fuck with those twisty breads,” he finished, repeating the signs Julian had provided.
He held back a smile at the mirth reflected back in the detective’s hazel eyes. Ben nodded and extended his hand, sealing the promise with a handshake.
“Any questions?” Natalie signed as she spoke. Natalie del Toro, owner of the small bakery shop and Ben’s new boss.
Ben couldn’t have imagined that Aidan’s casual suggestion the day before would have ended up with Ben starting work the very next day. Natalie had been interviewing for a new hire and Aidan’s afternoon visit had pushed her to fill out the forms and visit the halfway house to personally meet Ben and conduct the interview on the spot while Matt processed the paperwork.
Aidan had been kind when he said she was a hard-ass. Natalie was five-six with dark hair and eyes. She was respectful and direct, but her no-nonsense interview paralleled an interrogation, and her work ethic was strict. It was obvious there would be no coddling. And Ben welcomed it like a cold drink in dry weather.
After touring the impeccably clean small bakery and learning about each of the desserts sorted in the display case, he was blindsided by a fact…he was officially in love with every single piece of dessert he saw, smelled, or tasted. Napoleons, palmiers, both sweet and savory tarts, and so much more. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of sugar and sweet spices blended with the warmth of freshly baked bread from that morning, the lingering heat from the large commercial ovens in the back area still enough to warm the entire store.
Natalie baked in the early morning and opened her store at seven. She didn’t bother with coffees or cookies or brownies, claiming the bulk of that business went to the larger chain with the drive-through windows at most street corners. Instead, she focused on various types of pastries, to-die-for éclairs, bread varieties she made from scratch—including Aidan’s don’t-mess-with-them croissants, and bite-sized cream-filled desserts that teased and tempted the eyes as much as the taste buds.
He wanted to sample every dessert and bread. He could eat, sleep, and live in this sugary and doughy heaven if he had to. His head whipped to the side when Natalie touched his arm.
“Sorry,” she signed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Ben shook his head and smiled, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to stifle the energy thrumming through his body. “I’m a little distracted. In a good way. Thank you for hiring me.”
“Well, now that you’ve taken the tour, tell me what you’d like to help with.”
“Anything I can.”
“You mentioned you liked baking.”
He froze and stared. And blinked. Repeatedly. Did she ask because she wanted to have him help bake or was that her attempt at small talk? He usually steered clear of chitchat, preferring the direct approach when signing to avoid misunderstandings. He finally nodded when her lips thinned as if holding back a smile.
“Did you go to school?”
“I finished high school—” He stopped when she shook her head.
“Cooking, baking, or pastry school,” she clarified.
The air rushed out of his hope balloon. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head in response. Those schools were far outside anything that had ever been within his financial reach. Tag on the need for an interpreter so he wouldn’t miss any of the classroom details, and that pretty much ended that dream before it had a chance to gain traction.
He wouldn’t let his mind go there.
Surviving had been his priority for the better part of his life, and he had made it this far. That was an accomplishment. That was the positive he chose to focus on. That was how he found his way through life, refusing to let the darkness weigh him down for too long. He just wished prison hadn’t dimmed that light so much, making it tough to find again.
A small hand on his arm pulled him from his melancholy thoughts.
What were we talking about?
He shook his head, then signed, “No baking school.” He shrugged off his response, refusing to allow any negativity to ruin this opportunity.
“Then we’ll start with the basics.”
He straightened and inhaled sharply. Had he misinterpreted her signs? Was she going to teach him how to make her desserts?
“I have one request.”
He anxiously waited for her to continue.
“You leave some treats for the customers.”
Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he nodded again. And again. He was practically hopping in place, something he used to do when