Chapter 4

What was that?!

Sylvie lifted her hand, staring up at it as she held it up to her face in wonder, almost expecting to see a little mark or some kind of sign on her skin that his fingers had made contact with it. She shook her head.

Okay, don’t be so silly. You’re just over-excited.

To be honest, she wasn’t really that disappointed that he hadn’t turned out to be the mysterious Aubrey Z. – that really would have been too good to be true. But she saw what Eula had meant when she’d said You’ll know him when you see him. He’d been exactly like Eula had described, with a kind of timeless handsomeness that reminded her of old Hollywood movie stars. And personally, she was kind of partial to silver temples on men.

Well, as well as chiseled jaws, piercing gray eyes, strong, Roman noses…

Sylvie shook her head.

Okay, stop. He came here to eat cake, not be drowned in a pool of your drool.

Blinking, she forced her eyes away from her still-tingling hand, and tried to focus.

What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah – he’d been asking her if there’d been anything he could help her with, after she hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut about all the bad luck she’d been having lately, as if he wasn’t a perfect stranger whose name she didn’t even know.

Yet,she had to stop herself from adding.

“Uh, I –” she started, before noticing the man himself was looking a little flustered.

Or maybe even a little panicked,Sylvie thought. Though maybe that was just because he’d realized how hot she was for him. Pull yourself together, woman!

“No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s just a few little bumps in the road. You must know that every place has them, since you’ve worked in restaurants. I worked in plenty of bakeries and patisseries before I got my own place, so I know it’s just part of running a shop. I just have to hang on until the difficult part is over.”

There, that sounded totally reasonable, and not like a weird overshare at all,Sylvie thought with satisfaction.

“So you’re just starting up?” the man asked her, cocking his head, seeming sincerely interested.

“Well, in the grand scheme of things, yes,” Sylvie said, feeling the warmth of his interested gaze flooding her chest. “I’ve been here for a year and a half. Thankfully I did well enough during my first year of business that I was able to put enough aside to see me through the bumps in the road.”

“Sensible,” the man said, nodding, before looking a little sheepish. “Not that you need me to tell you that. You seem to know what you’re doing. And these cakes… I’m willing to bet no one’s expecting something like these in a small place like this.”

You’d think not,Sylvie thought, biting her lip. But now there’s two of us, I guess the competition is a bit stiffer.

“Well, that’s what I was hoping!” she forced herself to laugh instead. “Something a little unusual – we get a lot of families coming through town on their way to hiking and camping trips. They’re really who I was hoping would buy things!”

“And the way you use spices and herbs is incredible,” the man continued, looking down at his apple rose. “Do you grow them yourself?”

Sylvie blinked in surprise. “No, I have to order them in – I can get common ones like cinnamon and nutmeg really easily of course, but the more unusual ones are a little more difficult – and expensive – to source. But…” She took a deep breath. She’d never really told anyone else about this dream of hers before. “But really, you hit the nail on the head. I’d love to be able to grow my own herbs and spices, and use them in my cooking. I even have a little plot in my garden dedicated to it, but… well, I guess I just have a black thumb or something.” She laughed a little ruefully. “I can’t grow a thing. I don’t know whether it’s just that the soil is bad, or I’m not watering them enough, or too much, or something else, but I can’t seem to get them to thrive. Maybe it’s just me.”

“Would you like me to come and have a look?” the man asked instantly, as soon as she finished speaking. Seeing her surprised expression, he continued quickly, “I should explain – I’m actually a great gardener. I guess that sounds like I’m tooting my own horn, but it’s something that runs in the family. I come from a long line of, uh, gardeners. So I know what I’m talking about.”

Sylvie’s mouth dropped open, her heart pounding. To be honest, she would have taken any excuse to be able to spend more time with this guy – I really have to find out his name! – but she couldn’t just ask him to swoop into her life and fix her gardening issues!

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she stammered, lifting her hands up and waving them frantically. “I mean… I really appreciate your kind offer, but aren’t you here to have a holiday? That’s why most people come up here. I couldn’t put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” the man said. “I like that kind of thing – really. It’s been a while since I had a chance to do some real gardening. I’d really enjoy it.”

Sylvie hesitated. He certainly sounded sincere. But still, part of her objected to dragging other people into her problems. “But we just met,” she said, knowing she was sounding less and less convincing in her protest with every word. “I don’t even know your name…”

“Gale,” the man said instantly, holding out his hand to shake and smiling. Sylvie’s knees went weak at the sight. “Gale MacEwan. So if that’s really your objection, then it’s out of the way now.”

Sylvie swallowed, reaching out and taking his hand. She felt a warm tingle in her palm as they touched, not quite as intense as it had been before, but still there, just enough to send a ripple of goosebumps over her skin.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gale.” His name sounded somehow familiar on her tongue, but she was certain they’d never met before. “I mean… obviously, I would love to get some help, and… well, to –” to spend some more time getting to know you! Intimately, if possible! “– to find out what I’m doing wrong.”

“Then I’d be happy to do whatever I can to help,” Gale said, with that same warm, heart-melting, knee-weakening smile.

“Well, I’m working here for the rest of the day,” Sylvie said reluctantly. “But we’re closed on Mondays. So… if you wanted to come by tomorrow, then that would be great. But only if it’s really no trouble.”

“Of course it’s not.” Gale looked about as pleased as she felt. “The place I’m staying is only a little farther up the mountain. It’s a short drive, and I didn’t have any plans for tomorrow yet. So it’s a date.”

Could it be? Sylvie thought, staring at his impossibly handsome face. The hottest guy I’ve seen in years, he cooks, he likes my baking, he’s incredibly nice, and he’s interested in me?

“I’ll write down my address for you.” Sylvie hurried back behind the counter before she could spend any more time staring.

Grabbing a pen, she scribbled her house address down on her order notepad, ripping the page out and handing it to Gale before she could have any kind of second thoughts or talk herself out of the idea that Gale might really like her. “Here you go.”

Gale took the page with a smile. “Thanks. Should we say around ten? Is that too early?”

Sylvie laughed. “No – that’s practically afternoon for me, what with the hours I usually have to be up by. But you said it’s the opposite for you. Won’t that be a little early?”

“No – to be honest, part of the reason I’m taking this little hiatus is that I’m sick of the hours,” Gale said, shaking his head. “I figured if I’m going to spend that much time doing something, it’s going to have to be something I really love, in a place I really love.”

“That makes total sense,” Sylvie said, unable to stop herself from smiling. “With my bakery, I don’t mind the hours because it’s what I’ve always dreamed of doing. So it’s not like it’s some kind of hardship.”

“Of course not,” Gale said, nodding. “I’m really glad to hear you say that.”

Sylvie hesitated, twisting her fingers in her apron. She knew it was time for Gale to say goodbye and head up to his cabin, but she was incredibly reluctant to see him go – about as reluctant as he seemed to be to head off himself.

“Well… I guess I better go. I still have to unpack and… things,” he said, sounding like he was heading off to throw himself into a lava pit, or something equally unappealing.

“I suppose you’d better,” Sylvie said, feeling the same strange reluctance for him to leave tugging at her heart. “But I’ll see you tomorrow! And you can inspect my tragic herb garden and tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

She said it as much to reassure herself as Gale, and he nodded, swallowing.

“Okay. Until tomorrow.”

His voice sounded thick in his throat, and Sylvie watched, her chest aching, as he turned and headed toward the door, and then out of it into the early fall sunlight. She watched as he turned back when he reached his car, lifting a hand to wave at her through the window.

Sylvie returned the wave, biting her lip, and continued to stare as he got into his car and finally drove away.

Only once he was out of sight did she manage to shake her head, giving her cheeks two little pats with her palms to jerk herself out of the reverie she seemed to have wandered into.

“What the hell, Sylvie?” she asked herself aloud, before taking a deep breath. Had it really been that long since she’d had a spark of romance in her life that she was obsessing about the first hot guy who came her way, who showed even the slightest amount of interest in her?

To be fair, that was more than a slight amount of interest, Sylvie thought as she began to clear away Gale’s empty plate, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He offered to come over and look at my garden! And not in a double entendre way!

Not that she would have minded if he had meant it in a double entendre way.

Sylvie felt a laugh bubbling up inside her, and in her distracted state, she almost missed the fact that there was something missing from her clean-up: the fork she’d given Gale to eat his tart with was completely gone. It wasn’t on the table, it wasn’t on the floor, and those were really the only two sensible options for its whereabouts.

Huh. Weird.

It didn’t really matter, she decided – it was just a fork, and she had dozens of them. But it was strange that it would just disappear.

Well. It’ll probably show up when I least expect it, Sylvie decided as she trotted back behind the counter, putting the plates into the dishwasher.

She almost hoped Emily might have missed something during her open this morning, so that she’d have some work to distract herself from the truly horrific amount of time between now and ten o’clock the next morning. But Emily, thorough and diligent as usual, had left her very little to do. Since there weren’t any customers, Sylvie tried to fill the time by first inspecting their supplies (all well-stocked), re-arranging the displays (already beautiful) and straightening the (already straight) tablecloths and flower vases.

Sighing, Sylvie wandered back behind the counter.

Well, I guess I could do worse than write a few notes for some new ideas.

She was always so bursting with new ideas that she had to write them down, or she was bound to forget them.

Right now, she was developing her latest one – the trick up her sleeve that she was hoping would be something Johnson’s Pies and Bakery wouldn’t mysteriously beat her to the punch with.

My grandmother’s honey cake recipe.

Right now, Sylvie was still experimenting with getting things just right in her little kitchen at home. There were thin slices of gingerbread chilling in the fridge, just waiting for her to get home and layer them with honeyed cream, stacking them piece by piece into a delicious, rich, buttery cake.

Sylvie tucked her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she idly sketched out the cake, taking notes for spices she might try adding, or different flavors she could try. She’d offer the plain butter, honey and cream version, of course, but maybe she could try adding a bit of caramel to another cake? Or perhaps some rose water? Or maybe some blueberry essence? Maybe…

Oh, butterscotch!Sylvie thought, delightedly scribbling on her notepad.

She happily took notes, mind racing with ideas, until she was distracted by a buzzing sound.

Glancing up, Sylvie was surprised to see a fly – a big one! – zooming around by the ceiling.

Ugh, how did that get in here? she thought, annoyed. It was weird weather for flies, too! She would have thought it was much too cold in late fall for them to be hanging around!

Since she had food everywhere she couldn’t use any kind of bug spray, so instead, she resorted to rolling up a piece of the butcher’s paper she used to wrap delivery boxes and waving it around, trying to encourage the fly back the way it had come – wherever that was. Finally, as it flew near the door, Sylvie opened it up and shooed it out.

Ugh, finally!

She slammed the door closed behind it.

That would be all she needed – flies coming in and making everyone think her bakery was dirty or her food was covered in germs!

Clearly, I need to invest in some fly strips. I’ll text Emily and ask her to pick some up on her way back to the shop, Sylvie thought grimly, as she returned to her notepad, before quickly losing herself to sketching out her future ideas once more.