Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,22

didn’t call me inferior directly. He said my food was inferior.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Can we discuss something else?”

“Fine. But since he’s not Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now, let me know if you want me to dig up any dirt on him. I know high people in low places. Or whatever.”

Our conversation moves on to our jobs, Bethany’s boyfriend, the upcoming holidays, and other various and sundry, but part of my mind lingers back, stuck on an ornery chef with bright green eyes and the means to destroy me.

Chapter Seven

The discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of the human race than the discovery of a star.

–Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

Guy

As soon as Carson returns, my entire body tenses and I want to leap up and demand answers. I force myself into stillness, disturbed to realize it’s requiring a concerted effort to act unaffected and normal.

I have not been waiting for him all morning to return with my latest request.

I have not been thinking about a beautiful redhead for the last week.

And I have not been thinking about kissing a problematic baker with frosting in her hair and a temper that makes her eyes spark and chest heave.

Maybe if I keep lying to myself, those statements will become true.

“Just leave it there.” I motion to the empty space at the corner of my desk. Like the item is unimportant.

Carson sets the small box down and I wave him away, typing on my computer and focusing like I’m in the middle of something serious.

Maybe I’ve been thinking about her a little. Maybe I thought about it all day yesterday and made a point to come up with plans to see her again, even though I have other, more important things to worry about, and I could probably drive her and her little food truck away without having to actually see her again.

But her words keep playing like a loop in my mind, when you use your power for evil instead of good you are doing your part to limit the voice of others, and even though my initial reaction was immediate and unequivocal denial, in retrospect I can’t help but consider, is she right? Even a little bit?

My mind plays over every employee I’ve ever fired or had harsh words for. The number is substantial.

Shame slithers through me like an insidious snake, biting at will. I’ve always existed in this bubble of my own making, ignoring anyone and anything outside it, including people and situations I’d shoved away myself. It allowed me to pick and choose how I perceived my own actions and everyone outside the bubble didn’t matter or exist. But what Scarlett said…. Maybe she’s right.

I wait until Carson is on the phone, scheduling deliveries or something before I reach for the cupcake.

There’s a sticker holding the top fold together. For Goodness Cakes, written in a rainbow swirl of color. I pry it off and open the delicately folded box slowly.

The flavor is written in script on the inside. Rhett Velvet. Red velvet chocolate chip with a butter crème ganache.

There are three miniature cakes in the box. We engage in the stare down, the cupcakes and me.

I have no choice but to blink first. It’s the details that give away the skill behind the ridiculous name and frivolous packaging.

It’s perfectly arranged in the little box, and the frosting isn’t marred or smudged at all. It’s hard to believe this flawless confection came from the same woman who set me on fire and can’t even keep her clothes and hair in order, just in general. At least, not the two times I’ve seen her.

I want it to be bad.

I want it to be good.

I sigh and take a bite.

The flavors melt on my tongue, a flawless balance of flavors, sweet and savory and light. It’s perfect. As someone who requires perfection in all things, I can recognize it when I taste it. Despite what I told her, cupcakes might be simple, but there’s an art to all cooking and we both know it. There’s something surprising in the frosting. A hint of cayenne, I think. Not enough to give it any kind of heat, just a slight smoky essence.

“Carson!” I call.

“Yes?” He’s already at the door.

“Did you try one?”

He hesitates and glances away.

I stare at him. I know he’s been over there nearly every day, and it’s not like I’m going to get mad at him. But still, he won’t meet my gaze.