by Amie Denman
“I’ll follow your every direction,” he said.
Gus narrowed her eyes at him and turned to the group.
“When you pick up your bags, remember to give the top a twist before you squeeze or—”
A large plop of icing hit the table right in front of her.
“Sorry about that,” Jack said.
* * *
JACK THOUGHT THE evening would never end. He’d like to spend time with Gus Murphy, but not with two hundred of his employees.
He watched Gus work the other side of the table, patiently guiding the hands of her students. He was jealous of every second she spent with someone else, a feeling he’d never experienced in the same chest-squeezing way.
He made a squiggly border around a circle on a piece of parchment paper.
“What kindergartner did that?” Mel Preston asked, grinning and pointing at Jack’s attempt.
“Where’d you come from?”
“Was here all along. Jumped tables when I discovered you had the prettiest teacher.”
Mel dipped his finger in Jack’s icing and smeared his border.
“Hey!” Everyone stopped and stared. Jack cleared his throat. “Don’t make me fire you, Mel.”
Jack was aware of Gus even though she was at the other end of the table. She leaned over to help a girl direct her pastry bag. A silver A on a chain dangled from her neck, catching the light and riveting his attention.
Jack swallowed hard as he tried to compose his face. Gus glanced up in the sudden silence and caught him looking at her.
“Trying out for teacher’s pet?” Mel asked.
“Maybe I just take cake decorating more seriously than you do.”
Mel laughed, slapping Jack on the back. He pulled out his cell phone and fiddled with the buttons for a few seconds. He held the phone in Jack’s face, still laughing.
“Please,” Mel said, “say that again so I can record it.”
“Why don’t you go to another table?” Jack said.
“Maybe I better. Your sister will be nicer to me than you are. My cake will probably kick your cake’s butt anyway.” Mel put his phone in his pocket. “In fact, I think that’s what I’ll write on it.”
Jack picked up his pastry bag and tried to be serious. He wanted to set a decent example. And if he happened to impress Gus Murphy in the process, it was a bonus.
Tosha Daniels, who’d been selling ice cream at the Point since Jack was a kid, was at his table. She walked over and stood just behind Gus, a finished cake in her hands. She looked at Jack without speaking.
Jack wondered just how much damage he’d done to his relationship with the vendors and if they planned to do anything about it. He hadn’t heard of any more late-night meetings and no one had approached him, but no one had been friendly, either.
Except Gus.
“That looks really nice,” Jack said, pointing to Tosha’s cake. “You must be a fast learner.”
Tosha raised her eyebrows and almost smiled then stopped, her lips returning to a straight line. “Been making ice-cream cakes about as long as you’ve been alive,” she said.
Gus turned and took Tosha’s cake, exclaiming over its perfection and showing it around the table. Jack was grateful for the distraction. The mood shifted and the tension from Tosha’s set-down eased.
He concentrated on smoothing the icing on his Styrofoam circle. He made a shaky and uneven border around the top then scraped it off and tried again with slightly more success. The teenage boy next to him, who still wore his parking-attendant uniform, grinned at Jack and pointed at his shabby second try at an outline.
“Nice.”
“Thanks. I’m Jack. I’d shake hands, but I’m a sticky mess.”
“Me, too. I’m Corey.”
“Nice to meet you. You like working here?”
“So far. It’s my first summer. I’m frying out there in the parking lot, dodging cars and seagulls. How long have you worked here?”
Jack laughed. “Forever.”
“Why are you so dressed up?”
“Trying to make a good impression on my teacher.” He watched Gus work her way around the table.
Corey looked at Jack’s cake and shook his head. “Not gonna get anywhere with that.” He jerked a thumb at Gus. “Maybe if you write You’re Hot on it...”
“Good idea,” Jack said, nodding slowly. “She seems like the kind of woman who would appreciate honesty. I’ll consider it.”
“I’m almost done,” Corey said.
Jack looked at the teen’s cake for the first time. Holy cow. He’d replicated the view of Starlight Point from the parking lot. There was even a tollbooth with a sign that said Parking $8.00 and small cars in the foreground.
“How’d you do that?” Jack asked, flabbergasted.
“I like to draw. Going to art school this fall.”
“What are you doing working in the parking lot? You should be drawing caricatures or working in the art department.”
Corey shrugged. “That’s where they put me. I’m glad to have a job. Gotta save up for school.”
Gus now stood next to Corey, enthralled with his cake.
“Come see me tomorrow morning and we’ll talk about finding you a better job.”
“Where do you work?”
“Office building up front. Ask for Jack Hamilton.”
“Doesn’t he own the place?”
“I sure do.”
“Sorry, Jack,” Gus said. “This young man is going to be working for me tomorrow.”
Jack stood and went nose to nose with Gus. “I saw him first.”
Gus laughed. “I hate giving in, but I’ll let you win this time.” She picked up Corey’s artwork on the Styrofoam circle. “But I hope you’ll let me use this as an example.” She patted Corey’s shoulder. “This is amazing work.”
“Just the view I see every day,” he said.
“It’s my favorite view of Starlight Point,” Gus said, “except I like it at night with a midnight-blue sky behind the white lights of the rides.”
Jack couldn’t believe his ears. That was his view. The view of Starlight Point he’d carried since he was young enough to ride in his mother’s wagon. The view he saw when he closed his eyes, even on the hottest, brightest day of July.
He was speechless.
Corey said goodbye and left. Gus glanced up at Jack, who was staring at her. And trying not to kiss her in front of everyone.
“What?” she asked. Her green gaze searched his, and he was afraid to think of what his eyes gave away.
“What are you doing after class tonight?” he asked.
“Cleaning up,” she said, sweeping a hand at the ten tables covered with icing and surrounded by people still working on their cakes. “And then collapsing. We have to do this all over again tomorrow and then a few nights next week for anyone else who wants to give it a try.”
The magnitude of the project hit Jack.
“Are we paying you?” he asked.
Gus’s expressive eyes turned to stone.
“Virginia has offered to pay for all the supplies and the hourly wage of my employees.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not hourly.”
“But this is taking up your time, and I know you’re busy. I’ve seen all the early mornings and late nights you’ve been here.”
“You have?”
Jack nodded.
They were still nose to nose. Jack nearly forgot the hundred or so other people in the room, some of them only feet away at their table. He focused on Augusta. He leaned a little closer. She mirrored his action. Then swayed back abruptly.
“I...um...like teaching people to do something I love,” she said. “So it’s not all w
ork and no pay. You never know when you might find a great talent who’ll come work for you later.”
“As long as you grab the talent fast,” Jack said.
“Got me there.”
Jack took Gus’s hand, not caring that his was sticky or that people were watching.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“Don’t tempt me. I need someone to clean two hundred sticky pastry bags and scrape icing off the ballroom floor.”
“Since I made part of the mess, I should help clean it up.”
“True.”
“That was the STRIPE topic the summer I was twelve. Civility and good manners. I would be glad to hold the door for you or fold napkins into swans anytime.”
Gus shook her head. “You’re a complicated man, Jack Hamilton, but I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“Holding the door or folding the swans?”
“Cleaning the floor.”
* * *
GUS WANTED TO tell Jack to go home. It was late. Her baking recruits had left half an hour ago, leaving the rest of the cleanup to a crew Virginia had scheduled. They were in the ballroom kitchen, clouds of steam rising over the sinks where they washed icing bags and pastry tips.
Jack used a wide broom, pushing it up and down the long rows on the wood ballroom floor. His white shirtsleeves were rolled above the elbow, shirttail hanging out in the back. No jacket or tie. He handled the broom smoothly, flipping it around at the end of each swath.
“I’m guessing you’ve done that before,” Gus said, leaning against the back wall.
Jack reached the end of a row near her and stopped. “Ten-year-olds will do anything for a dollar. Used to sweep this floor and the hotel lobby.” He grinned. “I thought I was the luckiest kid in town. Got paid a buck every day. By the end of the summer, I had enough for a new bike.”
“I used to wash Aunt Augusta’s cake pans and pastry bags for a dollar. Bought a little cash register and pink oven with my earnings. I had quite a business selling cupcakes to my friends at school until the lunch ladies shut me down. They didn’t like competition.”
Jack laughed. “And now look at us. You own a bakery, and I’m still sweeping the floors.”
“I hope you’re making more than a dollar.”
Jack’s grin faded. He cupped his hands over the end of the broom handle and rested his chin on his hands. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m even making that.”
Gus crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure you are. I’m making decent money here, and you’ll be getting twenty percent of it.” Ouch, she thought, that didn’t sound very friendly even though it’s true.
Jack lowered his eyes, nudging the bottom of the broom with his toe.
“When you get my June payment, you’ll cheer up,” she said, trying for a light tone. “Might even be able to get yourself a new bike instead of that old tandem one you ride.”
Jack still said nothing, looking at the floor.
“You look pretty lonely on that bike,” Gus said, her voice soft. His silence drove her nuts. Why didn’t he spar with her as usual? She glanced around the empty ballroom, desperate to smooth the rough edge between them. “I’d ask you to dance, but I don’t think I could compete with your current partner. You and that broom move together like old friends.”
Finally. A smile. Jack shook out the broom and leaned it against the wall next to Gus.
“Take a walk with me on the beach?” he asked.
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to ask him why dark clouds hovered between them whenever business entered the conversation.
“Maybe as far as the parking lot,” she said.
“I’ll take it.”
Jack used his key to open a gate right behind the ballroom. Starlight Point was surrounded by gates, most of them leading to the Outer Loop, some of them straight to the beach.
“You might want to take your shoes off,” Jack said, his voice clear in the night air.
Gus stepped right onto the sand.
“I was thinking of the boardwalk when I agreed to this,” she said.
“Not on this part of the Point. There’s another gate leading into the lot where your van’s parked, but it’s all sandy beach between here and there.” He reached down and pulled off his shoes, stuffed his socks into his suit-coat pocket and held both shoes in the hand farthest away from Gus. “It’s a solitary stretch.”
“Won’t Security wonder what we’re doing out here?”
“No late-night security in this part of the park.”
“Living dangerously,” she said.
“I hope not.”
Gus kicked off her shoes and picked them up. Without thinking, she reached for Jack’s hand. The sand under her feet was cool now in the darkness. She shivered a little.
“Want my coat?’ Jack asked.
“I’m all right. It’s not far to the lot.”
Sand slipped under their feet. The soft sound of waves brushed the shore.
“Is this summer turning out like you thought?” Jack asked.
She considered that question for a moment. The short answer was yes, most of it.
“I expected to be baking like crazy and I thought I might get some sun. I hoped it would be fun on occasion.”
“And?”
“Yes to two of those. I’m not out in the sun very much because I’m inside baking.”
“But you are having fun?” he asked.
“I am right now. I’m walking the moonlit beach with someone who...” She stopped, shocked by how close she’d come to saying something she’d hardly admitted to herself.
Jack stepped in front of her, dropping his shoes with a soft clunk on the sand. “Someone who what?”
She let go of her shoes and used her free hand to rake her fingers through her hair. How was she going to answer his question? The truth? Someone who got under her skin. Someone she looked for around every corner. Someone she wanted to kiss her right now. And the next day.
“Someone...”
Jack stepped closer, the tension between them like the moment at the top of a roller-coaster hill. Suspended, waiting, thrilling.
“If I were going to finish that sentence,” he said, “I’d say I was walking the moonlit beach with someone who always leaves me wanting more.”
Gus tried to still the fluttering just under her collarbones. She couldn’t argue with Jack. She knew she left him wanting more. She left herself wanting more. There was a reason she rode the coaster to the top of the hill but hesitated, afraid to go over. She repeated her mantra to herself. She was a vendor. Jack had mistreated the vendors. He’d shown no remorse. She owed Tosha, and Bernie...
The reasons were like elastic stretched too far, getting thinner and thinner. Jack tested all her powers of resistance. If she coasted over the hill with him, there would be no going back. Too much depended on her having a successful summer to risk her heart and everything else.
She picked up her shoes. “Maybe you should show me that gate to the parking lot.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THREE NIGHTS LATER, Augusta rolled out of bed and pulled on yoga pants, a lightweight sweatshirt and sneakers. It was no use trying to sleep when all she could think about was fire consuming the Last Chance Bakery and the rest of the Wonderful West.
And it would be all her fault for leaving that oven on.
She’d been up since midnight, when she was jolted awake by the sensation that she’d forgotten something. She’d tried to rationalize—the ovens ran almost twelve hours a day without burning down the kitchen. Was running twelve hours overnight any different?
It was no use.
The clock in her van read 1:03 a.m. when she pulled out of the lot behind her downtown bakery. The lone guard in the tollbooth at the ent
rance of Starlight Point waved her through. Evidently he wasn’t curious as to why she was passing through the gates nine hours before the park opened.
Gus cut across the empty front lot to the Outer Loop. There wasn’t a person or vehicle in sight.
Her headlights illuminated the gate providing closest access to the Last Chance Bakery. She left the van running, lights on, as she opened the gate. It should take five minutes to dash past the Western-themed carousel, check her oven and be back in the van heading home for a few more hours of sleep.
The lights that illuminated the walkways and rides during operating hours were out. Heavy darkness made the familiar buildings seem like strangers looming in the night. Gus hurried past the horses on the silent merry-go-round.
She’d almost made it to her bakery when she heard sounds coming from the shooting gallery and arcade. Change jingling and hushed voices. She stopped, and a cold thrill of nerves raced through her.
Could it be maintenance cleaning or servicing the games? Not likely. They would turn the lights on if they were working in the old arcade. The flickers of light she saw were from flashlights. They almost looked like yellow flames lapping up the darkness. The thought reminded her of the bakery, the reason she was there.
She longed to forget the arcade, check on the Last Chance and get back across the Point Bridge. However, a nagging sense of loyalty to Starlight Point wouldn’t let her ignore the strange sounds. She touched the cell phone in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. Who would she call? Everyone was asleep. She wasn’t going to wake Jack or Evie just on a suspicion.
She stepped onto the front porch of the arcade, and the old wood boards let out a squeak that cut the night. Amid the music and laughter of park guests, no one would’ve noticed. But in the deserted park, the sound was a doorbell announcing her presence.
The flashlights switched off. Gus held her breath for a second, waiting. Suddenly, the door crashed open and two men barreled into her. In a flash, she recognized the one in front, a teenager who had worked in the arcade earlier that summer until he was fired for theft. She’d been there the day security escorted him past her Last Chance bakery.
She didn’t see the second man’s face because the first one shoved her backward. She tried to catch herself, but her head struck a post supporting the porch roof and the dark night became even blacker as she fell to the cracked concrete walkway.