Tasty

by Bella Cruise

  Cal takes the cupcake that I’m about to trash, rich almond with a bright cherry center. Seems appropriate for him, actually. He takes a bite.

  “What, then?” he asks, hopping up on my counter. Normally I’d have his hide for food safety for mucking about my kitchen. But he looks so comfortable, sitting there like he owns the place. And he looks genuinely curious, too.

  So I spill. I tell him every little sordid detail about how stuff with Ginny’s been getting to me lately. I tell him about our friend break-up and messy reunion, her wedding plans, her perfect life with Luke and the way it makes me feel when I see the two of them together, so lost in each other’s eyes.

  “Jealousy’s an ugly emotion,” he says, but he’s not lecturing me about it. That’s usually what I get, from my parents, from Ginny, even from Summer, on occasion. But Cal just sounds empathetic. Like he’s been there before, and will again. Like we’re equals. My old boss never spoke to me like that.

  “I know. The worst part is, I’m not sure who I’m jealous over. Ginny or Luke.”

  “She’s back, and her heart belongs to someone else,” he says sadly. I look into his laser green eyes, and honestly, I feel stunned. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it’s true. Way back in the day—like middle school—I’d been Ginny’s number one human on Earth. When she hooked up with Luke, part of me always assumed it wouldn’t last. So for her to waltz back into my life with Luke still on her arm, well, it hurt. But I pushed that feeling down, telling myself it was too ugly to feel. Of course I was happy for Ginny and Luke. It would have been terrible to act anything but.

  But I’ve missed her, my best friend. I’ve missed a time when guys weren’t even a part of the picture. Funny, to be thinking that as I stare at Cal, with his rakish, red-flecked hair and killer smile.

  “How’d you get so good at talking to women?” I ask. I mean it genuinely. But Cal only waggles his eyebrows.

  “Practice,” he says. Then he finishes off the cupcake and holds out an arm. “Now come here,” he commands me. I step forward, slipping my body into the space between his knees. We kiss passionately. His hands pull at the fabric of my T-shirt until he slips his hands up along my lower back. His touch feels so good, so familiar. It’s like coming home.

  But just as I start to lean into him, opening my mouth, the shop door jingles open again. I’m just about to shout out “We’re closed!” when I turn to see a frantic-looking woman with a baby in a sling around her front, dragging a snot-faced toddler over the threshold. The toddler’s wearing a pair of cock-eyed pink bunny ears and looks on the verge of tantrum city.

  “Harper, calm down!” the woman commands. Then she levels her crazed eyes at Cal and me. “Oh my god, you’re Cal McKenzie, aren’t you? I knew I’d find you here. Funny, the photos in the Yelp review made your store look bigger.”

  Her eyes sweep the modest surroundings. I start to correct her, but then Cal hops off the counter and swaggers right up behind the register. He looks like he belongs there, but then, Callum McKenzie looks like he belongs just about anywhere. He’d be equally at home on a red carpet or riding a motorcycle down a long straight highway at night. And he’s definitely comfortable in a bakeshop. He puts his hands on the counter, gives the woman an easy grin, and says:

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need eight dozen bunny cupcakes for Harper’s second birthday party tonight. My ex was supposed to bring them, but it”—the woman drops her voice low, as if whispering will keep the kids from hearing—“it looked like they had dildos on their heads.”

  I hear Cal stifle a laugh. I’m giggling a little too. And excited—finally, some business! Cal takes the reins, grabbing a pen and paper and jotting down notes.

  “Rabbits, Harper, really?” he asks the little girl, who beams up at him. “Nasty creatures. Not nearly as cuddly as they appear. But if you insist. What flavor, ma’am?”

  I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest to watch Cal take down the order. It’s fascinating to watch him work, actually. At his shop, he mostly lets the counter girls take over. But his manner with the woman is easy and smooth. Even little Harper looks at ease. No longer on the verge of tears, she’s jamming her finger up her nose, instead. Cal jots down the order, his smile one of cool, confident self-possession.

  “We’ll have the order for you in two hours.”

  “Do you deliver? I saw the store bike out front, but we’re all the way up by Pelican Key Cove . . .”

  “It’s not a problem. Just jot down your address.”

  “Oh, thank you, Cal. You know, you’re not anything like they make you seem on TV.”

  I see Cal’s mouth twitch a little at that.

  “Hmm, well, my assistant can ring you up.”

  It takes me a half a second to realize that he means me. His assistant, hmm?

  “You mean your business associate,” I correct him gently. He grins.

  “My partner in crime,” he agrees. I ring her up.

  “That will be one-ninety-two, plus tax.”

  #

  We have two hours to make, bake, and decorate eight dozen cupcakes. An hour twenty, actually, what with transit time to Pelican Key Cove factored in. Usually, I’d be a wreck, cursing at the Wedgewood, barking orders to Summer as I scramble to get the ingredients gathered and mixed. But it’s not like that with Cal in my kitchen. Look, Summer’s great, but she’s just a baby chef. Not Cal. I don’t need to tell him to do anything. He anticipates my needs, setting out bowls when I need them, cracking eggs when my back is turned. He even manages to coax the Wedgewood into submission. Every cupcake comes out evenly baked, not burnt, not gooey in the middle, but fluffy and hot and perfect.

  I swear to god, cooking with Cal is almost better than sex. Almost.

  We chat and flirt easily as we bake. As he boxes up the cakes, I offer him a lick of batter off one of the spoons. He looks scandalized.

  “Ms. Rockwell, what would Mr. Reynolds say about the sanctity of your kitchen?”

  “What Mr. Reynolds doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Mr. McKenzie,” I shoot back, my eyebrows arched. So Cal leans over and gives the spoon a hearty lick. I want his tongue on me, in me. Crap, I’m randy. But this is how this whole thing started, didn’t it? Over icing?

  “I never would have thought that an icing injector tool would lead me to love,” I muse. Cal doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t exactly shoot me down, either. He just smirks at me, self-satisfied. That’s when I realize what I’ve just said. Love. We haven’t used the L-word before.

  “We should start driving,” he says smoothly.

  Together, we carry the boxes out to his suburban, where they sit, stacked neatly, on the back seat. I buckle them in just to be sure no disaster will befall our baked-good buddies. Cal starts driving, just a little too fast and a little too wild. But I guess that’s the kind of guy he is. In the passenger seat beside him, I study his features. In a way, he’s not that different than the guys I’ve loved before: Wes Lansing, my old boss. They were all alpha males, guys who owned the road and trampled my heart. I’m sure Cal could crush me, if he wanted. Look at how he handles his business, ruthlessly and without remorse. Look at the way he can turn on his charm for a customer, or play the mean guy for the cameras on his show and in the tabloids. But there’s something different about him, too, and it’s not just the way he cooks.

  I can’t put my finger on it, not quite. He pulls up to the address the woman gave him, a sixties-style ranch house with a manicured front lawn and a big bouquet of rabbit balloons tied up out front. There are kids running around the yard, parents clutching beers and making small talk to one another as they intermittently shout orders to their rabbit-eared rug rats. Cal and I carry the cake boxes in. I spot the customer by the snack table and head over.

  “Wonderful, you made it just on time!” she says. She’s still got a baby strapped to her, and Harper is circling her knees like a hungry piranha. But her mother doesn’t even seem to notice. She just smiles a
t me. “You’re Cal’s business partner, right? What’s it like working with a celebrity?”

  Cal comes over, two cake boxes in hand. But he puts his free hand on my hip, and pulls me close.

  “Actually, she isn’t my partner. Her name’s Jules Rockwell. She owns a fantastic bakeshop down in Key West. Jules, give her your card.”

  “Oh!”

  I fumble in my pocket for a minute, and hand one over. The woman reads it, and slips it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Well, if Cal McKenzie says you’re good, you must be. You can put the cupcakes down over there.” She indicates a spot at the end of the table.

  Cal goes over and starts setting the cupcakes out. In a moment, he’s swarmed by two-year-old kids in bunny ears and tails.

  “Hello, Princess!” he says, handing Harper a cupcake. The little girl beams. It’s ridiculous. The infamous Cake Nazi, drowning in tiny children. But it’s adorable, too. He’s not annoyed with them like my ex used to be. He hated kids, even his own. But Cal just grins down at them and starts handing out bunny-emblazoned cakes.

  He’s different from other guys. Warm and gooey at the center, no matter how tough he appears.

  That’s the moment I realize that I’m falling for him, hard. And I never, ever want him to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A few days later, Ginny finally calls me up to schedule that double date she’d promised with her and Luke. Things still feel strange between us even as I agree that we should have a barbecue at Luke’s place. Our conversation is stop-and-go. We’re either talking over one another or letting the silence stretch out awkwardly between us. But after my chat with Cal, I’m feeling hopeful that everything will be fine. If nothing else, I’ll have Cal on my arm, reassuring, steady, handsome. I’m sure he’ll bolster me even if things with Gin get weird.

  He picks me up in his big boat of a car just before sunset. I’m dressed only in a light sundress with a slinky shawl over my shoulders, but I don’t even need it, not really. Warm weather is coming, the humidity thick and heavy in the air. I hop inside and press a kiss to Cal’s cheek, drawing in a deep breath of his heady scent.

  “I brought snacks,” I say, gently tossing the box of baked goods into the back seat. “Red velvet cupcakes with vanilla icing. Luke’s favorite. In high school, Ginny used to have me bake them for him, and then pretend that she was the chef.”

  “You were a regular Cupcake de Bergerac, hmm?” Cal says, adjusting the rearview mirror as we coast down the highway. I giggle and put my feet up on the dash.

  “Yes, but I’m much better looking.”

  Cal doesn’t argue. Instead, he puts a hand on my knee and slowly slides it up my thigh. I put my hand on his and give it a squeeze. But then I falter a little bit. I’m thinking about him leaving again. It’s bound to be soon.

  “So I guess Luke will be disappointed to hear that you’re not interested in having him build you a house, huh?”

  “Oh?” Cal asks. He sounds distracted, and slides his hand off my thigh.

  “Since you’re closing up shop and leaving soon, you won’t need a million-dollar luxury home.”

  “Oh,” he says, “yeah.”

  It’s all a little too abrupt, a little too final for my liking. He leans forward in his seat and clicks on the radio. I sit back again and gaze out the window. The sunset is all gorgeous colors over the highway, hot pinks and tangerines and purple at the edge. It should make me feel something, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m only thinking about Cal, and the future, and all of its uncertainties.

  We make the rest of the drive in silence.

  #

  Luke’s house is right on the ocean. Modern construction, all glass and steel and dark wood. It looks like it could go crashing into the water at any second, but since Luke himself designed it, I trust that we’re safe on his massive cedar deck overlooking the sea. Ginny’s barefoot, in a pair of cut-offs and a bikini top, her hair done up in a sloppy ponytail. Luke’s wearing trunks and a tee shirt and an apron that says “Kiss the Chef.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of them so happy, not even at prom when they both knew they were getting laid. And I’ve definitely never seen my best friend looking so at ease. She laughs and touches Luke’s shoulder too much as he grills. Even with Cal’s muscular arm looped into mine, it feels strange to be watching her. She’s going on and on about the venue they’ve chosen, some sprawling arboretum where the flowers all grow naturally in exactly the colors she’s chosen as their wedding shades.

  “That sounds amazing, Gin,” I say, and mean it, but the words come out sounding false for some reason. I give my head a small shake, untangle my arm from Cal’s, and take a step away from the three of them.

  “You alright?” Cal asks, setting his hand on the small of my back, his brow wrinkling in concern.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just going to grab a drink. Anyone want anything?”

  Luke looks back at me, shrugs. But Ginny rushes after me. “Oh, I’ll give you a hand,” she says.

  “Really,” I tell Ginny through gritted teeth, “I can handle it.”

  But she follows me anyway. I rattle through the screen door into Luke’s massive kitchen. It’s all stainless appliances and endless countertops that he probably never uses, like something out of a chef’s dream. I fill a cup with crushed ice from the ice machine and begin to pour vodka overtop.

  “Are you okay?” Ginny asks, watching me top off the glass with orange juice. “Is it something I said?”

  “No,” I respond quickly, and drink down the first mouthful. “Everything is fine. I’m happy for you guys. You know I am. I’m always so goddamned happy for you. And if you don’t believe me, in a few months, you’ll get to hear my speech all about how thrilled I am that you two found each other again. I’ll be happy for you then, too.”

  “Jules . . .” is all Ginny says, slowly, sadly. I cringe. I don’t want her pity, but I can understand why she’s giving it. I sound pretty pitiful. But I remember my conversation with Cal, and realize that this—her wedding, the fact that Cal is leaving soon, without me—isn’t even what it’s all about. It’s about me and Ginny, and our friendship. Which hasn’t been feeling too friendly lately.

  “I’m sorry, Gin. I’m not half as bitter as I sound. Not about the wedding. It’s just—well, I miss you.”

  “Oh.” My best friend is quiet for a minute, studying me with her careful, intelligent eyes. “But I’m right here.”

  “You’re not, though. Every second I’m with you lately, you’re with Luke. Or you’re talking about Luke. Don’t get me wrong. You know I love the big lug.”

  Ginny smiles faintly. “He loves you, too. He always has.”

  It makes my heart warm to hear that. It really does. Luke’s always felt like a big brother to me. Even after Ginny left, we stayed friends. Nothing serious. Just beers at Lenny’s on occasion, on nights when we both missed the most important woman in our lives. But that’s not the point. I’ve never doubted that Luke cared about me.

  “That’s great to hear, Gin. But this isn’t about Luke. It’s about the two of us.”

  “Oh?”

  I take another gulp of my screwdriver. I’m going to need it, if I’m going to tell Ginny the truth about how I feel. I’ve always been good with joking and bluster and bravery. But honesty is another thing entirely.

  “You’re checked out. You’ve been a little checked out since Park Avenue Princess aired. And when you try to check back in, it’s either half assed or . . . well . . .”

  “Go on.” I can see Ginny bracing herself, and I love her a little for it. She’s so strong, in ways I never have been. “I can take it.”

  “Judgey. The stuff you said about my loan, or cutting back Summer’s hours. It felt like advice a high school guidance counselor would give. Not my best friend. I’m a grown woman, Gin. I can manage my shit. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you. But I need you to listen. Not to fix things.”

  I can see the way that Gin
ny’s chewing over that from the way she bites her lower lip. Finally, she gives a resolute nod.

  “Okay. I can see that. Less wedding talk. Less advice. More listening.”

  She sounds so determined that I almost want to laugh. That’s my Ginny. She’s a Capricorn, through and through. Earnest. Hardworking. Loyal. Always has been.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate that. C’mere.”

  I hold my arms open. Ginny steps inside my embrace, resting her head on my shoulder. I plant a kiss at the top of her head.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. She laughs.

  “I haven’t done anything. But you can do something for me.”

  I break our hug and look down at her.

  “Anything, girl.”

  “Make me one of those? I’m way too sober to hear Luke regale Cal with his old football stories.”

  I grin. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  #

  When we go outside, the men are waiting for us. Ginny tucks herself under Luke’s arm. I go and stand beside Cal. He puts a hand on my hip, draws me close. I like the way he feels against me, a wall of warmth against the ocean wind. I like the way he smells, the way he feels. I like the fact that he got me to talk to Ginny, an impossible task. Once, I would have stewed over this for weeks until it finally erupted into a massive argument. Instead, he helped me get to the root of my feelings, and helped me solve my problems, too. I turn my body toward him and give him a long, tender kiss.

  “What was that for?” he asks, as we separate.

  “Everything,” I say, and mean it, too.

  “Steak’s ready, lovebirds,” Luke calls. I lace my fingers with his as we get our food. I like being a pair, a couple. I like the person I am when I’m with Cal.

  “Great,” Cal says, “I’m famished.”

  But I’m not sure that he just means for food. As I turn away, he gooses me through my dress. My face is burning red. I can only hope that Luke and Ginny are so wrapped up in each other, even now, that they can’t see.