“You did a little research?” she asks with a laugh. “Did you also print out your MapQuest directions to get here, old man?”
“Shut it.”
Her eyes are shining and her lips are pinched to keep herself from laughing.
“As I said, I did some research and made a list.”
“You made a list. On a piece of lined paper. With a pen.”
“You gonna just keep explaining everything I’m doing or . . .”
“There’s a notes app in your phone for a reason, Malakai.”
“Anyway.” I hold the paper in front of us, my arms caging her in. “Let’s get all of these and anything else you want to try.”
As Miller looks over my notes, comparing it to what’s in the glass cases, we continue to move up in the line. All the women working behind the counter are small, older, and Italian. They also don’t have time for any of these tourists’ shit, expecting orders to be given the second a guest makes it to them. If there’s a delay and patrons continue to peruse, a string of Italian words, presumably curses, echoes throughout the bakery.
I check over the glass cases, making sure I didn’t miss any must-have desserts. They all look amazing, and I’d take one of each if we’d have room at our table. But I’ve also been so completely spoiled by the baker living in my home that this outing is more for her than it is for me.
“Tiramisu was my mom’s favorite,” I say, pointing to the Italian cake when we pass it.
“The woman had good taste, I see.”
“Good genetics too, huh?”
She laughs. “Great genetics.”
“Next!” the woman with olive skin and gray roots hollers from the cash register.
Miller simply hands her my list of desserts. “These please.”
The woman’s lips tick up in an uncharacteristic way as her eyes scan the sheet. “I like you guys,” she states before taking off to box up our desserts.
“See,” I whisper, my hand snaking over Miller’s hip, fingers splaying over her lower belly. “My paper came in handy. There’s no way we would’ve gotten that kind of response if we handed her a fucking phone.”
She chuckles, her hand covering mine before calling out, “Can we add a tiramisu too please?”
“You got it!”
Miller simply shoots me a knowing smile over her shoulder all while doing a terrible job of making sure I don’t fall for her.
Miller sighs a happy little sigh. “That was the best hour of my life.”
Four giant pastry boxes sit on the table between us, still completely filled with only a few bites taken from each dessert. We had torrone, biscotti, éclair, and something called a lobster tail that was out of this world. I wish I could keep eating, but I’m stuffed.
“What was your favorite?” I ask.
“I don’t know if I could choose. What was yours?”
“I don’t know if I have a favorite dessert, but I did like watching you dissect them all like a mad scientist before each bite.”
“I was working, remember? This is a business meeting.”
“So . . . did you feel any spark?”
Her eyes flicker to me from across the table, a small smirk playing on her lips, and though I was referring to inspiration for work, we both know there’s always been a spark between us.
Her attention falls back to our table of desserts. “I think so.”
“Good.” Grabbing the leg of her chair, I pull it, dragging her to sit next to me and letting her know our business meeting is officially over. “Tell me everything.”
She picks up a cannoli. “I was thinking I could make a dark chocolate cylinder, like this shape, filled with a smoked hazelnut praline cream.” She points to the slice of chocolate praline pie. “Similar to those flavors, but without the heavy texture. I could do a chocolate paint on the plate, garnished with a pulled sugar piece and finished with a scoop of salted sheep’s milk ice cream.” She pauses to catch her breath. “What do you think?”
My mouth only gapes as I look at her.
“I know. I know. Who the hell would want sheep’s milk ice cream, right?”
“Your mind just created that? Out of thin air?”
For once in her life, Miller seems shy.
“That sounds incredible, Mills.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Damn.”
“Well, as long as I don’t fuck it up when we get home, I’ll have one recipe down. Two more to go.” A relieved smile tilts on her lips as she looks around the still busy bakery. “Thank you for bringing me. I love it here. How fun is it to watch people take that first bite?”