Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,35

need as far as ingredients.”

“Oh. Um. Sugar.”

He stops and turns to face me, one brow lifting. “Is that it?”

“I have everything else in the pantry of the truck, but if you have extra mixers, baking trays, and piping bags, that will help.”

He nods and talks in a rapid-fire manner I recognize from catching bits of his old show.

“Bring your notes for the order and whatever you have on hand. Go down two doors this way,” he points down the length of the building, “I’ll get out mixers and sugar and start pre-heating the ovens.”

“Right got it.”

And then he stalks away, and I have no idea what to do with myself except follow his instructions.

Bustling back to the truck, panicking slightly, I call Bethany. I can’t be alone with him for the next…however long this is going to take. I need a buffer.

She answers, “Scarlett!” but sounds breathless and her phone has background noise, like wind. “Where are you?” I ask.

“Hamptons, baby!”

Brent’s family has a house there and they occasionally make the trip for the weekend. “Crap.”

“Uh oh, what’s going on? What’s up?”

I give her a quick run-down of everything that’s happened in the last hour.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there to help but…. So now you’re going to use Guy’s oven? Using someone’s oven sounds like a euphemism for something else.”

“Well get your mind out of the gutter because it is not a euphemism for anything but not losing my entire life and reputation and career. Do you think I’m making a mistake?” I ask as I pull the pre-made fondant out of the fridge.

“Depends. Are there other options? You could go to our place and use our oven if you needed to.”

“You have a great kitchen, but you only have one oven. He has multiples.”

There’s a lengthy pause. “Oh. Okay, I get it. He can give you multiples.”

I would strangle her if she were in front of me right now. “That’s not—”

“No no, it’s fine, I’m sure his appliances are way better than mine.”

I sigh and start rummaging through some of my storage for powdered sugar. “I need help decorating, too, and no number of ovens is going to help me with that. I need hands.”

“So, you’re saying his hands are good, huh?” She snickers.

“Bethany, I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about cupcakes!”

“You keep your cupcakes clean, okay? Always make sure the frosting is groomed and the interior is nice and moist.”

“You did not just say that word.”

She ignores me. “Make sure you use oven mitts, and if he doesn’t give you three blenders, he’s not worth it.”

“Bethany, I am not going to have sex with Guy! Ever! It’s about cupcakes! I hate you, goodbye!” I push the end button on her laughter right as a throat clears behind me.

Oh, no. I turn around, dread filling me. I know exactly who is at the back door to the truck and who heard me yell, quite loudly, I would not be having sex with him.

“Hi.” His mouth is twitching like he’s fighting a smile or laughter or some combination of the two and my mortification doubles. “I just came by to see if you needed help carrying anything?”

Chapter Ten

If you want to become a great chef, you have to work with great chefs. –Gordon Ramsey

Guy

“I . . .” She glances around the interior of the truck where she’s stacked some ingredients and boxes full of stuff. “I do need help. That would be great.”

Her words are fine, but she won’t meet my eyes and her face is so bright red it nearly matches her hair. It’s adorable.

She turns away, scrambling to throw stuff into one of the boxes and then shoving it at me. “Here. I’ll be right there.”

I take the box and leave without a word, giving her a chance to collect herself.

Maybe I should be offended that she vehemently denied ever wanting to have sex with me, but while the blow to my ego is more than minimal, I am man enough to understand that I’m not entitled to intimacy from someone just because I crave it.

And she’s right. Getting involved with each other would be a terrible idea for so many reasons.

A memory flashes in my mind, when she kissed me at the charity gala, followed immediately by the sensation of her laughing form trapped in my arms during the egg incident. There’s something inescapable about her. Alluring. She’s all sweet candy and still a little spice. There’s the physical attraction, sure, but there’s more than