The Baker (3 page)

The baker pulled a bunch of keys from his white jacket and unlocked the door. Then he stepped back, inviting Cameron inside, but stared at him as if he were seeing a ghost.

“Thank you.” Cameron walked inside so they could talk but stayed right by the door after clicking it shut behind him. He wasn’t sure of his welcome, so thought it best to be careful and take his cues from the baker.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed, so I can’t sell you anything.” A small smile quirked the baker’s lips. “And I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the law.”

“No, indeed not.” Cameron laughed. Cute
and
a sense of humor, perfect. He was about to mention his handcuffs, but that might be a little much, considering how shy the baker seemed to be. Also, Cameron wasn’t yet sure the man was gay, so he’d better play it safe for now.

“What can I do for you?” The baker looked a little less shocked with some color having returned to his cheeks.

“I’m hoping you’ll agree to have an early dinner with me.” Cameron watched the shock return to the baker’s face. He looked as though he was about to faint. Had he never been asked on a date before? “It’s too bad you don’t have a coffee corner at the bakery here that’s open later than the store. But there’s a pretty good Italian restaurant about two blocks north of here on West 2nd Street called Botticelli. I’ve eaten there before, and the food is good. Monday is pasta night. Maybe we could go there?”

“Why?” The baker’s eyes were wide enough to make Cameron worry he might faint after all.

“What do you mean why? I’d like to chat, maybe talk about your black buns and the other amazing things you create here, maybe get to know you a little.” Cameron shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but it was suddenly very important to him to find out more about this intriguing guy.

“I mean… I….” The baker blinked. “Nobody is ever interested in me, okay? Certainly not a man. And this isn’t exactly New York City, so I’m not sure how to deal with this. And with you being a detective and all, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid and get in trouble.”

“Whoa!” Cameron held up his hands and took a step back. “First of all, I have no idea why nobody would be interested in you. I think you’re fascinating.”

“You do?” The baker’s big blue eyes widened even more.

“Definitely fascinating.” Cameron nodded. Time for the big guns and some real honesty. He kept eye contact to ensure the baker knew he was serious. “And second of all, I can see why gay men might be cautious approaching someone out here, but I have to tell you, I’ve done scarier shit while serving in the Marines. It’ll take a lot more than some annoyed glances and a few intimidating words to stop me from being who I am. Hell, same-sex marriage has been legal in this state since October. So people better wake up and realize it’s the twenty-first century.”

“I agree.” The baker grinned, showing off a dimple that needed kissing. “And I
knew
you were a Marine.”

“You did?” Cameron was a little shocked from letting loose like that. He’d never said it out loud, had been timid about coming out himself, but suddenly, looking at this cute guy and seeing him all scared had made him realize there was no point in hiding. He wouldn’t do anything obvious like march in any Pride events, which were pretty much limited to college campuses in Wyoming for now, but maybe it was time he stood up for himself a little more. After all, he was looking at all the motivation he needed standing right in front of him.

“I suspected.” The baker blushed.

“Ah.” Cameron smiled. “Maybe you’re a bit of a detective too.”

“Um….” The baker shifted from foot to foot, clearly at a loss as to what to say next.

“So, about dinner? Would you like to join me? Please? If you don’t like Italian, we can go somewhere else.” Cameron held his breath.

“Yeah, okay, I think I’d like to have dinner with you. And I like Italian just fine.” The baker held out his hand. “I’m Ian Wallace.”

“I’m Cameron Lewis.” Cameron shook the offered hand, holding on to it as long as possible. Ian had strong fingers, probably from all that dough kneading he did, and his skin was soft. “You want to follow me in your car?”

“I could, I’m parked around back. But I know where it is, so we can meet there.” Ian looked unsure of himself, but at least the color was back in his face, and he didn’t seem on the verge of bolting any longer.

“I’ll see you there.” Cameron smiled and made his way to his car. He wanted to do a triumphant fist pump for having convinced Ian to give him a chance, but that might have been a little juvenile.

Botticelli, a brick building with green wooden latticework, was welcoming, with its sun-yellow walls and light wooden ceiling. Like most restaurants right after Christmas it was pretty quiet, so they quickly got seated in a quiet corner. They chatted about the food on offer while making their decisions and had soon ordered drinks and their meals. Ian had gone for soup and the linguine with seafood, and Cameron wanted to try the salad and cannelloni with chicken.

As soon as the waiter was gone, Ian leaned forward. “I’ve been dying to ask you if you’ve had a chance to try the black bun I gave you.”

“Yep, I have.” Cameron could still taste the flaky goodness of the pastry and the sweetness of the filling when he closed his eyes. “I’ll have you know I hid the box in the trunk of my car so it’d be safe from my colleagues, but I managed to sneak a taste during my lunch break.”

“The other police officers would steal your food?” Ian shook his head, his lips twitching suspiciously. “And here I thought they’d all be upstanding members of the community. I am so disappointed.”

“They wouldn’t exactly
steal
the food.” Cameron smiled, loving how playful Ian turned out to be. “But they’d make a strong case for having me share, and I’d find it difficult to turn them down. Not with something as excellent as that black bun. The donuts were pretty outstanding, but the cake? Amazing.”

“So you liked it.” Ian nodded and sat back, more relaxed now. “Not everyone does, you know? The filling is pretty compact and, like much of Scottish baking, very sweet, so it’s not always received well.”

“If you ever have any leftovers, you now know where to send them!” Cameron winked.

“Oh, well, that’s good to know.” Ian smiled shyly and took a sip of his water. “So, did you manage to identify the ingredients in the filling?”

“I think so.” Cameron leaned back in his chair and focused on recalling what he’d tasted. “Other than flour, baking powder, milk, and egg, there were raisins, currants, some almonds, and chopped peel, I think. I suspect the presence of brown sugar, ginger, and cinnamon. And just to throw me off, there might have been some black pepper and a trace of either brandy or whisky, I’m not sure.”

“Wow, that’s pretty impressive.” Ian smiled. “I can see you’re not a detective in name only.”

“I got it right?” Cameron couldn’t believe it.

“Almost. The alcohol you tasted was whisky, the real Scottish kind, of course. It’s my personal variation, since most recipes say to use brandy. But there is one more ingredient nobody is even supposed to get, since it’s secret.” Ian had lowered his voice to almost a whisper.

“A secret ingredient?” Cameron made a show of checking if anyone could overhear them and leaned toward Ian. “Are you going to tell me?”

“If I did, I’d have to kill you.” Ian grinned.

“No!” Cameron laughed at the sneaky expression on Ian’s face. “But I got the rest right?”

“You did.” Ian nodded.

“Is there a prize?” Cameron knew what he wanted, but he had no idea how Ian would react.

“A prize?” Ian tilted his head in thought. “Possibly. I hadn’t thought about it yet. Is there anything you’re thinking of?”

“I am afraid so.” Cameron attempted to look serious.

“You’re afraid to tell me?” Ian frowned. “Why?”

“Because….” Cameron paused dramatically. “Because you might want to kill me if I did.”

“I WOULD
never want to kill you.” Ian had trouble keeping his hands off the gorgeous detective, that much was true. But killing him? No way—and not just because he wasn’t in any way a violent person. It was his own fault for starting to flirt like he had—and what had gotten into him to be so daring, he’d never know. Now they were in full swing, it was a little scary. How was he going to get out of this one?

“Okay, in that case I might be willing to tell you what prize I had in mind.” Cameron winked.

Before Ian could figure out what to say, what with all the naughty ideas suddenly clamoring for attention in his head, the waiter interrupted them by bringing their appetizers. His soup had steam rising from its surface, clearly piping hot like he preferred it, and Cameron’s salad looked so fresh that Ian began to wonder how they managed that in the middle of winter.

“I hope you enjoy your food. Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.” Their server, a young man with the definite air of a student, shaggy haircut and cute glasses included, waited the appropriate few seconds before Ian shook his head. Cameron followed, and the young man left them to it.

“The food looks amazing.” Ian sniffed his vegetable soup. Ah, a hint of thyme and bay leaves, very adventurous. The garlic was more expected, and Ian wanted to facepalm for not thinking to ask first. Would Cameron mind? Then again, wasn’t Ian getting way ahead of himself? Maybe Cameron actually liked garlic. And Cameron’s food probably contained some as well.
Stop babbling!

“I agree.” Cameron picked up his fork and stabbed into his mountain of lettuce, making it crunch. The salad was covered with an original-looking light oil and vinegar dressing, not the more complicated American version of Italian dressing. Cameron took the first bite, chewed and swallowed, then hummed his pleasure. “I love it!”

Ian tried his soup. It contained more vegetables in one place than he’d seen in a while, and little pasta shells combined with a light covering of Parmesan complemented the goodness perfectly.

“Is it as good as it looks?” Cameron looked up from demolishing his salad and smiled when Ian nodded. “Great.”

Minutes of silence followed as they each enjoyed their dishes. Ian must have been hungrier than he’d realized, because the soup sated a sudden empty feeling inside him that he hadn’t even registered before. His stomach slowly warmed as he enjoyed the savory flavors. When he looked up again, Cameron was sitting back in his chair, watching Ian eat. Ian blushed a little, the sudden heat on his cheeks a little embarrassing.

“I’ve just discovered a new hobby.” Cameron smiled.

“You have?” Ian wiped his mouth with the spotless white napkin and leaned back in his chair.

“Yep. I love watching you eat. Your face is very expressive.” Cameron flinched. “That probably sounds a little creepy, huh?”

“A little.” Ian was pleased and a little flattered that the detective was paying such close attention though. He leaned forward, reducing his voice to a whisper. “Just don’t let anyone else know about you being a closet stalker. They might take it the wrong way.”

Cameron laughed. It was a good sound, and Ian couldn’t help but smile in return.

Exactly at the right moment, the waiter reappeared, taking their empty plates and handing over their main courses. Ian’s linguine came covered in shrimp, sun-dried tomatoes, artichokes, and zucchini. He couldn’t wait to try it. When he took a quick look at Cameron’s cannelloni, those looked equally tempting, all smothered in rosa sauce and mozzarella. The chicken and spinach filling appeared as Cameron made the first cut. Man, the guy was fast. Ian quickly caught up by forking up some of his linguine. The taste was amazing, and judging from Cameron’s soft moan of clear enjoyment, the detective wasn’t disappointed either.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, Ian occasionally glancing at Cameron, to make sure he was still there. The whole situation felt like a dream, but Ian wasn’t complaining. Just when he began to wonder how to restart their conversation, Cameron paused in demolishing his food, and looked up.

“About that secret ingredient. Not that I’d dare ask what it is. I sorta like being alive—a lot.” Cameron waggled his eyebrows, making Ian grin. “But I have to say it made me curious to find out what it is, which is likely going to make me come back to the bakery to buy more to see if I can figure it out. And that makes me wonder if you do it on purpose. Like it’s a marketing thing or something.”

“It’s that transparent, huh?” Ian had never heard anyone else make that observation. But maybe the detective was superobservant, which would certainly come in handy in his line of work.

“I don’t know about transparent, but it’s definitely clever. Even if you know it’s marketing, it wouldn’t stop you from being curious, right?” Cameron shrugged. “Then again, maybe it just works on people like me who always want to know all the details.”

“I think you’re right.” Ian put down his fork for a moment. “The Scottish Bakehouse has been around since my great-grandfather started it in 1925 when he was only twenty years old. He was a second-generation American but figured he could make use of his ancestry to sell more bread and cakes than his competitors. Rumor has it he needed a reliable way to make money so he could feed his suddenly expanding family.”

“Oh, I like it! Do I detect the signs of a shotgun wedding?” Cameron leaned forward.

“Absolutely.” Ian laughed. “Nobody in the family will admit it, but I did some research and found out my grandfather was born only four months after the wedding.”

“Perfect. A family scandal to go with the family tradition. Tell me more.” Cameron waved his fork in a “do continue” gesture before getting back to eating. He kept his eyes mostly on Ian as he ate, clearly fascinated.

“Well, his focus on being Scottish and slightly different did help the business survive the Great Depression, and when my grandfather took over in the fifties, it was one of the most well-known bakeries in a Casper about half the size it is today. When my father took over in the late eighties, when Casper was in decline, he needed some sort of a gimmick to keep the bakery afloat.” Ian smiled ruefully. “He’d never admit it was a gimmick, of course. Whatever the reason it started, the secret ingredient thing has become a bit of a trademark for us. Only for my father, it’s way more serious than that.”