“You okay?” It wasn’t her place to ask—she barely knew him—but she recognized when someone was being affected by something he didn’t want to affect him.
He slid the phone back into his pocket. “Never better.”
She didn’t believe him, but again, she didn’t know him, so she simply nodded.
He rubbed his forehead like he was trying to erase whatever thought was crowding his brain, then pointed to the bowls on the table in front of him. “Let’s start with something simple. Vanilla cupcakes are our biggest sellers, even as boring as they are.”
Jada froze. Should she be flattered or horrified that he apparently remembered every word she’d said to him?
He shot a quick grin her way. She exhaled. He wasn’t going to hold that quip against her. Okay, starting now, she’d do better and stop messing with him.
He pulled a tablet out of a drawer underneath the table and tapped on it a few times. “I’m pulling up the recipe so you can follow along more easily,” he said by way of explanation.
Jada offered up a tight smile. He might ask her to read the recipe. She’d been dealing with her dyslexia forever and wasn’t ashamed of her diagnosis, but she never knew how people would react to it. Then again, no one could be as bad as her parents. “How did you get into baking?” she asked to distract herself.
He glanced up. “My mom taught me and my sisters. I took to it more than they did. Do you bake?”
She snorted. “That would be a solid no. I’m a wiz at ordering all kinds of delicious food in restaurants, but that’s as far as my culinary skills extend.”
That line was starting to appear in his forehead again. She’d seen it plenty of times from her parents. Disappointment. Consternation. “But I’m eager to learn,” she quickly added.
He squinted. “Are you? You didn’t seem too eager in your grandmother’s office.”
How much to reveal? She didn’t know this guy, and what she did know didn’t suggest he’d be understanding. “Working here was my grandmother’s idea. I wasn’t prepared to see you.”
He studied her like he knew there was more to the story, but then he nodded like he’d decided not to press. “Let’s get started.”
She braced her legs apart. “What do you want me to do?”
His lips twitched. “Not stand like a linebacker before a play starts, for one. No tackling will be happening in this kitchen, I promise.”
Wait. Did Mr. Uptight have a sense of humor? Nooo, couldn’t be.
He lifted his eyebrows, his lips twitching again. Oh, right. She was still standing like a linebacker. She’d been exposed to just enough football to know a linebacker was a football player, so whatever she was doing at the moment was not right. She was nervous, okay. Sue her. This was a new, weird situation she hadn’t asked to be in.
“Relax,” he said.
Did he read minds, too?
“I’m not going to grade you and send a report card to your grandmother,” he continued, his voice gruff and slightly aggravated. Ahh, that was exactly what she needed to relax. The reappearance of Principal Dell. Earth had returned to its rightful position on its axis.
He handed her the tablet. If she made sure their fingers didn’t touch, well … whatever.
She tapped on the screen a few times to change the font to Comic Sans and enlarge the font to sixteen. Much better. She’d learned numerous ways to compensate for her dyslexia. Her parents had made damn sure of that.
One crisis averted. Now she had to follow the recipe. That was way more terrifying. Her attempts at so-called easy dishes like scrambled eggs or spaghetti always ended up as a runny, yellowy, inedible mess or mushy noodles in burnt sauce—i.e., disaster. It wasn’t her fault her busy （and okay, wealthy） parents had hired a chef. There had been no need for her to learn how to cook.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Jada hesitated, but she had nothing to be ashamed of. If he acted like an ass, that was on him. “Changing the font. I have dyslexia, and certain fonts really help.”
He nodded. “Oh, okay. If there are any modifications you need, just let me know.”
That was it? “Oh, I should be fine, but thanks for the offer.”
“You’re welcome. Follow my lead,” Donovan said. Guess that was it. It was a bossy command, but he sounded almost … nice.
She gave a brisk salute. “Aye aye, captain. So how many cupcakes do you bake per day?”
“Roughly twelve dozen. It used to be…” His voice trailed off, a discomfited look settling on his face.