Babycakes

by Donna Kauffman

  Still . . . she was smiling as she finally climbed into her car. Sure, she would have much preferred a Westlake-free environment, but, given the rest of the items on the plus side of the list, it was a compromise she was willing to make. It wasn’t like they had to spend time together.

  Kit turned her thoughts to Lani’s job offer, to the excited and passionate pastry chef and her sexy, British husband, and to the lively little senior, Alva, and her love of pirates. Making her decision, Kit gave a pound to the steering wheel. “Ready or not, Sugarberry. Here I am.”

  Morgan was leaning in the doorway behind Gabe as Kit left the building.

  The older man didn’t seem all that surprised when he turned and found him there. “Nice young woman. Good spirit. Good heart.”

  “You got all that from a ten minute chat?”

  The good doctor smiled. “It’s easier to read some than others. No pretenses with that one. She’ll let you know how she feels.” He slid the clipboard out from where he’d tucked it under his arm and studied something on the top page. “She certainly did with you,” he added casually.

  Morgan already knew that despite his somewhat absentminded professor demeanor, Gabriel Langley was anything but.

  “Never saw her before,” Morgan said. Though, admittedly, he was intrigued enough—despite her reaction to his name or maybe because of it—to hope their paths might cross again. “Can’t say why she reacted the way she did.”

  “I believe it was your last name that gave her pause.”

  “Oh, I got that part. I just don’t know why. I know the islanders might be concerned, given my family’s history, especially with Birdie Wiggins. I think they’ll come to see I only mean to make things better—for Lilly and for Birdie. I have their best interests at heart. I do.”

  “Oh, I think you’re right about that. Just give it time.”

  “But she—Kit—isn’t from here, so I don’t know how she even knows anything about me.”

  “I believe she mentioned something about overhearing a conversation in town.”

  “So, folks aren’t saying kind things then, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that. Just that she heard something about you being here and about the situation with Miss Lilly. Might be she understands a little something of that. Personally, I mean.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Gabe looked up, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “A look in her eyes. Sometimes a person can just tell. Maybe that was why she reacted to you the way she did. Hard to say. Seemed right friendly, otherwise.”

  When Morgan didn’t have anything to add to that, Gabe flipped a page on the clipboard and went back to reading. “Sounds like she plans to stay on Sugarberry, though,” he said, at length. “Maybe she’ll see your good intentions, too. Change her mind.”

  Morgan grinned, surprised, but kind of touched at the same time. “You playing matchmaker, doctor?”

  “Oh, I don’t play at that.” A smile ghosted around his mouth as he flipped another page. But he didn’t bother to elaborate.

  Still grinning, Morgan said, “Lilly and I are going to head out, get out of your hair. It’s dinnertime. Do you, by chance, have the number for the pizza place?”

  “Take-out menu is in the folder on top of the cabinet over there.”

  “Great.” Morgan crossed the room. “I really appreciate your patience and understanding. With Lilly, I mean. I had no idea she was going to become so fixated on the turtles, but—”

  Gabe looked up, his smile soft and clearly filled with affection. “The turtles can use all the attention they can get. She’s welcome here.”

  “I—thanks. That means a lot. I don’t always know what to do with . . . well, everything, when it comes to taking care of her. But this is the first thing I’ve seen her take a real shine to, since . . .”

  “I’m happy and touched the turtles mean something to her,” Gabe filled in when Morgan trailed off.

  “I know this is a lot to ask, but I don’t want her to worry about them. About losing them, I mean. I’ll keep her away from the ones that are in need of more . . . intensive care. I just—she doesn’t need more loss.”

  “I understand. There are plenty here who will be just fine, if not perfect, when we release them. If you would like to be involved with that, we can get her following the few who are closest to that stage.”

  “They don’t need to be perfect, just preferably not dying. In fact, she’s taken a shine to the big guy back there. She calls him—”

  “Paddlefoot.” Gabe smiled. “So, I heard. He’ll be with us a good while longer, but he’s doing well.”

  “Sounds like a good fit then.”

  “He’ll be released eventually,” Gabe warned.

  “Hopefully, by then, she’ll understand that’s a good thing for him. Do you do the releases here?”

  Gabe nodded. “Right off the beach.”

  “Well, maybe we can be involved in some other releases before he goes, so she understands how it works, what’s in store for the turtles, and why it’s good they get to go home again.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

  “I also showed her the egg nest. I thought it might intrigue her, or at the very least, be a distraction. She’s very concerned about them.”

  “So are we, to be honest,” Gabe said. “It’s late in the season for a nest to hatch. Not unheard of, but it’s not as usual this far north. There’s only the one nest left.”

  “It’s been pretty warm this fall.”

  Gabe nodded. “But it still cools off quite a bit at night, and temperatures could become less moderate at any moment. If it gets too cold, the eggs stop incubating. We’ve been testing the temps in the sand, and keeping an eye on them. The mother picked a good location high up on the beach, not at risk for flooding, and we haven’t had any big storms or heavy rains, so we staked it out, fenced it from predators, and we’ll let it go as it goes.”

  “Do you know how many are in there?”

  “We inspected the nest early on. One hundred sixteen eggs by our count.”

  “Wow. What percentage do you think will make it?“

  “It’s anyone’s guess, but the sooner they hatch, the better chance we have of getting as high a percentage as possible.”

  “Could you dig them up, hatch them inside?”

  “Not here. They should hatch in the next two weeks, so we think it will go as well as can be expected.”

  “Will you be out there? Or monitoring it in some way?”

  “We have a camera mounted under the pavilion awning closest to the nest. It’s still a bit of a distance, but we’d see the surface disturbance enough to know they’re coming out.”

  Morgan entered the pizza place’s number into his phone and put the folder back. “How well will they do once they come out? I mean, do you think they’ll mostly make it?”

  “Their chances of making it to adulthood are rough, but if we’re lucky enough to be there when they hatch, we can do our best to keep the other creatures away, and at least help them to the water. The crabs and birds won’t be a threat at night. We mostly work to keep the man-made barriers, trash, netting, that sort of thing, to a minimum to help keep their path clear to the water. And keep the lights off, so they don’t get confused.” He flipped the papers back on his clipboard and put it under his arm. “If any of the film comes out well, we can show Lilly an edited piece of the babies digging through the surface and trekking to the water. It really is a sight to see.”

  Morgan smiled. “That would be great. I’d be happy to help with that, if you need me to. I’ve put a lot of film together for clients . . . for in court and for fund-raising, so I’ve gotten pretty handy with that sort of thing.”

  Gabe smiled. “Good to know. Careful what you offer.”

  Morgan’s smile spread to a grin. “It would be my pleasure. Something to balance out the work life.”

  Gabe’s expression turned knowing. “Funny. Kit said something alo
ng the same lines.”

  Morgan shook his head and chuckled. “Glad to know you’re not matchmaking.” He headed back toward the door to the lab where Lilly was keeping Paddlefoot company.

  “I didn’t say that.” He smiled, a sage look on his face. “Just that I don’t play at it.”

  As Morgan neared the doorway, he could hear Lilly singing quietly, and that lump came back to his throat. He looked back at Gabe, barely registering what the man had said. “Thank you. Again.”

  Gabe merely lifted a hand in an easy wave and headed toward the front of the building.

  Morgan paused at the door to the rehab area, not wanting to intrude just yet. Lilly was singing so softly he couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded soothing and comforting, rather than sad, which, he discovered as he listened, soothed something inside him as well.

  The song ended, and he stepped into the room so she could see him. “Hey, sweet pea,” he called out, just loudly enough that she could hear him. “Pizza time.”

  She slid off the stool he’d parked her on and said good-bye to Paddlefoot, then said her good-byes to each and every other turtle.

  Morgan had long since lost track of the number of tears he’d shed in the past nine months, but at least the moisture gathering in his eyes this time was from happiness. Heal and be healed. He’d seen enough of life, knew enough about himself, to know that would happen for him, eventually. Already, he’d learned Lilly would be a big part of the healing process. Maybe it was going to happen for her, too.

  He scooped her up and swung her lightly around. “What do you think about pepperoni?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “What say we go find out?”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Okay.”

  Her body was relaxed and more than a little heavy, but he relished every ounce of the weight. They’d had a very big day, and she was understandably tired. For once, it was from a day well spent, doing new and interesting things. There would be more days like this to come, too. It bolstered his confidence that he’d done the right thing, taking her to the turtle hospital.

  She was already half dozing as Morgan ducked through the door to cross the lab. He nodded at Gabe, who smiled at him and his sleepy cargo, and nodded in return. He turned his back to duck through the long plastic flaps across the reception door and saw that Gabe had followed them to the front door.

  “You know”—Gabe spoke quietly, so as not to disturb Lilly—“you should think about finding out why.”

  Morgan paused. “Why what?” he asked, keeping his tone soft.

  “Why your last name gave Miss Kit pause.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  Gabe smiled, his alert focus sharpening his gaze. “Well, since you’re helping with the funding, and possible video editing, and Miss Lilly there might be of some help this winter break when I lose my student interns from the college. . . it’s my guess you’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

  “We will?”

  “She’ll be back. And often, I’m thinking. Best to clear the air now. It’s important things remain calm around here.”

  “I doubt she’d be combative about it. I know it doesn’t matter to me, one way or the other.”

  Gabe smiled again. “Maybe it should. Find her and figure things out.”

  “How do you propose I do that?”

  “It’s a small island. Can’t be too hard.”

  “But—”

  Gabe folded his arms, and Morgan was reminded that he used to be a college professor. Heaven help the student who underestimates the kindly old guy.

  “You’re a lawyer,” Gabe said. “I hear they’re supposed to be pretty good with words. I’m sure you’ll find some.”

  Morgan smiled and shook his head. Cradling his sleeping niece, he crossed the lot to his truck. Intrigued by Gabe’s persistence and his own attraction to Kit, he thought, Yeah, but will the words I come up with be the right ones?

  Chapter 5

  Five whirlwind days later, Kit found herself knocking once again on the back door to the cupcakery. It was time to meet up with more than just Lani and Baxter, who had indeed, turned out to be swoon-worthy. Big and blond, with charm to spare and a killer accent, he and his wife had been ridiculously adorable together the night Kit had had dinner with them. She only hoped the evening went half as well as that dinner had.

  Alva opened the door and motioned Kit in. “Chilly out there. Hurry on inside where it’s warm.”

  With the winter season almost upon them, the Indian summer temperatures had dipped unseasonably low the night before and had barely reached fifty that afternoon. For the Georgia coast in November, it was downright frigid.

  Kit ducked into the kitchen area and Alva quickly closed the door behind her.

  “You changed your hair”—Kit smiled at the older woman—“And here I thought we’d be Team Redhead.”

  Alva patted her bonnet of artfully teased and lacquered curls, which weren’t red any longer, but retained quite a pink hue. “It was just a rinse I was trying out. Laura Jo’s been bugging me about it ever since she went red last year. I told her it wasn’t me, but you know she won’t keep quiet until she gets her way. She claims it’s what got the attention of Felipe, her man friend who runs the bait shop. Well, I tried to tell her I didn’t need any such help, but Lord knows she has her own mind about things. Before I knew it, I was in the chair at Cynthia’s place.”

  “Well, what matters most is that you feel comfortable with it. People give me a hard time for keeping mine so short, but when you work in a hot kitchen all day, every day—”

  “By people, I’m guessing you mean men,” Alva interrupted. “I’ll never understand their unending fascination with long hair. Why, just the other evening, we were watching television and Hank was making a comment about that actress—oh, what’s her name—who went and chopped her hair short for some role she was playing.”

  “Is Hank your husband?”

  Alva surprised her by blushing six shades of pink—none of them matching her hair—and fluttering her hands over the ever-present pearls at her throat. “Why no, that would be my dear, departed Harold. Love of my life, that man. Hank Shearin runs the grocery at the corner. He’s forever blocking our alley out back with his delivery trucks. A more frustrating man you’d never meet. Annoying you with his bullheaded opinions one minute, charming you right into having dinner the next.”

  “Ah,” Kit said, unsure if she should squelch the smile she was feeling. “Well, whatever the fascination they have with long hair, they’ll have to get over it when it comes to me.” She skimmed her palm over the unwieldy tufts of hair poking up on the top of her head and flicked back the ones that constantly fell across her forehead. “I’d shave it, given half the chance.”

  “You know, some women do. You might have the head for it. Our Miss Dre does. Have you met her yet?”

  “Not yet, but now I’m even more interested in doing so. Completely shaved?”

  “Not completely. She still has some in the middle. So, do you have a gentleman friend? A husband?”

  “No to both.” Kit smiled in surprise at the question.

  Alva smiled right back and patted her arm. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we, dear?”

  Before Kit could get past the sudden choking sensation in her throat to consider formulating a response, Alva was sliding her arm through Kit’s and steering her into the kitchen. She patted Kit’s hand and leaned in to add, “If you do it right, you only need one to fill both positions.”

  With no clue how to respond, Kit smiled, feeling a little more nervous about the evening ahead.

  Lani walked over to her wearing a chef’s coat with GATEAU stitched over the breast, left over from when she had managed Baxter’s bakery in New York City. Her hair was pulled up in a simple ponytail. “I’d hug you, but I’ve got pastry dough hands.” She wiggled flour-covered fingers. “Come on,
let me introduce you to everyone.”

  For Kit, the days had been a blur of business talk, contract negotiations, celebrating, and jumping straight into helping assemble a small army of local tradesmen and subcontractors responsible for transforming the tailoring shop into a mail-order catering site. It was overwhelming in many ways, but such a welcome relief from what she’d dealt with for the past year, and had a far more positive end in sight.

  However, the evening was social, not business. Usually quite confident in that area, she was coming to realize how decimating the trickle-down effect of utter betrayal could be. Intellectually, she knew only Trixie and Teddy were responsible for what had happened, but she couldn’t help feeling less than confident about her own judgment after being so grossly taken advantage of by the ones she’d trusted the most.

  So far, everyone she’d crossed paths with had been quite welcoming, but she had no idea how she’d be received in a social setting or if she was up to reading the subtle nuances that came into play when meeting a group of people who’d already established a tight bond with one another. She knew Lani was hopeful they’d all become fast friends. Kit was just as hopeful. But it was a lot to take in, a lot to tackle—all at once.

  “Everyone? Meet Kit Bellamy, new friend, fellow baker, and”—she paused for dramatic effect, much to the detriment of the knot already forming in Kit’s stomach—“our new manager of Babycakes!”

  A cheer went up from the small group—which thankfully included Charlotte—and Kit saw nothing but sincere goodwill and joy at the announcement. The knot loosened up . . . and so did she.

  She gave a little wave. “Hello, everyone. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Welcome to Cupcake Club,” Charlotte said, beaming with a certain amount of pride.

  Whether it was for the club itself or for being the one to bring her into the fold, Kit had no idea, but it was all positive, so she ran with it. “Thanks. I’m happy to be here.”