short & horrific

Title: The Last Baker [4]
Author: shorthorror
Pairing: Brian Haner & Zachary Baker
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This beautiful asshole just came around and started ruining everything for me. I was the last Baker, and I'd promised my father our name would not die with me.
Disclaimer: I am confident the readers can distinguish between what is real and what is fiction. I need not state the obvious.

Prologue
One
Two
Three






"So I couldn't help but notice your little feng shui obsession when we were at your house." Brian spoke up in the midst of random radio talk and me slurping on my second Frappucino that day.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" I asked, feigning obliviousness though my cheeks reddened with truth.

Brian crossed his arms and smiled at me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye as we drove. I tried my hardest not to look at him because I knew he was just sitting there staring at me with that perfect grin, his cheekbones bulging with the knowledge he must have had. I knew bringing him was a bad idea. Dad always told me to trust my Baker instincts because that was his motto in life. To always trust himself and his own family. But for some reason, Brian Haner made me want to question my every move before I made it.

"You have a bad cleaning habit. I can tell. Why do you have to have everything so perfect and pristine all the time?" He asked me.

"I don't. It's just a nice way to live."

Brian leered. "You just contradicted yourself."

I could feel the blood pulsing through the veins in my face, turning me red hot. I gripped the steering wheel until my hands bleached out. Why? Why? Why did I have to bring him with me? Why couldn't I have just got up in his face and told him 'No'?

"Why are you such a little brat? And why do you feel the need to point out every flaw in me!?" I yelled.

Brian pushed the button beside the passenger seat chair so the back slowly descended into a one hundred and thirty degree angle. He lifted his colorful muscular arms up and clasped his hands behind his head. It wasn't fair how calm and collected he could stay while I was getting more and more flushed by the second. Each moment I was around him I felt like I was on the edge, and that one more of his smart little comments would be the hands that pushed me from behind.

"I didn't think you had flaws, Zack." Brian stated.

"Well everybody does! You're not so perfect yourself. I mean look at you. You blatantly disrespect any form of authority and don't even give a shit that you're making an ass of yourself." I told him before inhaling deeply to get back some lost oxygen.

"Okay, I'll admit that I have a problem if you admit that you have a problem." Brian negotiated.

I looked at him as I stopped at a red light. Brian nodded at me, telling me he was completely serious. I searched him for any trace of a lie but all I could see were large dark chocolate eyes staring back into my own. Maybe it was then that I saw a little humanity in him. I sighed heavily.

"When I was younger my parents died." I admitted in a small, retracted voice.

Brian's expression did not flinch. "And?"

Again I sighed. I couldn't believe I was confiding in him one of my deepest secrets. The one I had kept locked away inside my heart, mind and soul. The one that haunted me everyday of my life.

"I was a bad kid back then, and when I found out they died I just closed up..."

"Then what happened to you?" He asked, eyes wide with curiosity, or perhaps something more. Maybe sympathy?

I swallowed to rid of the tightness in my throat. "I always just wanted to be like my dad. And my dad always wanted me to be like him. I was his pride and joy. And after he died I didn't know what to do except carry on the life he had left behind. I was his first and only son. And the only one to carry on our name."

Brian nodded slowly. "So how does that explain the clean obsession?"

As Brian asked the questions, I couldn't help but provide the answers. It had been so long since I'd told somebody my life story. The only other person I ever said anything to was Greta. I supposed now that Greta was going to leave me, I needed to confide in Brian too. He was going to be her replacement. Somebody that I was going to see almost every day that I lived until the next one came along. Brian and I were both young men barely breaking thirty. We still had a long, hard road ahead of us together.

"When my parents left I turned their home into a party house. All of my friends from everywhere around came over to get wasted and do drugs on my Dad's antique tables, use their expensive chrystal wine glasses and all that shit. The place was a mess. So when the cops came to tell me what had happened, I made everybody leave and I just shut myself away as I cleaned the entire house by myself. I don't know why... maybe it was a distraction I made for myself since I couldn't face the truth."

"And now you find that you can't stop?" Inquired Brian.

My eyes began to sting with sombre remembrance. Thinking of my teenage self in retrospect was a huge blow to the conscience. The way I spent those days and days cleaning and thinking of all the bits of advice my father used to give me. The way I played out my mourning by becoming an obsessive compulsive neat freak perfectionist. It was all too much for me to take in. I had kept those memories down like impending bile. They would always come up, and when they did I'd just swallow it back down with a sour face.

"Yeah, I guess so." My voice wavered.

"Wow," Brian said. "That sucks dude."

There was a period of long silence between the two of us. I had nothing more to say, for if I did I thought I might just break down in tears. I didn't want to revisit my past. Not when I could hear my father's voice telling me that I was the last Baker. I'd be the one to make the name into something great. The responsibility of passing on the name Baker was entirely in my hands and my hands only. So far, I had done a piss poor job of honouring my father's wishes.

The rest of the drive back to Milan Verde was in total silence. I dared not say another word and I think Brian was actually respecting that. Once we were parked out in the back lot once again, I lifted my airbrush kit out of the car and slammed the door shut. Brian went ahead of me, opened the back door and allowed me in first. For the first time in our history together, I smiled my appreciation at him. It wasn't so bad. I guess it was just hard to be an asshole after our conversation in my car.

When we entered through the back, the wafting scent of cooking food filled the air we breathed. I inhaled through my nose and let it all out with a sigh. I could smell pastries baking, Antipasti dishes of tomato Bruschetta and sizzling Braciola, baking Piadina breads and lime zested Salmon. They all floated through the atmosphere to create a deliciously inviting aroma that made my mouth water. I was excited to see what our hard work looked and tasted like after everybody was done. Each section had a certain amount of food to make since there were going to be at least fifty guests or more. I had spent a substantial amount of money on the ingredients just for Greta's party and hoped it all paid off in the end.

Brian followed me to the bakery in the back that was tucked away behind the main kitchen. Our cake was cooled in the fridge, thick with Brian's English cream and perfectly structured with it's six circular tiers. It took both Brian and I to lift the cake safely out of the fridge and set it on the countertop to be decorated.

As I went back for the fondant, Brian pulled out a tattered sketchbook seemingly out of nowhere. He slapped it onto the counter beside the cake and started leafing through the pages. I caught mere glimpses of colorful cake designs that he had sketched himself. I didn't have the nerve to ask to see them, though I wished I had. Finally, Brian came to the fresh drawing of the six tier cake we were planning and in the process of constructing.

The sketch showed the pink fondant as a deep shade of fuchsia. On the top tier there was illustrated a bouquet of silver and gold flowers that I presumed would be edible. Brian's rendition of the cake's exterior was beautifully sketched and colored to perfection. It must have been his association in the cake business prior to coming to work for me. Yet I still couldn't help but feel a little envious of his art skill. The way he shaded the icing pearls that circled the edge of each tier was nothing less than flawless. I grew speechless as I observed.

"Okay, so I was thinking about either silver or gold for the roses on top, but I suppose silver would work best with the pink." Brian pointed out to me, though I was much too busy being taken with his drawing.

I bit my lip and nodded. For the second I looked up at Brian, I saw a hint of color tint the crests of his sunken cheeks.

"And the pearls we can make out of icing sugar and egg whites. We can paint them over with a candy coating."

"Yeah sure. Anything you want. I said that you were responsible for the decoration. You're the expert in this field, not me."

Truthfully, I didn't want to try and make any alterations in Brian's plan. Clearly he knew exactly what he was doing and when I looked down at his sketch of the tall layered cake I felt the tiniest bit of inadequacy. Sure I had picked the flavours and filling, but Brian giving the creation the life that I hadn't. My help and input appeared to be completely unneeded. Brian was resolute and his plan was untouchable.

Brian and I spent a lot of time stretching the fondant on just right. We pressed it down and smoothed it out so our cake skeleton now had a skin that could be worked with. On the side, Brian started to create his array of tiny edible roses. It was interesting to watch out of the corner of my eye, the process of beauty being made from foods. I knew Greta was going to be overwhelmed with this little project. She always had a soft spot for gorgeous looking food.

I sprayed the first layer of color onto the fondant as Brian constructed his bouquet. The dye went on a light pink and then darkened as the air dried it. It appeared as though our cake was blushing each time I sprayed another layer of color onto it. My heart thumped inside my chest. This is what I loved to do. This was probably what my dad felt like when he was doing what he loved to do. I knew he would be proud if he saw me now, and that put a smile on my face like no other.

"Okay, ready to mount our bouquet?" Brian asked after I turned the airbrush off and set it aside.

Brian created a gluey substance out of egg yolk, sugar and hot water to adhere the bouquet to the top of the cake. Brian placed it perfectly with minor adjustments and stood back to admire the work we had done. I was feeling very proud of the accomplishment, and the fact that we hadn't argued once since returning from my house. But I still felt like it was too soon to give him the praise he deserved. My pride was blocking my ability to be thankful and kind to him. Something just screamed that us working as a team was going to be short lived.

After the flourishing bouquet of white and silver roses was perfected we moved on to creating the small pearls that would line the edges of the tiers. This part I mostly left up to Brian since I was more experienced with cooking than baking. I leaned back against the fridge, sighing as the cold door cooled me down. Temperatures had a tendency to rise in the back due to all the ovens and stovetops that were on.

I watched Brian begin to form the last touch to the cake with curiosity. He looked determined, but his evident skill told me that this was no challenge for him. After a few minutes of him working diligently on the pearls, he turned to me and held up the pastry bag questioningly.

"Wanna try it out?" He asked me.

In attempts to look experienced and impressive, I took the bag and held onto the end firmly. I tried mimicking Brian in the way he dabbed a slight amount of the icing beside the last. Once the icing escaped from the round nozzle the air would help it to solidify and then it could be moulded into the spherical shape of a pearl. Sadly for me, I had never created fake jewellery on a cake, and my pearl ended up looking like an elongated tear drop.

"Here, let me show you how." Brian offered as he came up behind me.

I tensed when Brian's arms came around me to help me hold the pastry bag properly. His chest was pressed flush against my shoulder blades and suddenly I went stiff. It was much too close for comfort. Especially when Brian's hand brushed over mine and he looked at me over my shoulder with that trademark smirk of his. Only it wasn't wry and dripping with irreverence. It was kind, and the slightest bit suggestive. I had to hold my breath.

"See you just squeeze lightly, and then a bit harder, so it comes out in a circular shape, instead of the other way around." He talked me through.

After showing me the first time, Brian backed away to which I was thankful. I thought my arteries were going to burst with anxiety because of his close proximity and the way he conveyed something dark and misleading with that single look. I laughed uneasily and then tried it again myself. This time I didn't fail and look like a complete idiot. My pearl was just as good as any of Brian's. I looked at it proudly, but not too proudly and then turned to hand the pastry bag back to Brian who had been watching me from a couple feet away.

"Um... I've got to go get something from my office. I'll be right back." I proclaimed, feeling the one-sided tension grow into a thick imaginary fog that I was practically choking on.

"Oh alright. I'll just finish this up and then we'll be done." Brian replied.

"Yeah, okay. Cool. Sounds good." I nodded frantically as I turned to leave as quick as I could.

"Oh, and Zack." Brian called out before I could escape.

I turned around, raising my eyebrows in question.

Brian's eyes shadowed with his sinister smile. "Your hair smells nice."

There was nothing left for me to do except blink and nearly swallow my tongue. Holy shit. I had never felt anything as awkward as that moment ever before in my life. I didn't know what to say back to him, so I turned around and left the bakery without another word uttered between us.

"What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck." I whispered to myself as I made my way to the bathroom to splash my face with water. Or perhaps drown myself in the toilet.

"Mr. Baker?"

"WHAT!?"

Nancy withdrew at my sharp cry. "Um... everybody on desserts are finished, sir."

"Good. Good. Go take a break then. All of you." I said quickly before pushing past her.

No. I didn't hear Brian Haner compliment me. I did not hear him tell me that my hair smelled nice. Of course it didn't smell nice. It smelled like me. I wasn't nice. Neither was he. And the whole scenario back in the bakery was freaking me out. I disregarded the bathroom and made a beeline to my office where I shut and locked the door. The familiarity of my space was momentarily relaxing until I imagined Brian spinning around in my office chair. The way he had disorganized all of my things. That smirk he always gave me. The fact that I had actually brought him to my house. The closeness. The warmth of his breath on my neck.

Confusion overwhelmed me as fear drove me to empty the contents of the drawers onto the top of my oak desk. I would be okay, so long as I could clean the mess up and lose myself.