My Curvy Valentine: A Perfect Fit Novella (2 page)

“You’ve taken up stalking me in your free time?”

He placed a plate on the table and handed her a large to-go cup of her favorite dark roast coffee. It was just the way she liked it, with French vanilla syrup and fresh cream mixed in. “You are avoiding me,” he said as he took the chair next to her.

“Have you considered that maybe I just don’t like you?” She took a long sip, inwardly sighing as the perfect sweet hot coffee traveled through her chest.

“Bullshit,” he said again.

“Why is it so hard to believe that a person doesn’t like you?”

“Oh, I believe that many people don’t like me. I just don’t believe that you are one of them.”

He was looking her in the eye, with that kind of intense gaze that would cause a spy to give up state secrets and she knew she couldn’t lie to him. The truth was they were friends. They celebrated birthdays and holidays together. They had been through a lot.

“I had the dream again,” she said breaking eye contact as she stared at the plate he’d set in front of her. It was filled with things she didn’t recognize and she knew what was coming. “I thought maybe if I stayed away from here it wouldn’t happen so often.”

Alex slid his chair directly in front of hers, so close that his knees brushed hers, and he buried a fork deep inside one of the baked delights. “Was I in the dream?”

“Yes,” she admitted as the fork came toward her mouth.

“Was I naked in it?”

“No!”

“Well, who cares then?” He fed her the first bite. He always fed her when he made her try his new creations. Part of her balked at his feeding her, at his need to be in control even in this, but another part of her, a secret deep down part of her kind of liked being fed by this big, beautiful Greek man. “Tell me what you taste.”

“Mmm,” she moaned, shutting her eyes as the still warm, moist cake coated her tongue. “I don’t care what’s in it. I want more of it.” He gifted her another bite, watching her intently as she chewed.

“Tell me what you taste,” Alex urged.

“Chocolate.” She closed her eyes and concentrated. This was a game Alex liked to play with her a few times a week. This was another reason why she avoided him. It was annoying and bad for her waistline, but for some reason she still played.

“What else?”

“Oatmeal, pumpkin, butter, brown sugar. Maple syrup? Is that what I’m tasting?” She opened her eyes to find a little smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye like… like… Like she was a thick piece of cake and he had dangerously low blood sugar.

It flustered the hell out of her. It made her want to play more even though she knew she shouldn’t.

“You’re right, Mags. What do you think about it? Is the maple too strong? Is it sweet enough?”

She knew he was seeking perfection. He always was and was on a never-ending journey to obtain it. “I want to bathe in it. Are you going to put it on the menu?”

“I don’t know yet.” He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “It might be more of a fall thing. I have a friend in Vermont that makes his own maple syrup. He sent me some and I knew I had to use it in a dessert.” He picked up a spoon and dug it into the red ramekin that was on the plate. “Try this one.”

He fed her again, but this time she frowned. “Is that bacon?”

“Yes, it’s maple bacon bread pudding. It’s no good? Tell me why.”

“I need to taste it again.” She reached for the spoon, but he wouldn’t let her have it. He fed her again, watching her intently as she chewed. “It’s decadent. It’s sweet. It’s salty. It’s not the kind of thing I would order by myself but I would share with somebody else.”

“Worthy of the
Specials
board?”

“Sure. I think a lot of people would like to try it. How many times does one come across maple bacon bread pudding in their lives?”

“I’ll put it on and see how it goes. I want this place to be known for more than just being good at the basics.”

The little bell over the door rang, alerting him to a customer, and he left to tend to them.

She watched him work, turning on the charm for his customers as he helped the women decide what to order. Part of her still had a hard time believing that the former rugby player was so passionate about pastries. The whole town, including his father, had expected him to go into his father’s construction business, but he surprised everyone when he dropped out of college, gave up his athletic scholarship, and enrolled in culinary school.

He had worked as an executive pastry chef in the best restaurants in New York City for five years before he decided to come back to Durant and open
Sweet Eats
a few months ago.

He wanted to create a signature dessert, one that got people flocking to his shop. Maggie thought everything he made was ten times better than anyone else’s, but she knew that he
wouldn’t feel like a success until he proved that he was to his father. That’s why his need for things to be perfect was so strong.

He finished with his customer and walked back over to her just as Fernando, his assistant, came out of the kitchen.

“Good morning, Maggie,” Fernando asked in his still thick Argentinian accent. “How are you today?”

“I’m lovely, now that I’ve seen you. How are you? Alex the Barbarian hasn’t driven you away yet?”

“No,” he shook his head seriously. “Chef Alex is a wonderful man.”

“See?” Alex took his seat across from her, his knees once again brushing hers. “I’m wonderful.” He grabbed the end of her fishtail braid, wrapped it around his fingers and tugged. “Why don’t you think that about me? I’m a pretty awesome guy.”

He hadn’t let go of her hair. Instead, he held it between his fingers absently stroking his thumb over the strands.

“Don’t put words in Fernando’s mouth. He never said you were awesome. Besides, he has to say nice things about you even though you berate and bully the man. You sign his paychecks.” She tried to look him in the eye as she spoke, but she had a hard time concentrating because his hand was resting on her shoulder and his thumb kept sliding over her braid and an image of him sliding his thumb over a softer, more sensitive place popped into her mind. He was too close. She could smell his scent of sugar and spicy soap. She could see the tiny white scar above his lip. He was always so close to her lately. She thought it was because he was from an
affectionate Greek family, and because he had known her forever, and because he thought of her as a little sister.

But it still made her insides feel funny. It made her aware that he was a man and no longer that teenaged boy who used to bug her by throwing daddy longlegs at her. Now he bothered her in a completely different way.

“Come on, Maggie May. Even you have to admit that I’ve gotten better with age.”

He had gotten better looking. That was for sure. “Yes, you’ve grown into an amazing baker. Barely burn a thing nowadays.”

“I’m a pastry chef,” he corrected.

“Excuse me, Mr. Pastry Chef.” She rolled her eyes. “I know you in a deeper way than Fernando does. I know what your feet smell like after football practice. I know you had big, monster-size zits until you were eighteen. I know you once ate thirteen pickled eggs for a bet and spent three hours intimately acquainted with my bathroom.”

He grinned at her for a moment then leaned in to kiss both her cheeks. She knew it meant nothing, that that was the way his family often greeted each other, but no one else kissed her like that. No one else’s warm smooth lips had lingered on her cheeks in a very long time. Except for his. And it annoyed the hell out of her. “What are you doing Thursday evening?” He sat back, clearly nowhere near as affected by her as she was by him.

“What? Why?” His question made her nervous. He wanted to see her? At night? Too much.

“I want to go over the Valentine’s Day menu I’m planning for the ball we’re catering at the country club.”

“I’m busy.” She stood up and put her coat on, looking away from him. For once she was looking forward to going out into the cold. It suddenly had gotten very hot under her sweater.

“You’re lying to me.”

She was. She was lying through her teeth. Her only plans including watching a marathon of
The Real Housewives
and eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. “Fernando has been your best baker for years. Why do you need me?”

“Because,” he looked at Fernando who was busily packing his paper bag full of goodies, “Fernando thinks everything I do is great, isn’t that right, Fernando?”

“Yes, Chef,” he nodded. “You do amazing work.”

“See? You’re the only one who I can trust to tell me when something sucks. Remember my first attempt at the zucchini cake with lemon glaze?”

“Yuck.” She frowned. “Gross.”

“You’ve got amazing taste buds, Mags,” he said looking at her mouth. “I’ve never known a tongue like yours.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you mean for that to sound as dirty as it did?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But it’s true.” He took the large paper bag from Fernando and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“Some stuff for you to take to work. There are two small maple oatmeal cakes in there. Keep one for yourself. I put some tarts in there for Ellis and some peanut butter brownies in for Belinda, and Fernando has filled the rest up with his amazing apple cobbler doughnuts.”

“And sticky buns, Chef. Maggie likes sticky buns.”

“This is too much, Alex.” She blinked at him, touched that he always remembered the things her friends liked. “Thank you.”

“Let me know what you think about the sourdough bread. There’s a turkey sandwich in there for you. That processed white bread you eat is total crap. You have the eating habits of a five-year-old boy and it’s kind of gross.”

She wasn’t sure whether she should be moved by his gesture or mildly insulted by his comment. “I’ve got to go.”

“I know. See you here on Thursday evening. And don’t avoid me tomorrow.”

“No promises.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed on to her again, his hands sliding up her coat to the top few buttons which she had left undone.

“Don’t make me come after you,” he warned softly. “I know where you live.” He buttoned her up, reminding her that he did indeed live in the apartment next to hers, in the building his father owned. There was really no way to get away from him.

*

“You should marry that girl, Chef.”

Alex took his eyes off the doorway Maggie had left through and turned his attention to Fernando. Fernando was his hardest worker and one of the most loyal people he knew. He left
his well-paying job at an exclusive French restaurant in New York when Alex decided he was going to leave and open his own bakery. The man moved his life to Durant for him and that’s why Alex knew he had to make
Sweet Eats a
success. He had people counting on him.

“Do you ever regret leaving the city?” he asked.

“No, Chef. My wife is going to have a baby and she didn’t want to raise it in that little one-bedroom apartment we had in Queens. We love it here.”

“What if this place goes under? What will you do?”

“I’ve had no less than three job offers since we’ve opened. I’ll be fine, but we are not going to fail because you have a gift. And don’t try to change the subject. You heard me say you should marry that girl.”

“You think?”

“I very much think,” Fernando said as he headed back into the kitchen.

Alex had known Maggie May Calhoun since her family had moved into town when she was ten years old. She lived two houses down from him, in a happy-looking yellow colonial. She was a shy kid. He hadn’t seen her face for the first year she lived there because she always had it buried in a book. Even when her mother sent her and her brother, Clayton, out to play he would always see her sitting reading under the old oak in her yard. But Maggie had grown up in the years he was working in the city.

She’s was Clayton’s little sister. She was nowhere near his type. He liked his women exotic-looking. Glamorous. His last girlfriend was from Brazil with beautiful dark skin and light colored hair and an accent that made his toes curl. Maggie May was the complete opposite. She
had peaches-and-cream skin and thick chestnut brown hair. She was wholesome-looking. All-American. But, damn it, the girl was beautiful. She was tall, there was nothing petite about her, but she was curvy and he couldn’t help but notice how well her backside rounded out those tight black jeans. She had a waist that a guy could wrap his hands around, and a chest that any man would like to lean into, and since she had started working in that store he found her kind of sexy.

But she was Clayton’s little sister. Clayton the veteran, who had been to war and probably knew how to kill a man with his bare hands. Clayton who came back from Afghanistan and wasn’t the same guy he was before. She was Maggie, his untouchable old friend. But she was also Maggie, the woman who licked her lips after eating good chocolate and moaned when she ate cake. She was Maggie, who clouded his thoughts more than she should. She was Maggie, the woman who could get him in serious trouble if he wasn’t careful.

But lately the idea of getting in trouble never seemed so good.

Chapter 2

Maggie walked up to
Size Me Up
, prepared to open the store that morning, to find that she had been beaten to it. There was a little girl with black curly hair standing in front of the counter with a solemn look on her face.

“Hey, Ruby!” she greeted her boss’s little girl when she walked through the door. “No school for you today?” She touched the girl’s cheek, noticing that she wasn’t her usual happy self. “Are you not feeling well?”

“She’s fine.” Belinda popped up from behind the counter with a box of scarves that needed to be stocked. “We both have doctor’s appointments today. So we are going to go to them and then have a mommy and daughter day.”

“That sounds like fun.” Maggie dropped the bag Alex gave her on the counter and took the box from the very pregnant Belinda. “What is wrong with you?” she softly scolded her. “You know you’re not supposed to be lifting stuff. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

Belinda walked from behind the counter, sighing. “Oh, it’s just scarves, Maggie. My handbag weighs more than this. You sound like my husband. I’m pregnant. I’m not sick. I can work. I like to work.” She rubbed her belly. “This little boy in here already knows that about his mommy.”