The Christmas Crush

Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The instant Elena opened her apartment door, she wrapped her arms around Lawrence and gave him a long kiss. He held a canvas bag filled with ingredients in one hand and used the other to caress her cheek. Had they only seen each other a few days ago? It felt like forever. He’d found himself missing her while he worked, and especially when he went home at night to the two-bedroom, two-story old house he shared with Sugar. Yesterday, Elena had hinted she had problems at work, and he’d spent the afternoon worrying about her well-being. Her kiss suggested she’d missed him too, and his lips curved in a smile against hers.

“How is everything?” he asked as soon as they parted. Elena seemed muted, less chipper and less chatty than normal.

“Ugh. C’mon in.” She held open the door so he could enter. “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled in first.”

She took the grocery bag and walked into the kitchen while he slipped off his shoes at the front door. Elena’s artistic side was on full display in her apartment, not a trace of her corporate self anywhere. In the living room he saw her art hanging, gigantic canvases on the walls. Smaller canvases leaned in piles against the walls and feminine furniture. By the window, an easel held a work in progress, waves breaking a blue sea. The splendor of the image held him transfixed until he broke away to scope out the rest of the room. Pretty, full of color. The place smelled nice thanks to some lit candles on the coffee table, and beneath that he detected turpentine.

“I don’t know how to make wassail. Will a glass of wine do?” she called from the kitchen.

“Sure, sounds great.” He noticed a record player and wondered if he should offer to put on music in case there were any awkward silences he needed to cover. Uncertain, he perched first on an armchair, then popped up to switch to the sofa as Elena walked out with stemless wineglasses.

Sitting on the sofa gave her an opportunity to sit next to him. The wineglasses were mismatched, which surprised him; he’d expected her to have everything curated, perfect. Tonight marked the first time he’d seen her in casual clothing—soft ruby sweatpants and a cropped sweatshirt that showed off her superb midsection. He opened and closed his hand, longing to touch her bare skin. Cautious about rushing things after her reaction the other night, he opted to put his hand on her knee instead. She wore her hair in a long braid draped over her shoulder.

He rested his arm against the sofa back, an apprehensive invitation. Elena curled against him. Her hair smelled like vanilla extract. Good thing he’d had the sense to ditch the armchair. No way they would’ve both fit.

“What’s going on, sweetie?” He gauged her reaction to his first serious attempt at an endearment. She nestled closer.

“I had the most anxiety-inducing confrontation of my career,” she confessed. He rubbed her arm, waited for her to continue. He was used to vivacious Elena who conversed easily. Who could have made her so upset, and why did he feel his hands tightening into fists? He continued stroking her arm to comfort her and calm his angry reaction to this mystery offender. “My boss really oversteps, and I finally had enough. Even went to my dad for help, which I usually avoid like the plague. I ended up confronting my boss for the first time ever.”

“What did you say?”

“Exactly what my dad told me to, which was that when I’m not working, how I spend my time is none of his business.”

“Sounds fair. You deserve a life.”

“I know. But it was still awful having to talk to him. And do you know what he said back? ‘I thought you were a team player.’ He knows he can’t force me to be on duty twenty-four/seven, but he still tries to make me. I cannot stand him. Bosses are the worst.”

“Why do you think I work for myself?”

She gave a low chuckle. “Do you ever make yourself mad?”

“All the time. Especially when I procrastinate.”

She held out her hand, measured it against his. Her fingers reached about two-thirds of the way up his. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to hang out by the Sparkle headquarters waiting for a lanky guy in a suit with slicked-back hair so you can tell him to treat me better?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but intimidating random dudes is my party trick. Sometimes I do it to make them laugh, other times I do it to put them in their place. Like the time in high school a guy kept waiting around the ice cream shop for my sister’s shift to end. Creeped her out. He was a senior like her and I was a sophomore, but I still had four inches on this guy. One day I waited too, stared at him for a good ten minutes. When Lonnie clocked out and he realized I was her brother, he never bothered her again.”

“I love that story.”

“Didn’t your brothers look out for you?”

“I went to an all-girls private school. No need.”

“Very classy.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s gross when guys can’t respect people. I figure I’ll get some good karma reminding them there’s always someone bigger and scarier.” He kissed her hand, glad the moment felt right this time. “Still, it’s messed up I have to be the one to make them play nice.”

“Is that so?” She looked up at him with her captivating brown eyes. Captivating indeed, for they imprisoned him. “Don’t be too good, though.”

He kissed her again, this time sliding his hands over the smooth, warm skin of her abdomen. When she arched into his touch, he gripped her waist, held her there for another kiss. He pulled back. “All right, you, settle down. Trying to use me for my body. You could at least offer to taste-test the cookies first like you promised.”

He cherished the frustration that crossed her face. “Is that all you think I’m after?”

“You just admitted you plan to deploy me to scare your boss.”

She walked her fingertips up his chest, made him regret being the one to slow things down. “Fine. I’ll prove I’m after more than your body. Let’s go.”

She stood up, but seemed to think better of it before she leaned over. The end of her braid brushed against him as she placed her hands on his shoulders. Her tongue crept out to lick the corner of her mouth. “Now you’ve awoken my competitive side, and I’m out to show I can resist you longer than you can resist me.”

“What if I admit defeat right now?”

“That’s no fun.” She wiggled free and made for the kitchen, tossing him a look over her shoulder that made him leap up to follow.

In the kitchen she started setting out his premeasured ingredients. He forced his heartbeat to slow, his blood to redisperse while he opened a container of the candied orange ginger cookies. Elena washed her hands, then plucked out a cookie. He watched as she chewed it pensively.

Nothing worse than waiting for reviews.

“I like it, it’s sophisticated.” She broke open a second cookie, sniffed it. “But I get what you were saying about it being on the strong side flavor-wise. If it were for a fancy holiday tea, it would be perfect. However, our audience is home bakers who want something to share with their families.”

“Uh-oh, is marketing Elena coming out?”

“You summoned her. Tell me, what inspired you to make this cookie in the first place? What was the message you wanted to send?”

“I … uh. Hmm. I never thought about it that way. I kinda started mixing things together to see what would taste good.”

“I understand. My paintings begin like that too. Not to taste, obviously—that would be a terrible idea. But I like to play with colors until I find what feels right. Not to bring up Sparkle again, but I do a lot of the content for our newsletter, and I always try to tell a story about each cookie.”

“I’ll have to check it out.”

“Anyway, think about it for a minute. What is your ultimate goal?”

He crossed his arms, looked out the window above her sink. The weather forecast had called for a clear night, yet snow was descending in sizable flakes to the street below. When he pondered it, he realized he must have a goal for his cookies, an emotion or experience he wanted to evoke. Nostalgia or surprise. “I guess … I guess I want to make a twist on a standard gingerbread cookie. Show what else the ingredients can do.”

“Good. That gives me something to work with.” She opened his mason jar of flour and the small container of fresh ginger. Her eyes traveled around her kitchen, landed on a canister next to the coffee machine. She gasped so loudly it startled him. “What if we ditched the candied orange and did coffee instead? Coffee is my favorite thing in the entire world, and Sparkle’s caramel macchiato cookie is a best seller. People love that flavor.”

Ideas began skipping through his mind. Possibilities. “Something like a gingerbread latte, maybe? Coffee would balance out the sweetness in the base that’s been worrying me. And it could make for an interesting substitute for the orange peel.”

“Build on your base idea.”

“This is promising.”

She handed him a mixing bowl, a vintage pink Pyrex. Inspiration made his movements quick. He started shifting flour into the Pyrex, asked her for another bowl for the wet ingredients.

“I’ll make the coffee. We can even drink some,” she said excitedly.

“Elena, it’s nine at night.”

“So?” She opened the bag of grounds, held it out for his approval. She had good taste in coffee—multifaceted, with a hint of chocolate.

“What a good sous-chef you are,” he said.

“Want to make me the second-in-command, huh? Maybe I want to be head chef.”

“Nice try, shorty.”

She spluttered laughter.

“I’m five foot ten. That’s gigantically tall for a woman.” She straightened her posture to underscore her point, gestured to her long legs as if he hadn’t already been drinking them in.

He reached for her with both hands, found exposed skin at her waist again. His fingertips glided down to hold her hips. With a smooth motion he pulled her into him, fitted the top of her head under his chin.

“Which makes me five inches taller, which is almost half a foot. See? Like I said, nice try, shorty.”

He felt the yielding sweetness of her body as he pressed her even closer. He cocked his head toward the window. “You know, you could talk me into almost anything. I might even walk barefoot through the snow out there if you asked right, but let’s get one thing straight from the jump.” Here he dipped low so his lips brushed her cheek. He whispered, “In the kitchen, I am, and always will be, the one and only chef.”

To his ecstatic gratification, he felt her pulse quicken as his lips moved to her neck. He could kiss her all night. But he wouldn’t let her win too easily after she’d left him desperate on the sofa. He took a small step back and watched her sag, shoulders dropping, disappointed by the space between them.

Her dark eyes narrowed before she regained her cool.

“Is that how it is?” She cracked an egg into the second bowl. “Since you’re the professional, I’ll defer. For now. So, yes, chef.”

What had he gotten himself into? It was his own fault. Her eyebrow rose in challenge. His knees weakened. “What have I done? You know how I love the sound of that on your lips.”

She scooted closer. “I know all too well. And now you get to hear me say it the entire time we work. Don’t forget, I’m a novice baker. Making this recipe is going to take a while, and I need to concentrate. Which means you can’t distract me no matter what I say.”