That I, as a baker, could pay him back with a sweet treat.
And that sweet treat he had in mind wasn’t me painted in chocolate in his bed, but a bloody pie.
I’m an idiot.
Not only did I leap to a conclusion that was unfair, but what the hell am I thinking, that Xander would want me in his bed?
I quickly respond:
I would be happy to make a treat to pay you back. That’s more than fair.
He replies almost instantly:
Good, I look forward to seeing what you come up with. I’ll let you know when your clothes are ready.
I throw the phone in the passenger seat and groan. I put my forehead against the steering wheel and close my eyes.
I can’t believe I’m exchanging a pie for my clothes from Prince Alexander. That I thought he wanted to have sex with me. I flinch with embarrassment.
Well, thank God, nobody will ever know. I’ll make him a pie, I’ll get my clothes, I’ll shake his hand and say goodbye, and that will be that.
With that thought firmly in place, I lift my head, start the minivan, and head back to The Biscuit Cutter.
* * *
By five o’clock, I’m exhausted. Mentally drained from all the weirdness that has happened today, let alone all the work I’ve had to do.
I finish flooding the last biscuit, completely filling the surface with white royal icing. I tap and shake it against my tray to smooth the surface. Then I pop a few air bubbles with my scriber needle and sit upright. There. Now, I will let these biscuits set for twenty-four hours before moving on to decorate them for a client this week.
I go about cleaning up my workstation, glancing at the clock on the wall. Xander said he would text me about my clothes today, but perhaps his staff were unable to get to it. Which I’m fine with—I didn’t expect them to clean my clothes in the first place. As I slide off my stool, my eyes land on the bakery box on the corner of my workstation.
A box that is filled with a dozen banoffee chocolate chip cookies for Xander.
I let my creative mind wander and fused the elements of the banoffee pie with chocolate, combining his two requests together into one dessert. Hopefully, he likes them. However, if he genuinely wanted a pie, he might be disappointed that he didn’t get one.
“Oh, I’m so glad we are closed,” Charlotte says as she comes through the door. “We were so busy! Down to seven items left by the time I locked the door. I’m exhausted.”
Hmm. I wonder how busy we’ll be after the royal wedding, when everyone knows we provided the biscuits for the reception.
It’s a good thing Charlotte doesn’t know about that yet. She might quit, and that would be horrible, because she’s an incredible shop manager.
“It was a good day,” I say, thinking of my meeting with Clementine and Christian.
Then my brain flickers to Xander, with his piercing blue eyes looking up into mine as he held my box in his hands, kneeling before me to save it from falling.
I clear my throat as a distancing measure from that last thought. I gently shake out the flour from my apron and fold it over my arm. After I got back from my meeting with Clementine and Christian, I was able to sneak in the back door and change into my jeans and T-shirt, so nobody saw my completely oversized-from-head-to-toe borrowed outfit. I plan to take Liz’s outfit to the dry cleaner during my lunch break tomorrow and get that all sorted out so I can bring that back to her as soon as possible.
“Four o’clock is going to come too early tomorrow,” Ian moans, strolling in from the back kitchen.
I bite back a smile. Ian says that almost every single day.
“Just like it always does, love,” Charlotte says, grinning cheekily at him.
I laugh. Ian frowns.
“All right, I just have to finish the final tally from the till, and we’ll be good to go,” Charlotte tells us.
I nod as she steps into the small office. Sarah comes out and leans against the table, standing next to Ian as we wait. Paula and Adam, two of the workers who man the front of the shop, come back as well. We always leave together, so nobody is left alone in the shop. Luckily, Charlotte is a whizz with counting and balancing, so we never have to wait for long.