by Katie Allen
They worked their way through the cheddar basil and then the oatmeal bread and were halfway through the cinnamon raisin when Leah’s phone rang.
“I bet the cop is here,” she said, moving toward the swinging door even as she answered. “Hello!”
“This is Officer Castillo—”
By the time he said his name, she’d already made her way around the counter and had seen his uniformed figure through the glass front door. “Yes, I’m right here.” She opened the door, and he lowered his phone, slipping it into the holder on his belt. Standing back, she held the door open so he could come inside. “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen? The lights are on back there. I don’t like to turn the front ones on until we’re open, or I get people knocking on the door, begging for coffee and pastries.”
“That’s fine.” He smiled, and Leah blinked. Even with only the security lighting on, she could see that the man was very pretty. With his sharp cheekbones and eyelashes for years and square jaw, he looked like a police recruitment poster—or a cop-costumed stripper.
“Wow,” she said before she could stop herself. “Uh...you were really quick, I mean, getting here.” Her face heated a little at her extraordinarily awkward attempt to wiggle her way out of her potentially embarrassing moment, but she told herself to chill. After all, the guy looked really, really good. He had to be used to women getting all tongue-tied and flustered around him.
He looked past her and gave a slight nod. Following his gaze, Leah turned to see Hamilton had followed her to the front and was leaning against the counter. Glancing back and forth between the two men, Leah resisted the urge to fan herself. Normally at this time of day she was the only one at the bakery. Any guys were strictly imaginary—or Q, who didn’t count, since he was basically a baby, although he’d protest that designation. Now the hotties outnumbered her.
“This is Hamilton,” she said, breaking what could very easily turn into a stare-down. Although she understood Officer Castillo’s reasons, since she assumed that cops had to throw dominance around left and right in order to do their job, she wasn’t sure why Hamilton was getting all testosterone-y. “Anthony Hamilton. He owns the building and lives upstairs. Let’s go in back so we can actually see.”
Castillo broke the staring contest to smile at Leah, and she stared. He really did have an awfully pretty mouth. Immediately after she had the thought, she was horrified at herself. Pretty mouth? Was her brain a backwoods hillbilly? “After you,” he said, interrupting her self-castigation.
On her way back through the kitchen, Leah eyed the wheat loaves. The dough bulged over the top of the pan, faint stretch marks etched in the sides. After quickly but thoroughly washing her hands, she poked at one of the loaves. When the dent from her finger didn’t disappear, she slid the pans into the oven. A quick glance at the other loaves showed that they weren’t quite ready to be baked, so she turned back to the two watching men.
“Sorry.” Pulling a sheet pan off of the speed rack, she held it out toward Officer Castillo. “Sundae cookie?”
He eyed the chocolate, pecan, and caramel cookies with interest but didn’t take one. “Maybe later. Don’t want to get chocolate smears on my notebook.” He smiled, holding up his small notebook, and her gaze was drawn to his pretty mouth again.
As she moved to put the pan of cookies back, Hamilton cleared his throat. Confused, she looked over her shoulder at him. He was scowling, even more dramatically than usual.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You didn’t offer one to me.”
“Sorry.” She held the pan toward him. “Would you like a sundae cookie?”
“I’ll have one after we’re done here.” He gave Castillo a look that Leah couldn’t interpret. “When we have our coffee break.”
“Seriously?” she grumbled, sliding the pan back into the rack and regretting that she’d even offered the cop a cookie in the first place. “Why did you make me ask if you were going to say no?”
“It’s polite to offer.” He had a strange expression. If Leah had seen it on anyone else, she would’ve called it a pout. Hamilton, however, was too uptight to pout—at least she’d thought he was.
“Whatever,” she said under her breath before turning to Castillo, who appeared to be amused. She was glad that someone was. “What do you need to know?”
“Full name?”
“Leah McAllister Bautista.”
“Birth date?”
She rattled it off. They went through a number of questions like that until he had all of her personal information.
“What happened this morning?”
Leah explained what happened, from when Jude had appeared in the bakery to his angry departure.
“What’s his last name?”
“Whittier, I think?” Leah tried to picture his signature on the credit card receipt. “Maybe Whitman or Whitmore. I can check it before you leave.”
“Check it?”
“He always pays with a credit card.”
Castillo scribbled on his pad in the sideways manner of a left-hander. “Always? He’s been in your shop before, then?”
The understatement made her give a short laugh. “You might say that. He comes in every single day.”
Glancing up from his notepad, Castillo raised an eyebrow in a way that she wished her face could do. When she tried, all she managed was to either appear startled or slightly deranged. Seeing Castillo do it so perfectly made her decide to try practicing the single-eyebrow raise again. It was just such a good look.
When the silence stretched, Leah realized she’d been focusing on his eyebrow while he’d been trying to get her to elaborate. “He’s been stopping by the bakery every single day we’re open—so, Monday through Saturday—for over six months. Since he pays with a credit card, I can print off a report for you to get exact dates.”
“If you would, that could be helpful.” Castillo flipped the page in his notebook with his thumb. “Does he always buy something when he comes in?”
“Yes, and it’s always the same—a small drip coffee and a butter croissant.”
“How long does he usually stay?”
“Too long.” At her grumbled words, Castillo looked at her sharply. “Sorry. I’m just annoyed. It was such a productive day until he barged his way in here. He usually stays an hour or two, depending on who’s in the front.”
“Is that a long time?” Before she could answer, Castillo gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry. I have no idea. If I want something from a bakery, I come in and get it, and then leave.”
Leah tilted her head and considered the question. Jude hadn’t really stayed longer than some of her other customers. There was one student, Malia, who stayed all afternoon on Mondays, from noon until Leah kicked her out at closing time. “Not really. He’s just persistently chatty. Plus, he comes every day. That’s unusual. There are a few daily regulars, but they’re like you. Get in, get coffee and a scone, get out. Not many people can spend hours every single day hanging out here, as awesome as my bakery is.”
“He’s a predator.” Hamilton’s voice surprised her. After demanding to be offered a cookie he didn’t even want, he’d been quiet.
“Jude? A predator?” She made a skeptical sound. “I got more of a weird and lonely vibe from him—until this morning. This morning, he seemed weird, lonely and aggressively petulant.”
Castillo’s pen paused as he looked at her, and his eyebrows did that very interesting thing they did. She really needed to learn that. “Aggressively petulant?”
“That’s because he made up an entire relationship with you in his head. That’s what stalkers do. When you told him to leave this morning, it didn’t fit with his fantasy Leah, so he became angry,” Hamilton said, his voice so low it sounded like a growl.
“One, that’s gross that you think I’m in Jude’s head like that, and two, Fantasy
Leah sounds like a perverted Barbie doll.”
Hamilton looked at Castillo. “He leaves when Quentin Banks—her employee—comes in. Q is sixteen, but he’s big and looks older. The other day, Jude took off after I came up front.”
“That’s true.” Leah didn’t want to downplay the Jude situation, but she thought Hamilton was exaggerating her importance to Jude. “He’ll stick around when the teenage girls are here after school, but he bolts when Q arrives. Well, except for Saturdays, but Jude usually doesn’t try to bother me on Saturdays. He just lurks in the background.”
Castillo took this in with a neutral expression, although his pen was flying over his notebook page. “Where does he work?”
“I’m not sure.” Leah tried to remember but came up blank. “He just got a promotion, and he mostly works from home, but for the life of me I can’t remember what company—or even what industry. Sorry. Jude’s a very boring conversationalist. I mostly clean or do the books or something while he jabbers on.”
“He ever threaten you? Make you uncomfortable?”
“Not until this morning.” She didn’t even have to think about that before answering. “I would’ve remembered if he had. Threats and discomfort aren’t boring.”
“True.” Castillo gave her another smile as he flipped his notebook shut. His teeth were impressively white against his tan skin. He glanced toward the back door. “Keep that locked from now on, especially when you’re here by yourself.”
“I will.” Leah had already learned her lesson. No amount of Hamilton pop-ins were worth an unexpected visit from Jude. Besides, Hamilton was her landlord. He had a key. “Even if it gets to be five-thousand degrees in here.”
“Is the air-conditioning not working?” Hamilton asked, frowning.
“It is.” Waving toward the oven, Leah gave a shrug. “It’s just the nature of the beast. The oven’s on for four or five hours a day. Kitchens are going to be hot.”
“Call if he shows up again.”
That sounded awkward. “Even if he comes in the front and just wants a croissant?”
“Yes,” Hamilton said, making the cop give him a sideways glance.
“If he makes you uncomfortable, then call.” Castillo held out a business card. “I can come talk to him, even if he’s not trespassing. If he continues to bother you or if he gets more aggressive, I’d recommend getting a restraining order. Do you live close by?”
“A half mile or so north.” She took the business card from Castillo, and their fingers brushed. Hamilton made an odd, growly sound, but he didn’t say anything when she looked at him curiously.
“Do you drive to work?” Castillo asked.
“No, I walk. Unless I’m feeling lazy.”
“How early?”
“Three or so.”
Castillo grinned at her. “We have a similar schedule. I’m on the midnight-to-noon shift.”
“Twelve hours?” Leah’s shifts were even longer than that, but it was baking—and the place was hers. She couldn’t imagine doing police work for that long.
“I get four-day weekends, so it’s worth it. Back to your situation, you might want to drive for the time being.” He started toward the front. “Don’t hesitate to call if anything seems off. I’d rather respond to a hundred false alarms than show up too late when you really need me.”
“I will.” Grabbing a couple of sundae cookies off the parchment-lined sheet pan, she held them out. “Don’t forget your cookies. Would you like some coffee for the road, too?”
He gave her a friendly smile as he accepted the cookies. “That would be great. Thank you.”
Hamilton was right on her heels as she followed Castillo to the front, and he leaned against the counter behind her as she logged in to her register and found Jude’s last purchase. “Whittier,” she said triumphantly once she found it. “Judah L. Whittier. I actually remembered it correctly.”
As Castillo scribbled it down in his notebook, Leah poured him a coffee. Popping a top on the to-go cup, she turned to hand it to the officer, but Hamilton was in the way. She attempted to give him the Castillo eyebrow raise, but he just looked annoyed and a little puzzled.
Not wanting to get into the reasons for his weirdness—his more-than-usual weirdness—she wiggled around him so that she could give Castillo the coffee. As she handed it over, she noticed that his hands were otherwise empty.
He gave her a sheepish smile. “The cookies were really good. I’m going to have to come back for more of those when you’re open.”
At the mention of “open,” Leah glanced at the clock and groaned. She only had fifteen minutes before people would be coming in for their morning coffee and pastry fix. “Today is going to suck.”
“Could be worse,” Castillo said as he headed for the door.
Leah couldn’t argue with that. Having to run back and forth between baking and helping customers was a minor complaint. “Thank you for coming, Officer Castillo.”
“Thank you for the cookies and coffee.” With a lift of his coffee and another smile, he left the bakery. The door had barely closed before Leah was charging toward the back.
“How long can you stay?” she asked, checking the oatmeal bread as she passed it. It was almost ready to bake. “I will put extra cream inside your filled cupcakes if you can stick around until seven.”
“I can stay until seven.” The steady, even way he answered calmed her, and she took a deep breath before letting it out in a rush.
“Thank you. For that, you can have two sundae cookies and as much coffee as you can drink.”
He gave her a strange look, one she couldn’t interpret and didn’t have time to puzzle out, so she ignored it. For the next hour, they shuffled bread and pastries through the oven, with Leah running up front every time someone walked in and the doorbell sounded. At six-fifty, she gave Hamilton a gentle shove toward the front, following close behind him.
“That was less hellish than I expected,” she said as she handed him a coffee spiked with enough sugar and cream to kill a horse. “Thank you for staying. You’re a quick study.”
“It’s not hard to do it right,” he said, taking a drink and getting that blissful look she loved. “If you weigh the ingredients correctly, mix it correctly, bake it for the correct amount of time, and wait until it is the correct temperature, it will turn out well. Baking is all about math and science and following directions.”
The front was empty of customers for the moment, and there were eight minutes left on the chocolate croissants currently in the oven, so Leah leaned against the counter and allowed herself to breathe. “It’s not all math and science. There’s art in there, too.”
“Decorating cookies, you mean?” He bit into a sundae cookie, and his eyes rolled back for just a fraction of a second. That tiny expression of ecstasy made Leah flush with unexpected heat. Tipping her head down to hide her red face, she ordered herself to get it together. She needed to stop having these horny reactions to Hamilton, especially when he was blissing out over food.
“Sure,” she said, dragging her brain back to their conversation. “But there’s also knowing when to break the rules to create a better product. Or, with bread, knowing the best moment to put it into the oven so that it’s not over-or under-proofed. That kind of thing isn’t math. It’s instinctual.”
“It’s experience, not instinct.” He took another bite of cookie and chewed silently, swallowing before he spoke again. Leah almost laughed. God forbid that Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton III would talk with his mouth full. “It all comes down to the correct formula and methodology. Getting sloppy in the name of art won’t make anything better.”
“Art isn’t sloppy.” He gave her a look, and she amended her statement. “Okay, sometimes it is. In baking, though, it doesn’t need to be sloppy. Look at the beautiful cookies you made. Those weren’t sloppy, but they were definitely art.”
He bit into his last cookie, and Leah reached over to break off a piece and shove it in her mouth. His expression was so aghast that she burst into laughter and had to put her hand over her mouth so that sundae cookie crumbs didn’t spray everywhere. She had a strong feeling that Hamilton would not appreciate damp cookie crumbs dotting his face. That image made her laugh harder until she almost choked.
Finally, she got herself under control and took a sip of her coffee. Hamilton was studying her with an odd look on his face, and his unreadable expression reminded her of her earlier confusion. “Sorry. I’m better now. So, Officer Castillo seemed nice.”
Immediately, his eyebrows lowered, and his lips dropped into a frown. “He doesn’t need to be nice. He needs to take care of the Jude situation.”
“He can’t be both?”
“No.” His scowl deepened. “If he’s flirting, he’s distracted and not doing his job.”
“Flirting?” Leah was glad she didn’t have any coffee in her mouth at the moment, or she would’ve done a spit-take. “There was no flirting.”
His eyebrows twisted into a skeptical shape that was annoyingly close to Castillo’s expression from earlier. “There was flirting. You offered him cookies.”
“I offer everyone cookies.” She spread her arms out in a gesture that encompassed the world, or at least her corner of Denver, and she almost spilled her coffee. “That’s my vocation and my avocation. In fact, it’s almost a personal, irrepressible tic at this point in my life. I can’t not offer someone cookies, not when they’re sitting right there.”
His snort was either amused or disbelieving. “He gave you his phone number.”
“To call if Jude shows up again.” Her eyes rolled so hard she was surprised she didn’t lose them in the back of her head. “It’s his job. If that’s what you consider flirting, you must think everyone is coming on to you.”
“Not to me,” he muttered, his face turned down toward his coffee.
“What?” She wasn’t about to let him get away with such an intriguing and, at the same time, annoyingly cryptic comment. “Are you saying women don’t come on to you? Because I’m going to have to call baloney on that.”
