Baking for Keeps

by Jessica Gilmore

  “Oh, well,” she said as airily as she could, dropping another kiss on Patchwork’s compliant head before placing him back on her chair and crossing over to the oven. “The house will seem quiet without him here, which is odd seeing as he barely uttered one word that whole first week.”

  “He still doesn’t say that much. Doesn’t get much of a chance between the three of us,” her aunt agreed. “Lacey, I’m not prying, dear, but I did think… It did seem… You and Zac have been very friendly. He’s a lovely man but he has a life and business elsewhere and you, dear… Well, you’re not very worldly. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  “We’re just friends.” Lacey’s hand tingled in the spot Zac had caressed as she spoke the casual words and she touched it absent-mindedly. “I like him, he’s nice, and I guess he’s good-looking if you like tall, dark brooding types.” It turned out she did but she didn’t feel the need to confess that to her aunt. “But I know he’s not from here and he’s not planning on staying…”

  “You can’t tie a wanderer down,” her aunt said softly. “I should know. I was one. They might choose to settle eventually but only when they’re good and ready.”

  “I’m not asking him to stay,” Lacey protested. But the truth was she was secretly hoping that he might just choose to do that very same thing. That if Marietta made him welcome enough he might decide it was time to stop running and…and what? Settle down with her and paint that picket fence?

  Lacey stilled. He had never made any intimation that he wanted that kind of life. She’d been priding herself on being oh so sensible and yet all along she’d been building romantic castles in the air. “We’re just hanging out, that’s all. And if it should go any further, well, Aunt Patty pointed out two people can live on the opposite sides of the country and date nowadays—after all, you wrote Sam every week and you were right across the ocean.”

  “It wasn’t easy though, Lacey. And I loved Sam. Very much. We’d been together for several years and I was certain he was where my future lay, but there were still temptations and doubts on both sides. By all means see where your friendship takes you, but be careful, darling. That heart of yours is too big.”

  And with that her aunt was gone, leaving Lacey alone with the cat, a plate of meatloaf, and her thoughts. What if Zac had no intention of trying to extend their friendship past the end of his stay in Marietta? And even if he did he hadn’t made any attempt to let her know he would be out of town. That didn’t bode well for any future communication.

  Lacey pushed her barely touched plate away, even though she usually had at least two helpings of her aunt’s spicy meatloaf. Was this turmoil in her mind just because Zac hadn’t left her a message or was it more? Was it because through Zac she had taken a long, hard look at her life and was beginning to acknowledge that it wasn’t as perfect and that she wasn’t as happy as she had told herself she was?

  She had loved every minute of the nine years she had spent in Marietta. Even when she had been at college she had considered Marietta home, spending far more time at her aunts’ house than she had on campus. Turning the radio station from a small, purely volunteer-led amateur concern to a profit-making, professional station right at the heart of the community it served whilst holding on to the volunteer ethos still filled her with a glow of satisfaction.

  Plus over the last couple of years she had been asked to do more and more videos for the community, both personal and for businesses. The Bachelor Bake-Off had added a new fundraising string to her bow; Lacey knew that viewers had pledged at least two thousand dollars and the Monroe footage hadn’t even gone up yet. She was quietly confident that she could bring the total up to three thousand by the end of the week. More than worth all those extra hours spent filming and editing. Almost worth her own public humiliation in the mini bake-off.

  So, yes, she had achieved a lot in the three years since she had graduated from college. Achieved it from the safety of her turret room like a fairy tale princess, but she shouldn’t let that take away from her achievements—after all, if Rory Gilmore could return to Stars Hollow then there was no reason why Lacey Hathaway should feel pressured to move out and move on.

  But the nagging question remained: what next? Where did she go from here and could that place be found in Marietta? Or was she settling before she had had a chance to live? There would always be a home here—she knew that—her turret room right here at Crooked Corner, or her bedroom back at Three Pines. Zac was right, darn him, she had all the stability in the world. She could venture forth in all confidence with her family at her back. After all, taking the next step didn’t mean she couldn’t come back. Or, if she was willing to travel and freelance then she could be based here and move where the work was, rather like Zac.

  Like her parents. Everything she hadn’t wanted from her life. But unless Marietta suddenly became a media hub she didn’t have much choice. Stay still and stagnate or move on despite her reluctance and grow.

  “What do you think, Patchwork?” she asked but Patchwork was busy giving one creamy paw a good bath and didn’t respond. “You’d miss me wouldn’t you?” One twitch of the ear was all she got but that was enough to encourage her. “Don’t worry. If I do start to work away more I’ll be back so often you won’t have a chance to miss me. Marietta’s my home and no amount of spreading wings will change that. But I promise you one thing, Patchwork. I can’t and won’t let Zac Malone be a factor in my decision no matter how perfect the date. After all, it was only one date. Not a relationship. Not a promise.”

  But her words rang hollow even to herself.

  *

  Zac strode across his living room and looked out of the dramatic floor to ceiling windows at the spectacular view of San Francisco’s skyline. When he’d decided to settle in the city he’d eschewed looking for a place to live in the iconic “painted ladies”, not wanting anything quaint or historic, nothing to remind him of his hometown. The beauty of his penthouse condo had been its newness; nobody else had ever lived there. And, he conceded wryly, it showed.

  The floor, kitchen units, and wall color were still those picked out by the building company and the furniture—sleek, modern, and fashionable—had been ordered by Katie, his PA. All he’d cared about was that it was state of the art, top quality, and straight from the manufacturers—only the very newest for the boy who had spent his teens in thrift shop garb.

  But there was nothing in the apartment to indicate that anyone had made a home there. No photos, no paintings, not as much as a vase or a single ornamental knick-knack. Not even a book; he read everything on an e-reader. He could walk away tomorrow and there would be no sign he had ever lived here.

  The sparseness had been a choice. Things meant nothing to him after all. Home was a dangerous concept. The apartment was within an easy commute of Silicon Valley where his offices were based. He leased a suite of rooms in a building on the city side of the valley and if he had to deal with start-up employees skateboarding through the foyer or risk losing his own staff to the big tech utopias with their bagel carts and on-site dog crèches that was a small price to pay.

  The work address gave his company clout and, much as he didn’t want to admit it, he liked how it was a sign of success. Zac Malone was no longer the unfortunate kid working three jobs and hauling his deadbeat mom out of bars; he was the CEO of a Silicon Valley company.

  Not that he spent much time actually in the Valley. The office was home to the admin staff, the twenty-four-hour support staff, and the technical whizzes who turned his software dreams into reality; but the trainers, auditors, and consultants were all home based and Zac had continued to spend most of his own time in the field.

  But maybe that needed to change. He’d been fooling himself when he thought he could keep growing his business whilst never putting down roots. Employees and clients needed stability and a CEO couldn’t delegate all his responsibilities. A man needed to grow up and acknowledge there was a point when the past stopped defining him. Had he reac
hed that point?

  He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. There was nothing filed under L. He and Lacey hadn’t exchanged numbers; they hadn’t needed to. She’d always been there when he looked for her. Funny to think how annoying he’d found it at first. Now he was like a scent dog, sniffing in vain for that vanilla and cinnamon scent of hers, the apartment deathly quiet without the backdrop of babble, laughter, and chat.

  Home had always been a dangerous concept. A word associated with betrayal and drama and loneliness. Not a place he was ever going to click his heels to get back to. He had been more than content to take his chances in Oz. But now it made him think of Crooked Corner, of cushions and cats and something always baking away in the oven. It made him think of Three Pines and three generations living harmoniously under one roof. It made him think of Mrs. Hoffmann surrounded by her photos, memories, and ghosts. Now it was somewhere he yearned for. Something he knew he was missing.

  But home wasn’t just a place no matter what the old adage claimed. Home was a feeling, a sense of completeness. Home was other people. People who loved and accepted you no matter what. Something Zac hadn’t had for more years than he cared to count. Something he had been far too scared to look for, to allow in. The first sign of intimacy and he had walked away without a single backward glance. But he didn’t think he could walk away again. Not this time.

  His hands curled into fists. There were no guarantees. He’d spent his entire young adult and adult life making sure he wasn’t vulnerable. Stepping toward another human being, asking them to let him in, to take a chance on him, would change that irrevocably. If he was rejected would he be able to rebuild those protective walls or once they were ripped down were they gone forever, leaving him exposed?

  But he couldn’t carry on the way things were. Not when he had the tantalizing glimpse of another way, another life. A glimpse of happiness. And if it didn’t work then he would just have to pray that somehow he’d have the strength to get up, start again, and keep the faith that he was deserving of more than a sterile apartment, anonymous motel rooms, and night after night sitting alone working.

  He turned toward his laptop. On, as always, spreadsheets set up as always. Although the work that had brought him rushing back had only taken a day to sort out it had been the kind of oversight that drove home to him that he needed to spend the bulk of his time on managing his company. That his name and reputation were on the line if anyone or anything screwed up. He should have left Lacey a note though, or a word. He just didn’t know what to say to her. How to tell her that Saturday night had been the most perfect night he had ever spent. That she had been the perfect companion. That he was coming back. Back to her if she would have him.

  He stared at the laptop screen. At the lines and lines of data. At work that could—which usually would—keep him absorbed until long after midnight and then again all the next day. It would always be there. But would his other opportunities? Or was he in danger of losing them forever?

  The emergency might be almost over but now he was back in San Francisco he realized there was a long list of things he had to do, things he should have taken care of long before. He wouldn’t feasibly get back to Marietta before Saturday lunchtime and the final Bake-Off, and that meant he needed to practice here, actually use his gleaming, untouched state-of-the art kitchen. He might need a few things first. Like actual ingredients. Cake tins. Weighing scales.

  What ingredients? He pulled out a pad and pen and tapped the pen on the kitchen counter. A simple cake, something easy to execute. He didn’t actually care about winning the Bachelor Bake-Off; he just didn’t want to humiliate himself. So simple. No layers. No elaborate frosting. No fancy decoration.

  Cinnamon to remind him of Lacey. Apples because she was sweet and wholesome with a refreshing tartness. Brown sugar rather than white to add some snap. Surely he knew enough about baking after the last two weeks to turn those ingredients into something that would pass muster? Getting the cakes right wasn’t the thing that would be tricky. It was getting the girl that worried him. The stakes were high and Zac was ready to play.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Where on earth was Zac? Lacey tried not to look at her watch yet again but her eyes were drawn back to the miniature clock face against her will. An entire three minutes had passed since she’d last checked. She had to get to Graff’s to start prepping for her live broadcast and Zac still wasn’t back from San Francisco—and as he was their bachelor she was obviously concerned. That was the only reason she was repeatedly checking her watch.

  The only reason. After all he’d been gone nearly a week and she hadn’t heard from him once. Not a “hi” or a “how are you doing?” No “I miss you.” So that was that. Thank goodness she’d made the sensible decision not to factor Zac into any of her future plans. When she did finally lay eyes on him she would be dignified and remote and certainly not tell him how much she’d missed him. Even though she couldn’t deny to herself that she really, really had.

  “What if he doesn’t come?” she asked finally and Aunt Patty looked up from the kitchen table where she was putting the final touches to a cake she’d made for the Evans family. The community might not be able to cure Mrs. Evans’ dementia but they could and did make sure she and her family were fed, warm, and that her husband and grandson had time enough away from caring duties to cope with their situation.

  She had bumped into Ty the evening before and he had muttered that the freezer was so full of casseroles and pasta bakes there was no room for any more. But behind the couldn’t care less eye roll Lacey had seen a devout relief and gratitude. She thanked Zac from the bottom of her heart for calling their attention to the situation before it got worse.

  Well, she would thank Zac if she was on any kind of friendly speaking terms with him, which she was not.

  “Zac?” her aunt asked in some surprise. “He’s meeting us there. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No.” Lacey tried not to grit her teeth. “You must have forgot to.”

  “His plane doesn’t get in till midday so he said not to wait. He emailed me through a shopping list yesterday. Your aunt and I were planning a dark chocolate gateau with chocolate snowflake décor but he’s asked us for apples. And cinnamon. I’m not sure that’s going to wow the judges.”

  Lacey’s mouth watered. She loved apple cake. “I suppose it depends on how he does it—and how the other bachelors do. Okay, in that case I’ll head over now. Do you want a lift?”

  Aunt Patty shook her head and Lacey raised one hand to the messy bun she’d spent half an hour trying to make look chicly messy as opposed to incompetently messy. If she went for the same kind of achingly hip asymmetric bob as her aunt she would just look like she’d let a toddler loose on her hair. It was most unfair. “I’m picking up our table guests on the way. Your Aunt Patty and I have bought a whole table at the afternoon tea, as sponsors we thought we should.”

  “I know. I hope there’s a seat for me. I love afternoon tea, so civilized.”

  Lacey checked she had her camera, microphone, and battery pack before setting off to the Graff Hotel. The first two Bake-Offs had been brilliantly organized, fun affairs and had raised a great deal of money between the auctions, entrance tickets, and raffles but they were going one step up for the grand finale. Graff’s was the fanciest hotel in town, recently and lovingly restored to mix every modern amenity with old-time class and charm.

  The bachelors were being given free range of the top-class kitchens to create their cakes and the products of their labors were to be sold as part of a full afternoon tea to the paying guests. Tickets were priced high and the final presentation would take place in the gorgeous opulent ballroom. Lacey knew that several of the town’s wealthiest citizens had been making noises to Jane about making a significant contribution to the appeal and this afternoon was exactly the right time for them to follow through on their promises. And where they led many people might follow.

  But Lacey couldn’t q
uite muster up her old enthusiasm. She was pleased for Jane and all the other people who had put so much time and energy into the Bachelor Bake-Off—and of course she was delighted that Harry’s House looked like becoming a reality, but every time she thought of seeing Zac, of acting cool and casual, her stomach dropped. Even biscuits and cake and little fancy sandwiches didn’t interest her and that was a very bad sign.

  It didn’t take her long to walk to the stately old hotel, even with her camera bag weighing her down, and she was soon inside and beginning to set up. The last two weeks she had been the only media person there, wearing both her radio and web PR hats, but she rapidly realized that today was a very different story. Several reporters were hanging around reception and at least two TV crews were setting up with wires and large microphones and huge cameras, creating quite the stir.

  Lacey patted her own little camera affectionately. It might not have the imposing presence of the professional crews’ kits but at least she could operate it on her own. She switched it on and began to double-check the settings, a little shy in this room full of professionals.

  “Lacey? Lacey Hathaway? Is that you? I thought I recognized you.” A tall woman had broken away from one of the crews and tapped her way smartly across the lobby. She was impressive in a well-cut red suit, her hair twisted into a neat chignon, her makeup impeccable.

  “Hi, yes, I’m Lacey.” She racked her brains as she held out her hand. Surely she’d remember if she had met this woman before?

  “Annabel, Annabel Whyte.” The woman introduced herself. “Lacey, I have been loving your webcasts. That’s why we’re here in fact. We knew our viewers would love Marietta’s Bachelor Bake-Off as much as we do. Tell me—” she lowered her voice conspiratorially “—which of those gorgeous men do you think will win? I can’t help but notice a certain tension between you and Zac. I absolutely adore your own mini bake-offs and I have to say, I would find it very hard to concentrate with those cheekbones there to distract me. No.” as Lacey searched for something to say that wouldn’t incriminate her. “You don’t have to say a word. The camera never lies and he can’t take those dreamy eyes off you either. Delicious.”