A Piece of Cake

by T. M. Franklin

  She encouraged it, of course. It was good for business. And if everyone ended up happy in the end, she figured the end justified the means.

  “How so?” he asked, sitting up and leaning toward her over the table. “You’d think a matchmaker would be all about the romance.”

  Emily tried not to notice the glint in his eyes from the reflected candle light on the dimly-lit patio, or the light scent of his cologne, spicy and masculine. She cleared her throat again, unsure how he put her so off her game, so unsettled her that she let her professionalism slide, even for a moment. She could tell, however, that he really wanted an answer, so she took a deep breath and swallowed the last of her wine.

  “A true match—a lasting match—is dependent upon compatibility,” she said. “Things like romance and attraction can actually muddy the waters. People often mistake lust for love and jump into a relationship when in fact they have very little in common.”

  “So you make sure they don’t do that?”

  “My system is based on a complex set of algorithms developed over years of research by myself, and others in the field. Perfect Match isn’t just a catchy name. Based on my system, we really do find the client’s ideal mate.”

  He sat back as the waiter set a frosted glass of beer before him, frowning at it for a moment before glancing at her sideways. “And love has nothing to do with it?”

  Emily shifted in her seat. “Of course it has something to do with it.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t think it has anything to do with it at all, do you?” His head tilted curiously as he observed her and she tried not to squirm under his steady gaze. “I can’t believe it.” His eyes widened, twinkling with a touch of amusement. “A matchmaker who doesn’t believe in love!”

  She huffed. “Of course I believe in love.”

  “You just don’t believe it conquers all.”

  “Well, it doesn’t, does it?” she all but snapped. “Otherwise, why would more than half of all marriages end in divorce? People look at love through rose-colored glasses, thinking it’s the be-all and end-all, but the fact of the matter is, it’s not enough. A couple must have common interests and beliefs, personality traits that are compatible, common goals—”

  “What about chemistry?”

  She blinked, realizing they were closer than she thought, both leaning forward over the table. Sam’s hand lay flat on the wooden surface, the tip of his finger almost touching hers. She sat back abruptly.

  “Chemistry is irrelevant, really,” she said, quickly dumping the file into her bag and reaching for her jacket. “It’s all just remnants left behind by evolution, chemicals released by the brain when one encounters a potential mate. Hardly necessary in this day and age.” She stood up abruptly. “I really should be going.”

  He reached out, snagging her by the wrist and she fought back the knowing, stronger than usual for reasons she chose not to explore.

  “What happened to you?” he asked, voice soft and almost sad. She pulled her hand free with a gasp.

  “I’m sorry—” He stood, flexing his own fingers.

  “No, no, it’s fine. This is just . . . ” She floundered for a moment. It seemed like she was always floundering around him, actually. “This is inappropriate. I shouldn’t be discussing this with you at all—”

  “Emily—”

  “It’s very unprofessional, and I apologize.”

  “There’s no need—”

  “My office will be in contact after your date with Jessica. That is, if you still intend to go out with her?” She waited for him to say yes, ignoring the pang of hope that he’d say no.

  “I said I would,” he said quietly.

  “All right then.” She slid an arm into her jacket and he stepped up to hold it for her. She stiffened, bracing herself, but he didn’t touch her skin. He helped her into her coat and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Goodbye, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  “It’s Sam.”

  She nodded once before she turned and left, forcing herself to walk slowly, although her feet yearned to break into a run.

  “So how did it go?” Emily propped her elbows on her desk, tenting her fingers as she watched Jessica in the seat across from her.

  She’d gone out on all three first dates and it was time for the debrief to decide if any of them warranted a second date. Usually, at least one of the first date choices was a winner, but it wasn’t uncommon for a client to find he or she didn’t really click with any of the matches and needed to start the process over again. In this case, Emily was relatively certain it wouldn’t be necessary.

  Jessica blushed, toying with her earring. “Really well,” she said. “Adam was amazing. So sweet and attentive, and he took me to this fantastic restaurant with a view of the Sound.”

  Emily smiled, picking up her pen to take some notes. “And he was a gentleman?”

  “Oh, yes. He even asked before he kissed me at the end of the evening.”

  Emily covered her frown. She thought that was a bit wimpy, personally, but if it was what Jessica liked, then more power to her. “Are you going to see him again?”

  She nodded. “He’s taking me sailing this weekend.”

  “Great!” Emily turned a page. “What about Mark?”

  Jessica wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing bad,” she said quickly, holding up a hand. “I mean, he was nice enough. But all he talked about was polo.” She rolled her eyes. “Play by plays of his big matches . . . the trophies he’s won. It got a little boring, to be honest.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow, jotting some notes on Mark’s profile. “I can imagine. Well, believe me, I’ll be having a little chat with Mark.” She ignored the little flutter in her stomach when she asked, “And Sam? Where did you two go?”

  Jessica’s frown lifted into a wide smile. “Mini golf. And pizza.”

  “Really?” Apparently, Sam needed some dating advice from Emily as well.

  “Oh yes. It was so much fun. I won, although I think Sam might have let me. I couldn’t be sure.” She leaned forward. “We went for pizza afterwards and I found out he actually likes anchovies on his pizza. I love anchovies, but I’ve never found anybody who will let me order them!”

  Emily felt a bit nauseous. Probably due to the mention of anchovies. “And how did the date end?”

  “We had coffee at a little place down the street from my house and he walked me home.” She shrugged. “It was nice.”

  “No kiss?”

  She shook her head, and Emily definitely did not feel a little thrill at the response.

  “I don’t know,” Jessica said. “I like Sam. I really do. But there was no special connection, you know? Not like with Adam.”

  At that moment, Emily experienced what is commonly referred to as an ethical dilemma. She would have been lying to say she wasn’t the tiniest bit happy at the news, but at the same time, the software picked Sam as an ideal match for Jessica, and she wouldn’t be doing her job if she didn’t do her best to convince her client to at least give him a chance.

  She swallowed. “But you said you had a great time.”

  “We did. But I think he’s more of a friend, not a boyfriend.”

  Emily pushed her glasses up her nose and considered the spreadsheet before her, mapping out the compatibility of Jessica with each candidate. There was no denying it—Sam’s numbers were better than Adam’s. According to the computer, he was the better match.

  “What do you think?” Jessica asked, biting her lip nervously as Emily surveyed the data.

  That settled it. The woman was depending on her to be a professional, to do her job. She couldn’t give her anything less than the best service,
despite her personal feelings.

  Not that she was having personal feelings. Not at all. Much.

  She set the papers down and took off her glasses, looking at Jessica steadily. “I think you need to give Sam another chance,” she said. “Go out with Adam. I think he’s a good option for you. But don’t write off Sam. According to the compatibility algorithms, he’s an excellent match. I’d hate for you to give up on him based on only one date when he could be The One.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I do.” Emily ignored the little voice screaming inside her head. “I do,” she said again, unsure if she was trying to convince Jessica or herself.

  It wasn’t unheard of. She’d done it before. Okay, so only twice, and only because the clients couldn’t get the time off work to come to her office. Emily chose not to dwell on that as she stood outside Cavanaugh’s Cakery, taking a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart before going inside. She’d met with Adam Keller already—in her office—but when she’d called to arrange a similar meeting with Sam and got his voice mail, she found herself saying she’d stop by his bakery on her way home.

  Again, it wasn’t unheard of. It was perfectly professional. Just a chance to debrief him about his date with Jessica and give him some suggestions for the next one. Like trying to be less brother-like and more boyfriend-like.

  Right.

  Perfectly professional.

  She almost had herself convinced of that when the door swung open and a woman and young boy came out, holding the door open for her expectantly.

  “Thank you,” she said, unable to delay going inside any longer, despite the fact that all her deep breathing had apparently been for naught.

  Emily stepped into the brightly lit shop, painted in shades of blue and pale yellow. Framed photographs of elaborate wedding cakes hung on the walls over several small café-style tables, apparently for tastings. A glass case along the far wall housed a half-dozen birthday cakes of various themes. On a raised ceramic stand atop the case stood a gorgeous eight-tier wedding cake in shades of white and cream, with sugar flowers and sparkling crystals twinkling under the overhead lights.

  Emily wondered at how such a big, masculine man could create something so beautiful and delicate.

  “Be right out!” a voice called through a doorway behind the case, which Emily assumed led to the kitchen.

  She could smell the sweet scent of baking and her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn’t yet had dinner. Idly, she walked by the case, examining the cakes within and smiling at a three-tiered one in pink and black with little high-heeled shoes parading around the edge. A surprisingly realistic Coach purse made out of fondant took up a good portion of the top, a pair of sugar pearl earrings and a bracelet scattered next to it.

  Jessica would have loved that one.

  “Want a bite?”

  Emily jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, relaxing a bit when she saw him holding out a cupcake in the palm of his hand.

  He rolled his eyes at her suspicious look. “It’s just a cupcake,” he said, lifting it slightly to emphasize his words. “Well, I shouldn’t say just. It’s double-chocolate with salted caramel frosting, and it’s incredible, if I do say so myself.”

  Emily smirked. “Mighty sure of yourself.”

  “Definitely. At least when it comes to salted caramel frosting.” He grinned at her. “Go on, take it. I’m relatively certain one cupcake isn’t going to jeopardize your professional objectivity.”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to be impartial about chocolate.”

  Was she flirting?

  “Double chocolate.”

  Was he?

  “Even more so.” She looked away from his crinkling eyes, and stepped back to put some distance between them.

  He set the cupcake on top of the case, his smile fallen slightly.

  With a mental eye roll, she reached for the cupcake, feeling more than a little ridiculous about making such a big deal over an innocent conversation.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, peeling back the paper.

  He watched her carefully as she took a small bite and licked a dab of frosting off her lips.

  She froze. “Holy crap,” she mumbled through the cupcake. Sam’s face broke into a smile.

  “Good?”

  Instead of answering, she took a bigger bite.

  The cake itself was dark and rich, moist and not too sweet, a perfect counterpoint to the sinfully rich ganache filling and the smooth, velvety frosting. A drizzle of caramel boosted the flavor to eleven on a one-to-ten scale, and Emily closed her eyes as she swallowed, barely stifling a moan of appreciation.

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently, his eyes focused on her lips.

  “This is incredible,” she said, a little breathless.

  His gaze snapped up to meet hers. “Thank you,” he rasped, the sound stirring something trembly within her. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Thank you,” he repeated, a little louder.

  She just nodded, unable to form words, and took another bite of the cupcake as he cleared his throat.

  Eventually, they overcame the awkward moment and ended up at one of the small tables talking over cups of coffee. They chatted about the business and how he became a cake designer—“The cake was always my favorite part of any party. Birthdays, weddings, whatever, so I figured, why not?” —favorite books—Tolkien for him, Austen for her, although they both had a soft spot for C.S. Lewis—his love of rock climbing and her preference for hiking. Even cartoons they watched as children.

  “How could you not like the Super Friends?” she asked, coffee long forgotten as she threw up her hands in frustration. “Superman? Wonder Woman? It had all the big names!”

  He snorted in derision. “Come on, Aquaman? Lamest Superhero ever. And those Wonder Twins were ridiculous!”

  “You don’t fool me. I bet you played Wonder Twins when you were little.”

  “Are you kidding?” He really looked affronted. “Like I’d ever want to be Zan.”

  “Ha! You remember his name.” She pointed at him, laughing, and he had the grace to look a bit chagrined.

  “I have a good memory,” he said stubbornly. “And I still say Scooby Doo! was better.”

  “It was the same show every time! The ghost was always the caretaker in a rubber mask.”

  “Yeah, well, he would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for those meddling kids.”

  By this time, they were laughing hysterically. Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed with another person. Perhaps it was because she’d forgotten to worry about touching him. He stuck to his side of the table and didn’t make any move to come closer, so she’d been able to just enjoy the conversation.

  In fact, she was a little scared to think about just how much she’d enjoyed it. It was only as the streetlights outside the window kicked on that she realized they had yet to discuss what she’d come there to talk about.

  “So,” she said, fiddling with her empty cup. “Jessica said she had a nice time.”

  He blinked a bit at the abrupt change of topic, but recovered quickly. “I’m glad.”

  “She’d like to see you again.”

  He choked a bit on his coffee. “She would? I have to say I’m surprised.”

  “Yes, well . . .” She spun her cup around on the saucer, not meeting his eyes. “You two do make a compatible match, and I understand that the chemistry might not have been there initially, but that kind of thing can grow over time. I would encourage you to pursue the relationship.”

  “That’s really what you want?”

  “Of course. It’s my job to find Jessica the right—”

  “Is that really what you want?”

  She looked up and immediately regretted it when she was caught in his gaze, his blue eyes focused on hers and searching for the truth.

  She sprang to her feet. “Of course.” She cleared her throat, gathering her things. “Of course,” she
said again. “I’m sorry, I’ve taken up too much of your time, I really should be going—”

  “Emily . . . ” He stood up, leaning forward across the table.

  “You can contact Jessica at any time to arrange a second date—”

  “Don’t do this . . . ”

  “Of course, if you have any questions, you can contact my Heather, my assist—”

  “Emily!” he said, sharper now. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m not doing anything but my job.” She shouldered her purse, jumping as he stepped toward her. “Don’t!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “I know,” she stammered. “I know that.” She was floundering, uncertain.

  “There’s something between us. I know you feel it.”

  “It doesn’t matter— I mean, no. There isn’t. There can’t be.” A rush of panic twisted in her stomach as she turned toward the door and he reached for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist.

  “No!” she shouted, but it was too late. Her wall came tumbling down and a rush of intuition surged through her. She gasped at the influx of emotion . . . of knowing . . . of the familiar click of a key in a lock.

  But not Jessica’s lock.

  No, in that instance, she realized she’d misread her gift. It didn’t see Sam as the match for Jessica. The key was him, but the lock was her.

  Not Jessica. Emily.

  “No,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. This was not what she wanted. This was not what she needed.

  “Emily, what is it?” he asked, concern in his gaze as he leaned toward her. His thumb rubbed at her pulse point as his eyes dipped to her lips. “Can’t we . . . ? Can’t I . . . ?”

  Tentatively, he bent toward her, and she swayed slightly, caught in his magnetic pull. For a long moment, she considered dropping her guard and just once giving in to what her heart—her very being—seemed to want. She felt her gift surge in pleasure, reaching out for him.

  “No!” she said, wrenching her hand out of his grip and fighting to build her wall back up. Brick by brick, it held back the knowing, the wanting, the desire and longing so fierce it made her ache as she moved away from him.