Cupcake Queens

by Darlene Everly

  “Oh, just back for the weekend. Needed to help my dad with something, and Deacon told me about this party.” She looked me up and down, the careful, fake happy of her mask slipping in the process.

  I shoved my hands back into my jacket pockets, balling up my fists.

  “Yep. I’m working for my mom now. But you already knew that. Hope you have a good trip back to school,” I said, stepping around her.

  She grabbed my arm and tried to turn me toward her, but I couldn’t turn as easy anymore. And I sure didn’t want to.

  “Please don’t act that way. It was for the best.” She looked up at me through her lashes, her lips pouting out.

  The laugh just popped out of me. I couldn’t help it. Because I knew that look.

  “You actually thought you could come here, after what you said to me, what you did to me, and I would what? Fall into your bed for old times’ sake?”

  Her mouth dropped open and she took a step back like I had slapped her.

  “Samantha, you know what? You’re so right.” I shook my head, more at myself than at her. This was the first time I knew what I was about to say was true and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. But looking past her to where Ceecee was standing, I saw it now.

  “What am I right about?” Her eyes went back to trying that seductive stare thing again, all soft at the edges like I didn’t have murder in mine. She even placed a hand on my arm, her touch light, like a caress through my thick jacket.

  Although, honestly, she might not have even been looking at me, not really. She wasn’t looking into my eyes. She was looking at her own reflection in them. I hoped she saw that I meant what I was about to say.

  “It was for the best,” I wrenched my arm away and kept walking toward the group of people at the cupcakes, every one of whom was nicer to me, and saw me. More than my ex ever did.

  “Hi,” I said, my voice almost like a sigh, and my hands loose in my pockets.

  “What was Samantha doing talking to you? She needs to get back out of the state,” Katie said, a sneer on her face.

  “It doesn’t matter. What she said tonight, and what she said when we split, it no longer matters,” I said, looking at Ceecee as I spoke.

  She smiled back at me. It was tentative, and it was small, but it was there.

  “Are you going to stick around?” I asked, managing to sound like it was just a simple question and didn’t matter one way or the other.

  “You think I’m going to miss a party?” Marcus asked with a laugh and an arm slung around Ceecee’s shoulders. “Come on. You two can tell me the scoop on everyone here, and point in the direction of someone who can appreciate me.”

  I shook my head and started back across the room with them.

  “Marcus, I’m sure everyone here will appreciate you. But I don’t know anyone who can keep up with you,” I said.

  He stood up straighter and fluttered his eyelashes like I had just made him very happy with himself while Ceecee cracked up.

  The laugh that rang out from her was freer than I had ever seen her be.

  It made me want to make her laugh all the time.

  Ceecee

  I still couldn’t believe how well the party went. It was impossible to focus, even two days later.

  But I couldn’t stop trying to pinpoint the thing, the moment, I knew it went right. That Theresa liked me. And I still couldn’t.

  It all left me distracted and wondering if I had imagined it all.

  Hopefully soon she would be back to finish her work, with the part in tow, and I would know for sure.

  Would I, though? Was that even possible?

  To know whether or not someone really was interested in me before I put myself out there in a way I couldn’t take back was an impossible thing. But how else was I supposed to risk it?

  “Ugh,” I groaned, throwing away another batch of ruined dough.

  At least today we had a steady stream of customers, and this was an extra batch of cinnamon rolls.

  Our business for the day almost made up for taking off early the day of the party…Almost.

  But the problem remained that I didn’t know if the rain would return, or if we would have enough days like that one to undo the damage of so many slow ones that had come before.

  What was I thinking?

  I couldn’t worry about a girl.

  Even if that girl was Theresa.

  Not when I had so much else to think about, and far too much to do.

  “Okay, Ceecee. Focus.” Talking to myself in the kitchen was probably a bad sign, but I shook my hands out and squeezed my eyes shut for a second before I listened to my own advice, shut up, and got to work.

  Running the recipe through my head and trying to think up new recipes, those were the only things keeping me on track.

  If things kept up like that, I was going to run out of flavors to try in a month.

  Oh, I hoped she wouldn’t take a month.

  Damn it.

  Focus.

  The oven dinged and I pulled out the batch of cinnamon rolls, replacing them and setting the timer again.

  Pouring the icing on the fresh, hot rolls wasn’t any more stimulating to my brain than making them.

  Everything I did was on autopilot. And if my autopilot wasn’t so practiced at what I was doing, there was a better-than-zero chance I would have poisoned someone already.

  Finally, both batches were done, and I was washing my hands.

  “Hi, Ceecee,” Theresa’s voice came from behind me. It took a moment for me to realize it was real.

  “Oh,” I said, turning too fast to grab the towel and dry off my hands and almost toppling over the pile of dishes stacked next to the sink. “Hi, Theresa. What’s up?”

  My voice was way too high. I sounded like I swallowed a tank of helium.

  Settle down.

  Theresa just smiled at me and held up a bag, her tool kit weighing down her other arm.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your part came in,” she said, walking toward the oven that just sat there day after day, reminding me I was running out of time to come up with a solution to all the things that needed fixed.

  “That’s great. I’ll be right back.” I chickened out and brought a tray of the new cinnamon rolls to the front, giving Marcus a dirty look as I passed him because he hadn’t warned me.

  Customers were still flowing in and out, and only two cinnamon rolls remained in the case from the last batch.

  Even with the oven fixed, I would be behind at this rate.

  I made another trip with the other tray before returning to the kitchen. And when I headed back in there again, this time to work while Theresa did, I had to take a deep breath first and prepare myself.

  “Just let me know if I’m in your way,” I said, getting back to work and pretending I would be able to do anything about it if I was.

  “Ceecee, that’s my line. If I make it hard for you to bake, just let me know. I can find something to keep me busy until you go out for another minute to help Marcus,” Theresa said, her head in the oven.

  How was I supposed to answer that? It was probably true, but it didn’t help me.

  I was screwing it up already and nothing had happened.

  Maybe if I just went through the recipes again in my head.

  So I did. More than once.

  But the ideas wouldn’t stop. Some of them were pretty good. And I wanted to write them down before I forgot.

  “Can you come get me if the timer goes off? I need to go write down an idea I just had for a recipe before it leaves my brain and never returns.” I waved my hand in the air next to my head and she laughed.

  “No problem.”

  I opened my mouth to say something else and snapped it shut again, not sure what it was I even wanted to say.

  Just Theresa’s presence was starting to turn my brain to mush.

  So, instead of talking, I fled to the front to make a note.

  Theresa


  Ceecee was acting odd.

  Maybe it was me. Maybe spending an evening with her at the party, just walking around, talking and eating good food with our friends made me show too much of what was happening in my head.

  But either way, the timer was about to go off. The numbers on it would likely count down before I would be able to limp to the office and get her.

  I shoved myself up from the floor and wondered how many recipes she had in the office. Probably a million.

  The front seemed busy. Marcus was probably having fun with all the people though. That guy really should have been in some high-level sales position. Like selling ice in the Arctic. He would end up President if he ever went into politics.

  Knocking on the door to the office, I didn’t hear any answer. Between the buzz of the people at the front, and the music playing over the speakers, I probably missed it.

  I opened the door, and for a minute thought I was in the wrong room.

  Stacks of boxes and bins were in every corner and on top of one was a pile of clothes.

  But the desk along one wall proved this wasn’t a storage closet. It was the office.

  In the back was a bed squished between the filing cabinets and walls so one end was curled up because the mattress didn’t fit the space.

  No. Not a bed. Ceecee’s bed.

  Her clothes from the night before—including the boots—were in a heap next to the bed, proving she slept in it after the party.

  We weren’t drinking, so it wasn’t some way to not have to drive anywhere else. It wasn’t because she always had to be here so early because she said she was used to it, had done it all her life.

  I shut the door and headed to the front.

  Ceecee was next to Marcus, helping someone with their box of treats.

  “Um, the timer,” I said, not sure how I was supposed to handle the fact that I knew this thing about her that I was positive she didn’t want me to know.

  “Oh, thanks,” she said, looking over at me before turning back to the person she was helping. She made a quick goodbye and hurried past me to the kitchen, a smile on her face.

  Seconds, maybe minutes later, Marcus became aware I was still just standing there. He looked over at me, his brows high.

  I smiled, or at least I tried to. Although I suspect I wasn’t successful, and I had no idea how to fix my face into anything beyond the shock running through my head. So I headed back to finish my work.

  Ceecee was already deftly icing the cinnamon rolls with perfect, practiced movements.

  How she managed to keep going, to keep working and keep laughing and smiling while so much fell apart that she was living in the office of the bakery, made me stop in my tracks and stare at her.

  “You okay?” she asked after a moment, her hands pausing in their flawless pattern and her head cocked to the side.

  This girl…She was in that place—one I couldn’t imagine—and she was worried about how I was feeling?

  I walked across the kitchen and straight for her.

  She looked around like there was something else in this room that mattered at all, her hands still holding the icing and her face twisting into even more worry.

  But the only thing she needed to worry about was if what I was about to do, what I needed to do at that moment, was something she wanted.

  Making my way to her wasn’t as smooth as it would have been once upon a time, and it sure as hell wasn’t as cute.

  Instead of my cheerleading uniform, or even cute clothes, I was in heavy duty work clothes and a thick jacket.

  This girl…this girl made me not care for a minute. I just needed to know.

  Finally, I stood right in front of her. Her eyes were wide and her breathing too fast.

  “Ceecee,” I whispered and took her face in my hands as gently as I could, my fingers running along her perfect skin.

  I made sure to look her in the eye, to check and see if she was going to tell me no, but she didn’t.

  And I closed my eyes and leaned in, my lips touching her full, cupid’s bow mouth.

  She let out a little eep sound as if she was still surprised even though nothing I did was fast.

  My heart hammered in my chest. I wanted to bring her out of the kitchen and keep kissing her for the rest of the day, but I couldn’t push my luck.

  Instead, I pulled away and looked her in the eye again.

  This time, her lids were low, her gaze soft and shining.

  “What was that for?” she asked, her voice so hushed I barely heard it over the music.

  “Because I needed to,” I said, and stepped back, although that wasn’t what I needed. It was what we had to do.

  The icing was still in her hands, the cinnamon rolls waiting, and I still had an oven to finish fixing.

  “Is that okay?” I asked, begging the universe for her to tell me it was.

  “Come here,” she said, and leaned over to kiss me again, sending my heart hammering away in my chest again. My stomach fluttered and landed somewhere in my toes.

  I didn’t expect her to want me too, and I didn’t want to let her go and have her change her mind.

  She pulled back and gave me a smile that I wanted to see all the time, before turning back to her cinnamon rolls. She shook herself before she got back to work, sneaking a peek at me through her lashes.

  “Well.” I coughed into my hand and made my way to the oven to finish my own work. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Oh no.” She turned to look at me, her face fallen, the corners of her beautiful mouth turned down, her eyes watery.

  “What’s the matter?” Did I screw it up already?

  “I want to do something with you so badly, but I can’t tonight. I have to do the books and ordering.”

  My smile was real, and just shy of laughing.

  “Don’t worry, Ceecee. I’ll make sure we get a chance to have a date at some point.”

  Ceecee

  I was singing. I couldn’t help it.

  She did like me. A lot.

  Theresa was more than just someone doing work for me sometimes. And just in time, because she finished her work the night before.

  While I baked in the early morning hours after far too little sleep—my need to take care of office stuff wasn’t fake—for a few minutes it didn’t matter that the bank account no longer had enough in it for me to get change if we ran out today.

  Nope. The only thing that mattered for a little while was that the girl I liked, liked me back, and there was hope for a life beyond the flour dusting my hands.

  My mother would have been very happy.

  Knowing that made my soul soar and my singing sound better than ever.

  “You know,” a voice that didn’t belong to Marcus said behind me, sending me whirling and flour flying everywhere.

  Mr. McCarthy waved a hand in the air. It made the flour eddy around him as it fell to the floor. He looked like it was normal for him to be here at three in the morning. It most decidedly was not.

  “Anyway,” he said, and I looked up at the clock on the wall, sure it was wrong, “I think you could be a real singer if you wanted to. It would make more money than this place, I’m sure.”

  He looked around, as if this was his kitchen and he was checking that I wasn’t going to set it on fire.

  “Forgive me, but it’s way too early for you to be here. What’s going on?” I went back to working the dough, not just because I needed to get it done before we opened, but because my hands were shaking. It hid how scared and angry I was at his presence.

  I didn’t even get a whole day to bask in the glow of kissing Theresa without him crapping all over everything.

  “Oh,” he said, and laughed, as if what I said was some kind of screwed up comedy routine, “You’re right that it is very early, but I wanted to let you know that today, and probably for at least a month, there will be roofers working on the building.”

  “Roofers?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  “Yes. They
have some emergency repairs they need to make, and of course there is asbestos up there and lead paint. All that old terrible stuff that needs abated.”

  “Asbestos?” I couldn’t seem to get out whole sentences. I just parrot words back to him.

  “I’m sorry about this. But when something like this is found, I have an obligation to everyone in the building to see it’s taken care of right away.”

  Whatever the opposite of sorry was, that was him. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth in a tight mockery of a smile, and his chin lowered.

  “So,” he said, twisting to look around, then waving as he turned to walk out, saying over his shoulder, “If you need anything…”

  Yeah. I needed the world to stop, for time to reverse itself. And most of all for Mom to be there to tell me what to do, how I was supposed to make this work.

  Instead, I looked down at the flour on my hands, the dough on the counter, and went back to work. I did the thing my mother taught me. And I cried in the doing.

  “Half measures today,” I said to the empty bakery.

  Or maybe I was talking to my mother’s spirit.

  Whatever it was I tried to appeal to, it didn’t answer. There were no answers.

  Today I would do half measures for all the usual items, and tomorrow…Tomorrow I would hope that I would need to make more.

  Because if there were leftovers with half measures…

  My hands shook as I finished laying out the dough and then washed them in the sink, pausing to watch as globules of dough fell to the stainless basin and slowly thinned until they sloughed off down the drain.

  How was I supposed to pay for the bills coming due in a week?

  I didn’t have anything left to cut out of my budget.

  As it was, I had to put the last order I placed to suppliers on a credit card that was close to maxed out. And payroll…

  Going around in circles, finding things to do to keep my shaking hands busy, I filled up the remaining hours before—

  Marcus whistled as he opened the back door and came inside.