Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
He watches me with that combination of amusement and heat I’m beginning to equate with him. “The ganache is my take on Mexican hot chocolate, so it has cinnamon, cacao and chilis, plus a few other extras. I was experimenting with different fillings last night. You like that one?”
“I don’t like them,” I correct, grabbing all the similar-looking ones so he can’t whisk them away. “I want to be in a committed relationship with these cookies.”
“Macarons.”
“Fine. Fancy cookies. I want to wear obnoxious matching sweater vests with them, argue politics with their parents at Sunday dinner and, of course, eat them until someone has to air-lift me out of this cabin because I’m too big to fit through the door. In case you didn’t notice, I have a thing for spicy and sweet. Also, salty and sweet. Sweet and sour. You get the picture.”
“I’m starting to. I’m making profiteroles tomorrow.”
He makes that word sound so sexy. “I actually know what that is because the teachers’ lounge turned into a Great British Bake Off fan club for a few years and I couldn’t avoid it. You should be on a show like that. I can’t believe you made these.” I shake my head in wonder. “You don’t work at the ranch, so is this what you do for a living? Are you a chef or professional baker or something?”
How he found time to put together this entire feast in between taking care of me and the M&M sisters—who each got some little nibbles of chicken with their dinner and are now snoring on cushions beside the wood stove—is anybody’s guess.
“It’s just a hobby. Cooking and baking help me think. Give me something to do with my hands.”
There are so many things I could say about what else he could do with his hands, but I restrain myself because I really want to eat whatever he’s making tomorrow.
“So, you’re not a baker,” I say after I swallow one last macaron and push the plate away. That still leaves assassin or bodyguard with killer poodles as potential career options. “Maybe you should think about it. If these were available at my local bakery, The Twisted Tart, they’d sell out in the first hour. Natasha, Seamus’s sister-in-law, owns that. Do you know her?”
He glances away, the tension subtle but noticeable. “I’ve met her, but I don’t know her that well. I’m not from around here.”
I already knew that, so there’s no reason the information should disappoint me. It was one of the first things that attracted me to him. Just because he’s still here two months later doesn’t mean he’s planning on staying. It’s not like I want to date the man. I don’t even have a reliable booty call, because I can’t promise my booty will be reliable in return and it doesn’t seem fair.
But you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him for months.
I could say it was safe to pine for and fantasize about him, since he was gone and I thought I’d never see him again. But it would be a lie, because he’s right here in front of me and my desire is still as strong as ever. I have to keep reminding myself that this is a very temporary forced-proximity situation that neither one of us invited or asked for. Nothing more.
My next question comes out more sharply than I intend it to. “Where are you from then? Where’s the ranch? Where do you call home?”
His forehead crinkles attractively. “It’s west of here, and I haven’t settled in one particular spot yet, since I traveled a lot for work. California. Canada. Istanbul. Paris.”
I swallow and reach for my water, my throat suddenly dry. “That’s a lot of traveling. Are you an airline pilot?”
“No.” He presses his lips together. “Actually, I’m not anything at the moment. I’m taking a break from work for a while. Doing some soul searching.”
“Baking and thinking.” I try to nod sagely, secretly impressed with how polite I’m being despite my frustration. I hate when people sound like they’re answering questions but they’re evading instead. Why is he being so vague? “I’m on sabbatical myself. Six more months before I’m back in the classroom. Maybe I should take up baking. I think we can all agree that I’m already fantastic at eating.”
“Why are you on sabbatical?”
I make a buzzer sound. “Bzzzt. I don’t have to give you any more details, Mystery Michael. Do you know why? Because I’ve been spilling my guts over this delectable meal, and you haven’t been returning the favor. I actually think I know more about your uncles and your mother than I do about you. You deflected my work question, and when I asked where you’re from, you said ‘to the west.’ Practically everything on this continent is to the west of us. So, I can only assume you’re either a Lord of the Rings character or a secret agent. I don’t even know why you’re here for this anniversary party or who invited you. You could be doing anything from dating a Finn to working on one of Tanaka’s satellites.”