Bella nodded and flashed an encouraging smile. “Well, no doubt. They’re the yummiest on the island.”
This really got Hannah going. She doubled over, laughing until I thought she might have to excuse herself to go to the ladies’ room. Not that the ladies’ room was company-ready yet.
“Mmm. Cake balls.” Bella grabbed one and ate it, then joined us at the table. “What are you two girls talking about? Besides baked goods, I mean.”
Hannah managed to get her giggles under control. She placed her hands on her size 6 hips and gave me a “you should know better” look. “Scarlet thinks she’s fat.”
“Fat?” Bella—gorgeous, trim Bella—gave me that “are you kidding me?” look that skinny people always give fat people when they’re too embarrassed to admit the truth. “What brought this on, Scarlet?”
I’d just opened my mouth to say something brilliant when Hannah spoke up. “Her aunt Willy.”
“She called you fat?” Bella’s nose wrinkled. “Where is she? I’ll give her a piece of my mind. That is, what’s left of it after dealing with two small children and a wedding-planning business.” She chuckled.
“She didn’t call me fat. She just—oh, never mind.” I took a seat and leaned my now-aching head on the table. These girls would never get it. How could they? They had never walked a mile in my size 8½ extra-wide shoes. Unless maybe they’d been to fat camp as toddlers or something. If so, they’d both seen great success—something that had eluded me during my one stint at Camp Hug-a-Belly in the sixth grade. The only thing I’d lost that summer was my CD player.
An awkward silence rose up between the three of us. Hannah gave me a pensive look. “What’s really bugging you?” Her gaze narrowed. “Is it Kenny?”
I tried not to flinch as she spoke my assistant’s name.
“Kenny?” Bella took the seat to my left. “The guy who works for you? What’s up with him?” She glanced around the shop, no doubt wondering why she hadn’t seen him. Kenny and I were inseparable, after all. Cinnamon and sugar. Peanut butter and jelly. Cookies and cream.
Stop with the food analogies!
“Yeah, why isn’t he here?” Hannah leaned back in her chair. “Are you guys still taking a break or something?”
I paused to think through my answer. “Yes, but that has nothing to do with my weight. He’s never cared about that, trust me. It’s the farthest thing from his mind.”
“Then what?” Hannah asked.
How could I tell her what I’d only recently discovered myself? That dating Kenny—kind and funny as he was—was just the filling between the layers of my proverbial cake? Our relationship wasn’t the real deal. Never would be. I loved him—just not like that. Only, he didn’t know. Working up the courage to tell him hadn’t been easy. Besides, we were both distracted with the new bakery opening.
“He still works with me,” I said after a moment, “though Aunt Willy’s not keen on that fact. She thinks he’s a . . .” What was the word she’d used again? Ah yes. “Deterrent.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think she likes his facial hair.”
“To be honest, I’m not keen on it either.” Hannah’s thinly plucked brows elevated. “Didn’t want to tell you, though. Thought it might hurt your feelings. Or his. So I’ve kept my opinion to myself.” She giggled. “Till now, I mean.”
“Same here,” Bella added. “But it wasn’t my place to say so. I think he looks a little like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. Nice guy, but pretty scruffy. Not that scruffy’s bad, mind you. Some people like that look, just not me.” Her nose wrinkled. “Sorry. Is that too honest?”
“No, I guess not.” Still, I couldn’t believe they’d kept this from me. I drew a deep breath. Actually, now that I thought about it, Kenny did look a little shaggy. Rough around the edges. But I’d always found his casual outlook on life oddly endearing. “How come you guys never told me?”
Hannah shrugged. “Never came up, I guess. But I have to say I’m with Willy on this. Kenny’s a great guy, but I’m not convinced he’s the guy for you. So I’m cool with you guys taking a break.” The edges of her lips turned up in a smile. “Not that you asked my opinion or anything.”
“Or mine.” Bella’s cell phone beeped, and she pulled it out of her purse. “But just in case you ever wonder, I like my guys clean-cut. D.J. tried to grow a mustache once, and I made him shave it off. Scratched my lip when he kissed me.”
She glanced at a text message on her phone, then lit into a conversation about how all of the men in her family were hairless—on their faces, anyway. Apparently Uncle Laz had the hairiest back in town. And her older brother had the hairiest legs. She lost me about midway into a conversation about her brother Armando, whose recent attempt at a goatee had sent the whole family into a tailspin. On and on she went, talking about how ridiculous he’d looked and how relieved they’d been when he finally shaved it off. To be honest, I felt a little sorry for the guy after hearing his woeful tale.
Bella laughed. “There I go, sharing my thoughts out loud.”
“Hey, I’ve always offered my opinion pretty freely,” I said and then sighed. “You might as well tell me what you’re thinking too.”
“I’m thinking it’s okay that you and Kenny are on a break.” She gestured to the shop. “And I’m thinking this new place is fabulous.”
Hannah didn’t look as convinced. “I’m thinking you might be over your head trying to handle a grand opening at the same time your dad’s got you working on this fund-raiser at church. But that’s just me.”
“Fund-raiser?” Bella glanced back down at her phone as another text message came through. “What’s that about?”
I tried to look confident as I responded. “It’s pretty inspiring, really. Our little church has a team going to Managua in a couple of months, and we’re trying to raise money to get them there. We’re doing a talent show to raise money.”
“Managua?” Bella’s wrinkled brow clued me in to the fact that she didn’t have a clue where that was.
“Nicaragua,” I explained. “Central America.”
“Ah.”
“Are you singing?” Hannah gave me that motherly look she’d become famous for.
I snorted. “Seriously? You think I should sing?”
Bella looked up from her phone. “Wait. You sing, Scarlet?”
“No. Absolutely, definitely not. Ever. Under any circumstances.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “You used to sing all the time. Your mom told me all about it.”
I shrugged. “That was years ago, girl. Some things are better left . . . unsung.”
“Or maybe it’s just time for a new verse. I have a feeling you could come up with a doozy.” Bella waggled her brows. “Give it some thought.”
“Right now the only thing I’m giving thought to is getting someone to help. There’s so much going on in my brain at one time.” I lit into an emotional saga about all of the things still left undone, both at the shop and at the church. My dissertation included a passionate cry for help with the technical aspects of the fund-raiser.
“Oh, I’ve got the perfect person to help you.” Bella clasped her hands together and grinned—a rather suspicious grin, actually. “With the fund-raiser, I mean.” She crossed her arms at her chest, a smug look on her face. “My brother Armando.”
“The one with the goatee?”
“He shaved that off. He’s clean as a whistle now.”
“And he does sound?” I asked.
She nodded. “And lights too. And all sorts of other things. He lives in Houston. Works at a . . .” A long pause followed. “Anyway, he’s really good at what he does.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“Well . . .” She paused and seemed to be thinking through her answer. “A little of everything. Sort of a jack-of-all-trades, I guess you’d say. He’s great with technical things. He’s worked as a deejay and a sound guy. And he’s worked at a music store too. Oh, and he had a job once at
a computer repair place, so he even knows how to program music for churches. Right now he’s going from place to place running sound and working parties.”
Hmm. A jack-of-all-trades. Just what we needed.
“I think you’ll like him.” She grinned. “He’s pretty savvy. And churches these days are looking for people like that to run their sound and lights.”
“I’ve been trying to get my dad into the twenty-first century.” I sighed, thinking about how antiquated our little church was compared to others I’d visited. How stuck in the seventies we were. How I’d been dying to introduce my father to things like PowerPoint slides on the overhead screen and cool lighting during worship. So far he’d turned up his nose at every idea, though I had a feeling his real concerns had more to do with cost than moving into the twenty-first century.
“My brother will be perfect for you.”
I gave Bella a look, and she put her hand up. “I—I mean for your church. For the fund-raiser. And we’re always looking for an excuse to get him back on the island. Mama misses him.”
“Ohhh, I remember Armando,” Hannah said. “He’s really . . . handsome.” A concerned look passed over her face, a sure sign there was more to this guy than either of these two was willing to admit. Oh well. I needed an Italian heartthrob running sound at my dad’s church about as much as I needed the calories from a bacon double cheeseburger.
My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. A bacon double cheeseburger did sound really good.
“Didn’t I meet your brother at Hannah’s Bing and Bob party last fall?” I asked.
Bella shrugged. “You met the rest of the family but not Armando. He was supposed to come but didn’t show up at the last minute.”
“Sounds like a great guy.” I fought the eye roll that threatened to convey my real feelings. Seriously? A guy who makes promises and then doesn’t keep them? No thank you.
Her nose wrinkled. “What he lacks in manners, he more than makes up for in talent. I think you’ll like him, and I know he would be an asset.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“He’s come a long way since I first met him,” Hannah said.
Translation: He had a long way to come.
“God has really softened Armando’s heart,” Bella added. “And I’m so proud of him.”
Well, that sounded a little better.
“He’s a real heartthrob,” Hannah added, then quirked a brow. “You’re gonna flip when you see him. I—I did.” Her cheeks turned pink.
Wait a minute. It was all coming back to me now. I seemed to remember some incident involving Hannah and Armando. Hadn’t he hit on her once? Back before she started dating Drew? Then again, he had changed, or so they said. And apparently both of my friends were keen on playing matchmaker today. On and on they went, singing Armando’s praises.
I groaned as their attempts to match me up with Bella’s brother carried on. In the back of my mind, I tried to imagine Aunt Willy’s response to all of this. No doubt she would send him packing. Or insist that I marry him at once, should he be clean-shaven and hardworking.
Regardless, I would keep my distance from the guy. From everything I’d heard, he was nothing but trouble.
4
Walking on Eggshells
A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece.
Ludwig Erhard
I’ve always loved my assistant, Kenny. Well, not loved him in the “till death do us part” way, but I’ve adored his work ethic, his humor, and his amazing talent with cakes. I’ve especially admired his ability to keep me going when I felt like giving up.
Take opening day, for instance. For over seven hours, Kenny and I worked side by side, giving away free samples by the dozens. Thanks in part to his humorous sales pitches, we sold dozens of cookies, over seventeen cakes, and more sticky buns than should be allowed by law. We also sold éclairs, pinwheels, and several dozen cupcakes. I’d never seen so much sugar pass through my hands.
Finally, around 4:30 in the afternoon, the crowd thinned and we were left alone. I began a conversation about Hannah’s upcoming wedding, and Kenny chatted incessantly, clearly enthused and fully on board. Just one more reason why I loved him—he always supported me, no matter what.
Why, then, couldn’t I love him in the way he seemed to love me? And when would I have the courage to tell him face-to-face?
Staring into his baby blues, I shot a silent prayer heavenward, asking the Lord to provide just the right opportunity.
I’d tried to fall in love with Kenny—convinced myself I could if I worked at it. But those feelings never came. Brotherly love, sure. The romantic stuff . . . not so much. Our few dates outside of the bakery had been awkward at best. Surely he could see that. He was probably trying to work up the courage to break my heart. I hoped.
I paused to look at his shaggy hair and scruffy face. Okay, so maybe Bella was right. He did look a little like the guy from Scooby-Doo. Still, Kenny would make some lucky girl a wonderful husband. More than wonderful. His dedication and passion for life would surely make her the happiest woman in the world, and his steady, consistent faith would make her feel secure in every sense of the word.
Reliable.
Steady.
Kenny.
Except right now I didn’t want his version of reliable and steady. Felt more like boring. Predictable.
Right away, shame washed over me. How could I possibly hurt a guy who had everything going for him? One who adored me, no less?
I spent the next hour trying to fall in love with him. I tried as I watched him wash the pans, steam billowing up around him from the hot water. I tried as I watched him pull a tray of cake samples out of the freezer. I tried extra hard when his long, shaggy hair fell into his eyes while he talked to a customer.
Still, I could not love him. Not like that. And I had to tell him—soon. Before he planned our honeymoon and named our children.
When the crowd thinned, I finally worked up the courage.
“Kenny?”
He glanced up from the register. “Would you believe we’ve made over nine hundred dollars today?”
“No way. Aunt Willy will be happy.” I paused. “Look, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about—”
“And I heard one lady say that she was coming back tomorrow with her Bible study group. They’re going to do their weekly study here. Isn’t that cool?” He beamed. “We’ll be a bakery and a ministry. God is so good.” He got wound up, talking about how blessed he felt to be working alongside me. How this bakery could change lives for the better, sweetening not just the tongue but the spirit as well.
I sighed, not because of anything to do with God’s goodness but because I felt so ashamed. He was such an awesome guy. Why couldn’t I love him?
Oh well. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day to tell him that I could not—would not—marry him. Then again, he’d never actually asked. But just in case he did . . . no way, no how could I spend the rest of my life with this precious, godly, amazing, talented man.
I really needed therapy.
I also needed to close up the shop. A couple of minutes before five, I headed toward the door to lock up. The front bell jingled, and I caught a glimpse of a staggeringly handsome man ascending the four steps into the bakery.
The guy could’ve come straight off the cover of a Hollywood magazine. From a distance, his cocoa-brown eyes appeared to sweep over me, lingering as they reached my backside, well within his view. Dude? Are you checking out my sticky buns? Those lips—those enviable, full lips—curled up in a seductive smile. His thick, dark hair tapered neatly to the collar of his shirt, and tendrils of hair curled on his forehead.
Wowza.
I didn’t mean to stare, but looking away proved impossible, and even more as I observed his muscular stride. I knew his type, of course. Not that I’d had a lot of experience with Latin heartthrobs, but I’d seen my fair share of I Love Lucy episodes. And wasn’t
Ricky Ricardo Latin? Didn’t you have to watch out for guys who stared at you the way this fellow was staring at me right now?
The handsome stranger smiled as he drew near. “Are you Scarlet?”
“I am.”
He extended his hand. “Armando Rossi, Bella’s brother. She asked me to stop by to talk to you about a gig at your church.” He glanced around the shop. “Great place. Smells amazing in here. And I love what you’ve done with the decor.” He flashed a white-toothed smile. “It’s strange, but I always notice how a place is laid out. Probably because our family’s been in the restaurant business for so long. You’ve done a great job.”
“Thanks.” I gestured to the near-empty cases. “I wish you’d been here earlier. Those were full this morning.”
“Wow. You’ve sold a lot, then.”
“Yeah, we had an amazing first day. Just a few things left.”
He walked over to the case and stared down at a tray of double chocolate walnut brownies. “Almost looks good enough to eat.”
“Here, I’ll get you one. On the house, I mean.” I scurried behind the case, came out with the largest brownie, and put it on a plate.
Armando took a bite, and a look of pure satisfaction came over him. He sank into a chair and gobbled down the rest, his eyes now closed.
“Mmm. Tastes great.” His eyes popped open as he finished, and I took a seat next to him.
“Thanks. I love to bake.”
“Well, keep it up. If that’s any indicator, this place will be a hit.”
“Aw. Thank you.” I relaxed, suddenly wondering why I’d prejudged this guy. He seemed great.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Kenny entered the room from the kitchen. He stood, shoulders squared, fists clenched, as if ready to take this fellow down. But why? Kenny certainly had nothing to worry about. This Italian heartthrob wasn’t here to marry me, after all—just to talk about running sound at my dad’s church.
Still, from the look on Kenny’s face, Armando had better watch his back. The two might end up in a boxing match.
The Icing on the Cake Page 3