The Little Brooklyn Bakery

by Julie Caplin

  Clearly she was supposed to know about that. She should have checked out the magazine in advance, which is what a normal enthusiastic person, who’d been offered an amazing opportunity to come and work in the most exciting city in the world, would have done.

  Suddenly she was sick of herself, sick of her seesawing emotions, sick of feeling sorry for herself and sick that James had done this to her. She’d spent her childhood rising above things, being sunny and positive despite everything her Dad’s ex-wife had thrown at their family. James was not going to take that away from her.

  With a deliberately bright smile, she responded, ‘That sounds fun.’ As soon as she left here she would find the first newsagents (didn’t they call them newsstands here?) and pick up a copy of CityZen.

  ‘Oh it is.’ Those film-star teeth flashed again, although did she imagine it, or did the smile not quite reach his eyes? She got the impression he’d said it many times. ‘When you love your work, it doesn’t feel like work.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ said Bella, sliding a tall glass of iced coffee in front of him. ‘That’ll be four dollars.’

  He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills, like tissues, handing one to her before swiping another taste of frosting from the cake.

  ‘Oy, get your own.’ Sophie tapped his hand smartly and moved the plate closer to her side of the table.

  ‘You’re no fun, English,’ he moaned, taking his time, licking the big dollop of frosting from his finger. ‘Man, this is good.’ He shot Sophie a sudden, horrified, disapproving look, ‘Please tell me you’re not a crazy person who considers her body a temple and thinks sugar is sin.’ With a surreptitious glance out the window, he added, ‘There are way too many of them in Brooklyn already. The soya-and-sushi sisterhood. All quinoa and chia seeds.’

  Sophie burst out laughing, finally succumbing. It wasn’t his fault that she currently hated the world in general. ‘I’m definitely not a crazy person.’

  ‘Damn, and here was I hoping to guilt you into handing over the cake.’

  ‘No way.’ She put her arms protectively around the plate. ‘I love my food.’ With a rueful smile, she added, ‘A bit too much.’

  Shamelessly he gave her body a once up and down, his eyes dancing with appreciation and merriment. ‘Not from here, you don’t.’

  With a ladylike snort, she ignored the faint blush that stole along her cheeks, knowing better than to take him seriously. She’d got his measure. This was one man you should never take seriously and you’d be a fool if you did. And she was not going to be a fool again. Ever.

  ‘I have to run a lot to balance it all out.’ At least she’d packed her trainers, if not a sports bra. ‘Bella was right, you are bad news, aren’t you? But I appreciate the thought.’ She was never going to be stick thin, but who wanted to be like that if you were miserable and starving? Regular running kept her between a size twelve and fourteen.

  He grinned, unrepentant, and for a second their eyes met. She grinned back at him and picked up the cake, taking a large deliberate bite.

  ‘Ouch, I felt that.’

  ‘You were supposed to. Mmm, it’s delicious.’

  ‘Sure you can eat all of that? It’s a mighty big cake. Lots of calories.’

  With a deliberate lick of her lips, ignoring the hopeful expression on his face, she savoured the tangy citrus sweetness of the frosting around her mouth, sighed heavily and gave him a smug look. ‘Oh yes, I’m going to enjoy every last one of them.’

  ‘You’re heartless, English. Heartless.’ He shook his head in mock sorrow, his lips curving in shared amusement.

  ‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, taking another thoughtful bite of the soft sponge, enjoying the exchange and ignoring the little butterfly-like flutters dancing in the pit of her stomach. Nothing to see here, she told herself firmly. Good looking, charming and totally shallow, light-hearted fun and nothing more. It was a while since she’d flirted with anyone and it felt rather liberating, especially when it didn’t mean a thing.

  ‘So, Mr Man About Town, can you fill me in on the local neighbourhood? I need to find somewhere to buy bed linen and towels.’ She paused. ‘Although maybe you’re not the best person to ask.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ He pointed to himself with his thumbs. ‘Man About Town. In touch with my feminine side.’

  ‘Really?’ She gave him a direct look.

  ‘And no, I’m not gay.’

  ‘I never said a word.’

  ‘It’s an inevitable side-effect of working on a women’s magazine. You absorb shopping stuff by osmosis. If you want serious thread count – see, I know this stuff – Nordstrom Rack for quality and discount, or T.J.Maxx for discount and a free for all. Just a couple of blocks away on Fulton Street. Here, let me mark on the map for you.’

  ‘I need to find a supermarket too, to buy …’ she couldn’t quite bring herself to say ‘groceries’.

  ‘A supermarket.’ He pursed his lips around the word, lifting the smooth column of his throat. ‘Jeez, I love how you say that, it’s so prim and proper.’ He grinned recklessly again. ‘Kinda sexy.’

  Sophie rolled her eyes at him, ignoring the thought that someone must have invented the word for him. ‘You need to get out more.’

  He laughed and scooted his chair closer to hers, pulling open the map. ‘Here, got a pen? I’ll mark a couple of grocery stores for you.’

  ‘I don’t have a pen.’

  ‘Here you go.’ He rooted in the canvas-and-leather man bag slung over his shoulder. Of course he had a man bag, he was so a man bag sort of man.

  ‘Associated Supermarkets on Fifth and Union Street is good. Not the nearest, but definitely one of the nicer ones. Turn right out of here, go down Union Street and then it’s a good six blocks but worth it. I’m guessing you can cook if you’re the new food columnist. I’ll have to get you to cook dinner some time, as we’re practically neighbours.’

  She raised a single eyebrow at his casual assumption, a trick she was inordinately proud of. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, before adding just as he took a sip of coffee, ‘and you can do my washing.’

  With a choked laugh, he nearly spluttered his drink all over the table. ‘I like you, English. Funny girl. We’re going to get on just fine.’

  Sophie gave him a considering look.

  ‘Come on.’ He rose to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. ‘I’ll show you the way to the subway station and then from there you can walk on down to Fulton Street, to get your home wares. We’ll take a rain check on dinner as I’m sure you want to get settled. And I doubt you’ve got any laundry yet …’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘And you do know washing in the States is something completely different?’

  As she put her hand in his, there was no little frisson of electricity, no gentle sizzle between them, no … a bloody great thunderbolt of lust that almost floored her. Todd McLennan was more than bad news, he was the sort of news that she needed to stay well, well away from.

  Chapter 4

  For most of the subway journey, Sophie had been fascinated by the fantastically chic woman opposite her wearing a perfectly tailored black suit and her hair swept up in a perfect chignon. Despite her sleek elegance, Sophie couldn’t help staring at the clumpy white trainers on her feet. It made her smile. The epitome of New York chic and practicality.

  She pulled her cardigan around her. The carriage was a bit too cool, although she shouldn’t complain, as the fearsome air conditioning made a welcome contrast to the rich, warm fug of the London underground. The train streaked along, the station names unfamiliar and yet familiar, East Broadway, 2 Avenue, 42 Street Bryant Park, 47–50 Street – Rockefeller Center, and then suddenly 57 Street, her stop. With a quickening heart she grasped the pole as the train jerked to a halt, her pulse racing as she stepped out with the crowd swarming towards the exit.

  New York proper.

  She’d still woken at stupid o’clock this morning but had enjoyed a le
isurely coffee out on the deck. Yesterday, after Todd had shown her the subway and helped her buy her a monthly metro card, he’d directed her down Bergen Street and then down Hoyt Street which led straight to Nordstrom on Fulton Street, with T.J.Maxx right next door. Even without looking at the map, it had been pretty easy to navigate. Despite her love of London, she had to admit she was rather taken with the straightforward grid system. It made finding her way back via a rather fab grocery store, so easy. She still thought, despite Todd’s protestation that it was impossible to get lost, that it was perfectly possible if you didn’t know your East from your West or your North from your South. Some of those streets went on for miles.

  Laden down with new bedding and a bale of towels, after spending far too long browsing among designer goodies, she’d only bought the basics in the supermarket and had treated herself to the rare convenience of a ready-roasted chicken. There was even a choice. Rosemary and lemon, garlic and herb or Caribbean. She’d also bought a copy of CityZen, leafing through it as she ate her solitary supper.

  When a seat came free on the subway, she sat down, taking the time to have another look at the magazine. No one ever need know that her first port of call was the Man About Town column. Todd’s picture leapt out from the glossy pages, his blue eyes enhanced perfectly by the open-necked shirt he wore. It was a great photo. The slight curve of his lips lazily (and yes, sexily) smiling up at her, as if he knew exactly what she and every other woman on the planet were thinking. She pursed her lips with a tolerant smile and shook her head. Todd oozed charisma and charm … and he knew it. He was the sort of person you should treat like an adorable puppy, knowing that his winsome friendliness was totally indiscriminate.

  As the train pulled into the station, she tucked the magazine back into her bag and let herself be carried along by the swell of people. She found herself deposited outside on the pavement, almost projected into the blare of the New York traffic. She stopped dead, exactly the way she hated tourists in London doing, but really! When you looked up, you kept looking up and up and up. Ignoring the tuts around her, she cricked her neck as she followed the line of the skyscrapers. She was really here. Manhattan. For a moment she stood and stared upwards, taking in the sight of the towering giants dwarfing everything around them, feeling slightly dizzy. The frisson of anxious nerves that had danced and sung in her veins since she’d woken to the alarm in her apartment vanished with a sudden unexpected bolt of excitement. New York. Seen in countless films, it felt both familiar and strange at once. This was going to be her life for the next six months. All the fear and roiling uneasiness that had been stored up for the last ten days, tightening the tendons in her neck, lining her stomach with nauseous intent and pinching at the muscles in her shoulders, suddenly gave up its grip. With an almost involuntary little skip, she turned and checked her bearings. 57th Street.

  She walked quickly, matching her pace to blend with everyone else, her nose alert to the smell of hot dogs and pretzels as she passed a couple of fast-food stands and her ears picking up on the American accents around her. Ahead, a tower block with a jagged silhouette of diamond-shaped glass panes beckoned. Recognising the magazine headquarters, she picked up her step. Up close it was even more imposing. What looked like hundreds of floors of steel and glass rose upwards from the original 1920s stone building which now made up the base.

  Following the tide of people, trying to look nonchalant – after all, she was one of them now – she entered through the double doors and almost gasped. It was much cooler inside but the space was huge. Two escalators rose several stories up, alongside a wall of glass and water, the sound of the rushing liquid amplified by the space. She gulped. The country mouse had come to town.

  Turnstiles guarded the entrance which people gaily slipped through. She turned right to the reception desk and waited while the girl behind it finished tidying the paper on it, before fixing a bored gaze upon her.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes, hi, I’m …’ Words deserted her. ‘I’m … here …’ The name of the woman she was supposed to ask for had vanished. Completely wiped from her memory. ‘I’m starting work here today.’

  ‘Department?’

  ‘CityZen Magazine.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Sophie. Sophie Bennings.’

  The girl scanned her computer screen, her mouth tightening as if it really was too much trouble. Her frown deepened. She looked at Sophie again.

  ‘Can’tseeyoudownhere. Needa name.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Sophie could barely interpret the girl’s accent and quick-fire delivery.

  ‘I need a name.’

  ‘Erm …’ Sophie’s mind went blank. ‘Trudy … Trudy …’ No, it had gone. ‘Hold on a minute.’ Rummaging in her bag, she searched for her mobile. Why hadn’t she been more organised and written everything down?

  Security was clearly tight. And she had no clue where she was supposed to be going.

  The girl looked over her shoulder. ‘Morning, Sir. Can I help you?’

  Dismissed summarily, Sophie paled and cursed her own stupidity. Emails. There were emails with everything in them. Where was her phone? She pulled out her purse. Make-up bag. Keys. No phone.

  With horrible realisation, she remembered. Faffing about with the unfamiliar American adapter, plugging her phone in to charge.

  ‘Hey, English.’

  ‘Todd! Hi,’ her voice squeaked unbecomingly in utter relief.

  ‘Morning. You found your way here OK, then.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve left my phone behind and all the paperwork. I can’t remember who I was supposed to ask for.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll take you up.’ He leaned over the desk. ‘Hey, Terri. She’s with me.’

  An instant smile lifted the girl’s perfectly made-up mannequin face. ‘Hey Todd, how you doing?’

  ‘Good, you?’

  ‘Better if you’d take me out for lunch.’ Her chin dipped in coy invitation.

  ‘Now Terri, you know I don’t mix business with pleasure.’

  ‘A girl can try,’ her eyes lowered with seductive promise. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  ‘I know,’ said Todd mournfully. ‘It’s a burden I have to bear.’

  With a quick rueful pout, she pushed a pass over the desk. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ said Sophie as he guided her through the barriers towards the huge escalators, unable to stop herself adding, ‘even though you put yourself in the face of danger there.’

  He gave her a cheerful grin. ‘One likes to do one’s duty. They’re pretty tight on security here. You could have had a long wait while they checked you out.’

  Sophie stared around her. ‘This place is impressive.’

  ‘You get used to it.’ He shrugged. ‘We’re up on the thirty-third floor.’

  She followed him through a seating area filled with bright sunshine to the bank of lifts, and they sailed upwards with a stomach-dropping whoosh, and in seconds the doors opened with a ping. Her nerves settled with instant relief at the sight of the familiar logo of the magazine on a large glass panel. This looked more like it. Beyond the glass, she could see desks ranked just like back in London. Suddenly everything didn’t feel quite so alien and intimidating.

  With a wave at the girl on the reception desk, Todd pushed her forward.

  ‘This is Sophie. She’s the job swap with Brandi.’

  The young woman looked up, a quick expression of appalled horror crossing her face, which she masked almost instantly.

  ‘I’ll let Trudy know you’re here.’

  After a ten-minute wait, which seemed agonisingly long, Sophie was led down the hall to a glass-walled office in the corner.

  ‘Trudy, this is Sophie. The job swap.’

  ‘Sophie, nice to meet you. Erm …’ said the tall, dark-haired woman, rising and smoothing her hand down a slim-fitting pencil skirt before holding it out.

  She looked at the receptionist, her eyes flashi
ng some hidden message. ‘Right, erm … take a seat. I’ll be right back.’

  Sophie sank into the chair and stared out at the view beyond. New York spread out before her, the green of what had to be Central Park, the trees – so small from up here – reminding her of heads of broccoli, the intricate layout of rooftops a long way below which looked like Airfix models, detailed with water towers and air-conditioning units, and in the distance edging the park, more skyscrapers, blinding white in the brilliant sunshine like sentries on the border. Did you ever get tired of this view, she wondered. It was incredible.

  She waited, the minutes ticking by. The tension was back, poking at her shoulders, the muscles bunching. Something was wrong. Surely they were expecting her. It had all been confirmed by email. Admittedly in a rush, but now she could remember Trudy Winkler, Editorial Director. They’d exchanged several emails, copied into the HR Manager. Sophie told herself not to panic. They probably hadn’t got her desk cleared. Maybe it still had balloons and crumbs covering it.

  Trudy came back, a smile plastered on her face. ‘Right. Well … actually, there’s been a slight hitch. Nothing to worry about.’ She smoothed her skirt again. ‘We, erm … well. When … erm, Mel, wasn’t it, had her accident, we didn’t think anyone could fill her place … Oh, this is embarrassing. One of the board offered his friend’s daughter an internship … to cover Brandi’s job.’

  Sophie’s fingers curled over the edge of her seat, holding on tightly.

  ‘Don’t worry … it’s fine. You can job share with Madison … it’s just we need to find you another desk, it won’t be with the other cookery writers, I’m afraid, but we’ll find—’

  The phone rang on her desk and she grabbed it like a lifebelt.

  ‘Ah, thanks. That’s great. Perfect. I’ll bring her over.’

  A real smile lit up her face. ‘Problem solved. Come on.’

  She led Sophie through the office, where heads were bent over their laptops with studious intent as if they didn’t dare look up and acknowledge there’d been a booboo. Only one girl caught Sophie’s eye, her bright-red lips stretching in a slightly smug and triumphant smirk. Immediately Sophie knew. This was Madison, the intern. But as Trudy led her across the room past a few more desks into an area by the window, the girl’s expression changed to one of dismay.