by Bella Cruise
Evie draws in a sharp breath. “Ouch, so you’re looking at a long-distance deal?”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I mean, look at Ginny and Luke. They manage making it work even though she’s in New York like eight months out of a year.”
Ginny looks concerned. Crap, I hate how concerned she looks. “But we have a history, Jules. And plans for the future. I’ll be moving down here year-round once I get the New York satellite office off the ground. Have you asked him what you’ll do when Mecca Cakes closes up shop?”
I shake my head. Of course I haven’t. Ever since we got naked, Cal and I have found talking hard to manage. We just get so damned distracted. And discussion was never my strong suit, anyway. But Ginny is still looking at me with that frustrating, fretful expression, so I reach out and give her hand a squeeze.
“It’s fine, Gin. I promise. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can take care of myself.”
That’s when my phone, on the table, buzzes. It’s a text from Cal.
Been dreaming of your beautiful cunt all day, Fondant. I can’t wait to bury my cock in you again . . .
I blush as I read the dirty parts. But the rest, I read aloud.
“ ‘Heading off to New York on business for a few days,’ ” I say. “ ‘Will call you when I get back. Can’t wait to have your little body next to me again.’ See? We’re fine.”
“You got that boy wrapped around your finger,” Evie agrees.
But Ginny is still looking at me with worry in her eyes.
Chapter Twenty
That look that Ginny gave me over brunch weighs heavy on me over the next few days. I know she’s right. I need to talk to Cal, clear the air and figure out a plan for moving forward. But it all sounds so daunting. Part of me wants our romance to remain like some kind of fairy tale, full of food and fucking, laughter and licking. Plus, I have bigger problems on my hands.
For one thing, business at Rock N Roll Cakes is doing better now that Cal’s quit trying to steal my recipes. The good folk of Key West have to go somewhere for their Pink Surprises, after all. But it’s not better enough. We stay open all week long, Summer scrolling through celebrity Instagram accounts and leaving snarky comments on all the worst pictures. But I’m just scraping by with a few customers a day. It’s better than the graveyard it was when Mecca Cakes first opened, but I’m just barely in the black enough to pay Summer’s wages, and rent, and supplies. And the end of the month is looming. My bank loan is due, and I just don’t have the cash.
Used to be when I was stressed about making ends meet, I’d drive to my mom’s house and let her cook crappy frozen food for me, veg out on the couch next to my dad, and pretend to be a kid again. But it’s just not the same with them at the far end of the phone line. They’re always bickering over speakerphone, complaining that they can’t make their internet work or droning on and on about retirement community drama featuring some ancient ex-pro golfer and his harem of grey-haired girls. It’s too different, too stressful. I could call Cal and unload on him, but he’s busy with his own business. Besides, I’m not sure that I want to let him know I’m still struggling. It’s a little too real, a little too vulnerable. Better to keep things at the batter and boobs level with him.
Evie is away visiting her boyfriend. That leaves only one confidant left. No, not Summer. The only time I tried to share with her she asked me if I was going to give her a raise and a title change to business manager. Instead, I take out my phone and start texting Ginny. After all, she’s my best friend, and I could always count on her to pat my shoulder and make me feel better when I’d vent about my Yearbook Club woes in high school.
Me:
Hey babe, you got a few minutes?
Her:
Anything for you daaahhlink.
So Ginny still hasn’t dropped the Cruella de Vil act. When I let out a little giggle, Summer looks up from her phone and glowers at me. I stick my tongue out and go back to texting.
Me:
Things are dead at the store. Again.
It takes her a moment to answer.
Her:
Oh . . . I thought things had gotten better?
There’s something weird about her response. It seems distracted, thin. But I tell myself that it’s just because tone doesn’t always translate well over text. I’m sure it’s nothing.
Me:
They have, a bit. But damn, I’ve an appointment with my loan officer at First Atlantic today and I have no idea what to tell him. You can’t squeeze blood from a stone.
Her:
Wait, loan officer?
Me:
Yeah, profits were low last year. I had to take out a loan. This was before you were back in town.
Her:
Oh. You know, interest rates are pretty bad right now. Have you thought about downsizing? Maybe if you cut back on Summer’s hours you won’t to take out any more loan money.
I purse my lips. Damn, this wasn’t what I expected from Ginny. If I wanted unsolicited advice, I’d call up my dad and tell him my car engine is making noise. What I wanted from Ginny was for her to listen and empathize. She’s a small business owner. She should understand.
Me:
Summer needs this job. She supports her mom.
Her:
Oh. I had no idea.
Me:
Yeah, she’s sweet. I treasure that kid, snark and all.
I bite my lip, staring down at my phone. Ginny has no idea how the bakeshop business works, or how common these loans are for restaurant owners. We can’t all be Callum McKenzie, celebrity chef. Hell, we can’t all be Ginny Austen, co-star of Park Avenue Princess: Beach Wedding Edition, either.
Her:
Sorry, I didn’t realize. Look, I have to run. Luke and I want to scope out a venue. I think this might be the one!! But let’s talk soon, okay? Luke’s been asking about getting you and Cal together for a double date. And I want to hear how it goes with the loan officer.
I stare down at my phone for a good minute and a half before I’m chill enough to type out a response. I know Ginny’s psyched about her wedding. I can’t blame her. I’d be too, in her position. But things look different from my side of the world. Sure, things might be promising with Cal. He makes me feel like no guy ever has, old boss included. But it’s not like we’re committed or anything. In a few weeks, his shop will be closing up, and he’ll go back to New York for good. My stomach clenches a little at the thought. I haven’t really admitted to myself how much the idea of losing Cal scares me. I mean, it feels like it took a lifetime for us to find each other.
But then I think about how Gin must feel. She lost Luke once before, at the end of high school. She wasn’t ready to settle down yet. He was happy living in Pelican Key Cove forever. They lost an entire decade. Now, things are finally stable with the two of them. Committed. Of course she’s distracted. Luke’s a damn fine catch, and she’s finally netted him.
Me:
Good luck, Gin! I hope the place is gorgeous.
I mean what I say, but the whole interaction’s still got me rattled. I don’t even notice that I’m cleaning until Summer looks at me, wide-eyed.
“Shit,” she says. “Did someone insult your grandmother or something?”
“No, why?”
“Because you’re doing your thing. You know, the stompy slammy cleaning scrubbing thing.”
I look down. I’ve got a cleaning rag in one hand and I’m rubbing the counter so hard that I might just wear a hole into it. I sigh, and throw it down.
“Sorry, I’m fine. I’ve just gotta talk to my loan officer today. I can’t make the payment. What if he throws me in debtors’ prison?”
She looks at me. Blinks. “Okay, for one, that doesn’t exist. This isn’t Great Expectations, and I’m not Miss Havisham. Though I can ruin your life if you want.”
“You can ruin my life any day, Summer,” I say, smiling a little despite myself.
“Okay. Good. Noted. For two, it’s no big deal. With the loan officer,
I mean. It’s just like dealing with a cop. Whenever I get pulled over, I figure I have two options. I can flash him my tits.”
I picture my loan officer, and wrinkle my nose.
“What’s my other option?”
“You bribe him. Silly.”
“Oh,” I say, my voice laden with sarcasm, throwing my hands in the air. “Bribery. Of course. What was I thinking?”
“Seriously, it’s like you’ve never been a supervillainess before,” Summer says.
I arch an eyebrow. “And you have?”
“I’ll never tell. Just don’t ask what happened to the Hapsburg Diamond.”
“My lips are sealed,” I assure her, heaping cupcakes into a box.
#
A half hour later, I’m biking to First Atlantic with a box of Pink Surprises strapped to the back of the Rock N Roll Cakes bicycle. I’m nervous. I’ve never missed a payment on anything before, and I hate to start now. But I don’t have much of a choice. For all her sarcasm, Summer’s given me some pretty good advice. I’ve put on a nice, if slightly boring suit, tied my hair back into a smart bun, and put on tasteful nude make-up. It feels a little strange to bike in this get-up, but I’m not going to waste money on gas, not with the way money is right now. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to stop by Cal’s store to say hello.
But when I get to Mecca Cakes, they’re slammed. Customers everywhere, bikers and beach bums and tourists in Hawaiian shirts. It’s like something out of a movie or TV commercial. Cal’s business is doing better than I thought. No wonder we’re still dead.
I go to the counter and ask for him, but the counter girl, who is perky and polite in every way that Summer isn’t, brings me Angelique Sutton instead. I see her eyes move up and down over me, taking in every thread of my suit.
“Jules Rockwell,” she says. “You’re going off brand.”
Her voice is dripping with disdain. More than a little jealousy, too. It’s like she didn’t think I was capable of cleaning up nice. Well, eat this, Angelique. I flash my most photogenic smile, the one I used to practice for school pictures, the one I still use when I know my mug might end up on Facebook, preserved for all eternity.
“I have a business meeting,” I tell her smoothly. Then I reach in the box and take out a cupcake. “But I wanted to give Cal this.”
I offer it to her. She looks at it, curling her lip slightly. It’s like she thinks I’ve taken an icing injector tool and shot the thing full of poison. I wonder what he’s told her about us, if he’s told her anything. It’s possible she doesn’t know a thing. He doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell, after all. For all she knows, I’m still the deranged cake lady next door.
“Charming,” she says, pulling a napkin from a nearby dispenser and delicately taking the cupcake. “He’s in a meeting as well. But I’ll give it to him as soon as I see him.”
“Thank you!” I say, with all the sunshine that I can muster. “I’ll see you soon, Angelique. Maybe before my date with Cal tomorrow.”
If I could preserve an image for all eternity, it would be Angelique’s face, right now. I turn on my heels and leave, and somehow, it seems like the crowd just falls away around me. I’m on cloud nine. Because I’ve just shown Angelique Sutton who the real Cake Master is.
I know, as I stride out the door, taking wide, confident steps, that I’m going to nail this meeting.
#
And I do. Sitting across that big mahogany bank desk, I’m charming and professional and reserved and polite and everything a loan officer would want to see in a responsible small business owner. Funny thing is, I’ve known Mr. Honeycutt, the portly banker who oversees all the loan accounts at First Atlantic, since I first opened up the store. But he’s never seen this side of me. Of course, I’ve never seen this side of me, either.
“So you see, Mr. Honeycutt, I won’t be able to provide the funds to pay this month’s loan payment. But as you know, I’ve made the last nine payments on time. I’m sure something can be arranged, can’t it?”
I slide the box of white Oreo fudge cupcakes across the counter and pop the top. My hands are shaking just a little. I’m scared he won’t want them. But then his eyes go big and watery at the sight.
“Yes, hm,” he says. I swear to god, he’s sweating. But that’s nothing new. Men always love my cupcakes. “I’m sure we can defer one month’s payments.”
He reaches out to lift up one of the cupcakes with his chubby fingers. But then he hesitates. “But Ms. Rockwell, I’m curious. What caused you to miss this payment? Was there a family emergency? Hopefully everyone is alright at the Rockwell home.”
“We’re fine,” I tell him quickly. “It’s just that I have a new competitor in town until the middle of next month. But they’re only a pop-up. Soon, our usual customer base will be restored.”
“A new competitor?” he asks, taking big, sloppy licks of icing. It’s pretty gross to watch, actually. But I just let my smile burn steadily anyway.
“Mecca Cakes, owned by Callum McKenzie. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s on television.”
“Callum—the Cake Master? Oh, I love him!” Mr. Honeycutt’s hand flashes through the air. I suppress a laugh. I have a feeling that Mr. Honeycutt is as hot for Cal as I am.
“The one and only.”
“I’ll have to check out his store.”
I do my best not to wince at that. Everyone’s such a sucker for a celebrity chef. Even if they’re sitting there, licking your own icing off their hand. But I guess I’m no better than the rest of them. I’m a pretty big sucker for Cal, myself.
“Let me know if he looks as good as he does on TV,” I say quickly. He doesn’t need to know about my complicated romantic entanglement with my competition. Then I look at my wrist. I’m not wearing a watch, but hopefully Mr. Honeycutt won’t notice. “I have to be off. Racquetball on a friend’s yacht. Have a good afternoon Mr. Honeycutt.”
“Goodbye, Jules.”
As soon as I get outside his office and step into the warm Key West air, I let out a long breath. I did it! Somehow I did it. But the victory feels hollow, in a way. I peel off my suit jacket, and stuff it into the bicycle basket. Then I start down the street. The truth is, putting off my bank loan doesn’t make much of a difference. The money will be due, anyway, before I know it. I think of Cal’s store, teeming with people. I think of Mr. Honeycutt’s excitement. Worst of all, I think of Gin’s words. Because this isn’t sustainable, not long term. As a business owner, I can’t wait until Cal closes up shop in Key West. But as soon as Mecca Cakes is out of the picture, Cal is, too.
And I don’t want to lose him, not yet. I’m not ready to be by myself again.
I walk my bike all the way home, thinking of my business, and thinking of Cal, and thinking, most of all, about how bad I wish I could have both.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next day, Cal’s late for our date. He texted about picking me up for our dinner reservations, but I haven’t heard a word since. What’s worse, business is still pitiful. I send Summer home just a few minutes early. Then I start emptying out the cake case, pulling crumbs out of the crevices. It’s been a frustrating day. Not just the slow business. Other things, too. Well, one thing, really.
Ginny.
I texted her after my meeting last night, but she never replied. So today, when things were slow, I called her. I filled her in on my meeting with Mr. Honeycutt—and my run-in with Angelique before that—but her voice at the other end was distracted. She kept asking me to repeat myself. I could hear her clattering on her laptop keys in the background, and then, before I could ask her what she was working on, or ask her about that double date she promised me, she said she had another call and had to go.
I’m not used to her being so distracted.
Honestly, I’m not used to having a best friend at all. Sure, I’ve had friends. There’s Evie, who I met at a local small business meet-up four years ago. We became fast friends after that, though she doesn’t kno
w my history like Ginny does. And Summer, I guess, though I’m not sure if it counts if you’re paying someone to be there for you. But I haven’t had a true blue, borrow-your-favorite-bra, egg-a-guy’s-house-for-you, real live best friend since Ginny walked out of my life ten years ago. Part of me thought we’d fall right back into our old rhythm when she returned. But it feels wrong. I always seem to want more than she can give, and then, when she gives it to me, it’s all wrong. Like a cupcake frosted with mashed potatoes or something.
The bell jingles while I’m still bent over the cake case. Before I can even turn, I’m startled by a firm, sharp slap on my rear.
“Oh god!” I shout, jumping. But when I turn around, I see it’s only Cal. Damn, he looks good, in his casually ruffled clothes, his eyes sleepy and bright all at once. He slips his hands around my waist and draws me into a kiss.
“Didn’t know you were religious,” he says with a smirk. I smile wryly back.
“Only when I’m startled, during sex, or during football season when I need my fantasy football team to win.”
“You pray for those big bucks?” he says.
“Mama needs a new pair of shoes,” I agree, but this money talk hits just a little too close to home. I slip away from his touch and finish trashing today’s leftovers. Which is pretty much everything.
He must see my concern. He indicates the whole little storefront with a sweeping glance. “Your store is great. It’s a Key West institution. Do you know how often people come in asking for Pink Surprises?”
“That’s good to know,” I say, feeling just a little bit reassured, though it would be better if they asked for them in my shop. Then I remember that he’s leaving soon. But I don’t say that part. Instead, I put my hands on my hips and let out a breath strong enough to blow my bangs from my eyes. “It’s not that.”