Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Once again, I shook my head as I headed down to the kitchen for coffee. What was it about this girl that brought out all these foreign feelings and desires? Without a clue as to the whys, I could only hope once I sated them, and sent her away, I could go back to my life before Brianna.
I ignored the laughter in my head.
Gia showed her into my office promptly at ten. Brianna was wearing another set of her overalls—these lime green with a yellow T-shirt underneath it. Both looked worn, and I wondered why she hadn’t picked one of the new sets I’d made sure to purchase for her.
Brianna looked around in curiosity. My office took up a large section of the third floor. The view outside the windows was spectacular. I had opened the walls so the office ran the full length of the house, and you could see both vistas clearly, the rolling hills, vineyards, and trees an endless source of beauty for the eyes.
I had a lot of art on display. My favorite pieces I had collected. Sculptures, paintings, pottery. Whatever I truly loved was in this room, for my eyes only and those few I allowed into this space. If I was receiving other visitors, I met them at the gallery, or downstairs in a smaller office I used mostly for show. This was my private sanctuary.
I watched her wander. Studied her studying the paintings. Tracing the sculptures with her eyes. Her hand rose more than once as she copied the lines of a piece midair, a delicate rendering she was committing to memory. She was a joy to observe, taking it all in.
Then I cleared my throat, and she spun on her heel, coming over to the desk.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “So many lovely things.”
“I’m glad you like them. Do you enjoy art?”
She smiled, looking self-conscious. “I don’t know anything about it. I couldn’t tell you something real from something fake. Or who an artist was by the brushstrokes or subject. I only know what I like.”
“That means something.”
“I used to go to the galleries on free nights or weekends. Look at the paintings. I’d hear people discuss them, but I never understood it. I only enjoyed what I saw.”
“You create art with your cakes. You elevate them.”
She frowned. “I never thought about it that way.”
“It’s true.”
She peered around again, still curious. “You own an art gallery, you said?”
“A few, yes.”
“You pointed one out in the town we were in. Could I see it one day?”
I sat back, crossing my legs. “Are you staying, Little Bee?”
She sat up straighter, all business now. I withheld my smile at her sudden fierceness. Good God, she was delightful.
“If you meet my demands.”
I folded my fingers together, keeping my voice neutral. “Let’s hear them.”
“Sixty cakes, sixty days.”
I nodded.
“I might need a day off from baking.”
“We can adjust.”
“I don’t know if I can get the same ingredients as in Canada. The cakes might not taste the same, and you won’t be happy. Do they even have cream cheese in Italy?”
“Give me a list of what you need, and I will have it flown in if necessary.”
She handed me a list, and I scanned it. I was impressed. It was very thorough. The list even included the types of pans and decorating equipment she required.
“I need to know your favorites. I don’t know if I can come up with sixty different kinds of cake, but I can vary the flavors.”
“I love spiced cakes. Carrot. That one you had on the tree with pecans on the top.”
“Hummingbird.”
“Yes. And vanilla is a favorite. Pineapple upside-down cake is one as well.”
“Do you like mousse, jelly, jam fillings? Lemon? Pound cake?”
“I’ll make this easy, Little Bee. You make it, I’ll love it. I don’t care if you make the same one a few times. Especially the hummingbird one. I liked it. Except coconut. I cannot stomach the stuff.”
“You will really eat a cake every single day?”
I laughed. “A piece at least, probably two. Or more. I have a tremendous sweet tooth. Gia and Mario will have a slice. You too. Can the rest be wrapped and frozen?”
“Most of them.”
“Okay. Next.”
“I need my phone for music. I always have music playing.”
I opened the drawer and slid a brand-new phone her way. “Your phone was ancient and barely functional. I copied all your music to this one. My number is programmed, along with all your contacts. Consider it a gift.”
She picked it up and studied it, her eyes wide. Then she set it down, surprising me by not arguing.
“I need aprons.”
“I’ll take you into town, and you can pick what you like. There is a large kitchen store. Perhaps you can find some of your things there.”
She had a few other small items that were easily agreed on. Her demands were hardly that at all. More like requests or needs. The women I’d had in my life before demanded many more things. Expensive things.