by Joelle Duff
“Hello?” I called out, pausing mid-step, just in case someone could hear me now. It was quiet, so I just kept going, and saw a massive kitchen to the right. I made my way through a high archway, separating the foyer from the rest of the house, and set the box down on the kitchen counter.
“Hello?” I called out once again. I couldn’t just leave the cake alone, since I did need someone to sign for it, but I wasn’t about to go explore the rest of the house to find someone. I stood kind of awkwardly in the kitchen, hoping someone would just appear and put me out of my misery.
Finally, I heard footsteps from behind me, and turned quickly. “I’m sorry,” I said, before I could even see who it was. “I have the cake, and nobody was answering the door so I thought I’d just bring it in, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No need to apologize,” a petite, young blonde said as she made her way into the kitchen. “We’re all in the back, which is why I left the door open.”
I studied her face for a second; there was something familiar in her features, but I tried not to make it obvious. “Well, I just need someone’s signature, and then I can be out of your hair.”
She smiled, and I immediately recognized her as Meredith Sawyer, a fairly well known talk show host. I didn’t have cable, but I’d seen the ads for her show around town. I looked away quickly, hoping she didn’t notice.
“Wait,” she said, looking down at my chef’s jacket. “Are you the one who made the cake?”
“I am,” I said, returning her smile. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it.”
She looked at me warily. “Are you the same one who makes those amazing cream puffs and éclairs then?”
I nodded slowly. I’d never seen her in the café, so I didn’t know how she’d tried my pastries before. “Yes, I make all the pastries at the café.”
Her eyes widened, and the smile returned to her face. “Oh my goodness, they are absolutely decadent! I’ve been having my assistant go in almost every day for the past three weeks to buy you out of them! They’re the only things that can satisfy my sugar cravings right now!” She rubbed her belly, and I noticed a small bulge under the bohemian top she was wearing.
“Oh,” I said, “I’m glad you like them. They’re my grandmother’s recipes.”
“I have to introduce you to everyone! I’ve been bringing the rest home for my husband, and it’s his birthday today. That’s what the cake is for. Do you think we could bring it outside?”
“Um, sure,” I said, turning back to the cake so I could remove it from the box. I looked it over quickly, one last time, just to make sure everything looked perfect, before picking it up gently and following her through the sliding glass doors and into the backyard.
The backyard was massive, just like the rest of the house. A large, rectangular pool sat in the middle of the yard, surrounded by greenery and trees. On the right of the pool was a rectangular patio, where about a dozen people sat around on lounge furniture and couches. A barbecue was going at the edge of the concrete and the grass, where Meredith’s husband, director Blake Hannigan, was grilling steaks for the group.
“Everyone,” Meredith called out, “this is the woman responsible for those fabulous cream puffs that Genevieve has been bringing on set.”
Everyone started talking at once, and a few of them even started applauding.
“I’m sorry dear, I didn’t get your name,” she said, leaning in to me.
“Mellie,” I said quickly, embarrassed at the attention I was getting. I recognized quite a few of the faces in the crowd, including actress Sophia Lewis. It was overwhelming, to say the least.
“Well, Mellie,” Meredith said, louder this time, “thank you so much for coming and dropping off my husband’s birthday cak. I am so looking forward to tasting more of your amazing treats. I should have had you bring me some of those cream puffs! They really are the best.”
“Thank you ma’am, I’ll make sure I have a few more than usual for next time Genevieve stops by,” I said, my arms starting to ache from the weight of the cake. I eyed an empty table near the opposite edge of the patio.
Meredith was already too busy to notice, chatting with one of her guests.
Not only was the cake heavy, but it started to feel uncomfortable in my small hands. I needed to put it down before I dropped it, immediately. I turned to put it on the table in the corner, but out of nowhere was a solid, very large body blocking my path. I tried to remedy the awkward angle that he’d put me in, but he was trying to move out of my way at the exact same moment that I was trying to move out of his. Instead, I found my arms collapsing inward, and the entire cake came crashing down onto my chest.
Everything went silent at once. People weren’t talking anymore, just staring at me, frosting and filling and cake covering me from my neck down to my shoes. I felt my lip quiver, but I refused to look down at myself. I just stood there, wide-eyed, unsure of what I was supposed to do next.
“Oh my god,” I heard someone say, pulling me from my stupor. I immediately turned back toward the kitchen, so I could compose myself in private before trying to fix the situation. I nearly ran down the sidewalk, hoping desperately that nobody was following me. My ears were ringing so badly that I wasn’t sure I would notice even if someone was.
I was dangerously close to hyperventilating in Meredith Sawyer’s multimillion-dollar mansion. The celebrity in that back yard could have filled a small state, and I just shit all over myself.
When I finally got to the kitchen, I looked around desperately, my chest heaving. I felt the frosting drip off of my shirt, and I cringed when I heard something slap onto the floor. There were no towels, no napkins, nothing in sight that I could wipe myself off, and I considered just running out the van and never looking back. I clutched the counter, trying to get my heart rate to slow down, before realizing that even her fucking counter tops probably cost more than I made in a year.
“Here,” I heard a deep voice say behind me, and a towel was suddenly in my hands. I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to do, there was just so much. Everywhere.
I took the towel willingly, and just wiped my hands on it pathetically. When I looked up, I realized that the person that gave me the towel was the same person that put me into the situation in the first place. I hadn’t had a chance to even look up at his face before, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know who it was. I just stared at the same broad chest that had knocked the cake out of my hands. Even under the button down shirt he was wearing, I could see how solid and strong his chest and arms were. I was almost afraid to bring my eyes up much more than that, but I couldn’t help my curiosity.
When I finally did bring my gaze to his, my panic attack almost returned, full force. I immediately recognized his face, of course. It belonged to last year’s Sexiest Man Alive. Literally.
“I’m sorry about that out there,” he said. “I guess I was just…distracted. I didn’t notice the cake in your arms.” He gave me a strange look.
I stared at him, open-mouthed. I was carrying a thirty-pound cake, covered in bright blue and red frosting, and he hadn’t noticed? As soon as I realized I was literally gawking at the man in front of me (though not necessarily for the reasons he was used to), I made my way over to the sink to wash my hands and get started on the dessert buffet that literally covered my entire torso.
“Really,” he said, moving back to where I was now standing on the other side of the counter from him. “I’m sorry, I’ll cover the cost, whatever you need.” I could feel him staring at me, but I just continued to wash the frosting on my arms. I really hoped I didn’t stain her white porcelain sink blue.
“It’s fine,” I said, my voice laced with anxiety. I just felt so…small. “I don’t care about the cost. I just feel terrible that Ms. Sawyer’s husband won’t have a birthday cake to enjoy later.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, turning off the water for me when my arms were finally clean. The rest of my body was still covered in red
velvet cake. “I’ll figure something out. It’s my fault, anyway.”
I just shrugged, and dried my hands and arms with the towel that he had given me earlier. “I think I saw Vons on the way up here?” I asked, trying not to keep the annoyance out of my voice. Now that the shock had worn off, I was kind of irritated.
I risked another glance up at him, and saw a disgusted look on his face. “I can’t let him eat a cake from the grocery store,” he said, his voice a little huskier than before. “Not when that,” he motioned down the length of me, “looks so good,” he said, his eyes roaming down the length of me.
He did not. Just do that.
I could barely hold back the strangled gag that almost made its way out of my throat. Sure, he was hot. Really, hot was an understatement. But that didn’t give him permission to be an asshole.
I turned to leave. I was so over it all, but I felt his hand on my arm, stopping me. “Sorry,” he said, his voice softer this time. “That was way out of line. Please, do you know how long it would take to make another one?”
I’m pretty sure the look on my face at the question was even worse than after the inappropriate comment he just made. “Seriously? Do you know how long that one took me? Wait, I’ll save you the trouble. Twelve hours. Twelve hours of baking and waiting and piping and making tiny fondant diamonds to put over the entire damn thing.”
His face scrunched slightly. “Wait, you made that?”
“Um, duh?” I said.
He blew out a breath. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Really, I thought you were just delivering the cake for someone else.”
It wasn’t until then that I realized that he still hadn’t taken his hand off of my arm. He wasn’t gripping me, keeping me from going. It kind of just lay there, gently. Suddenly, it felt like there was an electric current running from his fingertips and over my skin, into my nervous system and straight to my core.
I struggled not to let it affect me. “It’s okay. I’ll refund them the money, but there’s not much I can do more than that. I’ve already delivered the rest of my orders for the day, and sent one of our customers home with all the leftover baked goods. I feel terrible.”
I took a chance and looked up at where the world’s sexiest and most eligible bachelor stood next to me. He had a troubled look on his face, one that should never be there. He was far too handsome to look that upset.
“Really, it’s okay. There’s nothing we can do about it now,” I said, for some reason trying to make him feel better.
“True, but I still feel shitty.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little smug satisfaction at that, and I let a small smile slip. At least he wasn’t one of those who couldn’t take responsibility when something happened. It was an accident, true, but he was the one who wasn’t looking where he was going.
“It’s fine, I’ll just go home and get myself cleaned up and we’ll forget it even happened, okay?” I said, reluctantly pulling my arm from his grasp. Finally.
“I’ll explain what happened. No need to refund their money, I’ll make sure it gets taken care of.”
I was just tired at this point, and uncomfortable at the heavy sugar that still coated my shirt and pants. Thank God no more of it had fallen to the floor in the kitchen, but I’m sure there was still a mountain of cake left outside where I dropped it.
“I should go back out there, clean up,” I said quietly, exhaustion evident in my voice. It wasn’t just the cake; freaking out like that always tired me out.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, shaking his head. “I got it. Go get yourself cleaned up.”
I nodded, reluctantly thankful that he was giving me a way to get out without actually having to face everyone outside. I moved back to the sink so I could rinse it out, and placed the towel inside.
I offered him one last smile before turning to head out the door, and I could feel him watching me as I left.
“Wait,” I heard him call out after me. “What’s your name?”
I paused, wondering if I should just keep going, pretend like I didn’t hear the question. But it was impossible. There was something in his voice, something that I wasn’t sure if I could just hear. It was low, rougher than in the movies that I, embarrassingly enough, loved to watch by myself on lonely Saturday nights.
I couldn’t stop myself, not when the thought of him just knowing my name sent shivers down my spine.
“Mellie,” I said, turning and looking him one more time. He held my gaze, refusing to let it go.
“Hi Mellie. I’m Jackson.”
Chapter 4
I was in trouble.
I wasn’t boy crazy. I’d never had the chance to be boy crazy, let alone stay locked up in my apartment for two days watching Jackson Traver marathons. Sure, when I was a teenager I’d had my fair share of movie star crushes, but my mother always quickly reminded I that they were unrealistic. I shouldn’t waste my time pinning up posters of Leonardo DiCaprio in my bedroom when there was a perfectly acceptable boy-next-door literally, right next door.
But it was two days later and I was on my fifth Jackson Traver movie of the weekend. To be fair, I didn’t have anything else to do. Collin hadn’t been available for another date until the next night, and the café was always closed on Sundays and Mondays. I usually spent my afternoons in the library or catching up on baking for the week. Today, however, I just felt like doing absolutely nothing. Well, nothing other than eat ice cream and ogle Jackson’s abs in whatever movie I happened to find on Netflix.
The only thought that made me feel better was knowing that Collin really did want to take me out again that week. I just needed a sharp dose of reality, to see what was really in front of my face, to get out of my funk. He was supposedly taking me to a French restaurant this time, and I couldn’t help but be a little excited at the thought of trying someone else’s éclairs to test against my own.
I tried to think of what I would wear, and even considered taking myself out on a little shopping date. But then Jackson came on screen, and I couldn’t think straight. He played someone different in every movie: a heartbroken widower struggling to save his infant daughter from a natural disaster, a reformed con helping the FBI find the world’s most wanted criminal, even a male stripper with a desire to make something of himself (I can’t lie – I did enjoy that last one immensely).
I guess I was trying to find that little piece of him that I met back at Meredith’s house on Saturday. I wanted to see those blue, guarded eyes again, but they were absent. There was something superficial about the man in all those movies, though it shouldn’t have come at any surprise. He was an actor, and as far as I knew, all actors were the same. But he just seemed…different.
As soon as one movie ended, I scoured Netflix for another one. It was stupid, I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. I spent close to an hour, searching to see if there was something I missed, but nothing came up. I even contemplated running out to the nearest store so I could buy his newest movie, but I stopped myself.
“I just need to take myself on a date,” I said, pulling myself off the couch and heading into the kitchen to throw away the empty carton of ice cream. I liked to take myself on dates sometimes. I wasn’t one of those girls who got all self-conscious when they were alone. I liked the quiet, the chance to read a book without the distraction of the TV or phone.
I got ready quickly, pulling my hair into a ponytail and throwing on a pair of skinny jeans and ivory blouse. It was warm outside, so I didn’t bother with a sweater or jacket, just put on my minimal makeup and clasped my grandmother’s pearl necklace around my neck before heading downstairs.
There was a small wine bar next to the café that was usually quiet on Monday nights, since the rest of the stores and restaurants on the street were closed for the day. I loved sitting at one of the bistro tables outside and ordering a cheese plate to go with my bottle (yes, bottle) of wine. It was a thirty second walk to my apartment, so I never felt guilty about splurging a
bit on the wine. And it wasn’t like I did it all the time, either. It was really one of the few things I actually did for myself, and rarely.
The outside patio was empty when I got there, and I sat in my usual shaded seat, pulling out a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. The waitress was a sweet, if not oblivious, girl named Elena, who quickly brought me a glass of water and their wine menu. I ordered myself a bottle of Cabernet to go along with a charcuterie plate, and lost myself in my book.
I was almost finished with my first glass of wine when I felt him approaching. It was almost impossible not to; I was completely immersed in my wine and my book, but his presence was too strong to ignore. It was like the air changed when he came near, his confidence and smile radiating from every inch of him. I kept my focus on my book, waiting until the very last minute to acknowledge him standing next to me. I was secretly hoping that he wouldn’t notice me, or didn’t remember me, at least. The incident was only two days ago, but I was still an insignificant girl in a crowd of other women that threw themselves at him. And I was most definitely not about to throw myself at him, even if he was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Hi Mellie,” he said, casting a shadow over my table when he got close.
I kept my eyes on my book for a few more seconds before looking up. He was wearing dark jeans, and a t-shirt, one that most definitely showed off the muscles in his arms and shoulders. Thank God he had on a pair of dark, reflective aviators, or I swear I would have melted into a puddle at his feet if he’d looked at me with those blue eyes. I still struggled to sit still, my stomach unsettled with those damn things called butterflies.
“Hello Jackson,” I said, picking up my wine glass to take a sip so I had an excuse to look away. He just stayed silent, waiting for me to finish so that I would look back up at him.