The Baker by Serena Yates Page B

and lowered his voice. “I think Senga suspects something. Are we in trouble?”
    “Nah, Senga finding out will be okay. I think.” Ian swallowed. What if she had a problem? “I’ll send her to talk to Aileen if there are any issues. Remember, she was very supportive the other day.”
    “Oh.” Cameron nodded. “I thought you told her about us.”
    “No!” Although he wished he had the courage. And the sound of “us” had never been so appealing. “I wouldn’t do that without your agreement. It’s your closet too, you know?”
    “Did I mention that I like her already?” Cameron winked and pulled back a little, checking for anyone noticing what they’d talked about. But the other customers’ noise and chatter must have covered their conversation pretty well, and nobody was looking their way.
    Ian chuckled and finished packing the donuts.
    “I’ll pay extra for the cake.” Cameron looked at the double doors for a second. “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your father for not charging enough.”
    “How did you…?” Ian was too embarrassed to continue.
    “I suspected he’d give you grief.” Cameron shrugged. “From what you told me, he’s a typical Scotsman, and that goes with a certain image, or should I say stereotype?”
    “It is a stereotype, and usually I hate those. But in this case, it is totally warranted, I’m afraid.” He rang up the sale, told Cameron the total, and the man paid without question. “Thanks for coming by.”
    “Anytime.” Cameron grinned and picked up the boxes. “I’ll let you know how the cake was received.”
    Ian nodded and gave a little wave before Cameron turned around and left the store. With those broad shoulders and that tight ass, Ian’s detective looked almost as good from the back as from the front. His detective? Ian shook his head. He had better get a grip.
     
     
    BY THE end of the week, Cameron had kept up his daily visits, Ian was as exhausted as usual, and he had a crazy-busy Saturday ahead of him before his well-deserved one day off on Sunday. He’d been thinking about possible recipes all week but had lacked the energy to do anything about his ideas. Cameron had encouraged him to keep at it when they spoke on the phone in the evenings, but Ian had no idea how to make this happen. Working pretty much twelve-hour days, six days a week didn’t leave him with much time for a personal life and, apparently, was also going to stop him from fulfilling his professional ambitions.
    But, like anyone, he had a living to make and had bills to pay. And baking was his passion, the one thing he both enjoyed and was good at. How could he give that up? Not to mention he was in a family business and proud of being part of something his great-great-grandfather had started. It should have given him more freedom to be creative, but instead, it was proving increasingly difficult to be enthusiastic. Even if he inherited the bakery years from now, he was beginning to wonder if it was worth all the pain to wait for that elusive point in time.
    So when his father called him into his office for “a discussion” right after their busy lunchtime, Ian was not in the best frame of mind to deal with whatever nonsense his father had planned for him now. But he put on his game face and went to see the man anyway. What choice did he have?
    Ian knocked on the office door and waited for his father’s “Enter” before going inside. He’d “barged in” without waiting for permission only once. It had been right after graduating from culinary school, and he had received a dressing-down of epic proportions. He still didn’t know what the problem was, surely his father had nothing to hide, but he’d remembered to wait until given a signal ever since.
    “Have a seat.” His father looked up as he took off his reading glasses and pointed at the one chair facing his paper-strewn desk.
    Shit . That sounded way too official for Ian’s liking. Under normal circumstances,