“It doesn’t bother you,” Sasha said, but the astonishment couldn’t be hidden by the even tone.
She blinked. “Why would it? We’re not dating dating.”
Another silent conversation, but this time Emma ignored the brisk exchange of words as she put up the first round of pastries for Sunday. Next she went to the deep freezer to pull out sugar cookie dough to thaw. When she came back out to the island, both Abigail and Sasha stared at her with their fallen angel expressions.
“What?” she said, exasperated now.
“Sex?” Abigail asked.
“Completely off the table.” She thought, because the kiss definitely said sex might be on the horizon.
When his mouth crushed and supped on hers there hadn’t been any certainty it wouldn’t happen again nor that she would be annoyed by the prospect.
Sasha leaned forward. “Why are you so adamant about keeping things kosher between the two of you?”
“We’ll be going into business, in a way, together.”
“Didn’t stop you from going out on a date.” Of course Abigail would point out the obvious Emma wanted to ignore.
Emma said, “When I think of him I think volatile, but that’s crazy because I’ve never met someone with so much impulse control.”
“Like I said…” Sasha bit into the last biscuit. “You’ve been around us too long. We’ve never even been introduced to impulse control.”
Lie, Emma thought and smiled. Oh, hell. He managed to infiltrate her thinking. “It just wouldn’t work between us. No point in getting my hopes up. He has major issues to deal with if the abyss is any indication to what he has to tackle.”
“And if he didn’t have those issues?” Sasha asked.
Would he still piece meal those smiles and laughter? Was there a fun guy under all that dark? She shook her head. Her downfall. Looking for the man who wasn’t there in front of her but the pieces of one she glimpsed.
“Tobias isn’t the type of man for me. Not the one I envision or any close variation of the man I could see myself settling down with. Case closed.”
“Ok,” both women said, agreeing without the benefit of an argument.
Oh, hell. Emma pushed down the anxiety. Her usually steady hands shook as she went to the ’fridge to gather the ingredients to mix icing for the cookies.
“By the way,” Abigail straightened, “I talked to Tobias today. He and Josh put together the designs for the display. Sash has signed up—”
“I didn’t talk to you,” Emma said with bite.
“Like you won’t.” Abigail railroaded over the half-hearted protest. “Sasha will get your logo on the display. She’ll make one for the rented canteen, also. He’s got the stuff for the coffee.”
“What are you talking about?” Emma’s mind blanked.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. In order to really promote your union, you’ll be at the college in three weeks for the beginning of the fall semester. I’ve got an in with the Dean.”
“You used to date him.” Emma absently added in the powdered sugar with a homemade cream into a bowl. She stopped, went to the cabinet to the right of the sink to grab her mixer and was back at the island.
She hoped the measured movements would rein in the temper building. “You know I would like it if you passed these ideas by me first.”
“Are you not going to do it?”
She quieted, thinking of the logistics. “I’ll have to go over the numbers. It’s a risk closing down for a week and moving.”
“It’s for a week and less than three miles.” Abigail told her about last year’s numbers for other businesses who did the same. Impressive as hell and more than enough to make up for any lost. “Think of all the people you’ll get addicted to Late Night and they’ll be coming here to get the fix.”
She had a point, but Abigail’s aggressiveness was…grating. Mainly because Emma could very well understand why Sasha didn’t want to spill the beans about being late. And keeping secrets from each other was new for their friendship. No matter how many universally accepted lies Emma might tell, she never kept something big from her friends. She didn’t see their relationship as roadblocks. The downside to being that close had never outweighed the benefits. In the end, it wasn’t her secret to tell, but she could understand the need for keeping it.
“You never make a decision about my business without coming to me first,” Emma said.
Abigail put her hands up. “I didn’t think it would be an issue. You can have Josh cover you either here or there.”
“He’s a student.”
Her friend put her hands down. “Hell, I’ll cover you if it’s really going to put you out.”
The sudden and unexpected anger dissipated. “Let me look at the numbers, but I think I’ll be fine.” Mentally she began to shuffle through recipes she could prepare for college students on the go.
“You snapped at me,” Abigail said in a quiet voice.
Emma stiffened, but looked up. Apparently Sasha had stared off into space, but she blinked and glanced between both of them. Emma replayed the tone of the conversation back in her head.
“I did. I’m sorry, but it’s my business you were being pushy about.”
“I know I crossed a line, but you snapped at me. It’s an observation, not a condemnation.” Abigail pursed her lips. “What else happened on the date?”
The way she asked made Emma laugh. “He didn’t give me a personality transplant. You were being pushy. I pushed back.”
“Yeah,” she said, but looked out the window.
Emma waited for more, but Abigail kept her gaze toward the window. Her friend was trying to work something out in her head.
Sasha must have picked up on the unease and shifted. “Come on,” she said to Abigail. “We’ve loafed breakfast. Let’s head out.”
“Huh?” Abigail blinked and brought her gaze from the window. “Oh. I need to head to work anyway.” She turned those eyes on Emma. “I’ll email you all the details, but I’m sure he’ll forward what I sent him if you give him a call.”
“Since I’ve already pushed back, I might as well say when you send the final bill make sure to split it in half and send that part to me.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “I will beat you with a rolling pin.”
They smiled at each other. The only real apology they’d ever needed, but it felt off. Emma frowned at Sasha and Abigail’s retreating backs. Nothing was changing for them. Life had already intruded on their bond and they’d survived. She snapped because Abigail had been crossing a boundary that had been set up ages ago.
Sasha and Abigail were more than welcome in her home, any time. She trusted them. It wasn’t blind but earned. Yet they didn’t have the same all access pass with Sweet Tooth. It was hers. The one thing she unapologetically kept to herself. That was the only reason why she’d snapped. Emma kicked up the mixer and focused on that instead of the guilt over the flash of temper.
*****
Sasha cleaned and redecorated. Abigail became insufferable with her need to be right and fix everything broken, except for the thing she couldn’t fix. Emma baked. It was how Sweet Tooth began anyway.
Up late at night, aching and trudging through depression, only two things brightened her day: fighting with a recipe to get it right and watching her friends eat the spoils of the war against flour and sugar.
Emma took in the kitchen at her home. Cakes lined the left side of the counter. Ones she’d take down to the women’s battered shelter, and the children always loved to see her coming. The other side had cookies and pies.
Mid-way through the marathon she had to open the back door from the heat, leaving the screen door closed to keep the flies out. Still, the oven warmed the room since it had been on non-stop since the morning. The mid-afternoon sun managed to infiltrate the spaces through the potted rosemary and spearmint.
She wiped her hands clean on the plain purple apron when the visitor rang the bell. She opened the door and smiled when
the smell hit Tobias and his gaze unfocused.
“Smells like heaven,” he said.
“Wait until you taste it.” She smiled.
Emma led him through and the differences between her home and his cemented in her mind. No room held black, even as an accent. Family photos littered the living room table. Local college art students’ paintings and sketches periodically covered the golden-blush paint. A soft throw hung over the tan linen sofa. A similar one lay across the matching love seat. The gold motif was solidified through the area rug’s threads, softening the emerald detailing.
Their kitchens’ seemed to be the warmest rooms in their homes. She had no prints along the walls, but hooks for pots, pans and various implements of her trade. Plated pastries covered the small, round dining table.
He took in the room without a twitch, but then he tilted his head, bringing that knowing gaze to her face. “How’s your day going?”
“I’m working through something and figured to kill two birds with one stone. You can go through and see which pastries you want in your other store. Get a feel for what the other desserts taste like and then we can decide what I’ll be feeding the college students.”
He edged to the table. “You cook to relieve stress.” He shrugged. “I guess you could have a weird baby doll fetish.”
A shot straight to the heart of the situation. She wondered if he ever guessed a person’s actions wrong. Somehow, without a word he knew baking was how she worked through things. Still. He asked to confirm his suspicion, not that he needed to. The sharp insight left her feeling bare and vulnerable to his exacting perception. It also put her at ease that she could never put up a pretense. He’d only see Emma for Emmaline.
Something to muse about for later, she placed her hands on her hips and frowned at the condition of her kitchen and realized the immediate problem. “It might be best if you go out to the patio. There’s no room in here and standing at the sink ruins the experience. I also need to dig up some antacids.”
She gestured to the screen door, her shoulders tense. He was getting a glimpse into her closet. Instead of skeletons, she had baking sheets, pastry paper and pie knives. He nodded without another word, which was off for him. Tobias passing up an opportunity to point out the obvious was like a hammer hovering over a nail. Something was wrong. Emma took note, fell back on her waitressing days and set up plates on a silver tray and took them out to him.
“You need one of those carts,” he said when she came outside.
He motioned to the chair next to him. A table separated the other two plaid-covered patio chairs. She had to squeeze between them to sit down. It wasn’t until now that Emma could see the closeness of the furniture. When Abigail or Sasha sat in the same space it didn’t feel minuscule. With Tobias the distance felt like inches and left no room to offset the electricity. One or two hundred feet might make it seem safer to be near him.
“I’ve made some calls,” he said. “And the canteen will be big enough for the both of us and our equipment. Abigail sent me a list of the things you’ll need.”
“She did?”
“She’s very efficient and detail-oriented. Why is her biggest seller male enhancement products?”
“You’ve seen her in action. Break a piece of that Hello Dolly off for me.”
Using his fork he pointed to several dishes and she nodded at the right one. “I’ve seen her in action. I still don’t know why her company wouldn’t utilize her for bigger accounts. No pun intended.”
“None taken,” she said. “It’s hard to talk about her money-making clients without it sounding dirty.” She shrugged, cupped her other hand out to catch any graham and coconut crumbs and took a bite. “This one would go good with the coffee you made me the other day.”
“Almonds and coconuts go good together.” He pushed the dish to the left and then carved a small piece out of a cappuccino muffin—the Cadillac of muffins. “This, definitely for the college students. So, what was it you were working through?”
“Something my friend said bothered me so I was trying to figure out what made me do it.”
“Do what?” He moved on to a slice of Pig Lickin’ Cake.
She finished off the Hello Dolly he’d pushed away after one taste. “I was testy, snappish.”
He put the plate to one side of the table. It took her a moment to get he had a reject and accept pile.
“Being testy sends you into a frenzy of baking?” he asked.
“I’m not usually snappish.”
“Ah, right. You’re unencumbered. Nothing makes you mad, but if you go with that then nothing can make you happy. What makes you angry, Emmaline?”
“Know-it-alls.” She frowned as he slid another plate toward the rejected pile. This time it a strawberry confection.
“What else?” he asked.
Another plate moved to the rejected pile and there were only two left he hadn’t tested. Four in the accepted pile. Out of twelve. He liked four. “It covers all manners of sins. Know-it-alls usually lack humility. They have tunnel vision and have a tendency to forget there’s a person they’re running over.”
“What makes you happy?” He bit into a tart and hummed a little before pushing it into the rejected pile as well.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s good.”
She considered the four acceptable plates. “I’ll get the others.”
Emma picked up the rejects and laid them back on the tray. Once inside, she put it down on the only free space on the island and tasted each one. They were fine. She wondered if he was playing another mind game. Putting aside decent desserts to see just how egotistical Emma was over her food. Glancing out the window to where he sat on the patio and then back to the dishes displayed, she picked her next choices with more care. Grabbed some water to make sure he could cleanse his palate. Back out, they began the same process.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Tobias said without much urgency. Not like he’d done the day before. “What makes you happy?”
“The predictability in quiet, for one. When I sit out here, when no one is home.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is a rare moment we have.” She shifted. “Usually, either Sasha or Abigail is here, if not both of them.”
“You prefer your solitude?”
“All solitude all the time would drive me nuts. So, when there are quiet moments, I cherish them. It makes me happy to know I can be content within them.”
“Like this morning?” He pushed a third dish toward the rejected pile to the left of him.
“Yes,” she said, irritated.
“Lie.”
She snatched her gaze from the pile. “How is that a lie?”
“Being snappish puts you into a frenzy of baking.” He leaned back for a moment. “From having a human moment, you bake.” He pffted. “That doesn’t speak of contentment.”
She huffed. “It could mean being considerate bothers me.”
He shook his head. “If you yelled at someone, I bet I’d find you buried in flour and cherry syrup. What do you have against confrontation?”
“I don’t have anything against it.” She straightened in her chair. “I just don’t find any use for it.”
“So, you’ll let anyone run over you because you don’t have a use for it?”
“That’s not what I said,” she countered.
Another plate went to the rejected pile, leaving the keepers at four. She shifted in the chair, frowning at the plates. Knowing too much sugar could make a good experience turn into a bathroom nightmare, she’d made sure the tastes were small but big enough to consider all facets of the dessert. He’d taken no more than one bite of each and savored the flavors before making his final decision. His tastes of her dishes had started to feel like one big resounding no.
“Like I told you before,” Tobias said, “actions are what tell you the truth. Yours tell me that you’d rather let someone walk all over you
than to stand up for yourself. If you do, you’re racked with guilt.” He gestured to the plates that were giving her fits at the moment. “It changes the way your food tastes. There is a difference in making things out of worry and making things because you love doing it.”
“For a man so practical you have a poetic streak. The ingredients are the same.”
“Ah, but how did you make it? With a precise and steady hand? Beat at the eggs angrily? Impatient and ready for it to be over, did you take the pie or cookies out a moment too soon? Here.” He offered one of her cookies. “Tell me what’s missing?”
“I’m biased,” she said, and then bit into the chocolate chunk cookie. The nuggets of chocolate melted in her mouth like they were supposed to. “It’s ok.”
“Now compare how it tastes with the Late Night you fed me that first day.”
“Two different desserts. Of course, they won’t taste the same.”
“Indulge me.”
She took another begrudging bite though Emma knew it wouldn’t hold up. Not much held up to Late Night. Her scowl deepened when the cookie could barely stand up to itself.
“I would ask what your point is but that would be playing stupid for no reason. Other than pride,” she added.
“This will work to our advantage anyway. I won’t be picking desserts based solely on taste. I’m looking for practical too. Cookies and muffins are practical.”
Ego still a little bruised, it was hard to agree wholeheartedly. “Hmm.”
He laughed and the sound eased the tension in the air. “Tell me I’m being a pigheaded bastard. It’ll make you feel better.”
She pursed her lips to keep the smile from showing. “You’re a pigheaded, tasteless bastard.”
His eyes glittered with humor. “See. You feel better already. I can tell.”
“I have more but I think we have enough to start. A suggestion box might also be a good idea. I’m willing if the clientele becomes so.”
He shook his head. “Four isn’t enough.”
“You’re right about the muffins and the cookies. They’re a millions of ways you can bake them. Those will sell better with the college crowd. Something on-the-go and in the mornings I can make sure they’re hot, especially since I’m not selling the traditional doughnuts or fast breakfast foods. Pretty much do the same I’ll be doing for your store across the street.”
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