"My name is Sebastian Davis." He continued lightly, bringing the back of my hand to his lips as he softly kissed it.
He was on his best behavior now, it would seem. It wasn't his wishes to make a grown woman cry.
"Macy." I replied dismally, wondering if I'd fallen and hit my head and was now hallucinating this beautiful creature in front of me.
But no, I realized after a stealthy pinch on my wrist. I was not hallucinating.
Little did I realize in this miserable moment how important Sebastian Davis truly was.
This man was the key to everything. The key to the success of the shop, and the very key to my own broken heart.
Chapter Two
"You have to sift the flour first." Sebastian murmured pointedly over my shoulder, the warmth of his body only inches from my own as he scrutinized the mixing bowl in front of me with a cluck of his judgmental tongue.
"You're the one who wanted to read the recipe’s directions." I shot back, “Try to keep up now.”
As I glanced over my shoulder to glare at him, I came face to face with the broad black lapel of his fine suit jacket instead. A thin dusting of flour clung to the elegant threading. Hopefully Sebastian didn’t expect me to reimburse him for that.
I swallowed, eyes slowly trailing over his muscled chest, thick neck, square jaw, to finally rest on his ocean eyes, set like blue fire against his tan flesh.
A lone, wild brunette strand of his hair hung into his eyes.
"If these don't taste exactly as I remember, I won't be paying for them." Sebastian muttered darkly, stepping backwards to lean against the counter as the faintest hint of a pout crossed his perfect lips.
It'd taken us thirty minutes to get the oven to light. I wasn't inclined to believe these cookies would be at all like the ones my mother was capable of making. Sebastian was in for a huge disappointment.
"So how long ago did you come to the bakery?" I asked, trying to keep my burning curiosity to a casual level. I didn't want to scare the handsome man right out of my kitchen. He was probably the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life, as though he'd stepped right off of a movie screen.
Though he claimed to have come to the bakery, I definitely would have remembered a face like his from my childhood.
"About twenty five years ago." He mused, eyes suddenly clouded with remembrance, "Has it already been that long? This bakery was my favorite place to go when we were in town."
"No wonder I don't remember you." I laughed.
I was only twenty five myself.
"She was pregnant with you." Sebastian said, surprised by the sudden resurfacing of the memory, "I guess it must've been you, any siblings?"
I shook my head, turning back to the bowl as I carefully mixed together the cookie ingredients with a wooden spoon. My eyes darted back to the recipe, making sure we hadn't skipped anything.
"I'm an only child. It had to have been me." I mused, “Unless my parents were hiding something.” I added, with a light chuckle.
Sebastian didn’t seem to find the comment funny.
How strange it was, that we'd kind of met before. Almost, anyways.
"Were you in town a lot?" I asked, greasing a cookie sheet carefully and beginning to spoon the cookies out.
Sebastian shook his head, straightening out his jacket. His fingers left more streaks of flour down his suit.
"No, my father worked in the city. We only came into town every now and then for my mother to shop." His voice was pained, as though hours of dullness colored his wealthy childhood. Shopping with parents was rarely a fun memory for young children.
A smirk played on my lips, grateful that my back was to him so that he could not see my face.
"And why are you back today?" I pressed as a heavy silence slowly sank over our heads.
I was never good at small talk. My mother, on the other hand, could chatter on and on for days. Hopefully Sebastian was entertained by our conversation and not creeped out by my persistent questions.
"I took over the business when my father retired." He sighed.
Huh. So our boats were similar then, I realized, at his disdainful tone. Neither of us wanted to inherit the lives we now called our own.
What was it that caused us to take over the businesses of our parents?
Was it a sense of duty? Or was it possibly guilt?
"If there wasn't so much money on the line, I would've quit a long time ago." He bemoaned lazily, carefully blotting a bit of flour from slacks that were so expensive I'd have to save my entire life to loan.
Ah. That explained it. Money. Not particularly surprising.
Isn't that what we all wanted? More money? More stuff? What else could there be to life?
"Are you going to start the frosting now?" Sebastian asked, his turn to press for important answers.