Sweet Tooth: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

As I went through the list of things needing my signature – surprisingly many of them – I wondered if I was right to feel so good about this.

  Why would Allie want me back? Maybe this time I'd really messed up. She was really mad, clearly.

  But why? I could only assume that she'd made some kind of deductions about that phone-call. But what could I do? Say, “and by the way, I'm not dating someone”?

  “Come on, Drew. That sounds about as convincing as Uncle's charity gala speeches.”

  The thought made me chuckle. Uncle wasn't the kind of person who gave anything away lightly, not even checks to the Child Welfare guys. As if conjured by my imagination, my phone rang. It was Uncle.

  “Hello?” I tensed even as I cleared my throat to talk to him. He always made me feel inadequate.

  “Hello, Drew. Just calling to ask two questions. First – I wanted to discuss this deal with Smithson and sons...making a merger with them now seems a bad idea. I'll chat with you about that over dinner, maybe. Second, I wanted...”

  “I'm not going to be here for dinner,” I said quickly. I could almost feel his expression change, those steely eyes widen and then narrow.

  “Oh? Where are you going to be, then?”

  “In Asheville,” I said bluntly. “I have unfinished business.”

  “Oh.” He went quiet. “I won't ask what sort of business. I think I'll sleep better if I don't. Now, we'll have to schedule a meeting for lunchtime today then. Don't tell me you can't do that – this is urgent.”

  “Okay,” I said mildly. “We'll meet this afternoon. The Drover?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I waited. “You had a second point?”

  “Yes. I wanted to ask about Ms. Brunson. I presume you have been visiting her this week?” His voice was clipped. I think I'd made him mad.

  I chuckled. “She threw me out on Wednesday.”

  “What?” Uncle sounded horrified. I tried hard to suppress my laughter but it was impossible.

  “She got mad – said it's damned annoying to have people hovering about like she's dying. She was teasing me, I think. But she did insist I wait until she's out.” I said.

  “What the...” my uncle sounded flustered. “Well! What did you do?”

  “I agreed,” I said mildly. “It's her choice, Uncle. After all, she's the sick one. I think she gets to call the shots, don't you?”

  Uncle didn't say anything to that. He made a sort of “humph,” his way of dismissing a subject he found awkward. “Well, I'll see you in, what? Three hours?”

  “Yes, Uncle. See you at the restaurant at one.”

  After that, I carried on working. I could only imagine what his face would look like on the other side of the phone. That was for him to deal with. Carrie and I had enough of that kind of meddling. We were free to live our own lives now. And I for one was going to start doing that.

  By the time four o' clock rolled round I'd managed to finish all the things I needed to do that day. I checked my watch, stood up and headed to the front desk.

  “Melody?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Forward any calls that seem important, please? I need to go home urgently.”

  She raised a brow, but otherwise her oval face was completely calm. “Sure, Mr. Liston. I'll do that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope it's nothing bad?” she asked, big blue eyes concerned as I walked to the door.

  I turned and smiled at her. “I don't think it is,” I said reassuringly.

  I was trying to reassure myself. Inside I was terrified.

  I had never seen Allie actually furious before. It was a surprising thought. We'd known each other for a while – fine, we'd only actually dated for just over a year – but in all that time I hadn't known her mad.

  I've seen her really annoyed just recently. But this is different.

  I packed at home the moment I walked in through the door. The traffic had held me up and it was already five past five. I got out my suitcase and threw things into it fairly randomly – a jacket, suit pants, fresh shirts, a tie. Make that two shirts, you're there Sunday too. I threw in four pairs of socks and then hesitated as I lifted a box of chocolates off the top shelf in my cupboard. Should I take those?

  Allie would probably be mad at me for trying to placate her.

  In any case, I packed them too. It couldn't hurt.

  I grabbed some coffee and headed to my car. My flight was at eight, which meant I had one and a half hours to get to the airport. In this traffic, it would probably take that long.

  I slid in behind the wheel and pulled away.

  When I was sitting in the airplane, the cabin crew checking we all had our seats up, I felt my nerves catching up with me again. What was I going to do when I got there? How was I going to let Allie know I was really sorry? Actually sorry, not just superficially sorry?

  “I wish there was some kind of universal guide,” I muttered. Unfortunately, there wasn't. Or was there? My heart knew.

  And in my heart, I started to think of a plan.

  It was a desperate, crazy kind of plan. But it was a plan that might just work. Because I knew Allie and my heart knew what would reach her, even if my mind didn't. I reached into my pocket and scrolled through my contacts list.

  ***

  Saturday morning was a special kind of madness. Refreshing. At least while I was stirring batter, cooking, taking orders and wrestling the Evil Coffee Machine I couldn't think about Drew.

  You wouldn't have thought a week could take you from miserable to totally over it?

  I sighed. I knew I wasn't really “over it”. But I was having longer times of not thinking about it, which was less painful and, therefore, progressing.

  “Ms. Hendricks?”

  “Yeah?” I called. I had my sleeves rolled up and I was kneading a mass of dough for the croissants.

  “Two Macchiatos. Could you take over, please?”

  “Sure,” I called, washing flour off my fingers and heading through to the front. As I finally got the little nozzle into place and pressed the button for the coffees, Marcelle called out.

  “Ms. Hendricks?”

  “Yes? Here we go, Kelsey...and did you say they needed some buns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Hendricks?”

  “Oh. Yes. What is it, Marcelle?” I called, dragging a weary hand down my face.

  “Phone call. Says they want a big order for tomorrow.”

  “What sort of big order?” I called, heading into the back. “Tell them we can do it...we've only got that order for a dozen scones for Sunday. We can do it.”

  As I kneaded the dough and set it aside to rise, I heard her finalizing the order.

  “So, that's fifty cupcakes and fifty scones? To be delivered at Treeview Lodge? Sure. At four-thirty. Cash on delivery. Thanks very much. Bye.”

  I wiped my hands on my apron and turned to her. “I'll do the driving...Sunday's Trent's day off. But that sounds a big order,” I commented mildly. It was what the business needed. We needed to let people know who we were, and the best way to do it was via catering for events.

  “It is...oh!” Marcelle covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm really sorry, Ms. Hendricks,” she said. Her peaceful face looked embarrassed.

  “Why?” I frowned.

  “I forgot. You don't want to have to come in tomorrow...it's your birthday!”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I frowned. I'd forgotten too. She was quite right, though. March 10 was my birthday. “You remembered before I did.”

  She giggled. “Really?”

  “Yeah!” I gave her a broad grin. “That's something I really like about you, Marcelle. You pay attention to the little things.”

  She grinned. “I wouldn't have called your thirty-something birthday a little thing.”

  “Aw,” I said, feeling touched. “That's sweet of you.”

  “We'll have a party at work!” Marcelle declared. “Kelsey?”

  “Yeah?” Kelsey asked enth
usiastically.

  “It's a special day tomorrow.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ms. Hendricks is having a birthday.”

  “Oh! Congrats,” she beamed at me.

  I smiled. “Thanks. One disadvantage of getting older is that birthdays make you feel old.” I chuckled weakly.

  Marcelle rolled her eyes at me. “Ms. Hendricks, you're not that much older than I am.”

  “I guess,” I said. That morning with the stress from work and stress about Drew lurking in the background I felt about a hundred, or how I would imagine a hundred to feel. I was sad and tired and lonely and mad and I wished I could just take a holiday and cry.

  I finished the dough for the croissants and then started refilling the bowl to mix another batch. I had to make enough dough for fifty of the things tomorrow.

  “Marcelle?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you get the buns out and start the next batch of scones for the afternoon? I'm going to get going with our order for tomorrow.”

  And hopefully, sometime between now and then I'll cheer up a bit.

  Or I'm in for a miserable birthday.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Allie

  I looked around the bakery, feeling my heart glow with warmth. It wasn't miserable in here after all! Marcelle had hung paper streamers up across the top of the cupboards and Kelsey had baked me a cake – a small cake, topped with a sparkler. I felt my heart wrench with the sweetness of the gesture.

  “Aw! Guys...” I grinned at them. “You're the best.”

  They giggled. It was especially touching today – when no-one else had, it was so touching that someone remembered! I felt myself blink rapidly and realized I was trying not to cry.

  “We couldn't let you work on your birthday without it,” Marcelle said kindly. “Now, come on. The cafe's shut so we can go through and have a little party too.”

  I laughed and we shared out the tiny cake – there was enough for three of us, bizarrely iced with green and pink icing. I asked about that.

  “You said they were your favorite colors, once,” Kelsey said. I grinned at her.

  “You remembered that? Aw! You're cute.”

  She blushed and I felt really happy as I sat there with them. It was a brittle sort of happy – if I let myself think even a little outside of the shop, I would encounter memories of Drew and be sad – but I focused on the warm, sunlit space and the company and the moment.

  “Right,” I said when we'd had cake and coffee. “Let's get going.”

  We headed into the back. It wasn't strictly-speaking necessary for Kelsey to be there, and after an hour of helping with the cupcakes – filling the pink-and-white papers, shaking the trays to get air-bubbles out – she headed off home.

  “Right,” I said as we put the first tray in the oven. “It's just us, then. How fast can you roll croissants?”

  “Faster than before,” Marcelle blushed. She had always been slow and thorough and even though I teased her about it, I admired that.

  “Let's go!” I chuckled.

  We raced each other. By one pm they were all cooked. Ready to decorate and fill and pack. I was in the car by two, gingerly packing crates of jam around the trays to stop them moving.

  “Let me come too,” Marcelle said. “I'll hold the trays.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks. You can help me carry them in, too.”

  She piled in beside me and we roared off to Treeview Lodge. It was a fancy sort of guest-house on a new golf estate, and people often held events here on the lawns or at the conference center.

  “I wonder if this is for someone's birthday,” I mused, looking back at the cupcakes and croissants. It seemed like a nice party, and I felt a wistful stab that no-one would fete me like that. But then, I reckoned, I'd had a much better event with my two friends and helpers in the bakery.

  “It could be,” Marcelle said, raising her brows.

  “Well, if it's not very lucky and I don't pay attention, it might end up on the back seat...” I grunted, managing to slow down enough for the stop-light without displacing our tray.

  Marcelle chuckled. “Maybe I should be in the back holding it?”

  “I'd much rather have you here, keeping an eye on me,” I said mildly. “At least I know if I forget to stop at a stop-street, someone'll notice...” I narrowed my eyes as we reached the turnoff and headed out of the main part of town.

  The lodge was an elegant place, built like a Nineteenth century homestead. I always felt quite gracious as I carried things out into the hall, and was glad I'd worn my good slacks and blouse, my hair all nicely brushed round my shoulders, without the annoying crease from the net cap I had to wear while baking.

  “Right,” I said to Marcelle. “Let's go.”

  We carried the first tray in.

  “If you could put it there, please?” a woman in a black uniform with a logo on the back asked me. “We're just setting up in here...”

  I looked around, feeling a pang of wistful envy again. How beautiful it all looked! There were tables decked in white cloths and the chairs all nicely covered, and balloons and flowers.

  I put the final tray of croissants carefully down, watching as another woman brought in teapots and delicate china cups, and a big covered dish that might conceal the main centerpiece.

  “Right,” I said, stretching my back and looking around.

  The hall was emptying now, except for the woman in the black uniform and a guy setting up speakers for the music. It looked like the event was about to start. I turned to Marcelle, who was arranging the last tray of cupcakes to make sure none of them were damaged.

  “Should we...” I began.

  “Ms. Hendricks?” I turned to find the woman in the black uniform at my elbow.

  “Yeah?” I said. I frowned. How was it she knew my name?

  “Oh, good. Someone asked me to call you. If you'll follow me?”

  I looked at Marcelle, frowning. She shrugged.

  “I'll wait for you,” she said easily.

  “Thanks,” I said. I was still feeling confused as I walked behind the woman. Who could possibly need to see me here? And who here would even know my name, anyway?

  Whoever this is for has serious money. I don't think anyone like that knows me.

  “He said he'd only take a minute...” the woman said to me, seeing my frown and thinking I was worried about being held up.

  “It's okay,” I began. “I'm not in much of a hurry. I...Oh.”

  I stared.

  Standing at the edge of the hall, in a suit and with a tender expression on his face, a single carnation, pink and lovely, in his hand, was Drew.

  ***

  I watched her follow Ms. Halley, the catering lady, across the hall with my stomach a mess of nerves. I told myself to calm down. It was only a gesture, she wasn't likely to kill me for it. But I still couldn't help feeling nervous.

  She saw me and her eyes bulged.

  “Drew?” she said. She sounded quite shocked. “What…? Why are you here? Why…?”

  I felt my lips lift in a happy smile. She was completely overwhelmed. Last thing she expected to see. And that made me feel quite clever, I had to admit. And proud.

  “I seem to remember tenth March is a special day?” I said softly. “It's your birthday, isn't it? Happy birthday.”

  As I handed her the carnation, she turned around, flummoxed. I could almost hear her confusion. The events-planning lady had disappeared, leaving me at the side of the hall, behind the speakers and a pot of flowers, with Allie, alone.

  I watched her throat gulp and saw her eyes well up. She was about to cry. I clenched a fist, schooling my own face to neutral, holding back the tears. I couldn't believe how happy she was!

  “Drew?”

  I smiled. “I thought you could do with a party,” he said. “Something special. You are special, Allie.” I meant it. How could I not have told her this ages ago? It should have been something I said every day.


  She coughed and I saw her clear her throat again. I waited, letting her find her voice. She wanted to say something, clearly.

  “You...you mean this is a party? A birthday party? For me?” she sounded shocked.

  I nodded. “I'm sorry it's such short notice,” I said. “But I didn't know if you would come.”

  She stared at me. She started to giggle.

  “What?” I said. I was laughing too now. Her laugh was infectious. Always was. We were both laughing and I leaned against the wall, trying to get a hold of myself. The relief was making it harder to stop now that it was finally over – that first moment – and I realized she wasn't mad at me... not now.

  “Oh, you! You big, silly, madman!” she was laughing. “It's beautiful. But first,” she said, “before you explain to me about all this and how this is going to all work today, we need to talk.”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “We do. Allie, I've been an asshole.”

  She looked up at me, then blinked. She nodded. “You can say that again.”

  “Allie, I've been an...”

  “You don't have to,” she said. “But yes. I accept that. You have. Now. You need to tell me the truth. Are you...what was that call about?”