Page 37 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

He walks into the kitchen and places the bags on the only clear corner of the counter. He pulls out the containers and opens them revealing a hearty meal. The scent of grilled chicken, rosemary potatoes, and warm bread fills the room. My stomach growls loudly enough to embarrass both of us.

Jake looks pleased. “When did you last eat?”

“I sampled a lemon-blueberry muffin at two.”

“That isn’t a meal.”

“It contained fruit.”

“So does pie.”

“Sit down.”

I point the piping bag at him. “Careful.”

Jake holds up both hands. “Would you please sit down?”

“That was better.”

I finish the row of muffins, place the tray in the cooler, and join him at the small table near the back window. For ten full minutes, he does not mention the flickering lights, my production schedule, or anything else that might need fixing. He simply eats with me and listens while I explain why the apple crisp cheesecake muffins required an additional batch. And, whyat that point, I gave up on trying to control my twitching eyelid. Jake says nothing.

“You’re being very quiet,” I say.

“You told me listening was important.”

“It is.”

“You sound suspicious.”

“I don’t trust sudden improvement.”

Jake takes a drink. “I can start offering unsolicited advice if that makes you more comfortable.”

“No, thank you.”

“Then eat your potatoes.”

I should object to his command. Instead, I eat the potatoes.

After dinner, Jake ties on the pink Sweet Treats apron without being asked.

I stare at him.

“I’m here to help.”

“With what?”

“Whatever you tell me.”

The words warm me more than they should. I hand him a tray of cooled muffins and show him how to drizzle the caramel. His first attempt leaves one muffin nearly submerged and the next almost bare.

“You’re strangling the bottle,” I tell him.

“It isn’t cooperating.”

“It’s caramel, not construction adhesive.”

“I have better control with adhesive.”