Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 10

Sadie

Jack is such a huge help! He’s also one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met. Fixing dinner for me made me feel special and cared about, something I haven’t felt for a long time. But giving me that lift to work this morning was the icing on the cake—I’m falling hard and fast for the man. He didn’t complain once about the early hour, and it was so much fun to have someone else baking alongside me.

I’ve discovered that the life of a bakery owner is a lonely one, especially if you can’t afford to hire many employees. Up every morning at five, work a fifteen-hour shift, get home around eight, eat dinner, and fall into bed by nine. Rinse and repeat.

“Got any of those kolaches left?” Jack asks when he strolls into the kitchen after the lunch rush. Julio just relieved Jack at the coffee bar, and Nancy is manning the bakery counter. Despite the ever-present cardigan and fuddy-duddy look, I’ve started to notice things about Jack that defy the old codger persona he’s hiding behind. His ability to lift heavy objects with ease. His razor-sharp mind. His knowledge of current topics and trends. With a newer wardrobe, he’d be a sexy guy. So why is he hiding?

“I saved one just for you,” I reply, nodding my chin towards a plastic-wrapped plate on the other side of the mixer.

Jack grins and licks his lips. “I can’t wait to taste it. The lunch crowd raved about them.”

I’m mixing up tomorrow’s special bakery offering, so I’m knee deep in flour, the commercial mixer churning beside me. “Go ahead. I need to finish these muffins before I eat. ”

Rather than retrieve the plate, he stands beside me. “Are you making pumpkin muffins?” he asks, staring at the burnt orange batter.

“Ding! Nice detective work, Sherlock,” I tease.

“Is there anything I can do to speed things along? I’d love to have you as my lunch companion.”

My heart flips. We’ve been eating lunch together all week, and I thought it was just happenstance, but maybe it wasn’t?

“Sure! Can you create the crumb topping for me?” I show him the recipe. “Here’s the butter. All the other ingredients are in the pantry.”

He tosses me a flirty grin, then turns on his heel to collect brown sugar and granola. For the next few minutes we work side by side, me filling the muffin tins while he sprinkles crumb topping on top. It’s an efficient production line; the two of us work well together.

“Sadie, I’d like to revisit your prices,” he says while we finish up prepping the muffins. I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his hand. “Please hear me out.”

“Okay, but—”

He laughs, cutting off my grousing. “I think you should increase prices during the festival. Seriously, you can’t purchase any baked goods like this in the Denver area for these rock-bottom prices. With the cost of ingredients, you must be only making a few cents on every item. Especially considering you use top-grade materials. For example, how much did the wild blueberries for today’s muffins cost?”

Squirming under his intense gaze, I reply, “Mr. Warton sold them to me at a steep discount.”

He arches an eyebrow. “So what was the cost per pint?”

Feeling like a gnat under a microscope, I mutter, “I’m not exactly sure.”

Putting his hand on my shoulder, he turns me to face him. “Sadie, I know keeping track of costs is boring, but I love doing stuff like that. How about I determine your costs and we talk about a new pricing structure? ”

“The locals will riot,” I say, my lips tipping into a frown.

He snorts. “If you’re worried about the handful of locals, offer them a special festival discount. Your prices shouldn’t be held hostage by a group of cranky retirees, and certainly not during the festival.”

Biting my lip, I stare at him. His warm brown eyes draw me in, and his kind, caring expression lets me know he only wants what’s best for my business. His suggestion doesn’t sting like a criticism, which is how I’d take it coming from my billionaire brother.

“I’d love to have your help. My brain is always mush after a full day at the café, so I keep putting off figuring out stuff like costs and profit margins. I know I need to do that, but it always falls to the bottom of my list.”

He grins from ear to ear. “I can help! I want to help!”

Can this guy get any better? I only wish that Sam had sent me his trusty assistant sooner.

“Thank you, Jack. I wish I had saved you two kolaches for lunch,” I say with a flirty wink.

“I’d love to nab one of those fruit tarts you brought out a few minutes ago.”

Giggling, I say, “You can eat your weight in my baked goods, as long as you’re helping me with the business side of things.”

He pats his flat stomach. “I’ll put on ten pounds.”

I try to imagine a chubbier version of Jack, but I can’t. He certainly wouldn’t be any less attractive, because it’s what’s below the surface that draws me in. His intellect. His humor. His sweet and caring nature. I’m really going to miss him when he leaves. Maybe that’s why I’ve not made any progress hiring a new barista?

We finish up the muffin prep in record time, then share lunch together in the break room. Since Jack feels like he knows me well enough to suggest changes to my business, I decide it’s time to suggest changes to his wardrobe.

“Um, Jack, have you ever considered a few small updates to your wardrobe?”

He looks up, staring at me over his glasses. “Like what?”

I take the plunge, hoping he doesn’t take offense. “Honestly, Jack, those cardigans make you look years older. What if you ditched those?”

Frowning down at his brown-cardigan-clad chest, he says, “They’re really warm.”

A laugh slips out, but I cover my mouth, hoping he thinks it’s a cough. My brows draw together. “Do you get cold easily?” My brother runs like a furnace. He’s always hot and I’m the one who’s cold.

“I’ve worn these for years,” he says, deftly sidestepping my question.

His responses feel a bit like we’re at a stalemate. I try another tack. “Maybe purchase one in a different color? Red? Blue?”

“Brown is very versatile. It goes with everything.”

Yeah, when you’re pairing it with boring tan pants. “Feel free to wear jeans anytime you want,” I suggest.

Eating the last bite of his fruit tart, Jack says, “I want to dress more professional since I’m interacting with the public.”

Groan! He’s not going to take the hint that the Mr. Rogers outfit isn’t a good look. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood as a kid, but no one can really pull off that look like he did. And certainly not a modern thirty-year-old.

I take a deep breath and try one last approach. “I appreciate that. But if you ever feel you want to dress down, like on a Friday, you should wear jeans.”

He chews quietly, not making a comment one way or another. “What would you like for dinner? I make a mean spaghetti. ”

The guy is sharp, neatly changing the subject to something I can’t resist. Food. Deciding to let the wardrobe discussion go, I say, “I love pasta!”

“Great! Spaghetti it is,” he says, then stands to bus his dishes to the dishwasher. “I’ll look at your car and see if I can get it to start, otherwise you can use my AAA membership to get it towed,” he adds.

“Gosh! I’d forgotten about my junker,” I say with an embarrassed laugh. It was so nice riding with Jack this morning, I didn’t give my car a second thought.

He grins. “Should I pick you and Jolt up around eight? Since I’ve confiscated the bike, you don’t have a way home,” he teases.

“Yes, but I’ll text you if anything changes.”

After he’s gone, it occurs to me that we could go out for dinner since he’s picking me up. I’ll text and suggest that, so he doesn’t go to the effort of making spaghetti. The poor man is working so hard at the café and off-hours for Sam, I don’t want cooking for me to add to his burden.

I ponder the wardrobe discussion and wonder whether I went too far. Am I putting too much emphasis on his outward appearance? Those outdated clothes don’t define him. Once you get to know the man, it’s easy to see beyond the Gramps look. I’ll never bring the subject up again. Jack is almost perfect as is, without a makeover.