travel, or jealousy got in the way, things ended, sometimes badly and with her reputation trashed in the media. Over the years, she’d gradually stopped trying so hard, and she walked away more easily. Since last year—since the baby—she hadn’t seen anyone more than once and, regardless of what the reporters thought, she hadn’t slept with anyone. She wouldn’t put herself in that situation again.
No, she needed to stick to the plan—focus on the show, ignore any hint of attraction, and get back home to New York with her reputation intact. The vow to do just that had barely passed through her mind when a visual reminder of Shannon hit her.
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at the sign for Drake’s Desserts. She debated whether going inside could be considered unethical in any way. She was drawn to the door by curiosity about the quaint bakery where Shannon had worked. If she didn’t reveal her identity, maybe a quick step inside would be okay.
When she opened the door, a subtle chime announced her presence, and a woman called from the back that she’d be right out. Maya drew in the aromas so familiar to any pastry chef and automatically cataloged them: rich chocolate, coffee, vanilla, something with apple—a pie perhaps—and the sharp, clean scent of lemon.
No matter how much time she spent in television studios, nothing felt more like coming home than walking into a bakery. And this particular shop appealed to her. Sky-blue walls lent an airy feel to what could have been a confined space. The stainless-steel counter bisecting the room doubled as a display case laden with cookies, cupcakes, petit-fours, and other essentials. A chalkboard on the wall behind the counter listed today’s specials, which apparently were also the dessert line-up for the restaurant next door. Conveniently, if Maya was interested in lunch as well, a stack of menus for Drake’s rested in a stand next to the register.
“Sorry, my assistant isn’t here yet,” a woman said as she rushed in from the back with her head down. “What can I get for you?”
Maya had been so busy admiring the shop, she hadn’t even thought about placing an order. Since it would be rude not to, she said, “What’s your best dessert today?”
“Definitely, the lemon cake.” The woman looked up as she spoke, and her last word came out with a squeak. Recognition sparked in her beautiful dark eyes, but she cleared her throat and rushed on, “It travels well, too—um—if you’re not going to eat it right away.”
Maya smiled. “Great. I’ll try it. And a couple of your chocolate-chip cookies.”
The shopkeeper nodded and began gathering up the order. Maya watched openly, taking a bit of pleasure in catching the curious glances the woman tried to steal. The flush of color that crept up her neck somehow made her already attractive features even more appealing. With her olive skin, slightly exotic bone structure, and trim figure, she was just the type of woman Maya would normally chase. But knowing she was Shannon’s boss complicated the situation. And the flash of the ring on her left hand as she worked took the idea completely off the table.
Given that Maya had left the hotel that morning in an olive, military-style jacket to ward off the slight chill in the air and a knit cap that covered her hair, leaving only the fringe of her bangs to lie against her forehead, she had to give the woman credit for recognizing her. Had she not pulled off her over-sized aviators when she entered the shop, maybe she wouldn’t have.
When she’d finished, she set the order on the counter and met Maya’s eyes. “On the house.”
“That’s not necessary.” Maya reached for her wallet.
“I insist. It’s not every day I get a legendary pastry chef in here.”
“Legendary is a stretch.” A tiny hint of flirtation crept into Maya’s voice. Old habits and all.
“Well, extremely talented at the very least.” This woman wasn’t
No, she needed to stick to the plan—focus on the show, ignore any hint of attraction, and get back home to New York with her reputation intact. The vow to do just that had barely passed through her mind when a visual reminder of Shannon hit her.
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at the sign for Drake’s Desserts. She debated whether going inside could be considered unethical in any way. She was drawn to the door by curiosity about the quaint bakery where Shannon had worked. If she didn’t reveal her identity, maybe a quick step inside would be okay.
When she opened the door, a subtle chime announced her presence, and a woman called from the back that she’d be right out. Maya drew in the aromas so familiar to any pastry chef and automatically cataloged them: rich chocolate, coffee, vanilla, something with apple—a pie perhaps—and the sharp, clean scent of lemon.
No matter how much time she spent in television studios, nothing felt more like coming home than walking into a bakery. And this particular shop appealed to her. Sky-blue walls lent an airy feel to what could have been a confined space. The stainless-steel counter bisecting the room doubled as a display case laden with cookies, cupcakes, petit-fours, and other essentials. A chalkboard on the wall behind the counter listed today’s specials, which apparently were also the dessert line-up for the restaurant next door. Conveniently, if Maya was interested in lunch as well, a stack of menus for Drake’s rested in a stand next to the register.
“Sorry, my assistant isn’t here yet,” a woman said as she rushed in from the back with her head down. “What can I get for you?”
Maya had been so busy admiring the shop, she hadn’t even thought about placing an order. Since it would be rude not to, she said, “What’s your best dessert today?”
“Definitely, the lemon cake.” The woman looked up as she spoke, and her last word came out with a squeak. Recognition sparked in her beautiful dark eyes, but she cleared her throat and rushed on, “It travels well, too—um—if you’re not going to eat it right away.”
Maya smiled. “Great. I’ll try it. And a couple of your chocolate-chip cookies.”
The shopkeeper nodded and began gathering up the order. Maya watched openly, taking a bit of pleasure in catching the curious glances the woman tried to steal. The flush of color that crept up her neck somehow made her already attractive features even more appealing. With her olive skin, slightly exotic bone structure, and trim figure, she was just the type of woman Maya would normally chase. But knowing she was Shannon’s boss complicated the situation. And the flash of the ring on her left hand as she worked took the idea completely off the table.
Given that Maya had left the hotel that morning in an olive, military-style jacket to ward off the slight chill in the air and a knit cap that covered her hair, leaving only the fringe of her bangs to lie against her forehead, she had to give the woman credit for recognizing her. Had she not pulled off her over-sized aviators when she entered the shop, maybe she wouldn’t have.
When she’d finished, she set the order on the counter and met Maya’s eyes. “On the house.”
“That’s not necessary.” Maya reached for her wallet.
“I insist. It’s not every day I get a legendary pastry chef in here.”
“Legendary is a stretch.” A tiny hint of flirtation crept into Maya’s voice. Old habits and all.
“Well, extremely talented at the very least.” This woman wasn’t
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