detailed schedule with everything that needs to be done and figure out how many extra hours I’ll need from my staff.
Later. I’ll do it later, when Josh isn’t sitting next to me.
“I thought you might want to see my house,” he says.
“You want me to come over?” I yelp, suddenly imagining his bedroom.
“So you can check out my kitchen space and figure out where to put everything on the day of the party. No other reason.” He leans forward. “What do you have on your mind, Sarah?”
He knows.
He knows exactly what I’m thinking about.
“Why don’t you come over for dinner?” he suggests. “You can bring those tarts for dessert, and I’ll provide the main course. How does that sound?”
“It sounds amazing!” I exclaim.
I’m totally not playing this cool, but I can’t remember the last time a man cooked for me. I mean, I’m not a relationship kind of woman and...
What exactly does Josh want?
I’m not sure.
But I want to go to his house, and if he wants to cook for me, I’ll let him. I won’t deny myself this. Yes, it’s is a little complicated because he’s hired me to do a job, but we can be adults about this and manage to do both, right? I trust him.
Maybe I shouldn’t, because I haven’t known him very long, but I do.
“Friday?” he says.
“Sure. Friday’s good.”
He drops a kiss on my cheek and walks to the door. Before he heads out into the cold, he winks at me—his winks are devastating, and he knows it.
I just sit there in a daze.
“Hi, Sarah.”
Fortunately, when someone says my name this time, nobody gets hurt.
It’s Chloe, standing just inside the door. “I saw Josh Yu leaving.”
“I stabbed him with a fork and kissed him!” I blurt out.
My God, I’m going to scare off my new friend.
But she sits down across from me and helps herself to a slice of pie. “This is amazing. Nutella and strawberry?”
“Yeah.”
She starts shoveling it into her mouth. “So tell me how you stabbed him with a fork.”
I relate the whole embarrassing story, including the part where he took off his shirt and I “played nurse.” She keeps laughing, but in a friendly way, not like she thinks I’m a total loser and can’t believe anyone lets me out in public.
Finally, I tell her about our upcoming “date” on Friday.
“I haven’t been on a date in ages,” Chloe says, which surprises me. She’s very pretty and good-natured, and she’s probably never stabbed anyone with a fork. “Not with a man.” She pauses. “Or a woman.”
Ah. I feel I should acknowledge this in some way, let her know I’m totally fine with it, though I don’t know what the best thing to say is.
“Cool.” I smile at her. “I don’t date because I’m too busy with my business. And you?”
“Well, there’s that, and...” She shakes her head.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”
We’re not telling each other everything, but that’s fine.
We’re still becoming friends.
I gather my courage. “What’s your number? Maybe we could hang out sometime, outside of Happy As Pie. Perhaps Sunday night or Monday? Monday is my day off.”
Chloe grins as she gives me her number, and I grin back.
Chapter 10
Josh
I wish I had a clean shirt at the office.
Alas, I do not, so I will have to stay in this gray shirt with the small tear and bloodstain for the rest of the day. With any luck, no one will notice.
I sit down at my desk, and I’m about to pull up my e-mail when Amrita walks into my office. Everyone knocks except Amrita. She always just barges in.
“I want to talk to you about the Langston project... What the hell happened to your arm?”
Ugh, I should have known nothing would get past Amrita.
“I got stabbed with a fork.” I shrug. “No big deal.”
“You got stabbed with a fork?”
Amrita’s loud voice brings Clarissa and Eduardo, the VP of engineering, into my office.
Well, this is great. Just great.
“Amrita,” I say, noticing something different about her. “Is that a new ring?”
“Holly thought I should have an engagement ring, too.” She grins, then gives me a stern look. “Stop distracting me. What happened?”
“You know Sarah?”
“Who on earth is Sarah?”
It seems strange that my closest friend doesn’t know about the woman who’s been occupying an awful lot of my thoughts lately, but it’s true, I haven’t mentioned her to Amrita before.
“The wo
man I hired to cater the Pi Day party,” I say.
“Nearly everyone has RSVP’d,” Clarissa says. “I’ve been meaning to go over the numbers with you.”
“Not yet,” Amrita says. “I want to know what happened.”
I sigh. “I was taste-testing pies, and someone scared her, and she accidently stabbed me with a fork. That’s all. No big deal.”
“Why was her fork near your arm in the first place?” Eduardo asks.
“I bet you were feeding each other pie,” Amrita says. “Kind of romantic, Josh. You ask her out?”
I could refuse to answer and order everyone out of my office, but Amrita will bug me about this until she’s satisfied.
“I asked her to come over on Friday,” I say, “so she can see the party venue.”
Amrita rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that’s the only reason.”
“I invited her for dinner.”
“You’re cooking?” Eduardo asks, somewhat incredulously.
“I can cook,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“Huh.” Amrita puts her finger to her lips. “This really is sounding romantic. It isn’t like you, Josh.”
“Shut up.”
“And sure, maybe you can cook a little, but can you cook for a woman who cooks and bakes for a living?”
I hadn’t thought of that. It’s true; it’ll probably take a lot to impress Sarah.
And I do want to impress her.
I don’t let myself think too much about what this all means. I want to spend more time with her; I want a reason to take my shirt off around her that isn’t because of an injury.
And I want to take her to bed. I’ve been lying awake at night, thinking of how it would feel to move inside her, and I’m thrilled that I now know what it’s like to kiss her.
But although I want her physically, it’s more complicated than that.
Not that I’ll admit that to Amrita.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, my mind frantically trying to come up with something I could cook. Maybe I’ll just have to order something.
No. That’s the easy way out, and I don’t take the easy way.
Amrita starts rolling up the sleeve of my shirt. “I want to see this injury.”
“It’s covered in a bandage. Nothing to see.”
