A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,95

Nor did she care, as long as one of them worked. “I also have several other cakes to be baked and decorated, but I’ll come down early to do the detailing on those.”

“Come down?” Griffin glanced upward just as she turned back to look at him, then lowered his gaze to hers. “You live above your shop?”

It was a good thing she’d studied tax law. She’d have made a lousy defense attorney. “I do, Mr. Gallagher. Now—”

“Can we at the very least lower our shields enough to consider a first-name basis? I assure you, I won’t mistake the familiarity with the idea that you’ve gone soft on me, or my plans.”

She looked at him and desperately wished there were no soft parts in her. Starting with the ones that were eagerly responding to his every request. She scooped up two heavy oven mitts and thrust them at him. “You can be on oven duty,” she said, in lieu of a response.

He didn’t reach out for the mitts, but rather raised one eyebrow. On anyone else, the resulting expression would have looked malevolent at best. On him . . . well, let’s just say her soft, tingly parts were getting a lot warmer.

“Griffin,” she finally relented, rolling her eyes when he grinned and took the mitts from her.

“Wasn’t so ’ard now, was it?” he asked, as he removed his coat.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, turning her back to him as she rolled the tall, aluminum racks toward the ovens in the back of the kitchen.

“Aye,” he said, quite affably. “It’s a large part of my charm.”

Luckily he couldn’t see her responding smile. Damn the man.

“And my success,” he added, his voice coming from just behind her.

“I can understand the latter part.” She carefully smoothed her expression before turning to face him. “The pans on the top three trays go in this one,” she said, gesturing to the oven behind her. “The bottom two go in that one. Center the pans, front and rear, leaving several inches between them. They’re already preset, just hit the timer button after you shut the door.”

She was normally very compulsive about things like pan placement and rack spacing. Both were vital to a perfectly baked cake. At the moment, however, she couldn’t afford to be picky. As it was, she was putting more pans in one oven than she’d like, but time was of the essence. She’d already set up the cupcakes that needed to be decorated on one of the worktables, so she headed over to it, leaving Griffin to do as directed. She would double back and check on them once she got the base frosting on the first tray.

“How long have you been a baker?” he asked, over the clatter of the pans sliding onto the oven racks. “Does it run in the family?”

“No,” she said, knowing small talk probably wasn’t a bad idea, but finding it a challenge. His presence was unnerving. Perhaps if she kept things casual and civil, she could gain a bit more knowledge about his plans for Hamilton. The more information she had, direct from the source, the better chance she’d have of getting her starryeyed, fellow business owners to listen to her concerns.

She could hardly believe the pied-piper spell he’d cast over them. She’d known going in that the sentiment had not been running high in favor of the rumored new plans. So she’d been more than a little stunned to walk into the auditorium and feel a very distinct vibe of excitement, rather than frustration, or even outright anger.

She’d looked over the brochures she’d grabbed as she’d stomped out of the auditorium and quickly away from the inquiring eyes of her neighbors. Not that it had mattered. Every one of them had found one reason or another to drop by the shop later that afternoon. Some had been circumspect in expressing their curiosity about her apparent earlier run-in with Griffin. Others had been downright blatant. She shuddered to think what the rumor mill would be saying if they knew he was with her after shop hours. It led her to belatedly wonder if anyone had seen him enter as she was flipping the CLOSED sign.

Dammit.

“So, then”—came his voice from directly behind her left shoulder, giving her another little jolt—“what did get you into baking? I understand you’ve only been back in Hamilton for a few years.”

She tried to turn around, then realized how small the space was between the worktable and ... him. She seemed to be