He looked conflicted, but nodded. “Yeah, I should go.” Reaching into his pocket, he offered a piece of paper to Temperance. “This is my number. Call me if you need anything.”
“I won’t need you for anything,” she scoffed.
His mouth flattened, but he grabbed her left hand and placed the scrap into her palm. The contact with his bare skin made gooseflesh rise on her arms, but she ignored it.
“I’ll see you later, Temperance,” he said, flashing her another smile.
“I—what do you mean, later?” But it was too late. He’d disappeared, the door slamming shut. Unsure what to do, she tossed the scrap of paper in the trash.
Feeling Rosie’s stare boring a hole in her back, she turned around and swallowed hard. “I can explain.” Actually, she couldn’t, because she was even more confused now.
“It’s none of my business, sweetie,” Rosie said as the corners of her mouth tugged up. “But I have to say, this is going to be interesting.”
Temperance groaned and wiped a flour-covered hand on her forehead. Maybe if I’m lucky, I won’t see him again. She did not like the way Gabriel made her feel when he was around. She wanted to squash all those butterflies in her stomach and ignore the way the backs of her knees tingled when he smiled at her. What would it be like to see that every day? To have him smile for her, and her only? And maybe spend all her days and nights with him.
A small, internal voice scoffed at her, and she shook her head.
Get to work, she told herself. Work would be her balm, a way to forget about the past and her non-existent future with Gabriel.
Hours passed, and the work of getting dozens and dozens of pies ready helped Temperance focus. At least it did until lunchtime, when she heard a knock at the back door.
“Temperance Pettigrew?” the young man said as she poked her head out of the door.
“Yes?” Using her apron, she wiped the sweat from her brow. “That’s me.”
“I have a delivery for you.” He held up a brown paper bag emblazoned with the local Chinese restaurant’s logo on the front.
“I didn’t order anything,” she said.
The teen shrugged. “I’m just doin’ my job, lady.” He pushed the paper bag at her. “It’s all paid for, even my tip. But the guy on the phone who ordered it was pretty clear about making sure I get this into your hands.”
She stared at the bag, slack-jawed. Did she dare wonder who the “guy” was?
“I gotta go back and make more deliveries, lady,” he said. “Just take it, okay?”
Not wanting to keep him waiting, she took the bag. The tempting smell of fried rice made her stomach growl. “Uh, thanks.” Usually she skipped lunch or grabbed a quick bite to eat at the cafe down the street. Having food brought to her was a treat.
I shouldn’t. She worried at her lip with her teeth. I can’t accept this. But the food smelled amazing, and the thought of throwing away a perfectly good meal made her stomach twist. Growing up poor, she never wasted a single scrap of food.
With a deep sigh, she turned around and closed the door behind her, then walked over to the counter in the corner. When she opened the bag, she groaned. Oh my God, this smells amazing. There were several boxes of food inside, enough to feed at least four people.
Unable to resist, she opened up all the boxes and grabbed the fork that came in the bag. Everything tasted as good as it smelled; maybe even better. There were two kinds of fried rice, noodles in a savory brown sauce, steamed dumplings, chicken with cashews, and beef drowning in a scrumptious gravy that made her want to weep. At one point, Rosie poked her head into the kitchen, glanced at the food but said nothing, though there was that mysterious smile on her face again.
After she finished eating, she put the remaining boxes away, vowing to eat the leftovers for lunch the next day or share it with her coworkers. Feeling full and satisfied, and with the rest of the day’s orders and pies done, she could now work on her own recipes.
When she worked on her new pies, she went into a trance-like state. Nothing could distract her as she grabbed ingredients, mixed them together, rolled out the dough, and put the finished pies in the oven. Strangely, her inspiration for today wasn’t even something she had thought of beforehand or written down in her notebook. Instead, she let her nose, taste buds, and instincts honed from years of baking tell her what ingredients and techniques to use.
The timer on the oven dinged, letting her know it was done. Looking through the small window, she saw the crusts were perfectly golden brown, so she carefully set the two pies out onto the counter.
“Temperance …”
Glancing up, she saw Rosie standing by the door. “Yes?”
The older woman took a sniff. “Something smells delicious. Like, really, really good.” Her gaze dropped down to the two pies on the counter. “Something new?”
She nodded. “Yeah, want to try?”
“Of course.”
Temperance grabbed the knife and plates, then put a slice on each. “Here you go.”
Rosie took a forkful of one. “Oh. Wow,” she said through a mouthful of pastry. Then, she took a bite of the other. “Huh.” Her eyes rolled back. “What is this? This is probably the best ones you’ve made yet.”
“Thank you.” She stared down at the two pies, making a mental note to write everything down before she forgot it. “That first one is golden honey with lavender. And the other one is blueberry.”
Rosie took another bite of the blueberry. “But there’s something spicy and exotic in it.”
“Cardamom,” she said.
“Huh, I never thought those two would go together, but they do. So,” Rosie began, “you seem to be inspired this morning. Anything you need to tell
