The Baker Read Online Free PDF

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