Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Kristin Billerbeck, Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Birdie L. Etchison, Pamela Griffin, Joyce Livingston, Tamela Hancock Murray

  “Whoa!” Sebastian said. “You don’t have to kill the pie, do you?”

  “No.” She stopped stabbing. “But apparently I need to kill the crust.”

  He chuckled. “Let me help you with that.” When he drew closer to her, she caught the aroma of his clean skin. A pleasant woodsy scent of a brand of cologne she couldn’t identify emanated from his neck. She wished he could linger, just so she could breathe in his warmth and closeness longer.

  “She’s putting up quite a fight,” he observed.

  “Who?” Gwendolyn blurted.

  He gave her a strange look. “The piecrust, of course. She’s a tough one. Why, who did you think I was talking about?”

  “No one,” she spouted. “Nothing. I don’t know. I’m just not used to anyone calling a piecrust ‘she.’ ”

  He chuckled. “I guess not.” He placed a slice of pie on her plate. “Well, you gave it the old college try, but I am the conqueror!” He lifted his hands in the air in mock victory.

  She laughed in spite of herself and watched him struggle to cut a second piece.

  Moments later, he scooped up a dollop of filling. “Ah, there’s nothing like toothpaste pie.” He placed a spoonful in his mouth. “Mmm, good!”

  “Toothpaste pie?”

  “Sure is.”

  She studied it. “You know, come to think of it, the color is a little like the spearmint flavor I use. Well, it won’t taste like spearmint. That I can guarantee.”

  He nodded. “Actually, it tastes great.”

  As the flavor of lime burst into her mouth, she had to nod in agreement. “You’re right. It does taste good. But it looks so awful, and the crust is so tough; I have to say, I failed. I could just die.” She looked into Sebastian’s steely blue eyes. “And I know what this means. Both my dessert and my photo session flopped. You win,” she conceded. “I’m fired.”

  Chapter 5

  S eeing the photographer’s distress, Sebastian realized that in spite of how badly the shoot had gone, and regardless of the fact that the dessert had been a flop, he didn’t want to fire her. Feeling ashamed, he recalled how boorish he had been to Gwendolyn when they first met. Although the company was well in the black financially, Sebastian remembered when they weren’t, and he still hated to waste money. Mother didn’t always exercise the same caution. Sebastian had taken out his anger with his mother on the young woman when she was doing nothing more than appearing for a job interview. She hadn’t deserved the treatment he’d given her, and he knew it.

  Still, pride made him resist. “Do you think you deserve to be fired?”

  Gwendolyn gulped. “Not really.” She bowed her head, causing her long lashes to form lush crescents on her pale cheeks. “But I was foolish enough to make a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. Now I have to accept the consequences.”

  He nodded once. How could he fire someone who possessed such humility?

  Her coral lips curved into a frown. “Besides, it’s not like you’d be losing any good pictures if you let me go now.”

  Sebastian saw her shoulders sag in defeat. She busied herself by piling the dessert plates she had brought into a neat stack, her chocolate-colored eyes avoiding his.

  She was beautiful. That couldn’t be denied. But for Sebastian, her appearance had become secondary to the fiber of character she displayed.

  “I won’t let you go.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, Sebastian realized that he sounded more like a suitor than a boss. For once, he hoped they weren’t of like minds. Otherwise, she might see he had just admitted he wished he could captivate her forever.

  Matthew 12:34 came to mind: “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” Thinking of this eternal truth, he was all too aware an expression of chagrin passed over his features.

  Her gaze met his, her delicate features marked with questions.

  Sebastian changed his expression to one that would brook no nonsense. He tried to give his voice an edge of authority. “What I mean to say is, Mother will be upset enough by today’s fiasco as it is. How could I tell her I fired her handpicked photographer on top of everything else?”

  Gwendolyn let out a little “oh” that indicated his answer was a disappointment. Sebastian couldn’t deny a triumphant feeling that she might return his interest.

  Gwendolyn was quick with a comeback. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you tell her!”

  Her remark stung as surely as if she had slapped him across the cheek, but he couldn’t let her know. “So you’d like to see me squirm?” He arched his eyebrow to indicate he was an accomplice to her joke.

  “Not really,” she admitted. “Although you’ve certainly seen me embarrassed enough.”

  “Perhaps.” He stirred the dessert with his spoon. “I must confess, this is the best toothpaste pie I’ve ever eaten.”

  “My guess is that it’s the only toothpaste pie you’ve ever eaten.”

  He decided that no reply was necessary. In the company of Gwendolyn Warner, the prospect of toothpaste pie seemed pleasing indeed.

  The phone was ringing as Gwendolyn slipped the key into the scratched brass doorknob of her apartment door.

  “Coming!” she called to the telephone as though it would respond with more than an urgent summons. After shutting the door and setting down the leftover dessert, she ran the few steps necessary to reach the other side of the living room and picked up the receiver before the answering machine responded.

  “You sound winded!” Her mother’s familiar voice succeeded in conveying both chastisement and concern.

  “Hi, Mom. I just got in from the photo shoot.”

  “So how did it go?”

  Gwendolyn set her keys on the arm of the thirty-year-old couch, a gift from her parents’ attic. She plopped on top of a giant sunflower set against a worn background of avocado green. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, don’t I?”

  “What you really want to know is how the dessert went over.”

  “You know me so well.” Mom chuckled. “Of course I don’t even have to ask about the photo shoot. I know it went swimmingly. They always do.”

  Gwendolyn bit her lower lip and shot a wordless prayer heavenward asking forgiveness for her lie of omission. If she revealed too many disasters, her mother might decide to arrive in Washington the next day and straighten things out in her capable way. “About the dessert…”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, let’s just say your title of Best Cook Ever is still safe. Very safe.”

  Mom’s throaty laugh filled the phone line. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. With a little practice, you’ll soon surpass me.”

  “Oh, I already have. In the category of toothpaste pie.”

  “Toothpaste pie? Whatever do you mean?”

  Gwendolyn grimaced as she remembered the teal green filling and tough crust. “That’s how the pie could best be described.”

  “But toothpaste?”

  “I added food coloring, and…let’s just say it didn’t turn out the nice shade of green I expected.”

  “And you got this recipe from a woman who runs a bed-and-breakfast? Remind me not to eat there!”

  “No, Mom. The recipe was good. Cynthia Lyons’ website recipe didn’t tell me to add food coloring. I did that on my own. And, thinking back, I might have made a mistake or two on the piecrust ingredients. And besides, Cynthia recommended that I use a graham cracker crust. Foolish pride made me try something I didn’t know how to make. So I can’t lay any of the blame at Cynthia’s feet—or on her keyboard.” She chuckled at her own humor.

  Mom laughed the same way she always did whenever she read the comics in the Sunday paper. Their shared amusement cheered Gwendolyn.

  “So are you still going to stay with the class?”

  “Sure. I have a lot to learn. Obviously.”

  When she hung up minutes later, Gwendolyn’s initial excitement about the job returned. She thought about the next photo shoot. Her stomach d
anced the twist. The emotion took her aback. She told herself her reaction was only delight about keeping her job. Other possibilities were too unsettling to contemplate.

  The following night, Gwendolyn logged on to the cooking course. Apparently feeling more ambitious than usual, Cynthia had challenged everyone to submit a favorite cake recipe. She offered to hold an online chat for anyone interested in talking about recipes. Gwendolyn sent her grandmother’s recipe for sour cream cake, then got the go-ahead from Cynthia to try it.

  “Yay!” Gwendolyn typed on the screen. “I hope I can do Nanny proud.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Cynthia answered.

  “I don’t always succeed in my attempts,” Gwendolyn typed.

  Someone named Subqueen chimed in. “Well, I can’t talk. You should have seen the lemon bars I made the day I met my sister for the first time! Lemon soup bars are what they should’ve been called—and talk about tart!”

  Gwendolyn grinned. Apparently Subqueen was just as bad a cook as she was! Suddenly she didn’t feel so alone anymore.

  Someone else typed, “I’ll bet your lemon bars were better than what I recently ate. I called it ‘toothpaste pie.’ ”

  Toothpaste pie! Her heart felt as though it had fallen to her feet. She looked at the classmate’s screen name: CreamyDream.

  It has to be Sebastian. She felt tears threaten. After he tried to make me feel better today, here he is, making fun of my pie, where he thinks I won’t see. She swallowed and stuck her lip out with the false pride of someone who was hurting. So what? Who cares what he thinks?

  She grabbed a tissue and kept reading.

  “In spite of the color, the wonderful woman who made the pie had a great sense of humor,” CreamyDream wrote. “It truly was one of the best desserts I ever tasted.”

  “Because of the woman who made it, huh, CreamyDream?” LzzyGurl typed.

  CreamyDream replied with an emoticon smiley face.

  Gwendolyn couldn’t believe her eyes. “Because of the wonderful woman who made it?” Sebastian was talking about her? Her tears disappeared just as quickly as they came.

  Obviously Sebastian hadn’t recognized her screen name. She thanked Cynthia and logged off, whistling a happy little tune.

  As soon as he saw IPhotoU log off, a sick realization hit Sebastian in the stomach.

  IPhotoU?

  Could that be Gwendolyn’s screen name? No. No. He hoped not. But somehow, in his heart, he knew IPhotoU was Gwendolyn.

  He groaned. How could he have made fun of her pie—however good-naturedly? He must have come across as a crank and, as a result, left hurt feelings in his wake. Sebastian felt devastated. Gwendolyn was the only woman to crack his tough exterior in years. He had been focused on the family business for the past five years. His personal life had been on hold. Finally, a Christian woman he thought he might grow to love—and he had ruined everything.

  Over the next couple of days, Gwendolyn found her thoughts returning again and again to her new job. Yet as soon as she thought about how she could make the next photo shoot a success, images of Sebastian popped into her head. They persisted no matter how she pushed them aside.

  In the evening, she tried to concentrate on devotions, focusing on Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

  As she contemplated the passage, the words love and purpose leapt out at her. She set her Bible, still open to the passage, on her lap.

  Lord, why do I feel You are trying to show me something in granting me this job? Are You finally telling me to pursue modeling full-time, or do You have something else in mind? Why is it when I think of this job, my mind dwells on Sebastian? You know nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I need Your help, Lord, to sort out my feelings and to see how they fit into Your plan for my life.

  Though the Lord didn’t respond with a definitive answer, Gwendolyn noticed her spirit being strengthened. The feeling was like water being added to a half-empty cup. The pouring came from the Lord. The filling increased her confidence that the Lord would soon reveal His will.

  Chapter 6

  I can’t believe Aunt Jeanette didn’t realize I’d have to drive forever to get here,” Gwendolyn grumbled as she finally pulled her compact car into the parking lot, miles from her apartment. But she couldn’t waste such a marvelous Christmas gift—a year’s membership to a new gym facility with aerobics classes, racquetball and tennis courts, two hot tubs, an Olympic-sized pool, and huge rooms filled with state-of-the-art exercise machines.

  She was in a better mood once she’d dumped her coat and gym bag in a locker and headed for the treadmills. She had just entered instructions for a thirty-minute run at five miles per hour, hoping to work her way up to six within a few weeks. Soon she felt the presence of a fellow runner jump on the machine next to hers. Cutting her glance to the right, she nearly tripped when she recognized Sebastian Emerson.

  He returned her stare. “Gwendolyn?”

  “In the flesh,” she puffed, regaining her stride.

  “What are you doing here?” Sebastian managed to press buttons as he spoke.

  “I could ask you the same thing. I’ve been a member for over two months, and I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “But we didn’t know each other before.” His machine increased its speed to 6.3 miles per hour. “I hardly recognized you. Uh, you don’t mind if I run beside you, do you?”

  “Why would I? You’re a member here, too.”

  They ran alongside each other without speaking until Sebastian finally ventured her name again. “Gwendolyn?”

  She snapped her head in his direction. “Yes?”

  By this time, he was becoming a bit winded, although not enough to alarm her. “Uh, I have a question. Do you take online cooking classes?”

  She nodded.

  His lips twisted into a frown. “Cynthia’s?”

  “Yes.”

  He groaned. “You were on the chat the other night, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I was surprised to see you on the list. I would have pegged you as someone who knows how to cook all sorts of sweets.”

  “No. I work in the front office, not in the bakery itself. My grandfather was trained in Germany. He was a baker’s apprentice before he came to America as a young man in 1948. I can hardly boil an egg, myself. So I thought I’d learn.” He wiped his face off with a small white towel.

  Feeling left behind, she set her treadmill a couple of notches higher. “Cynthia’s place is a good start. I’ve learned a lot already.”

  “So have I. But now I wish I hadn’t taken it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what I said the other night. Look, if you hate me, I understand. I’m sorry,” he said in between huffs of breath. “Especially about what I said about your pie.”

  She felt her heart soften. How could she not forgive Sebastian, when he was willing to come to her and confess his mistake? She decided to focus on the positive comment he had made about her. “And the wonderful woman who made it?”

  His face became redder. Gwendolyn had a feeling the flush wasn’t the result of increased exertion. “I’m sorry.”

  “So you didn’t mean what you said?”

  “About the pie?”

  She heard herself breathing harder. Her throat became sore as air flowed over it through her open mouth. “No. About the wonderful woman.”

  “Of course I meant it.”

  So he meant it! “Why are you taking classes?” she asked, her huffing matching his.

  “No special reason. I live alone, and I get tired of eating out of the microwave, I guess.”

  She laughed. “Me, too. In that case, why don’t we try out some of the recipes together?”

  His eyes brightened. “Really? You’d like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about Thursday?”

  “Sure. You can meet me at my apartment. I’ll e
-mail CreamyDream my address.” She sent him a sly grin.

  “Why don’t we go out to dinner first, and then come back and try out our desserts?” he proposed.

  “That means I have to get dressed up?”

  “Not at all.” Sebastian gave her a quick glance. “You’re even more beautiful without makeup.”

  Unwilling to let him see that she was flattered by his remark, Gwendolyn focused on three big screen televisions just in front of them. Each was tuned to a network station. Closed captioning provided dialogue, since the sound was turned off in deference to the rock music blaring from the gym’s radio.

  “If only that were true,” she denied.

  He shook his head in rebuttal but changed the subject. “I thought you lived nearer to D.C.”

  Gwendolyn brightened. “I do. This membership was a Christmas gift from an aunt who has no concept of metro traffic. But it’s worth the drive. Lucky you if you live nearby.”

  “I could almost walk it.”

  “Then you could probably run it.” Gwendolyn was still huffing, but Sebastian was now gliding as though he were on a Sunday promenade.

  “So could you. Although you don’t need to work yourself to death exercising.”

  Remembering his earlier remarks about her slight figure, Gwendolyn bristled. “I like to keep in shape, that’s all.”

  “Then you must be in shape enough to join me in a game of tennis.”

  Wary of another challenge after the pie fiasco, Gwendolyn searched for an excuse. “Isn’t it a bit cold?”

  “Not on the indoor courts.”

  “I didn’t bring my racquet.”

  “They have loaners at the front desk.” A triumphant grin indicated he enjoyed his checkmate. “And don’t tell me you have to get home. It’s still early.”

  Sebastian had anticipated her trump card and played it before she could. “All right. You win.”

  “Not yet. But I will.”

  “So you’re not afraid you might lose the match to a girl?”