Macarons at Midnight (23 page)

Preheat oven to 425 °F.

Lightly coat cookie sheets with nonstick cooking spray.

Chocolate cakes

Beat sugar and oil until crumbly. Add eggs and beat well.

In separate bowl, mix flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt.
Gradually add the dry mixture into the wet. Add sour cream and blend until incorporated.

With lightly floured hands, roll dough into small balls about 1½ inches in diameter. Place balls 2 inches apart onto cookie sheets. Flatten balls slightly with bottom of an oiled glass. Bake at 425
°F
for 5 to 6 minutes or until tops are cracked. Cool for 3 minutes before removing to wire racks to cool.

Filling

In a mixing bowl, beat together cream cheese, sour cream, and confectioners’ sugar. Add vanilla extract and beat until fluffy. Add milk if the mixture is too thick. Should be easy to spread. If you wish, you can mix in mini chocolate chips here. Spread filling on one cookie and sandwich another on top of it!

Alternative: Raspberry or orange flavor instead of vanilla extract.

“G
OOD
MORNING
!”
Tristan called when he walked into the bakery. He didn’t get much of a reply other than one very harried look, but it was easy to see why.

Millie was off for the day, and Rose was red-faced and bustling around, helping far too many customers. She was talking a mile a minute like she typically did, bouncing between the cash register and the pastry display, bagging treats and counting change in a colorful pierced cloud. Her line was immense, though, even if she was practically moving at the speed of light, so rather than sitting at his typical table for tea and some lovely pastry Henry brought him, Tristan washed his hands off, tied an apron around his waist, and got to work.

He’d never worked in retail before, but he’d spent enough hours in the bakery to know how it worked. At least, to a point. He could easily maneuver a pair of tongs and slide people’s orders into bags and boxes so Rose could ring them up with her sunny, lip-ringed smile. It wasn’t complicated work, but it wasn’t easy either. Tristan couldn’t remember the last time he’d hustled so quickly, other than once or twice when he’d been late for his train.

By the time the before-work crowd cleared, they were both hot and sweaty, and Tristan was decidedly late for his own job. The kind of late where he wasn’t sure if he was even going to bother at all. He’d texted his boss to say he had a bit of a fever but would try to make it in after lunch. He was starting to think he might not even do that.

The shelves were nearly cleared; only a few crumbs of croissant were left, one or two black-and-white cookies, a cupcake, and some plain vanilla macarons. Henry had already started refilling the displays for lunch. He looked like his own brand of exhausted. In the past few months, according to him, his sleepy bakery had turned into a hub of customers and orders. It was way more than he’d expected, and from the looks of things, he could barely handle it.

Tristan hoped he managed to hire himself a second baker soon, but he also had figured out fairly quickly during their weekly baking lessons just how unreasonably picky Henry was. If things had to turn out perfectly when he was baking, quite often half-naked, with his boyfriend, Tristan couldn’t imagine what he’d be like with an employee.

Henry chuckled as he slid a tray of golden baklava into the display. They smelled amazing, like nuts and cardamom and warm honey. Tristan’s belly grumbled. “What’re you still doing here, babe?”

Tristan shrugged. “Rose was slammed and, well, here I am.”

“What about work?”

“I skived off?” He grinned sheepishly.

Henry glanced at the door to check for customers, then slid his arms around Tristan’s waist and rubbed a kiss into the side of his neck. “Aren’t you going to get into trouble?”

Tristan coughed. Luckily, he didn’t actually have to convince Henry of anything. “I think one sick day isn’t going to cost me my job,” he said. He decided then and there that the rest of the day was his. He didn’t feel like dealing with Jordan or even Shatara. “Let me just call in. But be quiet. I have to sound pathetic.” Tristan pulled his phone out to ring Terry, who was still technically his boss, even though it felt like he mostly worked for Shatara ever since the perfume campaign.

Henry tickled his sides and made him laugh. “Stop, that doesn’t help.” Tristan was in the middle of a laugh that turned to a cough when Terry picked up. The cough actually helped his case.

“Hello, Terry. I was just letting you know I’m still not feeling quite up to it.” Tristan waved his hand at Henry, who was grinning at him. He was tiptoeing threateningly closer with the one remaining cupcake from the morning. “I should be right as rain by the morning, though.”

“That’s fine, Tristan. You haven’t missed a day since you got here.” Terry sounded stressed as usual, but not angry. “Feel better, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tristan just managed to hang up when Henry squished the cupcake into his mouth. At least, mostly.

“Mmmph you absolute
cock
.” It was impossible not to laugh. Really. Tristan ran off after Henry into the kitchen, where he proceeded to rub his frosting-covered face all over Henry’s. It was probably a good thing there were no customers at the moment.

Rose was grinning when Tristan made his way back to the front with a cleaned face and a full tray of macarons. “Thank you so much for helping,” Rose said. “I can’t imagine how Millie did this before I was around. One person back here is insane.”

Henry came wandering in from the kitchen with another beautiful tray of baklava. Tristan’s fingers ached to take one. “Go ahead,” Henry said. “I owe you a whole box of these for helping this morning.” He gave Tristan a familiar kiss, this time on the mouth. Tristan returned the kiss happily. Then he used the tongs to dish up one of the pastries onto a plate. He took a big bite and let pastry and nuts and thick honey syrup melt into his mouth.

“This is so good,” He said.

“Haven’t you had baklava before?” Henry asked.

“Well, yeah. But it didn’t taste like this.” There was a tiny hint of orange, he thought. And the honey and spices were intense. It was divine.

Henry brushed another kiss over Tristan’s lips before he licked his own. “Of course it didn’t,” he scoffed. Of course.

Tristan wolfed down two of the baklavas and followed Henry into the kitchen for another kiss before he stared at his watch and sighed. “It’s only eleven o’clock. What am I going to do all day, now that I’m no longer working?”

“Why don’t you go hang out at home?”

Tristan thought about it, then shrugged. “I suppose I could. After all, I am feeling awful poorly. I think I need bed rest.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You’ll be done here soon enough, so you can come take care of me, right? Bring me soup and plain crackers.”

Henry rolled his eyes, snorted, and scoffed all at once. Quite the feat, if you asked Tristan. “I highly doubt that’s what you need.”

“What do I need, then?” Tristan wound his arms around Henry’s waist and nipped at his neck. “I’ve heard radishes are good for all sorts of illness.”

“
Stop
it.” Henry chuckled. “You might be skipping out, but I have to work here. You want to stick around for a little while?”

Tristan couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do. So he pulled his tie loose and shoved it in his bag, then propped himself up on what he’d started thinking of as his counter to watch the master at work.

“H
EY
, T
RISTAN
,
do you have those layouts for me?” Shatara asked.

He’d done such a good job with the perfume account and the couple she’d handed him afterward that Shatara’d had him running art for the past week on her latest athletic shoe campaign. Tristan liked working for Shatara. He’d honestly have liked to transfer up to her floor full-time and get away from Jordan and his barbs and snarky looks. It had been torture to come into work after his amazing day off. The rest of the week dragged like no other. But at least it was Friday. After he made it through dinner, he had a whole lovely weekend with Henry—at the bakery, at home, in bed. Tristan hid a smile.

“I was just about to e-mail you the proofs before I left for the weekend,” he said.

Shatara looked at her watch. “I remember seeing you in here until eight or nine on Friday nights.” Before. The word “before” was implied. Things had changed a lot since he met Henry. Most nights since then, Tristan couldn’t wait to get out of work.

“Um, I met someone. I’m actually going to dinner at his parents’ place tonight. I can’t be late.”

Shatara cracked a smile, which wasn’t common for her. She was fair, but not what Tristan would call friendly. Maybe his new romance was enough to bring out the softie in her. You never could tell what people’s buttons were.

“Are you worried about it?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be. They’ll love you.”

Tristan shrugged. “It’s just that they’re a bit posh, um, well-off. Very well-off, actually.” Tristan cleared his throat. “I’m intimidated, you could say. I haven’t spent much time on the Upper East Side with people like that.”

All of a sudden, he felt like half the floor was staring at him. “Is his family, like, society?” one of the women asked. Her name was Cassie, Tristan thought. They hadn’t exactly spoken very many times. Or ever.

“Yes. I think so. Trixie looked like she’d fit into that crowd, at least.” Tristan had really liked Trixie. He knew better than to think Henry’s parents would be as warm and welcoming.

“Trixie
Livingston
?” Cassie muttered. “Is that who you’re talking about?”

“You know who she is?” Tristan wasn’t a moron. The society princesses had graced the papers back in London as well. He’d probably be able to pick Alexa Chung or Camilla Al Fayed out of a lineup, but Trixie was just Henry’s
sister
. He’d never considered her that way. He knew they were rich, but were they like
that
?

“Everyone knows who she is. That would mean you’re with the brother….”

“Henry.” Tristan felt a little weird talking about it with people at work, people he didn’t really even know. It made him a little sick to his stomach. Brought things to the surface, reminded him there was a lot more to Henry’s life than his idyllic bakery and beautiful flat Tristan had already made himself home in. “I’m with Henry,” he said again, quietly. All of a sudden, he went from wanting to get home to just plain wanting to get out of there. He practically
felt
the waves of whispers that swept through the office.

“Anyway, Shatara, the proofs are in your inbox, and I need to go get ready for dinner, so I hope you have a lovely weekend.” He stood and shoved his papers into his bag and slung it across his body. He waved to the people who were all staring at him. “Uh, night, everyone. Have a great weekend.”

Get out of here. Get out of here now.

Tristan breathed a sigh of relief when he got to the main doors of the building and pushed through to the outside.

T
RISTAN
STILL
hadn’t shaken the weird feeling two hours later. He was freshly showered and just about ready to go. He’d worn his best button-up and sweater and the nicest trousers he owned. For nowhere near the first time, Tristan wished he could fit his huge shoulders and monkey arms into Henry’s beautiful designer shirts and jackets. He might not feel like quite as much of the poor relation if he hadn’t bought most of his outfit from the sale rack.

“You look adorable,” Henry muttered. He came up behind Tristan and adjusted the collar of his shirt and helped him into his blazer.

Not exactly an ego boost.
“Adorable. Not quite the word I hoped to hear from the guy who had three of my fingers in him just thirty minutes ago and his d—”

Henry choked and flushed visibly. “I take it back. Not adorable. At least not then.”

“How did I look?” he asked. Tristan tried to keep an innocent face, but even he remembered Henry perched on the edge of the counter, cream cheese frosting smeared down his stomach, sweat gleaming on his skin.

“
Fuck
. You’re gonna make me hard and Ollie will be here in five minutes.”

“Oops,” Tristan said with an unrepentant smirk. That’s what Henry got for calling him bloody fucking adorable.
Adorable….
At least teasing Henry made him feel a little bit better.

“So, Ollie is one of my oldest friends. He’s been working for my parents since I was a mere chap.”

Tristan groaned, even though Henry had been getting better at his accent. Still. Chap? Good God. “Please tell me you didn’t just say ‘chap.’”