clear cut

About Cooking Up Trouble

by BA Tortuga
15 pages / 5505 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Off-duty motorcycle cop Charlie is just doing his good deed for the day when he runs into Grant, a pastry chef who volunteers in a soup kitchen. When they literally run each other down, sparks fly, and big man Charlie offers the little chef a ride. They ponder chocolate cake for dessert, but maybe they'll come up with something even sweeter.

Sample

There. That was the last customer for the night, and Charlie sighed and stretched, arching his back. Damn, the winter was cold this year, and folks were hungry. The soup kitchen was booming.

Charlie took off his apron and headed over to get his jacket. The second shift should be coming in soon to get the dishes done. It had been a long damned day. He was going home.

A little blur ran right into him, full-throttle, hands full of clean plates that went flying. "Oh! Christ! Shit! Sorry."

Dark eyes blinked up and up and up at him, tight red curls bobbing furiously.

"Crap!" Charlie grabbed and steadied. Most things that bounced off him got hurt. "You okay? I absolutely didn't see you there."

"I... Yeah. Shit. I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off and plowed right into you." The guy was little, slight, pointed at the chin and shoulder. "You okay?"

"Not even bruised." The guy was... cute.

"Cool. I'm real sorry. It's been a long day and I was just looking to get out of here. Get some good wine, some good food, and then bam I get involved in the noises in my head and the tarts needing to be made tomorrow and..." The flow of words stopped. "Oh. Sorry. Babbling. Bad habit."

Definitely cute. He grinned wide. Which he probably shouldn't have because his ex said it made him look predatory. Imagine that. "I'm figuring you mean pastry tarts. And don't mind me. I'm like a babble black hole. Or so they tell me."

The little guy didn't look scared, not at all. "Pastry tarts, yes. Lemon and apricot and blackberry for the Governor's Ball this weekend, to be precise. I work for the Maison d'Etre. A babble black hole? Really? Handy talent."

"Yeah." He moved a little closer. If that was possible. The guy smelled like bread. Charlie liked that. "Yeah. I suck it right in. Create silence."

Shit, it was the most interesting time he'd had at the soup kitchen in forever.