Page 14 of Burning Rivalry

“You’re not just playing it up to make me feel better?” I asked while carefully filling a piping bag.

“Obviously, if I were playing it up to make you feel better, I would’ve told you his dick fell off.”

My laughter filled the room. “How would you know unless you saw for yourself?”

“Ew. I’m not trying to see that.”

Laughing felt good. It loosened the tightness in my chest. “What I wouldn’t give to go to brunch and sit with you and a bottomless mimosa,” I said with a sigh.

“Well, why can’t we?”

Piping onto parchment paper, I snorted. “There’s those pesky thousands of miles between us.”

“So? I’ll come to you.” I snorted again, and she replied, “I’m serious. I’ve got tons of miles saved up and tons of vacation time too. I’ll come out to see you… make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

I didn’t get the chance to reply when a sharp question rang out, making me jump. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The ladyfinger I was piping turned into a zigzag while my head snapped up to find Sebastian standing with his arms folded, staring daggers at me. The athletic clothes he wore told me he was in the middle of a workout when something brought him here.

“I get a text telling me somebody disarmed the alarm on the one day a week we’re closed, and I find you fucking around in the kitchen,” he growled. Shit. I hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh my God,” Hadley whispered in my ear. “Is that him? He sounds hot.”

Not what I needed to hear. “Gotta go,” I murmured, ending the call before she could beg me to kiss him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, staring at the parchment where, until he’d come in, I’d been piping perfect ladyfingers.

“Building a space shuttle. Isn’t it obvious?” Blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes, I said, “Working on an idea.”

“You and your ideas are going to give me a fucking heart attack.” He threw his hands into the air. “I’m on my way to meet with my trainer, and the next thing I know, I’m pulling a U-turn to haul ass over here.”

“Sorry about that.” I couldn’t say I was sorry to see him, even if that wasn’t my goal and showing up here. I had never seen him looking this casual. The sight of his thick calves and defined forearms revealed by his shorts and T-shirt did strange, unexpected things to my insides.

It was a good thing he decided to be a prick since it reminded me who I was dealing with. “This kitchen isn’t your testing ground, and I’m not wasting money on ingredients for you to fuck around with.”

“No, you would rather spend money on ingredients baked into desserts fewer and fewer people order all the time,” I fired back before I could help it.

Well, it had to come out eventually.

“I’m sorry to put it that way,” I babbled while he sputtered, fighting to find something to say. “But you might as well hear it now before you open the new location. You need to change things up a little. You’re already losing money when it comes to that part of the menu.”

“Anything else you would like to tell me about how to run my business?” With his hands on his hips, he looked me up and down, his steely eyes narrowed. “You seem to be such an expert.”

We had a problem much bigger than the warmth growing low in my belly. When he moved just right, his broad chest was more clearly revealed beneath his cotton shirt, and it kept drawing my attention. That was an issue, for sure.

The real problem was knowing he would never pay attention to anything I had to say now, in this mood. I could defend myself, I could present numbers, and he wouldn’t give a damn. That was why I blurted out the last thing I had intended to share. “I don’t believe in waste. Wasting food is something I make sure never to do if I can help it. I spent too long never knowing where the next meal would come from to take anything for granted now.”

It wasn’t what I intended to do, but it was the perfect thing to say. I watched while much of his anger drained away.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he eventually grunted.

“It’s not something I talk about.” I stared down at the row of ladyfingers. They were losing volume, thanks to the fact that I still stood here without putting them in the oven. “With that in mind, I’m going to bake these because I’ve already prepared them. Just… trust me for once. I haven’t steered you wrong yet.”

He didn’t say anything at first, settling for a jerk of his chin. I transferred the parchment to a baking sheet, then slid it carefully into the preheated oven and set the timer. Why did it always have to feel like I was at war with this man?

“I wasn’t raised with money, you know.” His sudden admission startled me, though I did my best not to show it as I turned back toward him. He was leaning against the prep table now, arms folded, ankles crossed. “Nonna… she grew up very poor. To tell you the truth, my favorite dishes of hers are the ones she pulled together in the early days of her marriage before my grandfather’s restaurant took off.”

“I didn’t realize your grandfather had a restaurant.”