For Love and Pastry

Chapter Two

After a restless night during which she spent more time awake than asleep, Clara gave up long before the first hint of dawn appeared on the horizon and made her way downstairs to the big kitchen in her shop. When Brittany stopped in as she left for her optometry practice - also hours before her first patient would arrive - Clara said nothing about the early start they were both getting on the day. Instead, she handed over a warm cranberry muffin and a platter of freshly-made lemon tarts, and held on to their goodbye hug much longer than necessary. Brittany, too, clung to their embrace, until they parted with whispered "I love you's," and a kiss.

When Sam arrived a little before nine, he stood in the doorway for a full minute, staring in surprise at the silver trays lined up on the counter, each one covered in row after row of tiny rosettes fashioned from lilac and white frosting.

After one glance in his direction, Clara quickly looked away. The shop wasn't open on Mondays, but for the two of them it was a busy day nonetheless, as they spent the time replenishing their usual stock of baked goods and sweet treats, and working on the special orders that provided a generous hunk of the business's profits.

"I thought I'd get a head start on the Matthews wedding," she said, striving for a casual tone that only managed to sharpen his suspicions. "Between the cake and all those little cupcakes they want decorated in the same style, we'll probably need about 500 of these. Do me a favor . . ." She nodded toward the counter. "Cover those trays and put them in the freezer so they can set."

"Okay." Not at all fooled, Sam gave a surreptitious sniff as he tied on a long, pinstripe apron that matched the one Clara wore. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he plucked a gauzy hairnet from a box on the shelf above the double sinks and pulled it over his thick, curly hair. "Cranberry muffins?"

Clara's head dipped lower as a warm tide of red filled her cheeks. "Yep."

"And . . ." He sniffed again, this time loud enough to make sure she heard. "Lemon tarts?"

She concentrated much harder than necessary on adding one perfect white petal to the outside layer of a delicate rosette. "Brittany likes to have them in the waiting room to offer with fresh coffee."

"Uh huh." He turned his back to her as he washed his hands with brisk efficiency. Using a simple white cotton towel to dry them, he leaned one hip against the sinks and grinned. "What did you do this time?"

Clara glared back. Sam Namboodiri was too smart for his own good and after more than a decade working together, knew her better than was sometimes comfortable. Just under six feet tall, he was fit and well-made, with broad shoulders and arms that rippled with muscle - qualities which he emphasized with what he called his 'uniform:' a snug white t-shirt with short sleeves that set just above his biceps, and fitted jeans that hugged his hips and long legs. The apron he wore over his clothes subtracted nothing from his appeal; the thin straps accented the width of his shoulders and when he served customers in the shop, the open back gave their smitten clientele a generous look at the taut curves of his denim-clad derrière. Even the hairnet looked like an accessory when he wore it, the gauzy white net highlighting his warm brown skin and liquid black eyes set amid an indecently thick fringe of lashes.

Clara, however, was immune to his good looks, especially when trying to bulldoze her way out of an uncomfortable conversation. The plastic rim of the frosting tube clattered as her hands dropped with force onto the table. "What makes you think I did anything?"

"Because Brittany doesn't apologize with pastry." Sam laughed as found the lids to the silver trays and fit them on, taking special care to avoid damaging the rosettes along the edges, and carried a stack of them into the walk-in freezer. His head popped out briefly. "So? What did you do?"