Mr. Fenton was looking over his shoulder at the recipe for ginger cake. Christy tried to breathe normally but ever since that moment in the back room where they had stared at each other for agonisingly long moments Christy had been on edge. On edge and almost unbearably aroused. It was awful. He was certain that at any moment Mr. Fenton would see and be horrified.
“Perhaps you should ask your mother,” Mr. Fenton said as he scanned the instructions and pulled a doubtful face. “It seems like a lot of mess.”
Christy laughed but it sounded a little wild. “She explained to me how to make cakes and biscuits.”
“Perhaps I could pay her to make them?” Mr. Fenton said. Christy turned to look at him. He was frowning now, thinking.
“Pay her?”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know that March would let h
