by Denise Carbo
Luckily, I can bake in my sleep.
I heard and ignored Lucinda’s tentative knock on my bedroom door late last night. I’m mired in guilt once again, but I couldn’t face her. My emotions were too raw. Hearing her marvel over Mitch would have sent me over the edge.
Sally taps the bell that signals she needs help, so I grab the layered cake I decorated this morning from the cooler and carry it to the front.
Customers pack the bakery. Why did Sally wait to call me for help? Had I missed an earlier appeal ruminating over my sister and Mitch?
Vanessa stands next to one of the glass cases drumming her purple rhinestone polished fingernails on the top of the glass. Bobby Calvert stands behind her. That, combined with the satisfied expression on Vanessa’s face, stops me in my tracks.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop the cake’s momentum.
My hands wobble in an attempt to balance it.
I lose the battle and it somersaults toward the floor.
Lurching forward in a last-ditch effort to grab the cake, I watch with widened eyes and my mouth hanging open as it smashes into the floor and explodes over the tile.
I might have mourned the loss of the three-layer cake decorated with roses and the time to make it if it wasn’t for the fact that I was following it down.
Grabbing for the counter, I step in frosting.
I miss the counter when my foot slides sideways and down I go.
Hitting the floor with a jarring thud, I land on my hands and knees.
Cold, sticky frosting smooshes against my chest. The sugary smell overwhelms my nose and throat and I choke.
Or it could be humiliation.
There’s a snicker of laughter among the gasps of shock. I can easily identify its owner as my nemesis. She is always there to witness and broadcast my most embarrassing moments. Why should this one be any different?
Wanting to crawl into the back of the bakery, I debate my options.
Slink off in defeat and humiliation leaving behind pity and satisfied glee?
Or, accept I’m a born klutz and laugh it off. Thereby laughing at myself and allowing everyone to join in with me instead of laughing at me.
“Well, I guess cake juggling isn’t a thing for a reason.”
The chuckles spread and the tension lifts. I shove off the floor and stand, dusting my hands together. A glop of cake and frosting slide off my chest and plummet to the floor. A perfect rose remains stuck on the top edge of my apron. I scoop it onto my finger and peer at it. “You’re all that’s left of your brethren little guy.”
I curtsy to the crowd and laughter ensues once again followed by a smattering of applause.
After grabbing paper towels I clean up the mess quickly before any more accidents can occur. Then I wash my hands and tug on a pair of plastic gloves to help Sally clear out the customers.
There is additional ribbing from a few of the customers which I respond to with a smile. I make sure Sally is the one to wait on Vanessa. I don’t want to endure any nasty comments she may have ready for me.
Once most of the customers are taken care of, I disappear into the back to clean up and change into a different apron and shirt.
My lips twitch and a smile blooms on my face.
Normally, I might have slunk off to hide in humiliation spending hours if not full days lamenting over the incident and worrying if people were talking about it. Now, in a few moments time I brushed it off and laugh. Sure, a couple people might gossip over it, but who cares? Most likely, it will evolve into an amusing tale to share. I took control of the situation and made a choice to have fun with it.
Score one for me.
An hour or so later, Sally pops her head in the kitchen. “There’s someone here to see you about ordering a special cake.”
“I’ll be right there.”
After grabbing a pad of paper and pencil from my desk, I walk through the archway. A man with dark blond hair is waiting by the counter. He stands eye to eye with me, so approximately five foot ten. His polo shirt and shorts are carefully pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. I don’t recognize him, but I can guess he’s one of the summer people.
I stride forward with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Franny. What can I do for you today?”
He flashes me a megawatt smile and grasps my hand covering it with his other hand and holding onto it. “Hi Franny. My name is Tom Keys.”
I glance down at my hand still held in both of his and back up to his smiling face. “It’s nice to meet you.” Is he planning on letting it go any time soon?
“The pleasure is definitely mine. If I had known such a pretty baker was the proprietor, I would have been in much earlier.”
The flattery is nice. I’m only human, but I’m not naïve enough to believe he is overtaken by my ordinary looks. This guy has an agenda.
“My parents have a special anniversary coming up and my siblings and I are planning a surprise party for them. I got tasked with handling the cake, but I’m in a bit of a bind. See, the party is this weekend. Is there any chance you could save me from my own ruin?”
Ah, and there it is. He waited until the last minute and now he’s hoping charm will get him what he wants.
Is this what Charlie Roberts had been like?
Tugging my hand from his, I put my pencil and pad of paper on top of the counter. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll let you know if I can deliver.”
“Something special.”
I look up from the paper waiting for him to elaborate, but he only smiles at me in return. Okay then. Some people come in knowing exactly what they want, or believe they do, others want me to do it all for them with minimal input from them. Tom here is obviously one of the later. Good in some ways, but not necessarily easy. I need guidance to make sure the cake I design fits the occasion and who I’m designing it for. It’s my reputation which will suffer if it isn’t.
“What anniversary is it?”
“Thirtieth.”
“How many people will attend the party?”
“Not too many. Fifty or so, I imagine.”
So a full-blown event, not a casual get together, and I bet it’s over fifty. “How about favorite flavors of your parents and is there any allergies I need to be aware of?”
“Chocolate is always good, and no allergies. Make it pretty. My mother loves her gardens. Flowers might be nice.”
“Does she have a favorite flower?”
“Uh, roses?”
His answers to the remaining questions are just as vague. I can do the cake, but it will cost him. He doesn’t flinch at the number. I’m probably undercharging for such a last-minute order. Either that, or money isn’t a concern to him.
That must be a nice feeling.
“I will have it ready for pickup at twelve o’clock.” I had already told him the time, but I wanted to make sure he understood I was not delivering it. It requires more time to arrange delivery and coverage for the bakery.
“I promise to be prompt.” He writes a check for the full amount and lays it on the counter. “There, now that business is complete, why don’t you allow me to take you out to dinner?”
So his flirting wasn’t just to get me to make the cake at the last minute? He really is interested in me?
“Sorry, she’s spoken for.”
I spin towards the archway. Mitch is standing in the opening. He must’ve come in the back.
Tom glances up and then back. “My loss.” He takes my hand resting on the counter and kisses the back of it. I stare at it hoping I eliminated all traces of the earlier cake mishap. “You’ve saved me from disaster. My siblings would have murdered me if I didn’t show up with a cake. Perhaps my timing will be better in the future.”
Mitch steps to the side to let me pass into the kitchen.
My mind is spinning. Spoken for? He isn’t perpetuating the dating myth, is he? I thought that was finished. He hasn’t mentioned it lately and after he went out with my sister and parents last night
everyone in town will believe they are an item.
Wait a minute, how did he know that wasn’t Bobby that I had my supposed crush on?
“You’re welcome.” He wanders over and pops one of the cookies on the counter into his mouth.
“Exactly what am I supposed to be thanking you for?”
“Saving you from the prepster.” He jerks a thumb in the direction Tom had disappeared and stares at my face. “Please tell me that wasn’t Barney. You have to have better taste than that.”
“No, that wasn’t him.”
“Damn, these are addictive.” He puts another cookie into his mouth.
I couldn’t blame him, could I? As far as he knew I was interested in Bobby, and that’s who he was trying to help me with. It’s not like he could know that Tom is the first guy to ask me out in more than a year, other than Mitch that is for our fake date.
And how is he going to explain our fake relationship to my sister? Had he done so already? Please, no.
If he is continuing the charade, did that mean he isn’t planning on dating Lucinda?
“How did dinner go last night?”
He peers at me over another cookie. “Fine, I like your family. Your father has a lot of funny stories.”
“Yes, he does.”
“What were your plans you couldn’t join us? You didn’t snag a date with Benji without telling me, did you?”
“No.” What am I supposed to say I had no plans and my mother lied because she didn’t want me along? “It was a long day. I had a headache.” Both true. After my crying jag, my head had pulsed with agony.
Mitch leans on the counter next to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, I figure it’s time to discuss the art of flirting and letting the guy know you’re interested, and he has a chance with you.”
Chapter Nineteen
“A common theme my acting coach preached is our facial expressions not only convey our emotions, but they can prompt people to mimic or share the emotion. For instance, you know how if someone smiles it makes you smile in return?”
Not exactly how I envisioned this conversation going.
“Yes, I guess.”
“The point is if you project an inviting demeanor, you’re likely to receive one in return.”
“Okay, so you’re saying smile a lot at him?”
Mitch’s chuckle sends a warmth surging through me. I love the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners and his eyes brighten.
“Not exactly, but it’s a start.”
“Margeaux used to practice in front of the mirror making expressions. She is famous for her flirtation with the camera during a photo shoot.”
Margeaux, as in his super model ex. “You don’t talk about her much.”
He shrugs and looks away. “She had a lot of demons. I tried my best to help her, but it was never enough.”
“You can’t save someone if they aren’t ready to be saved.”
“Very true. She’s doing better now, getting the help she needs.”
“That’s good.” I sketch the cake I plan to make for Tom’s parents. “Do you think once she’s healthy you’ll get back together?”
Holding my breath waiting for his answer, I continue planning the cake. He doesn’t respond right away and my lungs demand air. I inhale and peek up at him to catch his expression. He’s staring at the piece of paper I am drawing on. Is he contemplating an answer? Did it mean he is considering getting back with her?
His gaze raises to meet mine. “I didn’t realize you could draw.”
I look back down at my paper. “I can’t. It’s just a cake plan.”
“That’s a detailed cake. I have trouble drawing anything beyond a stick figure.”
Shrugging, I tap the pencil against the paper. Is he avoiding my question?
“And the answer is no, I’ll always care for Margeaux, but we’re just friends.” Mitch rubs his hands together. “So, back to the flirting. The eyes play a big part too.”
Dropping the pencil, I lean my hip against the counter next to him. He faces me and taps the corner of my eye with his index finger.
“Make eye contact and keep it a little longer than a glance. Don’t just drop your gaze, hold his.”
I swallow hard and stare into his blue eyes. My heartbeat speeds up the longer we gaze into each other’s eyes.
“A touch can convey a dozen words in an instant.” He covers my hand with his own and raises his other hand to trail a curved finger along the side of my face.
Goosebumps multiply down my arms.
“And of course, the kiss can say it all.” He lifts my chin and drops his gaze to my lips.
.
Mitch’s head bends slowly toward mine. When our lips meet, my whole body sighs in relief.
His hand slides along my jaw to cradle my head and his other hand slips along my side to flatten against my back. My hands raise, seemingly of their own accord, and loop over his shoulders so my fingers can delve into the thick, soft hair on the nape of his neck.
The kiss deepens and our tongues begin a hesitant dance.
The pressure of his hand at my back increases, tugging me flush against his body. A soft moan whispers between us, and I realize it was mine.
Our mouths devour one another’s as he maneuvers me so my back is against the counter, pressing our bodies even closer together.
A loud clearing of someone’s throat echoes through the kitchen.
Mitch drops his hands and steps away from me.
I spot Sally standing in the archway between the front and back of the bakery and my cheeks burn. “My shift is over, and Olivia has arrived.”
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come so I nod instead and wrap my arms around my waist.
“I guess lessons will have to continue later. How about scratching off hiking from our list today? You free after closing?”
Hiking?
“Yeah sure.”
Mitch snags a cookie on his way out the back door. My gaze tracks him until he disappears out of view. How could he kiss me like that and then waltz away? It had to mean something to him, didn’t it? He was an actor once and had kissed more than one female lead. Was that all it was, another act?
His hardened body pressed against mine indicated he had certainly been feeling something. I managed to turn him on.
Arousal meant attraction, at least on some level. Didn’t it?
The floor above creaks from Mitch walking across the floor. The water turns on in the shower upstairs. It’s the middle of the day, and Mitch showered after his run this morning.
Perhaps he found himself in need of a cold shower after his kissing lesson.
Smiling, I remove the rest of the cookies from the cooling racks. I wasn’t the only one affected by that kiss.
****
During the lull after lunch, I ran home to get sneakers, shorts, and a T-shirt to change into after work for the hike. Okay, it was more like a speed walk than a run.
“Got a hot date with the town’s sexy new resident again?”
Olivia leans against the trim in the archway to the kitchen. I’ve got the kitchen work completed early and I am about to go change.
How could I possibly explain the fake girlfriend and crush plan to her without sounding like a complete idiot? Answer… I can’t.
“We’re going hiking and it’s not a date, we’re friends.”
Her gaze swerves from me to the back door as it opens and Mitch walks in.
My shoulders tense.
Will he find Olivia attractive?
Duh, of course he will. She’s a beautiful blonde.
Swallowing my insecurities and shoving them into a corner of my brain in a trunk with a giant padlock, I smile.
“Mitch this is Olivia, my friend and invaluable helper here at the bakery.”
They both stride towards one another and shake hands.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same, I’m a fan of your movies. Especially The Last Redemption, you total
ly deserved the Oscar for that film. I cried bucket loads watching it—both times.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. The script was brilliant and the actors brought it to life along with an extensive crew.”
Not an arrogant bone in his gorgeous body. He could easily take credit for choreographing the masterpiece, but instead he praises others’ efforts.
My heart soars.
“Enjoy your hike you two.” Olivia waves as she leaves.
“Thanks Olivia, see you tomorrow. Tell Timmy and Tommy hello for me. I still owe you a babysitting stint.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t forget. I’m holding it in reserve.”
Laughing, I glance over to Mitch when the door closes behind her.
“Her kids, I presume?”
“Yes, twins, they’re adorable.”
“You ready to go?”
“I just need a quick minute to change.” Yanking off my apron, I grab the bag of clothes and sneakers from my desk chair and go into the bathroom. “Why don’t you grab two waters from the cooler out front?”
“I’ve got everything we need in the truck.”
“Okay, I’ll be quick.” I close the door and slip off my shoes while tugging my blouse over my head instead of unbuttoning it. A button pops off and pings against the mirror before dropping into the sink.
“No rush.”
With my arms still held hostage over my head by the top since I didn’t unbutton the sleeves either, I glance at the closed door and cringe. I can just imagine the look on his face if I have to ask for his help to extricate me from my clothes.
I’ll rip the shirt to shreds first.
It’s already lost a button, anyway. The chances of me sewing it back on? Slim to none. It will sit in a pile on the floor of my closet with other damaged garments needing repair until I purge the closet and chuck them all.
Stuffing my head back into the blouse and shimming until it falls enough for me to unbutton the sleeves and remove it properly, I strip and don the jean shorts and a yellow T-shirt. I hop around on one foot trying to put my sneakers on in the confined space and bang into the wall.
“Everything okay?”