Chapter 42

forty-two

DYLAN

“Is anyone home?”

I looked up as Jonathon knocked on the front door. “I’m coming.” Closing the lid of my laptop, I headed into the hallway. We’d been living in the rental property for more than a week now. During that time, Jonathon had seen Alex twice. He was making sure Alex did his arm exercises correctly and helped with anything else we needed.

I smiled at Jonathon. “Hi. Alex is in the kitchen. Come on through.”

Jonathon left his jacket on the coat stand. “I haven’t met Connor before. He seems like a nice person.”

The worst thing about being a bodyguard was not being able to tell people what you really did. Jonathon thought we were working on an important IT project. Which we were, only it was more complicated than he knew.

“He’s a great guy. I’ve worked with him for more than two years now.” I opened the kitchen door and smiled at Alex. With one chocolate cake already in the oven and another being made, the house smelled like a bakery .

Jonathon looked through the glass in the oven door. “You didn’t tell me you can bake.”

Alex blushed. “It’s one of my hidden talents.”

“If you want another job, you can help me in my candy store.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stick with my day job. Would you like a cup of coffee before we start?”

Jonathon shook his head. “Not right now. I had one before I left work. Are you ready for our exercise session?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

I knew how much effort it took for Alex to move his arm, but he was determined to regain full mobility. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll finish the second cake.”

Alex handed me the recipe book. “Follow the instructions.”

I sighed. “That’s what you always say.”

“If you listened, I wouldn’t need to repeat myself.”

Working for a successful security company meant nothing when you were baking—especially when my best cake effort ended in disaster.

I scowled at Alex. “You still ate the cake.”

“It tasted great, but it looked like a pancake.”

“I can’t help it if the self-rising and plain flour look the same.”

Alex sent me a sympathetic smile. “I feel your pain, but relying on the color of the wrapper won’t help. You need to read the label. Luckily for us, the flour you’ll need is already in the bowl. Just add the cocoa, an egg, and milk.”

I looked in the bowl. If I could fix the code on one of the most complex programs I’d ever seen, I could make a cake rise. “By the time you’ve finished with Jonathon, a fluffy cake will be sitting on the counter.”

Alex tapped the end of my nose. “I’ll look forward to it. See you soon.”

Jonathon smiled at me. “Don’t worry. The first batch of fudge I made was horrible. All you need to do is keep practicing and eventually you’ll create a wonderful cake.”

I knew he was being kind, but what Jonathon didn’t know was that I’d been trying to perfect my baking skills for a long time. And they weren’t getting any better.

“Enjoy your therapy session.” My forced enthusiasm must have been a little too much.

Alex’s eyebrows rose. “If you get stuck, ask Connor.”

My smile disappeared. There were some things my work colleagues didn’t need to know, and my baking issues were one of them. Especially when everyone complimented me on the fancy cakes I brought into work—the ones I told them I’d spent hours creating in my kitchen.