Chapter Three
They didn’t open for business, but Penelope had the bakers stay. They still had orders to fulfill even if they weren’t waiting on customers. The door was slowly being repaired and the only heat in the building came from the bank of ovens. Every now and then cold air swirled through the room nipping at her ankles and toes.
She concentrated on the modeling chocolate she manipulated. It was supposed to be petals for roses, but the candy was too dry and the flowers kept breaking. She bit back a curse when yet another crumbled in her hand. There had to be a way to salvage this batch of candy. The timer hummed then buzzed. Thankful for the distraction, she set her work aside and grabbed a set of oven mitts. Shrill chiming split the air. The dang phone hadn’t stopped ringing either.
“Hot swinging,” she hollered to no one in particular. The last thing she wanted to do was burn one of her workers. The oven door slammed shut and she carefully made her way to the cooling rack and set down the tray of cakes.
“Penelope. Phone.”
“I’ll take it in my office.” She tossed the mitts on the rack and headed for the swinging doors ten steps away. She could use a break from her task.
It was much cooler back here, a welcome respite from the heat of the kitchen. Her footsteps echoed on the flat concrete. She fumbled with the doorknob on the second door on her left, walked in and kicked it closed.
“Hello.” The greeting came out a bit breathless.
“Hey… Am I catching you at a bad time?”
A smile curved her lips at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “No, I was just pulling something out of the oven. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to hear a friendly voice.”
“Why? What happened? You did it, didn’t you?”
“Did what?”
“The nasty with that detective.”
“I did not!” Moira screeched.
Penelope chuckled. Her friend had been playing hard to get with a homicide detective, but hadn’t done more than kiss the man. “Maybe not, but you want to.”
“This is not why I called you.”
“Okay. So what else is happening?”
“Somebody took pot shots at me.”
Penelope tensed. She knew her friend’s work was sometimes dangerous, but to hear her casual statement of “pot shots” left her a little annoyed. “As in shooting at you with a gun?”
“Yeah.”
“You know, you and Violet will be the death of me one day as I sit here in my little bakery and succumb to a heart attack because my best friends are stupid!” Penelope yelled the last part. “I swear you do this for fun. You couldn’t find a nice safe job somewhere. Not that that worked well for Violet. What do you two do, take out ads at Villains-R-Us with eight by ten glossies of yourselves? And asking, no, begging you to be careful is just... Are you even listening to me?” She huffed. “Do I need to come down there and—” A knock interrupted her tirade.
“What?” she called, holding the phone away from her mouth.
“There’s a delivery here and Avery’s dealing with the door guy,” a feminine voice called.
“I’ll be right there.” Penelope returned to the phone. “Moira?” She listened to the background noises on the other end. Papers rustled and a muttered curse. “Moira!”
“Yeah. What.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “Would you stay out of trouble and not get shot at?”
“There’s no fun in that. So tell me, how is Avery?”
That was a good question. She twirled the curly cord around her finger as she leaned back in her chair.
“Pens?”
“He’s fine.”
More rattling and shuffling carried through the earpiece. What was Moira doing?
“Ya know, Pens, I’ve only talked to Avery on the phone when I’m looking for you, but I think I like your assistant more than I like the guy you were dating. But, hey, that’s just my observation.”
A loud snap startled her. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Moira asked.
“That sound.”
Hesitation. “Oh, nothing. I have to go, but I’ll call you later.”
“You better.” Penelope dropped the phone in its cradle, then rubbed her temples. She knew her BFF was up to something, but she’d have to wait for a phone call. She was tempted to call Violet just to see what she had going on.
She grasped the watch on her wrist. Darn, the thing wasn’t working again. It was probably too early to call her friend anyway. That was another thing. Why did Moira ask about Avery? Ever since she told Moira and her other best friend, Violet, about that New Year’s Eve kiss they both insisted the mystery man was Avery.
Penelope doubted that. Her assistant, Avery, maintained his professionalism. Well, it did seem like he was flirting with her earlier, but she was still coasting from her sex dream. She stood, walked to the door, twisted it open and stepped into the hall.
No additional cold air. No rumble of a diesel engine idling or the squeak of a pallet jack. Had she missed the delivery? She listened to the sounds of the bakery a little longer. A short bark of laughter drifted above the whine of a power drill. The clang of metal against metal told her everything was normal.
She moved forward and slowly entered the bakery kitchen. Heat enveloped her in its warm embrace. “Shay, I thought you said there was a delivery?”
“Front counter,” the young woman said. “I’d grab it, but I’m elbow deep in cheesecake.”
“I can get it.” Penelope zigged and zagged her way through the maze of tables and pushed through the low swinging doors. The drone of the power drill ceased. After all the noise, the silence was unsettling.
A faint mint smell wafted in the air. She sniffed and stepped forward.
“Penelope, stop,” Avery ordered.
She stood still. Footsteps scratched across the floor, followed by the scrape of something metallic. Something brushed her face and she held her breath.
A warm chuckle slid down her spine and tightened her nipples. She gasped. She knew that sound. In her excitement, she forgot Avery’s order not to move and stepped forward. Something rounded but sharp grazed her temple leaving a burning sensation in its wake.
“Penelope.” Equal measures of exasperation and concern clung to his smooth baritone.
Metal clattered to her right. She pressed her fingertips to her head and they came away damp. “Great. Just great,” she muttered.
“Is she okay?” This came from across the room.
“Yeah.” Avery stepped close, his hands on her shoulders.
When he leaned closer, she held her breath. Awareness crackled through her veins. She clutched her hands at her side. What was wrong with her? Being this close to Avery had never produced this type of reaction before. Why now? She slowly exhaled. It was probably all that pent-up sexual energy and nightly erotic dreams didn’t help.
“Why did you move?”
“I thought someone else was here,” she said. His fingers brushed her hair from her face.
“You should put antiseptic on that and keep it covered.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Who did you think was here?”
She opened her mouth and quickly closed it. Heat cruised her cheeks. It was bad enough she smacked her head, but if her mystery man was here and witnessed the whole thing she’d die of embarrassment. “Shay said I had a delivery.”
“Avoidance?”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Uh-huh. Stay put.”
She touched her head again.
“And leave that alone. You’re worse than a two year old sometimes,” Avery admonished. Plastic rattled and the sound grew closer. “Hold this.”
She held out her hands and was mildly surprised when something heavy rested on her palms. She firmed her grip, plastic rustled. Balancing the gift with one hand, she explored with the other. The container wasn’t that big. No longer than a loaf of bread and about twice as wide. Maybe a basket of som
e sort. Through the thin plastic, her fingers discerned the shape of cylindrical bottles and something scrunchy.
Gentle pressure built where she’d scratched her head. Something cool dabbed at the cut, a moment before it erupted into fiery pain. She sucked a breath through clenched teeth and jerked away. Avery held her fast.
“What the heck was that?” she demanded when he finally released her.
“That was antiseptic,” he replied a hint of amusement in his voice. “Did that hurt?”
“Worse than hitting my head. Don’t ever do that again.” She frowned, tried to swipe at her head and he grabbed her wrist.
“Then next time I say be still, do it.”
A shiver of desire tiptoed down her spine at the quiet command. How often had she heard those words uttered in her dreams? She swallowed several times, hoping to regain what little control she had over her errant thoughts.
“What’s that look?”
“What look?”
“The one on your face.”
“Why don’t you tell me? It’s not like I can see my own expression,” she quipped.
Avery laughed. “Right. Right.”
She tilted her head. “So what’s in the basket?” She brought it closer to her nose and sniffed. The faint scents of lavender and mint wafted to her nostrils. “It smells divine, but I doubt it’s edible.”
“No, it isn’t edible. Seems you’ve got everything you need for a luxurious bath.”
Pleasure stole through her. “How nice.” A long soak in the tub when she got home, would be the perfect end to her day. “Is there a card?” An envelope was pressed into her hand after the basket was removed.
Curious, she slipped the small stiff paper from the envelope and drifted her fingers over the front. Again, tiny raised dots met her sensitive fingertips.
Enjoy something steamy.
A flush heated her cheeks. There wasn’t a name at the bottom. She extended the card toward Avery. “Is it signed?”
“Sorry, P. Just another sandwich drawing.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’m guessing all of this is leading to some sort of big reveal with Valentine’s Day being what, three days away?”
“Yes, three days.”
“All right.” She tucked the gift under her arm and carefully made her way to the swinging double doors. “Tell James I’ll meet him in the back.”
“Will do.”
****
Sam was waiting for her when she arrived home nearly an hour later. Quick falling snow left the roads hazardous and the driving was slow. By the time James escorted her into the welcome warmth of the foyer, she was more than ready to try out her new bath stuff.
“Penny.”
She stifled a groan. “Who let you in here?”
“Um…some young lady. I threw myself on her good graces.” He cupped her shoulders and leaned down.
Penelope shifted, raised her hands and shoved him away. “I want you out of here.” She reached a hand out before her. “Mrs. Tilman,” she called. “Mrs. Tilman!” The woman was always around and if she let him in the house, they were going to have words. Wait. Did he say young lady?
“Honestly, Penny. Can’t we just let bygones be bygones?”
Footsteps beat a hasty staccato on the wood. A waft of vanilla teased her nostrils. Let bygones be bygones indeed.
“I’m more than willing to let that happen, but you keep turning up.”
“Miss Penelope.” The voice was young and a bit breathless. “My mother got called away and told me to stay until she returned.”
“Kassie.” Kassie was Mrs. Tilman’s youngest daughter and she often helped when she was home from school. “Oh, no. Is everything all right?” Penelope allowed the young woman to help her from her coat.
“Oh, yes. My brother locked his keys in the car and the company won’t release the vehicle without her signature.”
“And what’s the story with...my guest?”
“I—he arrived shortly after mom left,” Kassie said, her tone a bit strained.
Sam huffed. “I’m standing right here.”
“I’m aware of where you’re standing. You’re wearing that hideous leather jacket and Sheila’s perfume. Did you want something in particular or were you just in the neighborhood?”
“I heard about the break-in at the bakery and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The lack of concern in his voice was underwhelming and did little to convince her that he was there for her well being. No, something else was on his agenda. “I’m just fine. You may leave.”
Shuffling feet reached her ears. “Kassie, please show Sam the door. He has more than overstayed his welcome.”
“I come out of the goodness of my heart and you treat me like trash.”
“I seriously doubt you’ve got a heart. Why are you really here, Sam? We both know I’m not your ideal woman, let alone work in a profession suitable for a man of your intellect.”
Kassie’s muffled cough almost covered her blurted giggle.
“You are just ungrateful.”
“I’ve been called worse. Leave my home and never return.”
“You’ll regret throwing me out.”
“Actually, Sam, I feel pretty damn good.”
Cold blasted the entryway and she shivered. Grumbling drifted to her ears, then Kassie’s light tread and Sam’s heavier one. The door slammed shut and warmth returned to the foyer.
“I’m sorry, Miss Penelope. I had no idea—”
She held up a hand cutting off the apology. “It’s okay.” She allowed Kassie to lead her into the dining room. “How’s school?”
“I got the surgical residency at the hospital.”
“Fantastic news. We should celebrate.”
“Sleep is celebration for me.” They paused and Kassie placed Penelope’s hand on the back of a rounded wood chair. “That’s a beautiful basket and it smells heavenly.”
Penelope felt for the table, placed her gift on the surface and sat down. “A gift. I have a secret admirer.”
“Oh, how romantic.” Awe filled the other woman’s voice. “Mom told me about your mystery man from New Year’s Eve. Do you think he sent this to you?”
“I’m not sure. For a second I thought he was in the shop today and smacked my head on something.”
“Oh, dear.”
She chuckled. “I’m fine.”
“How does Avery feel about the gifts?”
“Avery?”
“He goes all soft when you’re in the room.”
“He seemed happy about it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And how do you feel about Avery?”
The question caught her off guard, but the answer must have shown on her face.
“Interesting. I’ll bring your dinner. Mom made meatloaf. Said you might need some comfort food this evening.”
Penelope’s lips curved upward. “She’s right.”
“I’ll go check on dinner.”
“I’ll be in my office. I need to check something Avery mentioned earlier.” The familiar scent of orange, lemon and various wood undertones helped to ease the tension from her body. She didn’t need her cane here. Each room held a different scent and texture. The furniture seldom moved and she had a housekeeper/live-in assistant who helped with the day-to-day running of her home, thanks to her parents.
That was the only way they were going to allow her to live on her own. She was grateful for her parents, but sometimes they worried too much, just like her best friends. The only way she could prove to any of them that she was capable of living a full and productive life was to work in the family business, PB & J Bakery.
Dinner could wait a moment. She wanted to check a few things on her computer. With ease, she moved down a hallway and twisted the knob on the third door to her right. As a rule, doors were left closed. She was less likely to run into the wood that way.
She crossed the threshold. Aged leather and fruitwood greeted her. Six paces to the high back exec
utive chair. She eased into the seat and swung it around until her legs were beneath the desk. Carefully, she skimmed her hands over the surface. Sometimes Mrs. Tilman liked to leave mail scattered on the desk. Her way of keeping Penelope on her toes. Finding none, she reached for the small headset beside the keyboard and slipped it over her head.
Using voice commands, she opened her web browser and listened as each email recipient was read to her. She rolled her eyes at the numerous messages from dating sites. How did those keep getting into her inbox, when she seldom surfed the Internet?
“Delete last five messages,” she said. “Continue.” She blinked. “Rewind and replay.” That couldn’t be right. She listened again, turning the volume up.
“To proceed with this transfer, please re-type your security code. If you’ve received this message in error, please...”
Penelope snatched off the headset and scrambled for the phone. If there was anyone who could help figure out and fix this mess, it would be Violet. She hastily punched in the numbers and listened to the ringing on the other end. “C’mon. C’mon. Pick up.” The phone was answered on the fourth ring. “Violet? Are you busy?”
“What’s up, P? You sound upset.”
“Uh, just walked in the door and then had to have Sam thrown out. Then I get an email from the bank about a transfer. I don’t know what’s going on. You know my bank isn’t user friendly.” The other woman chuckled at that. Penelope listened. Clicking. She frowned, trying to decipher the sound, ahh fingers hitting a keyboard came through loud and clear.
“I think I got it. Someone has been trying to access your account. Almost transferred all the bakery’s capital.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Don’t get your thong in a twist. I canceled it and changed your password. Good that you called me.”
Relief sagged her shoulders and she exhaled. “Thanks, Vee. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anytime, P. Happy to help.” Now that the disaster had been averted, her friend didn’t sound so cheery.
“What’s the matter with you? Lemme guess. You and Francis aren’t bumping pelvises anymore?”
“Is ‘bumping pelvises’ a technical term? Or something they teach you in the baking business?” She sighed. “Why is there this sudden interest in my love life? And can you tell me when it became a federal offense to accept a damn cup of coffee? It wasn’t even a large.”
The Baker's Touch Page 3
