The Baker (4 page)

“What do you mean?” Cameron had finished his meal and sat back a little, keeping eye contact.

“Well, he has elevated the secret ingredients to a level that rivals the Coca-Cola Company’s brouhaha around their secret recipe for Coke. To the point where nobody but him knows the actual recipes for the bakery’s biggest sellers like shortbread, oatcakes, and even basic bread.” Ian couldn’t keep the scowl off his face. “It’s not exactly a safe business practice to handle things this way. What if something happens to him? And he’s not getting any younger. Not that’s he’s senile or anything, but I worry, you know?”

“I see what you mean.” Cameron nodded slowly. “But you have your own recipes, right?”

“I do.” Ian nodded. “It’s mostly the cakes and cookies, both savory and sweet, those are my specialty. But the big sellers, the ones that make a lot of turnover, are all his. They’re what the bakery is known for. Take this upcoming Tartan Day event, for example.”

“Tartan Day event?” Cameron raised his eyebrows. “Never heard of it.”

“I only found out about it yesterday. Apparently, it’s a celebration of Scottish heritage on April 6. A friend of mine told me the mayor is planning to bring it to Casper so he has another event to attract tourists.” Ian shrugged. “Whatever the reason, the mayor wants the Scottish Bakehouse to participate in the competition.”

“But that’s great.” Cameron smiled. “It’ll be perfect advertising for you.”

“That’s what I thought. But there’s a catch.” Ian swallowed. He still hadn’t managed to talk to his father about it.
Damn!

“Oh?” Cameron raised one eyebrow, making him look even sexier.

“Yeah. The mayor wants only the youngest generation in each business to compete, independent of who is the official owner. Something about showing future potential.” Ian paused to finish his last bite of food.

“And?” Cameron frowned, but then his face lit up. “Oh!”

“Exactly.” Ian sighed and leaned back, feeling pleasantly full. “For the marketing to have real effect, my father would need to let me have his secret ingredients.”

“And he won’t?” Cameron looked shocked.

“I… um… I haven’t even asked him yet.” Ian shrank a little in his seat. It sounded even worse out loud than it had in his head.

“You’re expecting him to say no.” Cameron nodded. “Makes sense. From what you’ve told me, that’s probably how he would react. Thing is, you won’t know for sure until you ask him, right?”

“Right.” Ian nodded. At least Cameron hadn’t accused him of being a coward. It was certainly how he felt sometimes. But his father could be so intimidating it wasn’t funny.

“I’ll cross my fingers for you.” Cameron smiled. “And now I have an even better excuse to come see you.”

“You do?” Ian felt warmth rise inside him at the thought of the sexy detective wanting to see him again. “Better than what?”

“Than buying some more black buns.” Cameron leaned forward again. “Or anything else of yours, for that matter.”

“The black buns won’t be around after New Year’s Day. And they take a few weeks to settle, so I can’t make new ones quickly. Not that I am supposed to. It’s against tradition.” Ian wouldn’t mind breaking tradition though, not where Cameron was concerned.

“I wouldn’t want to interfere with tradition.” Cameron lifted his hands in a show of capitulation. “But I’m sure you have other items on offer, right?”

Ian nodded, trying not to think about all the things he’d like to offer Cameron. He decided to speak to his father tomorrow, come what may. He needed this resolved. With that decision made, he focused back on his date. Was it a date? He sure hoped so!

By the time they’d finished desert—tiramisu, of course—and made it out to their cars, he was nervous of things either being too businesslike or becoming awkward. Cameron solved it all when he held out his hand.

“I had a great time. Thank you.” Cameron’s brown eyes were warm, his gaze open.

Ian took his hand, expecting a brief shake. Instead Cameron took it in both of his and caressed Ian’s wrist with a strong, slightly calloused thumb.

“I really wish I could kiss you, but I’m not sure we’re ready for that. Not right out in the open, even though this parking lot is pretty dark.” Cameron let go of Ian’s hand and stepped back. “But I want you to know that I wish things were different. I really, really want to kiss you.”

“Me too.” Ian nodded, touched as much by Cameron’s very apparent desire as by how careful he was about PDAs.

“We’ll find a way, huh?” Cameron smiled, pulled his keys from his pocket, and thumbed open his dark sedan.

Ian nodded and got in his own car, looking back once before starting the engine and driving off. Cameron was still sitting in his car, probably watching him go to make sure he was safe.
What a guy!

BY TUESDAY
after the busy lunchtime, Ian was a nervous wreck. He’d wondered how to start the discussion with his father all morning, but instead of figuring something out, he’d become more convinced there was no way his father would cooperate.

They always took their lunch early, since they were usually at the bakery at 5:00 a.m. to ensure all the bread was baked fresh by the time the store opened at seven. He’d wanted to bring it up then, but his father had been on the phone talking to suppliers and had barely looked up even when he took the occasional bite from his sandwich.

But now the store was quiet, Ian squared his shoulders, and marched into his father’s small office at the end of the hallway to the right of the kitchen.

“What is it, Ian?” His father looked up, the almost perpetual frown above his angular face making him look slightly intimidating, at least to Ian. His father had the same black hair as him, albeit slightly graying at the temples, but his blue eyes looked tired behind the reading glasses he’d had to admit to needing a few years ago. The man was in his late fifties, after all, so no one other than him had been surprised. “You’ve been behaving like there’s something stuck in your throat and you can’t quite get yourself to spit it out.”

“Well, yes, actually there is something I’ve wanted to talk to you about.” Ian should no longer be shocked at how observant his father was, but it got to him every time.

“Okay, so, get on with it.” His father pointed at the stacks of paper littering the small desk. “As you know, the monthly inventory taking is tomorrow, and it’s not going to manage itself.”

“Right.” Ian cleared his throat. His father might not be in the best of moods, and this situation was less than optimal, but he’d put if off long enough. And he doubted his father would ever be in a better frame of mind. “Have you heard of Tartan Day?”

“Of course. April 6. What about it?” His father narrowed his eyes.

“Huh.”
He knew about it all along?
Ian forged on despite his surprise. “Apparently the mayor wants us to celebrate the day here in Casper next year.”

“Really?” His father frowned. “Wonder what brought that on.”

“My friend Matthew, the mayor’s son, told me it’s about adding an event to the calendar so we can attract more tourists between the sled dog races in February and the summer festivals and rodeos, which don’t start until early summer.”

“That makes sense.” His father nodded his approval. “So of course, as the best Scottish bakery in Casper, he wants us to participate.”

It was phrased as a statement, not a question, and Ian nodded despite his somewhat rebellious thought about them being the
only
Scottish bakery in Casper. But his father wouldn’t appreciate that detail, so Ian pushed it to the back of his mind. He’d taken a breath to tell his father the rest of the deal, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“We’ll accept his invitation. It’ll be great for business and free marketing.” His father leaned back in his seat with a smug smile. “I do like when we can get something for free.”

“Um, there’s more.” Ian forced himself to look his father in the eyes. “The mayor wants this to be about the younger generation, showing the potential for Casper’s future. In the case of family owned businesses, the participants have to be the youngest family members who are actively involved in the business.”

“What?” His father turned red with anger as he slowly rose from his seat.

“Is that a problem?” Ian stood his ground.

“Of course that’s a problem. You know it is.” His father slapped his hands onto the desk and supported himself as he leaned forward, face red and eyes narrowed in anger. “We’ll need to participate with our most successful items, the big sellers, if we want to win that competition.”

“Of course.” Ian nodded.

“And you know they all have a secret ingredient that is part of their success.” His father took a deep breath. “Next thing you’ll tell me I need to give them to you.”

“I’ve been working in the bakery my entire life, and I am a member of this family, the one who is going to be inheriting this bakery at some point in the future, last time I checked. So yes, I think it would be reasonable for you to support me so we can win and get more customers.” Ian had no idea where his sudden courage came from, but he was glad he’d said his piece.

“Yer talking pish!” His father shook his head as he slowly and deliberately lifted his hands from the desk and sat back down. Quiet rage flashed in his eyes, but this outwardly controlled fury was so much worse than yelling and shouting could ever be.

“Excuse me?” Ian was always shocked when his father swore, but his reverting to Scottish insults was a particularly bad sign. And Ian was not “talking piss” by any stretch of the imagination.

“You heard me.” His father’s hands shook until he gripped the office chair’s armrests. “You’re not going to be inheriting anything until you settle down and start a family, you hear me? It’s long past time you find a wife. I’ve told you so before.”

“What?” Ian almost stepped back. Where the hell did this come from? His father hadn’t mentioned Ian finding a wife in years.

“Let me make it perfectly clear.” His father lifted one hand and pointed it at Ian, punctuating each sentence with a fast stab in his direction. “Until you’re married and have supplied me with a grandson, you are not going to inherit anything. This is a family business and has been handed down from father to son for almost one hundred years. If you don’t get your act together, the Scottish Bakehouse is going to Aileen’s boy. He may not be in the direct line, but at least the business will stay in the family that way.”

Ian blinked.
What the fuck?

CAMERON COULDN’T
wait to see Ian again. After their dinner on Monday, he’d regretted not asking for Ian’s number, but he’d managed to make it to the bakery on Tuesday afternoon. He’d hoped for a drink or something that evening, but it was New Year’s Eve, and Ian had family plans he didn’t feel comfortable canceling at such short notice. Instead he had suggested New Year’s Day brunch, and Cameron had eagerly accepted. The only places they stood a chance finding a table without a reservation made weeks before were Denny’s or IHOP. Neither of them were very romantic, but that would only help them stay undercover, so to speak. They’d agreed on Denny’s around 11:00 a.m. because IHOP had some awful reviews online that neither wanted to prove right.

Cameron had arrived early, just to be sure they’d have a table. Right before eleven a tired-looking Ian walked in, and Cameron waved him over. He got a refill for his coffee, Ian got a new mug, and they were left to their own devices with a huge menu as the frazzled waitress hurried to the next table demanding her attention.

“Hi.” Ian hardly looked up from his coffee, clasping his mug with an intensity worthy of a life raft, not a portion of caffeine.

“Happy New Year?” Cameron couldn’t help phrasing it as a question. Ian’s body language couldn’t be clearer—Ian was not feeling even close to happy.

“Yeah.” Ian looked up, and his eyes flashed with something like anger. “Happy fucking New Year.”

Cameron’s eyes widened of their own accord. He hadn’t known Ian, who’d so far seemed so even-keeled, had it in him.

“Oh my God. I didn’t say that out loud, did I?” Ian’s eyes were as big as Cameron’s felt.

Cameron nodded, not at all sure what to say. The father of three seated at the next table, right behind Ian’s back, had turned around and thrown proverbial daggers at Ian with his eyes, but Cameron wasn’t about to tell Ian. He seemed distraught enough as it was.

“I’m sorry.” Ian deflated, almost sinking under the table as he slumped in his chair.

“No problem.” Cameron tilted his head, curious what had prompted this outburst. “But I’d like to know what caused you to swear and help if I can.”

“I’m not so sure anyone can help, but thank you.” Ian righted himself a little and poured half his coffee down his throat in one big gulp. “And I don’t want to bother you with my issues.”

“What are friends for?” Cameron was only half joking. He liked Ian, and he wanted to help if he could. He was a fixer of problems, and Ian had already wormed his way under Cameron’s skin.

“Thanks.” A small smile made Ian’s face look a lot more relaxed. “Let’s order our food, and then we can talk while we wait.”

“Good plan.” Cameron focused back on the menu. He only needed to decide between two options. It was either the philly cheesesteak omelet or the ultimate skillet. Both were equally bad for him, but it was a holiday, and he could always work it off in the gym.

“What can I get you folks?” The waitress impressed Cameron with how cheerful she sounded, despite the chaos she was surrounded by and her frazzled appearance. Then again, some people thrived on pressure.

“I’d like the cinnamon pancake breakfast, please, and a large glass of orange juice.” Ian shrugged when Cameron looked at him. “It’s comfort food.”

“I’m not saying anything.” Cameron grinned and raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m getting the ultimate skillet myself, and I know my waistline is going to complain, but I want to start the year with a substantial meal.”

“Whatever makes you happy, honey.” The waitress had written everything down, and her smile was radiant when she looked at Cameron. “Any drinks?”