Diamond in the Ruff (Matchmaking Mamas Book 13) by Marie Ferrarella

Author:Marie Ferrarella [Ferrarella, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“You are, without a doubt, an amazingly gifted young woman.”

Christopher uttered the unabashed praise the minute he had finished savoring his very first bite of the pastry he had randomly chosen off the nearest tray. The pastry was filled with cream whipped into fluffy peaks and laced with just enough Amaretto to leave a very pleasant impression. It was practically light enough to levitate off the tray.

“I bake,” she said, shrugging carelessly. Lily was warmed by his praise, but she didn’t want to make it seem as if she was letting his compliment go to her head.

“No,” Christopher corrected her. “My late mother, God bless her, ‘baked.’ Her desserts, when she made them, always tasted of love, but they were predictable, and while good, they weren’t ‘special.’ Yours are definitely special. You don’t just ‘bake,’ you create. There’s a big difference.”

Christopher paused as he indulged himself a little more, managing to eat almost three quarters of the small pastry before he went on.

“You know, I’m usually one of those people who eat to live, not live to eat. Nobody could ever accuse me of being a foodie or whatever those people who love to regale other people with their so-called ‘food adventures’ like to call themselves. But if I had access to something like this whenever I felt like indulging in a religious experience, I’d definitely change my affiliation—not to mention that I’d probably become grossly overweight. Speaking of which,” Christopher went on, switching subjects as he eyed her, “why aren’t you fat?” he asked.

“I already told you, I don’t eat what I make.” Then, before he could say that he had a hard time believing that, she admitted, “Oh, I sample a little here, a dab there, to make sure I’m not going to make someone throw up, but I’ve just never felt the inclination to polish off a tray of pastries.”

Christopher’s expression told her that he was having a hard time reconciling that with his own reaction to the end product of her culinary efforts.

“If I were you,” he told her, “I’d have a serious talk with myself, because your stubborn half is keeping you from having nothing short of a love affair with your taste buds.” He licked the last of the whipped cream from his fingertips, discovering he craved more. “How did you come up with these?” he asked, waving his hand at the less-than-full tray of pastries that was closest to him on the counter.

Her method was no big secret, either. It was based on a practical approach.

“It’s a very simple process, really. I just gather together a bunch of ingredients and see where they’ll take me,” she told him.

As if to back up her explanation, Lily indicated the containers, bottles and boxes that had been pressed into service and were now all huddled together on the far side of the counter.

He thought that was rather a strange way to phrase it. But creative people had a very different thought process.

“That means what?” he asked her, curious about her process.

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