Baking and Babies

  Baking and Babies

  (Chocoholics #3)

  by Tara Sivec

  Other books by Tara Sivec

  Romantic Comedy

  The Chocolate Lovers Series:

  Seduction and Snacks (Chocolate Lovers #1)

  Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers #2)

  Troubles and Treats (Chocolate Lovers #3)

  The Chocoholics Series:

  Love and Lists (Chocoholics #1)

  Passion and Ponies (Chocoholics #2)

  Tattoos and TaTas (Chocoholics #2.5)

  Romantic Suspense

  The Playing With Fire Series:

  A Beautiful Lie (Playing With Fire #1)

  Because of You (Playing With Fire #2)

  Worn Me Down (Playing With Fire #3)

  Closer to the Edge (Playing With Fire #4)

  Romantic Suspense/Erotica

  The Ignite Trilogy:

  Burned (Ignite Trilogy Volume 1)

  Branded (Ignite Trilogy Volume 2)

  Scorched (Ignite Trilogy Volume 3)

  New Adult Drama

  Watch Over Me

  Contemporary Romance

  Fisher’s Light

  Worth the Trip

  Romantic Comedy/Mystery

  The Fool Me Once Series:

  Shame on You (Fool Me Once #1)

  Shame on Me (Fool Me Once #2)

  Shame on Him (Fool Me Once #3)

  Psychological Thriller

  Bury Me

  Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)

  Copyright © 2015 Tara Sivec

  eBook Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notice

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of adult fiction. The author does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within. The subject matter may not be appropriate for minors. All trademarks and copyrighted items mentioned are the property of their respective owners.

  Editing by Erin Garcia

  Cover Design by Indie Book Cover Designs

  www.MichellePreast.com

  Interior Design by Paul Salvette, BB eBooks

  bbebooksthailand.com

  For Buffy –

  You were right; I had nothing to lose. I love you, asshole.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other books by Tara Sivec

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Can I Get A Woohoo?!

  Chapter 2 – Satisfaction and Sugar

  Chapter 3 – Soup

  Chapter 4 – Toxic Spooge

  Chapter 5 – Thug Mug

  Chapter 6 – Cream Puff Balls

  Chapter 7 – Meat Sweats

  Chapter 8 – Bag of Dicks

  Chapter 9 – Pee Hand

  Chapter 10 – Titillating Tube Socks

  Chapter 11 – Handy

  Chapter 12 – Dammit, Ian

  Chapter 13 – Shocker Honor

  Chapter 14 – I Have a Vagerie

  Chapter 15 – Ganja Grandma

  Chapter 16 – Fuck Betty White

  Chapter 17 – Lips, Tongue, Penis, Suck

  Chapter 18 – Hairball

  Chapter 19 – Poop Sex

  Chapter 20 – Pez Penis

  Chapter 21 – Drunk Babies

  Chapter 22 – Pumpkin Roll Punany

  Chapter 23 – Smell the Meat

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Molly

  There is a phrase in the English language that I believe should be banned for all of time. Two little words that will fuck up life as you know it and make everyone around you certifiably insane.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  You just shuddered a little didn’t you? A small chill wound its way up your spine, your eyes got wide, and you looked over your shoulder like a monster might be standing there waiting to rip your head off. Maybe you even put your hand to your stomach and said, “Awe, shit.” It could be out of sympathy for the words you just read or maybe it’s real. You could be knocked up right now and not even know it. If you are currently with child…my condolences are yours for the taking. I mean, sure, once the baby gets here you’ll probably be happy, but you have nine months—give or take—of people riding full speed ahead on the crazy train and dragging you with them.

  I had a good life. No, I had a GREAT life before I uttered those stupid words. Twenty years old, almost finished with my two-year accelerated program in culinary school, and perfectly content staying hidden in the background around my nut-job family. I learned at an early age to keep my mouth shut so I’d have a good chance at never being publicly humiliated by them. It worked great until a couple of months ago when I just HAD to open my mouth and make my presence known.

  My older sister, Charlotte, seems to think all of this is a great “learning experience” for me. Of course she would say that considering everything that happened is HER fault, but I guess she sort of has a point. I definitely came out of my shell in the last eight weeks. For the past two years I’d done nothing but eat, sleep, and breathe culinary school. When I finished and finally had some free time, I got a life. It was a fake life for the most part, but hey, at least it was a life.

  Unfortunately at this point, I’d much rather still be the girl who spent two years secretly daydreaming about her pastry chef instructor and what he would do if she walked up to him and swiped the flour off of his cheek that always seemed to be there.

  Luckily, I got to find out what would happen when I did that. I also got to find out a lot of things about my instructor and what he would do, like lie right to my face about something extremely important—and after I let him make me a non-partial virgin, too! But at least we had a few good weeks. That poor guy put up with a lot—a black eye, everyone knowing how he masturbates, me puking on his brand new chef coat, learning things about afterbirth he probably never, ever wanted to know, eating an actual bag of dicks…oh yeah, and telling everyone he was the father of my baby that wasn’t really my baby without even knowing that the baby wasn’t my baby because he’s just a damn good guy. You know, if he wasn’t such a liar-face liar pants.

  So, this is the story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down…no, seriously, it is. Stop singing, you heartless bastards.

  I’m pregnant.

  Those words can just fuck right off.

  Chapter 1

  – Can I Get A Woohoo?! –

  Molly

  “If you whip and fold in the egg whites last, you’ll get the best volume in your finished soufflé.”

  Listening to the deep timber of my pastry instructor’s voice as he wanders around the test kitchen, I pause with my whisk in my hand and imagine Marco Desoto naked for probably the thousandth time. Today.

  “Very nice, Molly,” he speaks softly right behind me.

  He continues watching over my shoulder, and I don’t even care that I’m the only one in the class who already had the foresight to add my egg whites in last. Everyone else is scrambling around to sta
rt their soufflés over while I’m just standing here with a kitchen utensil in my hand thinking about slathering his body with the egg whites and licking them off. Shaking away my lust-filled thoughts and the idea of consuming raw eggs and the possibility of Salmonella, I go back to manically whipping my whisk through the fluffy white mixture in my bowl until I have perfect, soft peaks.

  “You have beautiful peaks, Molly,” he adds quietly.

  Usually, nothing breaks my concentration in the kitchen, and even though I know I have perfect egg white peaks in the bowl in front of me, hearing my instructor say the words right by my ear turns me into an idiot.

  “Do you think so? They’re a nice, full B-cup, but I’ve never thought of them as beautiful before,” I ramble.

  “Did you say something, Molly?” he asks.

  I notice he moved a few feet away and didn’t hear me talk out of my ass like…someone in my family. Quickly shaking my head, I concentrate on the peaks in my bowl instead of the ones on my chest.

  For two years I’ve had to try and be stealthy about my obsession with our student-teacher, Marco Desoto, and I can tell I’m losing my edge. He’s caught me staring at him more than once, and the few times (okay, more than a few) I’ve quietly walked up behind him just to smell him while he was busy at the stove, he knew I was there and called me out on it. I can’t help it. He smells like the best damn cookie in the world. Like vanilla and almond dipped in brown sugar and butter. Girls buy lotions to smell like that crap and this guy oozes it from his pores.

  I was once the queen of stealth. I walked through our house completely naked because I realized we were out of towels right when I was getting into the shower and I had to grab one from the dryer. Our living room was filled with all the adults in our family, and no one even noticed me strolling bare ass across the carpet to the laundry room off the kitchen. That was the day I found out my Aunt Claire smoked pot and licked the walls at Seduction and Snacks.

  Another time, I stood over my sister, Ava’s, shoulder and spent fifteen minutes watching her text her boyfriend, Tyler. I learned about “accidental anal” and a bunch of other shit I can never scrub from my mind, but hey, I got some more dirt to add to my ever-growing laundry list of things about my family I’ve titled “Things I need to know in case anyone ever tries to fuck with me”. It’s not that I don’t love my family, I just like to cover all my bases. I like being the only quiet person everyone forgets about until I speak up, and then they all look at me like they’re trying to remember who I am and what I’m doing there. It’s not their fault. I’ve spent the last two years living and breathing culinary school studying to be a French Pastry Chef.

  “I thought I heard you say something about cups, my mistake,” Marco says with a smile.

  “Nope! No cups here. Just beautiful, firm peaks that will not drop no matter how old and wrinkly they get!”

  Marco Desoto is turning me into the princess of bumbling idiots and my family will never let me live it down if I don’t get my shit together. Uncle Drew was disappointed when I told him I was going to culinary school and had to inform him that there was no such thing as “ninja school”. He truly thought he would get to tell all of his friends that he had a niece who was a real-life ninja. I’m pretty sure that was the first day I ever saw him cry.

  Monday through Thursday, every day including summers for twenty-four months, I’ve been up at school from six in the morning until eleven at night. I’m lucky my family even remembers my name at this point. Even before that though, I usually kept to myself. My family is plenty loud and annoying enough to make up for my lack of enthusiasm.

  It makes this unhealthy obsession with Marco all the more annoying. Even though I remembered the whole egg white thing today, I’ve been flakey and off my game the last few weeks. Being a pastry chef is my dream and I’m on the verge of making it a reality. Tomorrow is my last final exam and I will finally be done with school. I need to stop thinking about Marco covered in eggs and concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing. I have to finish writing an essay about the history of soufflé’s, and then all day Monday, I have to do my final presentation, which includes making eight different desserts and showcase them in an exhibit. I’ve already spent over twelve hours researching my paper and getting most of it typed up, but I still have a few more things to add as well as doing a few practice baking runs when I get home so that everything is perfect. It has to be perfect. Nothing can distract me, especially Mr. Sugar Cookie, who I can’t stop staring at as I fold my egg whites into my other mixing bowl.

  Why did he have to show up in one of my classes two years ago? WHY? Ever since then I’ve made sure that I sign up for whatever courses he’s teaching that corresponds with my schedule like some kind of creepy stalker. I stare at him instead of concentrating on my food, and for God’s sake, I started talking to him about my BOOBS a minute ago.

  As everyone finishes up what they are doing and Marco reminds us what time we all need to be here in the morning to start our final, I am determined to do absolutely nothing for the rest of my night but think about Monday and my dreams finally coming true. In just a few more days, I will be a classically-trained French Pastry Chef with a bachelor’s degree in Baking and Pastry Arts. I will be able to bring some classiness to Seduction and Snacks and maybe get a life. I really, really need to get a life.

  The scream from the bathroom across the hall is deafening and so loud that I can hear it through my earbuds as I blast Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 while flipping through The Baking Bible. Charlotte stopped by to do a load of laundry since hers and Gavin’s washing machine is on the fritz, and I’m assuming she found a red sock mixed in with her whites. Oh, the horror.

  Turning the volume up, I go back to writing down a few notes to add to my final paper, leaving my sister to the domestic bliss of washing her soon-to-be husband’s tighty whities.

  Gavin and Charlotte have been up each other’s asses ever since they got engaged and started planning their wedding. I’m pretty sure she only asked me to be a bridesmaid out of family obligation. We’re not really that close and it’s probably my fault. I haven’t had time for anyone ever since I started taking college courses my sophomore year of high school and then went right into culinary school after graduation. On top of that, I like to keep to myself. My family is crazy, loud, and so inappropriate that most of the things they say and do border on being illegal. I’ve wondered many times if I was adopted, but I’m just too chicken shit to ask anyone. I’ve never felt like I belong in this family.

  Sure, I have a sense of humor, but it’s more sarcastic and dry instead of in-your-face like everyone else. Charlotte and Ava have much more in common with each other than with me. They care about love and guys and fashion…all that shit you read about in women’s magazines. But me? I just care about baking. Cookies, cakes and pastries never let you down. People think it’s all about recipes, but it’s so much more. It’s the science and chemistry of using exact measurements and the right temperatures, and when you follow the rules everything comes out perfectly. I like knowing exactly how something will turn out. I know if I do what I’m supposed to, it will be exactly how I want it. Even if you plan it all out and follow everything to a T, life will fuck you right up the ass. Without lube.

  Just as the genius idea pops in my head for making an apple-chutney-stuffed soufflé to add to my presentation tomorrow, another scream breaks through my concentration. With a huff, I yank my earbuds out and quietly make my way across the hall to the bathroom, gently turning the handle and slowly peeking my head inside. Sure, I probably could’ve stomped across the hall and angrily flung the door open so that it banged against the opposite wall, but that’s not my style. Remember, queen of stealth. It’s much more productive to sneak up on someone. There isn’t all that wasted time of asking things like, “Are you okay?” or “What’s wrong?” Standing silently behind them for a few seconds usually gives you all of the information you need. Like right now, for instance. Charlotte i
s standing in front of the sink staring in horror at a pregnancy test in her hand.

  “Look at you, with a bun in the oven,” I tell her, pushing the door open wider and leaning my shoulder against the doorframe.

  She jumps and turns to face me, then lets out another God-awful scream. I wince and shake my head at her. “I think the screaming part comes at the end when you’re trying to push that thing out of you.”

  Charlotte starts shaking her head back and forth and begins muttering to herself. “This can’t be happening. I’m getting married in four weeks. Oh, my God, what am I going to do?”

  “Well, clearly we’re going to have to take you into town for a back alley abortion since only trollops and floozies get in the family way before marriage,” I deadpan as I step further into the bathroom.

  She opens her mouth to scream again and I quickly smack my hand over her lips. “It’s not 1912. Who cares if you’re pregnant? Your fiancé was the product of a one-night stand at a frat party. Do you really think anyone in this family is going to judge you?”

  Charlotte grabs onto my wrist and pulls my hand down. “I don’t care about that shit! It’s Gavin! He doesn’t want kids. We’ve talked about this and we both decided it wasn’t something we wanted. He’s not going to want to marry me now. I’m going to be pregnant and alone and no one will ever want me! I smell bread. Were you baking bread? Does my stomach look fat to you?”

  The speed with which she changes subjects makes my head spin, and all I can do is stare at her as she pulls up her shirt and touches her perfectly flat stomach.

  “Yes, you look like a heifer and you’ll never fit your fat ass into that wedding dress. You should just call it off.”

  She nods her head in agreement. “I have to call it off. This whole wedding is a sham now.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop being so dramatic. How about you just act like an adult and tell Gavin. Clearly it was an accident, and I do believe it was his dick that did this to you,” I remind her.