Babycakes

by Donna Kauffman

  The picnic with Birdie hadn’t gone well. Between Lilly’s last-second ambivalence about meeting her estranged grandmother and Birdie’s nervous excitement, it had been somewhat strained and awkward, which was a first for him since arriving in Sugarberry. Unfortunately, it had happened with the one person he’d hoped Lilly would instantly befriend, as she had Kit and Dre. Maybe Birdie needed green hair or some interesting tattoos.

  Or course, Birdie wasn’t at all what her name might imply. She’d been quite friendly and outgoing when they’d spoken on the phone, so that hadn’t been a surprise, but, given the nickname, Morgan had pictured a tiny, more fragile type. In truth, she was quite tall, thin to the point of gangly, and significantly older than he’d expected. He knew Delilah had been a later-in-life baby, but had assumed her mother would be somewhere in her sixties, not much older than his own mother. Birdie, however, was in her mid-seventies, at least, which meant she’d been in her forties when she’d had Delilah.

  Still quite energetic and sharp, Birdie was a little flamboyant with her short blond bob and brightly colored caftan. And she was chatty. Very chatty. Her exuberance over the reunion—understandable as it was—along with her towering height and boldly patterned clothes, had been more than a little intimidating to Lilly, who had hid behind Morgan almost immediately. He’d made gentle efforts to get her to at least come out and be polite, if not social, but he could feel her physically trembling. Unlike his mother, he didn’t put social niceties over compassion and empathy.

  To Birdie’s credit, she immediately realized her faux pas and tempered her enthusiasm, but by then, the initial damage had been done. Morgan had eventually coaxed Lilly to take a seat at the table inside the rec center that Birdie had so beautifully set with their indoor picnic. But Lilly had eaten little and said even less. Morgan made his own small talk with Birdie, hoping Lilly would see that she was a nice woman, and otherwise harmless, but his efforts hadn’t made any obvious difference. Finally, Birdie had stepped in and suggested perhaps they could meet again another time, in a place of Lilly’s choosing.

  Birdie had pulled over a bench seat from the table behind them and sat down near Lilly without getting too close—her aging knees and hips made it impossible for her to crouch down. Gently and kindly, she told Lilly how happy she was they’d met and she hoped they would eventually come to be fast friends. She reminded Lilly it was a blessing to have people in life who loved and cared about her.

  Lilly had nodded, though she hadn’t made eye contact. Morgan had instead, with an apologetic expression. Birdie had merely winked at him, making it clear that while she was surely disappointed, she wasn’t offended in the least.

  Birdie had packed up enough lunch goodies to keep them fed for a week, insisting they take all but two of the cupcakes they’d brought with them. She kept one of her favorites, and one of Lilly’s, and mentioned that next time they got together, they could talk about which one they each had liked best.

  Morgan suspected she’d had more than a few little gifts for Lilly, if the bags stuffed under a neighboring table had been any indication, but she’d chosen to give her just one thing before they’d left. Morgan had mentioned in their conversation that Lilly and he were helping at the research center, in hopes it might encourage Lilly to join in the discussion. She hadn’t, but Birdie had clearly been paying attention.

  She’d given Lilly a special coloring book and paint brush set, explaining that if she brushed water over the pictures, they would magically turn colors. Morgan had yet to see Lilly pick it up since they’d gotten back home, but she had managed a whispered thank you to Birdie when the older woman had given it to her.

  Only Morgan had noticed Birdie’s eyes swim with joyful tears, and that had made his own eyes burn a little, too. Birdie didn’t want much, or even expect much, and he knew that even though the day had not gone as hoped, seeing her only grandchild, for any amount of time, had been a gift she’d likely never thought to have. Morgan had intentionally put the meeting off until Lilly had settled somewhat on Sugarberry, and perhaps he should have pushed it even further back, but he’d wanted Lilly to start getting to know the folks on the island and for them to be out and about more together. The initial meeting with her grandmother was important . . . not something he wanted to have by accident if they happened to bump into each other.

  He might still question the timing, but the look in Birdie’s eyes in that one single moment had answered any remaining questions he might have had about relocating to Sugarberry.

  He took solace in the fact that everyone on Sugarberry that had any involvement with the two of them, clearly wanted what was best for Lilly so he remained sincerely hopeful that with time and the development of trust, it would all work out.

  “Is Miss Kit’s bakery gonna have cupcakes, too?”

  Morgan pulled himself from his thoughts and positioned the corner of the bulletin board where he’d marked the wall. “Actually, Miss Kit’s shop is part of the cupcake bakery.”

  “How?”

  “Well, the bakery where Miss Dre works will sell cupcakes to people like us who live here and walk in to buy them. Miss Kit will run the part next door that makes cupcakes for big parties and to send to people who don’t live on Sugarberry, but want cupcakes.” Of course, he hadn’t known any of that, but Birdie had filled him in when they’d given her the cupcakes.

  “Don’t other people have cupcakes where they live?”

  “Maybe. But you tried Miss Lani’s turtle cupcake for lunch today and you thought it was pretty good.”

  “Ah-mazing.”

  Morgan missed the nail and hit the frame of the cork bulletin board instead. He turned to grin at Lilly. “Ah-mazing, were they?”

  She nodded enthusiastically at that. “The bestest.”

  “Well, see? If someone wanted the bestest, most ah-mazing cupcakes, now they’ll be able to get one no matter where they live.”

  Lilly went back to drawing and Morgan made good use of the brief moment he had before the next barrage of questions began, sinking the nail in the wall with three short raps.

  The sound of the hammer was still echoing from pegging the other end when Lilly said, “Can we call Miss Kit?”

  Morgan sighed, but he smiled when he glanced at her. “Not today. Maybe we’ll stop by and see Miss Dre later. We can leave a message there for Miss Kit and ask if she can come next time.”

  Lilly paused in her drawing and looked up. “Is she mad at us? We didn’t buy her cupcakes.”

  “No, sweet pea, she’s not mad. And she sells the same cupcakes as Miss Dre. But she’s very busy getting the shop set up and probably couldn’t make it.”

  “Can we go see her bakery being made?”

  Morgan didn’t know where the fixation with Kit was coming from, any more than he had with the turtles. He supposed he should be grateful Lilly wasn’t grilling him about fairy tattoos—though he knew better than to drop his guard in that respect. “Maybe we can take a peek. I don’t think there’s much to see yet. I’ll check later, okay?”

  He turned and made a grand sweeping motion with one arm toward the bulletin board. “What do you think?”

  Lilly looked up and studied it for a moment. “It’s crookded.”

  Morgan looked over his shoulder. “Crookded, huh?”

  Lilly nodded and pointed. “That side isn’t the same.”

  Morgan turned fully and studied his handiwork. “Huh. You’re right.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I can try, but I’ll need to go borrow a few more nails from Dr. Gabe.” He put the hammer on the cabinet. “You keep drawing and I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She went back to her picture in progress and Morgan swung out of the room—smack into Kit. He reached for her arms as she stumbled back and both staggered a step or two before coming to rights. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  She let out a short laugh. “That’s okay. No harm done. I don’t think, an
yway.”

  He got caught up in her eyes and didn’t respond. Green and sparkling, lit by her open smile, it was such a contrast to the wary expression she’d sported when they’d spoken at the bakery the day before, he found himself staring.

  “Morgan?” Her smile faltered. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he murmured. “Just fine.”

  The dark centers of her eyes expanded and a different kind of awareness crept in. Morgan’s body responded swiftly to the message and his gaze shifted to her lips.

  Her gaze did the same; then they looked again into each other’s eyes. Morgan might have started to dip his head, the tiniest fraction toward hers, and her lips may have parted, just slightly, on the softest of sighs.

  Flustered, she straightened, eyes blinking and wide. “Okay, well, that’s good. I’m good, too. Fine. Really . . . fine.”

  Morgan let go of her arms as she stepped back. Well . . . he certainly hadn’t anticipated that little . . . moment. And he definitely hadn’t anticipated her instinctive response to it—to him. There was no denying it had happened. Intrigue added to intrigue, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth . . . and what it would have tasted like.

  “Is, uh, Lilly here?”

  He lifted his gaze to take in her entire face, his mind—and body—still hung up on their almost . . . something. Her cheeks had pinked with a light flush. He bet she probably hated that about her pale, Irish skin. He found it rather charming. “She’s in the lab, coloring. I’m putting up a bulletin board so we can post pictures the kids draw of the turtles.”

  “What a nice idea,” Kit said, sounding casual . . . except she was looking at her hands, her feet, the room—anywhere but at him.

  More and more intriguing. Morgan’s grin widened. “I’ve been informed I hung it a bit crookded, so I’m off to hunt up more nails.”

  “Crookded, huh?” She smiled naturally at that and their eyes met again.

  He held her gaze and was rewarded when she didn’t look away. “I could use some help getting it straightened out. If you’re game.”

  She searched his face, as if trying to figure out if she should read something into his words. Her smile stayed, though it turned a shade wry. “As long as you don’t plan on my wielding a hammer.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Am I in some kind of danger?”

  Her smile spread briefly with a flash of white teeth. “From me? No. I’m just more adept at hitting my thumb than I am the head of a nail. I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

  Morgan wondered whether there were lines there he should read between, but he didn’t push. “You hold the board in place, I’ll hammer.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  “So, are you planning to contribute to the art board?” He nodded at the coloring book in her hand.

  “From Dr. Gabe,” she explained. “But I’m afraid I’m all out of crayons.”

  “Well, I happen to be the proud owner of a brand-new sixty-four pack.”

  “Lilly mentioned she had crayons.”

  “She does. But these would be my crayons, thank-you-very-much.”

  Her eyes danced. “Ooh. Your very own. The kind of set that comes with a sharpener?”

  “The very same.”

  “I always wanted that set when I was a kid. Had to settle for the twenty-four pack. I tried to explain that I needed more colors, but my mom thought twenty-four was more than enough.”

  “Well, I don’t think there’s such a thing as too many colors. And I play well with others, so I’ll share.”

  She nodded, the whimsy still in her smile. Morgan found himself more than charmed, more than simply intrigued. With her thatch of red cropped hair, fair skin still glowing pink, and green eyes dancing, she was like a fairy sprite. A fairy sprite with a knowing smile. Hell of a combination, as it turned out. Damn sexy, too.

  “Fair warning,” she said. “I have been known to be a little hard on my crayons. I especially liked cerulean.”

  “You like blue, then? So does Lilly.”

  “Blue’s okay. I just thought it was a really cool name. Cerulean.” She drew out the syllables. “Sounded exotic, even to a five-year-old.”

  “So, you’re a coloring veteran then.”

  She cocked a brow. “When did you start coloring?”

  He grinned. “About ten days ago.”

  “What, your kindergarten teacher didn’t believe in crayons?”

  “My private tutors were more interested in teaching me about the aesthetics of oils versus watercolors.”

  “When you were five?”

  Morgan merely smiled, mentally kicking himself for inserting anything about his Westlake upbringing into the conversation. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was about his family name that had turned her off the day they’d met, but things were progressing well at the moment. He’d very much like that progression to continue.

  She didn’t make any comment about the privileged upbringing implied by private tutors. Instead, that knowing smile deepened slightly. “And?” she queried.

  “And . . . what?”

  “Watercolors . . . or oils? Which did your five-year-old self prefer?”

  He flashed a grin then, surprised—quite pleasantly—by her dry humor. “Oils. I guess I’ve always been a bright colors kinda guy.”

  Her eyes sparkled again. “Well, given we’re coloring water pictures today, you might want to keep an eye on your cerulean. I’d say it’s definitely in jeopardy.”

  He took a step closer, not because he’d intended to, rather simply because he felt a natural pull to do so. She didn’t step back, and—to her credit and his further delight—she didn’t look away, either.

  “So noted.” He took in her soft lips . . . pink cheeks, and something of a considering look still in her bright eyes. While he was loathe to do anything to dampen the rapport they’d easily found, he couldn’t ignore the fact some other underlying . . . something was still going on inside her head, and it wasn’t likely a good something.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t pull away or put her guard up, but that considering look was a lot less subtle.

  “Did I say or do something to cause you to have an issue with me?” He watched her eyes. “Not today, but . . . before?”

  Her smile faltered at that and she looked honestly surprised, possibly a little abashed, at the question. “Why do you ask?”

  His grin returned. “I thought it was only lawyers who answered a question with a question. Or . . . are you one?”

  Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Me, a lawyer? God, no.”

  He chuckled. “So, is that it, then? I’m condemned by profession?”

  “Oh.” She realized her faux pas. “Sorry. No. I know from Dr. Gabe that you’re helping him with some research funding. That’s really great of you. I wasn’t meaning. . . never mind.”

  Gabe had been telling her about him. The good doctor had been telling the truth. He didn’t play at matchmaking; he was quite serious about it.

  Morgan found he wasn’t at all put off by that. “So . . . not a lawyer. And yes, I am one and, yes, I am helping Gabe. I work mostly on environmental causes.”

  “I know.”

  “Ah.”

  “Small island.” Kit seemed to debate saying more. Coming to a decision, she added, “And yet, you don’t seem to know who I am.”

  For some reason he didn’t think her comment had been the one at the root of the mental tug of war. “I know you’re going to work for Lani Dunne, running the side business to her bake shop.”

  “Did you know my last name is Bellamy?”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t recall if she’d told him or if that had come from Birdie or Gabe. “Should . . . that matter to me in some way?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell then?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, suddenly feeling lost. “Should it?”

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d asked what issue sh
e had with him. He’d supposed it was about him being a Westlake, which could elicit any one of a number of responses—many less than positive—from various people. On Sugarberry, he’d assumed it likely had to do with his mother ostracizing Lilly’s maternal grandmother. But with Kit, it sounded rather a lot more . . . personal. And he had no idea what to think.

  She paused and seemed to take stock. “No. No, it shouldn’t.” After a second brief pause, she tried on another smile. It wasn’t at all wary, but didn’t quite reach her eyes any longer. “Well, now that we have introductions out of the way, where’s this crookded bulletin board of yours?” She turned toward the lab door, conversation apparently over, but he stopped her.

  “If I had known your last name was Bellamy, what would I also know about you?”

  She glanced back. “Nothing important. Forget I asked.”

  “I wish I could.”

  She turned back to him. “Meaning?”

  He smiled. “I’m a curious sort. Gets me into all kinds of trouble. Of course, it also got me into my chosen profession, and probably makes me better at it, so I can’t be too annoyed.”

  “I’m sure any one of the locals would be happy to fill you in.”

  “True, but hearsay and secondhand information can be colored by the teller’s perspective. It’s always better to hear it direct from the source.”

  She fought a smile, but he could see it teasing the corners of her mouth. A mouth he found himself watching. . . and still wanting—quite badly, actually.

  “Apparently you can add tenacious to curious,” she said, a wry note in her voice.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “I’m sure that’s another trait responsible for your success in your chosen profession.”

  “It’s come in handy, from time to time.”

  “Yes. It would seem to be a family trait.”

  His smile faded. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’ve been witness, firsthand, to how tenacious Westlake lawyers can be. Can’t say the same about the curiosity factor, though. They didn’t really seem to want to know much of anything about me or what was going to happen to me. Their only interest was winning—at any cost—which, I understand, was a very pretty penny. Since my brother-in-law is a Carruthers, he certainly had the means to take care of their tab.”