Take the Cake

by Sandra Wright

  Kate had raised an eyebrow at that.

  “No,” Jack had patted her hand for emphasis. “Hear me out. All that romantic stuff, and the … uh …” His ears had turned pink at this. “… the other side of things.” He squinted at her to make sure she was following what he was too embarrassed to voice to his baby girl, and, at Kate’s amused nod, had continued with a slight sigh of relief. “You know,” he had said in a gruff tone, “that stuff don’t always last. Passion can wax and wane, but a good intimate friendship will just keep getting better with age.”

  “Is that what you and Mom had?” Kate had asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Jack had given a wry grin, his gaze turning inward to the past. “Oh yeah. Hell, once I met that woman, I knew my life was never going to be the same.” He winked. “Gwen and I loved each other hard for over twenty years. Mind you, we fought just as hard too.”

  He had reached up and stroked his mustache with a reminiscent smile on his face until he remembered Kate was sitting quietly with him at the table. He had cleared his throat. “Just promise me you’ll remember that, Kat. Any good relationship has friendship at the core.”

  “Sure thing, Dad,” Kate had replied, a little puzzled at Jack’s quiet insistence. “Have you had this talk with Paul?”

  “Yup.” Jack had sat back at that, reaching for his beer and taking a swig. “My old man told me I’d know when the time was right to pass the advice on. Seemed to me that today was the day.”

  Jack had given her a small smile and had sipped at his beer again, clearly uncomfortable with the somber conversation. Kate smiled, and then reached over to give him a kiss and a hug.

  “Love you, Dad,” she had whispered in his ear.

  “Love you too, Kat. Always. You remember that.”

  He was dead a week later.

  Kate sighed as she remembered his words, wiping her eyes against the sudden moisture and telling herself that it was from the cracked pepper she was adding to the dish. She didn’t like feeling maudlin and knew that even Jack would be shaking his head at her if he could see her now. And anyway, there was plenty in her life to smile about these days. More so now that she had met Michael.

  She smiled as she thought of his gentle smile and the way his auburn hair had ruffled in the breeze as they’d walked. The wind had blown the scent of his aftershave around her in delightful clouds, and the combination of that, with the touch of his hand, brush of his lips, and the comfort of his arm around her shoulder, had left her with a sense memory that made her feel warm.

  ~~~

  The words were bubbling in Michael’s mind as he unlocked his front door and strode into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. Throwing his keys onto the table, he reached for the phone. He had his favorite Chinese take-out on speed dial, so it was the work of a moment to place his order, and then he strode into the living room toward his desk to boot up his laptop.

  He felt energized and eager to write. Again, he had no clear structure in mind, but he knew once he gave the words access to the page they’d settle and grow and flourish beneath his fingertips. The take-out was delivered, and he forked into it while he kept his attention on the screen. The chili peppers hit his taste buds, making him draw a sharp breath, and he scooped some steamed rice into his mouth to try and cool the burn. He chewed and swallowed with caution, wiping his eyes as they began to water. He hadn’t eaten spicy food for a while, and now his taste buds were going into overdrive, protesting at the sudden abuse. Getting adventurous now and then seemed to come with a price. As his mouth began to cool, he stirred some rice into the other container, hoping to reduce the chili pepper effect for the next mouthful. Just because the first taste of adventure was a shock, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t keen to go back for more.

  He sat cross-legged on his sofa, picking at his take-out containers. His laptop was on the coffee table and he squinted at the screen, reading what he had written during the week. He still had no clear sense of what he was hoping to achieve, but found that the mere act of writing again was more soothing than he had ever given it credit for. Perhaps if he gave his words some more structure …

  Twisting on the sofa, he peered across at his desk to the stack of blank index cards that hadn’t been touched in weeks. For years now they’d been an integral component of his writing, and yet this time he’d started work without even giving them a moment’s thought. Dropping the fork back into one of the containers, he set it down on the coffee table and uncoiled himself to walk over and pick them up, along with a pen.

  He made his way back to the laptop in a thoughtful mood, turning the cards over and over in his hands. Sitting down again, he stared into space, the pen poised over the top card on the pack. Words flitted through his head, possibilities, characters, plot devices, and yet none of them held any appeal. He sighed and flicked the pen toward the table, not caring as it skittered across the surface and over the edge, landing silently on the rug. The cards followed, spraying in a graceful arc across the wood grain of the table.

  Michael leaned forward and snagged a container toward him, and then retrieved his fork and began to eat. He chewed slowly, staring at the cards on the table. Indexing and mapping out his characters and story lines had always been his style. Meticulous planning and attention to detail was his trademark, and yet this time it seemed his well honed habits were going to languish in a corner somewhere. His writing this time around seemed to be far more organic, evolving and developing into something unexpected. He wasn’t used to dealing with the unexpected, but he had a feeling he was going to like it.

  He scooped some more take-out into his mouth and chewed with relish. He’d gotten used to the burn now, and it was good.

  ~~~

  “Morning, boss.” Wren yawned.

  “Wren, don’t call me boss,” Kate answered as she slid the key into the lock. She shot Wren a sidelong look as she opened the door and stood aside to let her enter. “You okay?”

  “Sorry, boss.” Wren gave a jaw-popping yawn again. “Just get me caffeinated and I’ll be fine.”

  Kate watched as Wren disappeared into the kitchen to hang up her coat and bag, and then reappeared to lug the chalkboard outside. Kate shed her coat and bag as well, and then switched on the coffee machine.

  “Forgot the chalk,” she explained as she plucked it out of the glass beside the register and went back outside to write her quote of the day.

  “Did you get any sleep last night?” Kate asked in concern when Wren stumbled back through the store, almost sleepwalking.

  “Sure.” Wren yawned again as she dropped the chalk back into the glass with a plink. “I was up late working on some gear for the store and watching a bit of TV.”

  “What was on?” Kate asked.

  “A documentary about Woodstock,” Wren answered as she collected the glass jugs from a shelf behind the counter and filled them up with water from the tap. “Free love in the sixties might have sounded like fun, but it came with a price.”

  “Oh, really?” Kate started to froth some milk, and after a considered gaze at Wren, got out a grande sized cup for her. Wren really looked like she needed all the caffeine she could get.

  Wren slumped against the counter as she waited for Kate to finish the coffees. They both looked up at a whoop of laughter from outside, and smiled as Emily giggled her way past the chalkboard and into the store.

  “Okay, Wren,” she said as she reached the counter. “I have to ask. How on earth did you think that one up?”

  Wren grinned. “I was just telling Kate that I watched a show about Woodstock last night.”

  “Ah.” Emily nodded. “That explains it then.”

  “Right. Now I have to see for myself,” Kate said, setting down the milk jug and, against Wren’s protests, walked outside. She had to smile when she read Wren’s artful scrawl.

  When you give freely of yourself,

  your reward might be a serious case of crabs.

  Kate laughed and sh
ook her head, wagging an admonishing finger at Wren. “And this is why we’re not uptown,” she said.

  “And it’s why you love me,” Wren replied, poking her tongue out. “Now finish making my coffee, woman!”

  “Yes’m,” Kate drawled as she made her way back to the machine. She smiled to herself as she poured the foamy milk into their cups, and the three of them took a quick break to enjoy their morning ritual.

  “So what’s the special going to be today?” Emily asked.

  “I’ve been thinking of a few variations,” Kate replied, “but Wren’s little effort out there has just bumped one to the front of the queue.”

  Wren tried to look modest. “Just doing my bit to help,” she answered, and then straightened up as a thought hit her. “Fuck, I must be more tired than I thought. I forgot to show you the pretties.”

  Kate and Emily exchanged a baffled look.

  “The what?” Kate said.

  “Stay there,” Wren instructed, and went into the kitchen to fetch three flat packages that had been wrapped with black tissue paper which she set down on one of the tables.

  “Wren,” Kate began, “what have you been up to?”

  “Nothing that you didn’t given me permission to do,” Wren replied with a wide-eyed look.

  “But we only had that conversation yesterday,” Kate objected. “You can’t have done them already.”

  Wren stopped unpacking and stood with an exasperated hand on one hip. “I could if I started them back when we first started talking about it weeks ago.”

  Kate regarded Wren with an amused expression. “That sure of yourself, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Wren shrugged. “Now check these out and prepare to fall in love.” She looked on as Emily began to pick with careful fingers at the package Wren had handed her. “Emily,” she sighed. “It’s tissue paper; you’re meant to rip the shit out of it.”

  “Oh,” Emily replied, “well, in that case …” She ripped the parcel apart with both hands, and Kate followed suit.

  There was a long silence, broken only when Wren huffed out the breath she had been holding. “Will one of you say something?”

  “Wren,” Kate began, and then stopped and swallowed. “I don’t know what to say, they’re …”

  “Beautiful,” Emily supplied.

  Kate gave a mute nod, her throat suddenly tight. The colors of the fabric blazed against the black tissue paper. She reached in and pulled the garment out with reverent hands, holding it up to inspect it closer.

  It was an apron, the likes of which she had never seen before. It was made of sturdy black cotton, but that was where the practicality ended. Wren had sewn a patchwork of Chinese brocades, ribbons, and braids in a multi-hued pattern that sang to the eyes. Kate glanced over to see Emily regarding hers with an expression of awe, and knew that her face must mirror the other woman’s expression.

  “They might look delicate,” Wren broke in, “but they’re machine washable, like you wanted. And look.” She stepped toward Kate and pulled out a smaller package. “Yours is a bit different.” Opening the bundle, she revealed a sheet of soft, clear plastic that affixed over the apron panel by way of a series of clear snaps. “There you go, so anything will wipe off.” She gave Kate and anxious look. “Have I done good?”

  Kate looped the apron over her head and tied it around her waist, then swept Wren into a tight hug. “You’ve done good, kiddo,” she said in a muffled voice. “I love them.”

  “I need to get in on that action too,” Emily chimed in, insinuating herself for a group hug.

  When they broke apart, Kate and Wren both sniffed a little, and then laughed at their foolishness.

  “You really like them?” Wren asked again.

  Kate gave her a sigh of amused exasperation. “Wren, if we don’t start wearing them, I’ll have them framed and hung up instead because they’re works of art.”

  Emily nodded in happy agreement, and Wren beamed.

  “Now I’ve gotta get baking.” Kate looked at her watch.

  “Speaking of which,” Wren said, “what was it about the chalkboard quote that gave you the cupcake idea?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  ~~~

  “You know I’m capable of being a patient man, but you’re going to have to tell me sooner rather than later.”

  “I know, Alistair,” Michael replied. “But I don’t really know what it is myself, so how the hell can I describe it to you?”

  “Interesting point,” Alistair conceded.

  Michael leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk as he listened to Alistair. The phone calls from his editor were fewer these days, but all the same, he knew that the publishers were going to want something soon.

  He’d woken refreshed after another night of solid sleep. It hadn’t escaped his notice that his words had returned and taken the place of his insomnia. The nights he slept the best were inevitably the days that he’d seen Kate. He’d gone for his morning jog through the park, past the bench where they had sat together. Today he’d taken a different route, stopping in at the large dog run. He’d stood, leaning against the fence, watching the dogs run and play together. Some of the more inquisitive ones had trotted up to the fence and sniffed at his hand, allowing a quick pat. Kate had been right; the unconditional acceptance and enjoyment of the day seemed to rub off. He had jogged home, feeling more awake than he had in a long time.

  “Look,” Michael suggested after a while, “why don’t I send you the first few chapters of what I’ve done, and you can see if you can make any sense of it.”

  There was a startled pause.

  “Did you say chapters? As in plural?” Alistair asked.

  “Yes.” Michael couldn’t help but smile at the careful way Alistair posed the question.

  “What, uh …” Alistair cleared his throat. “How many words are we talking about here?”

  Michael flicked a glance toward his laptop. “Last time I checked, about thirty thousand, give or take.”

  “Right,” Alistair replied, sounding a little hoarse this time. “Okay, Michael, if you’re comfortable letting me have a look then I’d love to see it.”

  “Okay, give me a minute and I’ll send it through,” Michael replied, tapping the space bar on the laptop to activate it from sleep mode, and wedged the phone between his ear and chin as he began to type.

  “You’re sending it now?”

  “No time like the present.”

  “Michael,” Alistair said, “I have no idea what changed in your life recently, but keep it up.”

  A vision of Kate flashed into Michael’s mind. “I plan to.”

  ~~~

  David had set out with a plan, and yet despite his well thought-out intentions for the day, he found himself pacing the sidewalk across the street from the bakery. He jammed his hands into his pockets and scuffed his shoes on the pavement while he thought. He’d made his career decision, and now it was time for the other one that he had been considering. He looked over at the bakery, squinting as he saw movement again. He thought he caught a glimpse of her red hair as she bent over at a table to collect a cup, and then she moved toward the back of the store.

  David sighed and looked down at his feet, scuffing again. Finally he looked up and set his jaw.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered and set off across the street. He’d had enough indecision in the last month to last him a lifetime. He knew what he wanted now.

  As he reached the door to the bakery, his gaze flickered across to the chalkboard, and he grinned at the phrase before stepping inside. He took a moment to orient himself and looked at the counter to see where she was.

  “Hey, isn’t that the guy that’s been in here with Galahad?” Emily asked with a nudge as she passed.

  Wren looked up from her task, snorting when she saw who had come in. “Yeah, it’s Mr. Wonderful,” she answered in a dismissive tone, bending over the cups to pour in the milk and then tracing a quick pattern in the milk froth.


  Emily watched as David approached the counter, his gaze rarely shifting from Wren who seemed to be going to great lengths to avoid acknowledging his presence. “I dunno, Wren. Seems to me you might want to think about cutting him a little slack.”

  “Whatever.” Wren straightened and picked up the saucers. “But for now I’m busy.”

  David reached the counter just as Wren slid away and carried her order out toward her waiting customers, a bright efficient smile on her face. He watched her go, and then turned to Emily who gave him a sympathetic smile.

  “Give her time,” Emily suggested, startling David.

  “You knew?”

  Emily looked over at Wren who had paused at the table for some conversation with some customers. It seemed that as long as David stood at the counter, she wasn’t in any hurry to come back. Emily pursed her lips and watched her. It wasn’t like Wren to run away from something. Or someone. She fixed David with a measuring gaze.

  “You be gentle,” she cautioned him.

  “I always am, but how did you know?” he said, confused.

  “You’re not the only one paying attention around here,” Emily replied. “Now, what can I get you?”

  David hadn’t thought any further than seeing Wren again, and now he floundered. He looked around, and then gave Emily a hopeful look. “What do you recommend?”

  “Well, there’s always the cupcake of the day,” Emily suggested.

  “Which is?” he asked.

  Emily inclined her head toward the small chalkboard that sat on a brass easel. David followed her gaze and read the name, then gave a short laugh.

  Woodstock Afterburn: Spicy Chocolate Temptations.

  “You’ve talked me into it,” he said with a grin as he remembered the quote outside. “But hold the crabs.”

  “Done.” Emily winked. “Now you go take a seat and we’ll be right over.”

  David made his way to an empty table, feeling confused. What the hell was it with this store? First Michael had fallen under its spell, and now he was back here again, watching the small red-headed woman with the bird-like eyes and quick smile.