“Ideas are spinning in my head like tops on their axes,” she frequently said with a smile. “Ideas that are working.” She was putting on afternoon dessert hours on Thursdays and Fridays that were a hit with the ladies, where she served a variety of dainty desserts, including tiny wedges of Heavenly Pie. And she catered ladies’ events like bridal and baby showers and birthday parties, both at the Rue de France and in private homes.
But the best thing that happened in Nine Cloud was Cyril got to see Angel every day. He went somewhere with her every Saturday—to the shore, the park, the river, a play, a concert. It didn’t matter where they went or what they did. They were together. A couple.
He proclaimed his love for her first. He did it the night of their first kiss…which happened to be…Valentine’s Day.
She would never forget the night as long as she lived….
They sat under a full moon on a bench facing the ocean, where people passed by on the boardwalk behind them.
“May I kiss the cook?” he asked.
She felt like laughing at his reference to her apron but nodded instead— vigorously, her heart pounding like the ocean waves.
He kissed her gently at first, and then their lips stayed together for a span of time, both of them seeming to revel in the moment that would stay in their memories forever.
He pulled back and looked deeply into her eyes. “One more question.”
“Yes?”
“May I tell the cook I love her?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I love you, Angel.”
“I love you, too, Cyril.” She adored his old-fashioned ways, how he’d waited months to kiss her and tell her he loved her. Thrill shivers coursed through her. And during those months, she’d come to realize she was old-fashioned in some ways. But not quite as much as he was. She reached up, drew his face toward her, and kissed him hungrily, like she didn’t ever want to let him go. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Now that’s the crème de la crème,” he said, when he came up for air. “Did I say that right?”
Her answer was another kiss.
The next morning, Cyril called Pastor Kyle. “I want you to be the first to know.”
“Know what?” Pastor Kyle had a smile in his voice.
“I told her I loved her.”
“Then I’m guessing you’ll be needing a preacher?”
“I’m thinking June, if she’ll agree.”
Chapter 11
T he March evening couldn’t have been any more perfect. Or romantic. Angel took a bite of lobster, then glanced at Cyril. From their table by the window at the superb beachside restaurant, they had a perfect view of the ocean. And the food was nearly indescribable. That was saying a lot from someone who’d studied cooking in France.
Cyril had presented her with a bracelet corsage when he’d picked her up. It was made of lavender and could’ve come straight from Paris, it was so French looking.
On the drive to the beach, they had enjoyed a pleasant camaraderie. But something scintillating yet sweet had swathed around them like gossamer.
Now, sitting in the restaurant, she felt a draft of cool air from the air-conditioning vent and pulled her black net shawl around her shoulders. In her movement, their knees touched under the table, and thoughts of love filled her heart.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Cyril squeezed a wedge of lime into his ice water, then placed his hand over hers on the table.
“I…um…”
“You? Angel Morgan at a loss for words? That kicks in a memory for me. The cat got your tongue the first time we met.”
She nodded. “I wanted to meet business owners dressed like a businesswoman. Instead—”
“You were covered in paint—”
“I felt so stupid, I forgot my manners—”
“And I was pretty smug-acting, wasn’t I?”
“You could say that. In fact, that night I secretly started calling you Mr. Hooty-Toot.”
“You didn’t?” He looked playfully thunderstruck.
She nodded, exaggeratedly so. “After I looked up the meaning of your name, I decided Mr. Hooty-Toot was apropos.”
“Why? What’s it mean?”
“Lord. You were acting so…lordly.”
He chuckled. “What does your name mean? I’m sure it means angelic being. But anything else?”
“Messenger.”
He swung his head from side to side, like he was deep in thought. “Couldn’t be more appropriate. Angel, you’re my messenger of love.”
Angel wondered where Cyril was going as he passed the turn to the highway that led back to Nine Cloud. Then she knew. He was taking her to the beach house where they ate her pie on their first date.
He turned onto a narrow private road, then pulled into the driveway. His headlights showed a refurbished house, the dull weathered boards now painted a crisp sandy beige, the professional landscaping beachy and inviting.
“What happened here?” She was delighted with the changes. When she’d first seen the house, she thought it would make a perfect beach hideaway if only someone would give it some TLC.
“We decided to remodel it when we were making the changes to Nine Cloud.”
“It’s beautiful, Cyril.”
“We knocked down some walls and added a big room on the back. The ocean view is fantastic.”
“Can I see the inside?”
“Sure. Come on.” In a flash, he was at her door, opening it. “But it’s not furnished. Or decorated. That comes next.”
At the front door of the house, he stepped inside, found the lights, and flicked them on. “Come on in.” He held the door open for her.
She walked into a large room that was big enough for several conversation areas. “This is going to be beautiful when it’s all done.”
He pointed to a far wall. “That’s where the kitchen will be, as soon the cabinetry and countertops are chosen.” He pointed to another area. “That’ll be the dining room.” He walked across the large room and stopped. “This is the addition.” He pointed upward, then continued on toward the wall of windows. “Come look out.”
She walked over and stood by him in the addition that couldn’t be detected as such. It blended in perfectly with the rest of the house. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she saw the ocean that looked like black glass in the moonlight. The sight took her breath away.
“We’ll probably have several tables and chairs in this area. We’ll use it for casual eating and playing table games, things like that.”
She looked around the room. In her mind’s eye, she could see a limestone or buffed-marble floor. And beach-type furniture—rattan, maybe, or wicker. And paintings that captured the ocean’s beauty. And—
“Care to walk on the beach?”
Her heart did one of its familiar trills. “I–I’d love to.”
He unlocked the glass door and slid it aside. “After you.”
She stepped out onto an expansive patio, and he followed her out. She looked up into the most spectacular sky she’d ever seen.
“You sure aren’t saying much tonight.” He whispered the words into her hair from where he stood behind her. “Cat got your tongue again?”
Calm down, my heart. “I—I…” She started again. “The beauty of this place…the ocean…”
“I remember the night you said the ocean made you hug me.” His voice was husky as he gently turned her to face him. “You said it had something to do with the moon shining down…”
She glanced skyward and saw a full moon.
“…and the way the waves lapped….”
She heard the ocean behind her, a sound that echoed the beating of her heart.
“Come with me.” He took her hand and led her across the patio. “Better take off your shoes.”
Shivers danced up her spine, and there wasn’t even a slight wind. She knew where they were coming from. Cyril and his nearness. She slipped off her shoes, and he did the same.
; He led her into the sand, and they walked down the beach, neither of them saying a word, his arm around her, her arm around him.
After a long while, they turned and headed back toward the beach house, both of them talking in soft tones—words of endearment, amour.
Aimer eperdument, Angel thought. Love to distraction.
He stopped and kissed her, and she thought her heart would burst from happiness.
He dropped to his knees in the sand.
Her heart was liquid love. “Cyril…”
He took her hand in his. “My darling Angel, will you marry me?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She bent down and kissed him.
“To have and to hold?” he quipped.
“From this day forward.”
“Forever and ever?” He stood up and took her in his arms.
“Thank You, Lawd!”
Chapter 12
T heir June wedding couldn’t have been any more perfect.
They had the rehearsal dinner at Main Street Café.
They got married in the white-steepled church in the center of town.
They repeated their vows in front of Pastor Kyle.
They held the reception at Angel Food—formerly known as Rue de France—with the guests spilling out onto the grassy town square.
The wedding cake was a Parisian version, with fondant icing and edible lavender flowers cascading over it.
The groom’s cake wasn’t a cake at all. It was Heavenly Pie—lots of them—Angel Food’s new signature dessert. It was rich like their love but laden with chocolate.
And Nine Cloud was on cloud nine!
And their honeymoon? They spent it at the beach house Angel had just decorated. She named it Le demeure d’amour. The abode of love.
HEAVENLY PIE
1 (9-inch) prepared piecrust
1 cup chocolate chips
½ cup butter or margarine, melted
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
¼ cup flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup pecans, chopped
Whipped topping
Line bottom of piecrust with chocolate chips. (Don’t be tempted to use more.) In a separate bowl, mix remaining ingredients with a fork, then pour over chocolate chips. Put foil strips around edges of pie. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or longer, until brown on top. Inside should be soft but not runny. Serve warm (by oven or microwave) with a dollop of whipped topping. Refrigerate. Stays good several days. (But you probably won’t find this out because it’ll get eaten before then.)
JUST DESSERTS
by Aisha Ford
Dedication
To my family…
I love you more than words will ever be able to express.
Chapter 1
M onica Ryan paced her office at her restaurant, The Pie Rack, waiting for Adella to click back over from call waiting. Despite having been on the phone for the past half hour, Monica estimated she and Adella had only clocked about ten minutes of actual talking time.
Thanks to the fantastic technology of Adella’s cell phone service, Monica didn’t have to wait in silence. Instead, she got to listen to a nice variety of swoony love songs. Not that she had anything against swoony love songs, but after twenty minutes, Monica was certain the music would start to wear on anybody’s nerves!
Impatient, Monica sighed and sat in the rolling chair at her desk. Adella Parker was an old acquaintance from high school, and there was heavy emphasis on the word acquaintance.
In the ten years since they’d graduated, Monica had seen Adella around town a few times and generally heard about her appearances at high society parties and benefits.
The closest encounter Monica ever really had with Adella was running against her for senior-class president. She’d beaten Adella by a huge margin, but Adella hadn’t really seemed to care.
Supposedly, her father, the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company, had thought it good leadership practice for Adella to try running for office. However, Adella’s ideal job description was more along the lines of carefree heiress than serious politician.
Fast-forward ten years later, and Adella still played the role of a carefree heiress, but now she had a new title to add to the list: bride-to-be.
“Hello. Hello?” Adella unexpectedly shouted into the receiver.
“Yes, yes, I’m here.”
“Monica?”
“Adella?” Monica cleared her throat and spoke louder. “I’m here—it’s me, Monica.”
“Oh, good. I thought I’d lost you for a minute. Like I was telling you before, we love everything you sell at the bakery, and we’d want to have you do a dessert buffet at the engagement party—with lots of those sweet potato pies, but we’re trying to keep costs down.”
“I’m sure we could work out some type of…something,” Monica said, vaguely wondering if Adella even knew what keeping the costs down actually meant.
Nothing in the society news columns of late indicated that Adella’s family fortunes were dwindling.
But nonetheless, the job would be great exposure for The Pie Rack, and short of Adella being a bridezilla a million times over, Monica knew there was no good reason she would turn down the job.
“Fantastic,” Adella said.
“Well, thanks so much for calling,” Monica said, hoping to wrap up the call. Business was business, and there was no way she wanted to get sucked into talking about the “good old days” of high school.
Her old yearbooks and scrapbooks, safely hidden in the attic, were full of the pictorial evidence that the good old days were not that good at all—at least not her senior year.
“Just one more thing,” Adella said, interrupting Monica’s thoughts. “I was reading one of my bridal magazines the other day, and it says that if possible, I should try to find a caterer who can do both the meal and the dessert. Is there any way you could pull that off ?”
Monica sighed as quietly as possible, hoping to reign in the urge to cut a potentially difficult client loose before the situation got too complicated. “Honestly, Adella, we really do only specialize in desserts—”
“But didn’t your family own a restaurant when we were in high school?”
“Yes, we did, but due to…circumstances, we’re only in the dessert business now.”
This time it was Adella’s turn to sigh. “To tell you the truth, that’s not exactly the type of catering setup I was hoping for. Just to make things easier on myself, I’d like all of the food to come from the same vendor.”
“You’re planning this party yourself ?” Monica blurted out before she could stop herself.
“I am.” Adella giggled, then grew serious. “I know everybody thinks I’m a clueless society girl, but the minute Byron proposed, I just knew that I wanted to be in charge of every tiny detail of this entire experience. You get married only once, so I’d like it to be perfect, you know?”
“Wow. I don’t think I would have so much fun planning every detail of my own wedding, but I admire your determination.”
“Oooh!” Adella squealed. “Are you getting married, too? How come you didn’t tell me sooner?”
Why did Adella have such an uncanny ability to turn the conversation to uncomfortable topics? “No, no, I’m not engaged. You sound like one of my relatives now,” Monica said, trying to keep the mood light. “I was just saying that if, I mean, when I get engaged, I doubt I would enjoy being the sole planner for the event.”
“Oh, I understand how you feel,” said Adella. “It seemed like it took forever for Byron to propose to me, too. How long have you been waiting for that special someone to pop the question?”
There was no special someone, and there really never had been, unless you counted Gil. “And that won’t ever count, at least not now,” Monica murmured.
“What was that?” Adella asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I was thinking out loud.”
“Don’t worry about that, I know you’re probably having a busy day—oo
ps! Call waiting—it’s Byron, let me put you on hold for one tiny little second.”
Before Monica could protest, Adella placed her on hold again—with more swoony love songs!
“That’s fantastic, honey. It might be just what The Pie Rack needs to get us back on the map.”
This was all the encouragement Monica needed to hear. Spending the better part of an hour listening to Adella ramble on and on had been worth it just for this.
“Thanks, Dad. The only catch is, her parents want to keep the costs down so they can splurge on the wedding.”
“No problem there; we can give them a good deal. The exposure alone will be worth it.”
Monica shifted her cell phone to the other ear and pondered how to tell her dad the second part of the agreement. A gust of wind blew so hard that her car veered slightly into the next lane. Monica tightened her grip on the wheel and wondered how she would break the rest of the news to her dad.
“Did you sign papers yet?”
“Not exactly. We talked over the phone, but the contract will be contingent on us providing the entire menu for the party.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means, we get top billing, but we have to provide all of the food for the party.”
“And how are we supposed to do that, since we only serve desserts?”
Monica could hear the frustration building in her father’s voice and instantly regretted telling him the news over the phone. She should have told her mom first, and then they could have broken the news together.
“Well, I’ll be…that Amos Butler got the best of me again, didn’t he?”
“Bob…calm down,” Monica heard her mother saying in the background. Usually, when her father got started about Amos Butler, his former business partner, there was no stopping him.
“Dad, it’s not a lost cause. It’ll be okay. She’s given me three days to find a caterer who will provide the entrees, and we can still do the dessert, and everything will be fine.”
Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection Page 47