Cakewalk

by Claire Hastings

  “Miss Hawthorne,” a familiar voice said, as she carried more scones out front. She looked up and found Officer Nelligan standing at the counter.

  “Officer Nelligan, hi! And please, call me Gigi.”

  “Miss Gigi, I hear you gave our fire department something to do last week.”

  “Didn’t you know that’s why I was sent to Colebury?” she said, in her best super sweet, hostess voice. “I’m here to make sure that all your emergency services are in proper workin’ order! So far, police, fire, and EMT have all passed with flyin’ colors! If you have recommendations of who I should hit up next, you just let me know.”

  Officer Nelligan let out a laugh, and Gigi was glad that her attempt at a joke had landed such a response. She hadn’t had very many opportunities to laugh and joke since she arrived, and it felt good to be able to make light of the situation.

  “Are those scones?” he asked, once he’d composed himself.

  “They are! Fresh baked!” She put one on a plate and slid it across the counter to him, before placing the rest of the tray in the display case. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Holden was sitting at one of the small tables directly in front of her, rather than the counter seats at the window overlooking the patio. The window seats were wide open, and she couldn’t help but wonder why the change. Not that it was any of her business. Although when it came to Holden, she certainly liked trying to make it her business.

  Sneaking another glance at him, she smiled to herself, noticing a scone on his plate. He hadn’t taken a bite yet, and her chest filled with nerves as she thought about him trying it for the first time. She wanted everyone to like the goodies she was making for the café, but she really, really wanted Holden to like them. Maybe even like them so much that he’d ask her to make some just for him, at home. An image of the two of them in the kitchen together, covered in ingredients as he pressed her up against the blue cabinets, flitted across her mind, making the nerves in her chest morph into something else entirely. Was that…lust?

  Stop it, Gigi…just because the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach doesn’t mean you need to make an attempt. Especially with that man.

  The sound of coughing pulled her attention back to the counter, where Officer Nelligan was still standing. When he finally swallowed, he took a long swig of his coffee, blinking harshly, like he was trying to forget a taste.

  “Miss Gigi, may I ask what you put in these?”

  “Ummmm, usual scone ingredients?” she floundered. “Flour, salt, cream, baking powder, orange zest, cranberries…”

  “I’m not much of a baker, but I think you might have mixed up your baking powder and your baking soda. A girl did that in my junior high home ec class, and it tasted much like this—kinda metallic,” Officer Nelligan said.

  “What?” Gigi said. All feelings of butterflies and lust were long gone now, replaced by sheer panic. She looked at Officer Nelligan in horror, taking in the scone he’d just bitten into. The apologetic look in his eye told her everything she needed to know—she'd screwed up. Big time.

  “Georgia. I don’t know what possesses you to even try these things. It’s a well-established fact that you just are not capable of cooking. Please stop trying—you’re just making yourself look ridiculous,” Bradley’s voice said. She shook her head, trying to clear his words from her mind, as she turned and ran into the kitchen.

  Sure enough, the canisters labeled “baking powder” and “baking soda” were right next to each other. However, it was the baking soda whose lid was off and sitting in front of it. That was the one she’d used when measuring out her ingredients.

  “Sugar Honey Iced Tea!” she exclaimed, stomping her foot in frustration. She could feel Roderick looking at her, but she didn’t have the heart to turn around and see the expression on his face.

  “Uh oh,” she heard Roderick’s voice say over her shoulder. “That’s a bad day.”

  Was she ever not going to screw this up? When would she learn that she couldn't do this? No, what she couldn’t do was let Bradley’s words get to her.

  At least it was just Officer Nelligan. He was used to seeing her at her worst at this point. He and Holden.

  Holden.

  Holden had also ordered a scone. But he hadn’t eaten it yet. Right?

  Racing back up front, she skidded to a stop in front of his table to find him midbite into the inedible treat.

  “Nooo!” she cried. “Don’t eat that—it’s…”

  “A bit salty…” he responded, choking it down.

  Gigi could feel the tears starting to prick at her eyes, but she wasn’t going to let anyone here see her cry. It was no big deal. So she got the canisters mixed up. Happens to everyone at some point, right?

  “I’ll get you a muffin,” she told him, turning back to the counter. Looking between Holden and Officer Nelligan, she sighed. “At least it was just you two, right?”

  “And Mr. Hughes,” Kirk said, not looking up from the espresso machine.

  “Who?”

  “That older guy who bought six. Owns Hughes Hardware store up the street.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed before turning and running out the front door. She had to get to him before he let his employees have any of them.

  Deserting the café like this was probably not her best move, but she figured after this disaster, she was going to be lucky to even have a job.

  Holden

  Holden hadn’t quite realized just how out of shape he was until he’d started to demo the smoke-damaged kitchen in the carriage house. The company the chief had recommended had been out a few days after the fire and gotten the place cleaned up. It had taken them three days to take care of everything, but when they were done, they told him that it was safe enough for him to do the demo himself as long as he wore a mask to keep from inhaling anything that might break loose in the process. Doing this himself had sounded like a great idea, a way to distract him not only from all the words he wasn’t currently writing, but from the insanely tempting little blonde that was now flitting around his house. That was, until he’d started to actually swing that sledgehammer.

  It wasn’t a secret that he’d gone a little soft after retiring from professional sports. Gone were the days where he spent six hours a day working out and watching every bite of food he took. But it wasn’t like he’d let himself go completely. He still ran ten miles a day and did plenty of stuff around the house. So he didn’t have the washboard stomach that Hannah used to refer to as his “fifteen pack”—didn’t mean he wasn’t still a stud. Other than how incredibly sore and tired he was from hauling cabinets out of the small apartment.

  Walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water, he found Gigi standing in front of the open fridge. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he watched as she gasped, jumping back from the fridge and slamming the door shut. Her beautiful gray eyes were red and swollen, and her normally rosy cheeks were tearstained. His heart ached at the sight. It was obvious she’d been crying for a while, and he was pretty sure it had to do with the scone incident this morning. She’d run out of the Busy Bean faster than he’d ever seen her move, looking like she might throw up. The whole thing would have been funny had he been watching a sitcom, rather than it playing out in real life.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, stepping closer to her.

  “Nothing,” she answered, wiping her hands against her cheeks, trying to making it look like she hadn’t been upset. “I’m fine. I’ll get out of your way.”

  She turned to go, but he caught her by the elbow, stopping her. He could feel her body go rigid as she froze in place when his hand made contact with her skin. He hadn't meant to scare her, so he quickly let go, letting her arm fall back by her side. The startled look on her face, paired with her puffy eyes, made her look so vulnerable just then. Holden’s heart ached even more, and he had to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. It was an urge he hadn’t felt in years, but
it was just as strong as the last time it had rushed through him.

  “No, don’t go. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? Holden, you witnessed it. Please don’t make me recount it—it was bad enough the first time,” she said, walking back toward him and resting against the counter.

  “Can I ask what happened after you ran out of the coffee shop? Did you catch up with the guy from the hardware store?”

  “I did,” she sighed. “I did not realize just how far Hughes Hardware was from the Busy Bean, at least in terms of walking distance. Luckily, Officer Nelligan caught up with me and gave me a ride. When I got to the store, I found Mr. Hughes, and I told him that I was sorry, but I needed those scones back because there was a problem with them and I offered him cash to refund him, but he just looked at me like I was crazy. Told me he didn’t know what I was talking about, and he didn’t buy any scones this morning. We went in circles for a good couple of minutes until one of his sons, Gabe, came in, walked back to the office, and found the box.”

  “At least you got to him before they had any?” Holden offered, trying to help her find a silver lining.

  “Ha!” she barked. It came out half as a sob, and he could tell the tears were about to return. “He’d eaten two. Gabe didn’t say it outright, but I get the impression that Mr. Hughes has some memory issues. He didn’t remember eating them.”

  “Then he doesn’t remember how bad they tasted.”

  His last words made her lower lip start to quiver, and that’s when he knew he’d said the wrong thing. A single tear escaped from her eye and slowly slid down her cheek, making Holden feel like he’d just taken a punch to the gut. He’d forgotten how powerful a woman’s tears were, and knowing that it was his fault that they’d started up again only made it worse.

  “Oh Gigi, please don’t cry. They weren't that bad,” he assured her. “It’s a mistake everyone has made at some point. So you grabbed the wrong container. It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal! How am I supposed to be the cake lady-boss if I don’t even know the difference between baking powder and baking soda? Or if I’m just one step away from burning the whole place down?” she cried, the rest of her tears coming in earnest now. “Spoiler alert, I don’t actually know what I’m doing. I’ve never actually baked anything before.”

  “Huh, coulda fooled me,” he said under his breath. Or so he’d thought, because Gigi just shot daggers in his direction with her eyes, letting him know his sarcasm was not appreciated in the moment. “So, why’d you take the job if you can’t bake? And where’d you learn to make all the little frosting thingys?”

  “I won a cake decorating class at a charity auction a bunch of years ago. It didn’t focus on the baking part, just the making things pretty part. I’m good at pretty. The chef taught us how to sculpt fondant,” she sighed. “So when I got that flat tire and was sitting in the Busy Bean waiting for it to get patched, I overheard Zara and Audrey talking about adding cakes to the menu, and I showed them some of the ones I had ‘made.’ And by ‘made,’ I mean ‘decorated.’ I left out the part about not actually baking them. They offered me the job, and I took it.”

  “Even though you had no idea what you were doing?”

  “Yes! I thought I could figure it out. I needed to figure it out. That was the whole point of starting over without Bradley. To prove to myself and everyone that I’m a strong, independent woman. I left Atlanta to have a new life. One where no one knew me, and I wasn’t expected to be anything. I spent so many years doing as I was told and following all these rules because ‘that’s how it’s done.’ I just wanted to be able to figure out who I am outside of all of that and do what I want to do. But apparently the only thing I’m capable of doing is messing this up.”

  “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “Yeah? And what would you know about it?” she snarked, her southern accent taking out some of the bite. He looked her up and down, taking in her stylish outfit. Her jeans fit her like they were custom made for her curves and the long-sleeved knit top she was wearing hugged her just right as well. Once again, she looked like she was ready for a luncheon, rather than an evening in. Come to think of it, though, even when she’d been wearing sweats she looked put together, and it made him wonder if she knew how to just let go. From the sounds of it, she was so used to keeping up appearances, he was starting to think she didn’t. If he could only help her realize that she could let it all go and be whomever she wanted. That’s when the idea hit him.

  “Go grab your jacket. We’re going for a ride,” he told her.

  “What?”

  “Grab your jacket. It’ll be cold once the sun goes down. And put on shoes you’re comfortable walking in.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, questioning his sudden change of subject.

  “You’ll see.”

  7

  Holden

  The drive had taken a little longer than Holden had expected, but the sun hadn’t set completely yet, so he knew there was still plenty of time. Finding a parking spot had also been a lot easier than he’d thought, since this year the festival organizers had made an attempt at a parking lot. The fact that it was also the first night of the event helped as well, since the majority of the crowds wouldn’t be showing up until tomorrow.

  “Are you going to tell me where we are now?” she asked as they climbed out of his truck. When he had told her to put on shoes she would be comfortable walking in, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but a pair of sneakers hadn’t been it. Hell, he’d been more than a little surprised to see she even owned a pair of sneakers. She also had busted out an old crimson hoodie, the front emblazoned with that unmistakable Alabama A. The whole outfit made her look absolutely adorable, and Holden was having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her.

  “This is the Moose Mountain Fall Festival,” he told her, a wry smile on his face. He’d always loved this event, although he wasn’t really sure why. Truth be told, it wasn’t much more than a bunch of food and arts and crafts vendors set up in an open field, but there was something about it that he’d loved ever since he was a kid. It had been at least fifteen years since he’d been here, however. He and Hannah had taken a day trip up here while he was playing for the New England Revolution, the professional soccer team in Boston. Once they’d moved to London, the fall was the start of his season, so getting away for a trip back to the states just hadn’t been possible.

  “Moose?” Gigi froze in her tracks, her eyes as big as plates as she looked around her as if she were expecting the large creatures to appear out of nowhere.

  “Moose Mountain is actually quite a ways that way,” Holden explained, gesturing off to his left. “And while yes, it’s named that because people often see moose up there, we’re not going to see any here tonight. They aren’t interested in cider donuts and handmade soap.”

  Gigi nodded as she caught up to him. The two fell into step with each other as they approached the main row of vendors.

  "Tonight’s the first night, so it’s a little slower, but I think it’s more fun to check it all out without all the people. This event has been going on since the sixties. You’ve got your standard local arts and crafts, soaps, and that kind of stuff. Plus all sorts of different food vendors. During the day there are field day games. You know, the three-legged races, and the egg on the spoon thing. Once upon a time there was a dunk tank, but I think they stopped that.”

  “Seems a little cold for a dunk tank,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  “That’s why they stopped it,” he said with a little bit of a laugh. Guiding her over to a big white tent, they ducked inside, the smell of freshly fried dough surrounding them. “First things first, cider donuts.”

  “What’s a cider donut?”

  “Only the best fall tradition ever,” he replied. Turning to the girl behind the counter, he ordered them both a couple of donuts and a cup of hot cider. He handed Gigi hers a
nd waited as she took her first bite of the cinnamon- and sugarcoated goodness.

  “Holy cow, this is yummy!” she said, almost jumping up and down as they exited the tent. She looked so cute, with the pastry in one hand and a to-go cup in the other, cinnamon and sugar smeared across her pretty pink lips. Holden told himself he needed to stop staring. If he didn’t, he was likely to lean in and kiss the mess right off her. “I wish I could make something this good.”

  “I bet you could. I’ve never actually made them myself, but my mom and Aunt Viv used to do it every fall, and I don’t remember it being an overly involved process.”

  “Holden, that’s very kind of you to say, but you’ve experienced my baked goods,” she said, her sweet southern voice sounding defeated. The ache Holden felt earlier returned, and he longed to be able to fix this. He had no idea why—no one had made him feel like this since Hannah.

  “I have…experienced them, as you put it,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the other end of the festival, indicating which way to turn. “And those scones were not the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth.”

  Gigi looked at him with wide eyes, a slightly embarrassed look on her face. He could see a little bit of a blush spreading across her cheeks as she fought back a little giggle at his words.

  “Okay, that came out dirtier than I intended,” he said, trying to recover. “I just meant that I spent years in London, and the Brits aren’t known for their food.”

  “Nice recovery,” she retorted, still holding in a giggle.

  They walked side by side, embracing a companionable silence, arms lightly brushing every couple of steps. Each time they made contact, Holden felt a zing rush through him, even with the layers of clothing separating them. His first reaction had been to pull away, to ever so slightly direct his steps to the right so that there were more than a few centimeters between them. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He liked the feel of her so close to him. Her presence was oddly comforting—like when you’ve been outside for so long that you don’t realize how cold you’ve gotten until you’re back inside by the fire. Gigi was that fire, and he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.