Eve smirked. “No. I’m bl—blo.”
She took a deep breath and clenched her teeth.
“Blocked. I am blocked. Creatively.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. “Because of the article.”
Eve gave a small nod.
“Ever since it came out. It’s had the literal opposite effect of what it was intended for. I’ve got more fame than I know what to do with and that’s blocked all my creative pathways. It’s been months and it’s not just a creative block, that’s one thing. It’s the epicenter of the problem, from it come fissures which are effecting me and my business.”
I was at a loss as to what to say to her. I didn’t know what it felt to be creatively blocked. I was a practical guy from a practical family in which Emily was the only creative person. She knew never to come to one of us with her creative problems. Because the reply always was: how the fuck was it possible to be creatively blocked? Don’t you just do more of what you’re doing and the problem will work itself out?
Thankfully, I knew my tactless questions were not what Eve needed and they wouldn’t go over well. The next thing that was about to ask was how can you be creatively blocked when baking?
Eve must have seen the question on my face because she shook her head.
“No. No, I know what you’re thinking and that’s a total noob thing. Do you know how I got my title?” Eve asked. There was a fire in her eyes and I knew I was in for it. Like any man with a dime of sense in him, I remained quiet.
“My cupcakes are surprise cupcakes. You go in thinking you’re going to have a plain vanilla cupcake and as soon as you bite into it, it’s a whole other thing. I’ve made my brand on baking surprise cupcakes because those are the best. I also experiment with different flavors and nine times out of ten, they’re brilliant. I feel like I can’t even bake anymore without messing something up. Worst of all, it’s noticeable. If my customers can notice it, and I am not better than your local bakery, I’ve lost my business. That reality feels so close, I feel it can be tomorrow or the day after next. It’s a monster breathing down my neck.”
The last part was said so quietly it could have gotten lost in the wind and carried away. Eve looked forlorn and buried her face in the crook of her arm. I wanted to help; I just had no idea how.
“Eve, you can do anything—”
“Baking is all I’ve ever wanted to do. I almost dropped out of college three times, Daniel. The only thing that got me through was that my dad promised to invest money into Sugar Bliss if I completed college. I can’t do anything else.”
She sat up and looked at me.
“I know you think I’m just some crazy woman who’s way too obsessed with cupcakes,” Eve said. “But thanks for listening to me.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I said automatically.
Her eyebrow went up.
“Okay, maybe a little crazy,” I admitted. “But if this is what you want, then what the fuck are you doing here? You still have a business. If it’s not cupcakes, you can experiment with something else. Fuck whatever anyone says. If you need a break, take it and then get back to it. Stop being sad and get shit done. You’re still Eve Darling. The fact that you think you can’t do something is utter bullshit because you’ve already done it.”
Eve stared at me with her mouth slightly open. I felt a fissure of doubt run through me. Not everyone could take the Reid family version of motivation. That was just another thing we didn’t do well. Come to think of it, the only thing we did well was practice medicine.
“Thank you,” Eve said. “I mean, it’s not the epiphany I was looking for, but it still helps a little.”
I released my breath, relieved that she wasn’t throwing things at me or telling me to get the fuck away from her.
“Daniel?” Eve said.
“Yeah?”
“Promise me you will never quit your job to become a motivational speaker.”
I chuckled and nodded. “I promise.”
“What’s your specialty? I mean, do you have one?”
“I do have one. It’s infectious diseases,” I said.
“Oh, that’s…” Eve trailed off, a little frown on her face. I could see her struggle to find the right word. Her reaction wasn’t upsetting to me. A lot of people I knew had the same reaction. The words infectious diseases always seemed to stop people short for some reason.
“Glamorous?” I supplied. “I know.”
Eve smiled. “I pictured you like one of those guys on a medical drama.”
I rolled my eyes. “On those shows, the only kinds of doctors you see are interns, cardiologists, neurologists, or plastic surgeons. Those are the ‘pretty’ specialties. No one wants to watch a show where the patients’ have Ebola, TB, or Hep C. Those diseases are only shown to shake things up.”
“God, Daniel, tell me how you really feel,” Eve teased.
I huffed a laugh and she bumped her shoulder against mine. The gesture was familiar and friendly. Yeah, I guess I had overreacted maybe just a little bit. The threat of infectious diseases was just as real as a heart attack or stroke. These weren’t exciting or glamorous diseases.
“I’m avoiding going into work and feeling really guilty about it,” Eve said. “If you’ve got time, you wanna tell me all about infectious diseases?”
She pushed a stray piece of her hair behind her ear and looked at me from beneath her long lashes. I was certain there were things at home that needed my attention, like laundry and grocery shopping, and maybe something else. I couldn’t remember any of them.
We may have said we weren’t each other’s type but something was happening here that went a little farther than innocent friendship. I should have put an end to it, right there and then. It would have been the sensible thing to do.
Instead, I sat back against the windshield and told Eve all about infectious diseases.
Chapter 10 - Eve
I’d been at work since five-thirty in the morning and my shoulders were crying in protest due to all the fondant I had rolled out. I did not enjoy working with fondant; it was just a necessary part of the job.
By noon, I was done. I hadn’t slept well last night. I hadn’t slept well the last few weeks. When I did sleep, I either had terrible dreams or…Daniel. Ever since I saw him at the beach last week, my ridiculous crush seemed to have gotten worse. He was a safe harbor, something I could think about when I didn’t want to worry about my business.
Daniel’s “pep talk” got me to work every morning. I didn’t have any success with new recipes. Realistically speaking, I wouldn’t go out of business if I didn’t come up with new recipes. I wouldn’t be any different than any of the other bakeries in San Diego, which meant that I wouldn’t have the same amount of business I did now. That’s not even mentioning reviewers like Leslie A. Roth. I had shown the review to Maddie and she had told me to “stop worrying and start doing”, essentially the same thing that Daniel had told me.
Finished with the cake I was working on—for an Instagram influencer celebrating hitting a million followers— I stepped back from the counter. The cake was a picture of the influencer’s Instagram account and I was ninety-nine percent certain it wasn’t going to be eaten. This morning my phone had dinged with an email from Logan, reminding me it didn’t matter that no one would eat the cake. It was good publicity.
“Preeti,” I called one of my employees. She looked up from where she was across the kitchen, making dark chocolate ganache. Her dark hair was pulled back and covered with a bandana, a diamond stud glittered on her nose.
“Can you do the final touches? I gotta take a break,” I said.
“Sure, boss.” She handed off the ladle she was using and came to take my place. Showing her what needed to be finished, I stepped away and took off my apron, hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door.
I went into my office, massaging my sore back and groaning as I worked out the kinks.
“That sounds super sexual, for a second I thought the
re was a hot guy in here with you.”
I looked over my shoulder at Sheila. She had followed me into the office and stood leaning against the doorframe.
“Everything sounds sexual to you,” I said to Sheila, dropping down into my chair. I groaned again, leaning down to massage my calves. It felt stupidly good to get off my feet.
“Everything okay with you?” Sheila asked. I looked up at her.
Sometime between leaving work yesterday and coming in this morning, she had found the time to visit a salon and get her hair done. Her normally dark hair now had copper highlights and looked amazing. I felt instantly jealous. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had my hair done. My split ends were growing split ends.
“Yeah, of course,” I said immediately. Other than the cupcakes I’d burned almost three weeks ago like a total noob, I hadn’t messed anything up. My employees were still walking on eggshells around me and kept double-checking the timer and temperature every time I put something in the oven. It would have pissed me off, except I knew they were only looking out for our best interest. If I kept my shit together, they’ll keep their jobs.
I didn’t let on how hard it was becoming for me to not mess things up. It bothered me that it was taking a conscious effort for me to do something that I swore I could do with my eyes closed and one arm tied behind my back.
“Uh-huh.”
She looked at me with one eyebrow cocked slightly, disappointment showing in her eyes. Here’s the thing, even if I wanted to tell her, I had never been good at sharing. I didn’t share my concerns things about the business with anyone either. I told Maddie because she was a good listener and knew not to offer me advice or platitudes. And I’d told Daniel because…well, I was still a little surprised I had told him. I didn’t know what made me do it. Something about his casual interest and the look in those blue eyes had me spilling my beans.
I sighed. Was it strange to miss someone you technically didn’t even know? We’d run into each other when neither one of us expected to. Now that I wanted to see him again, the universe was confiding against me. Deep down, I knew it was probably for the best. My stupid little school girl crush would only get worse if I saw him again and we had already admitted we weren’t each other’s types.
I had flinched inwardly when he had said it. It didn’t matter that I had said it first. All I wanted to know was why he thought I wasn’t his type. Was it because I’d acted like a psycho each time we’d met? It certainly wouldn’t have helped.
I sighed again.
“Why do you keep sighing like a heroine in a Regency novel?” Sheila asked. “The next thing I know you’re going to stare out the window looking forlorn and take up sewing.”
She walked in and sat down on one of the guest chairs. She leaned forward, eyes sparking with interest. Sheila was a good friend. She had been the first person I ever hired and she’s taken charge in a way I never could have. It left me free to bake and I appreciated that.
“I met someone,” I said slowly.
“I knew it! Tell me everything. Is he hot? What does he do? Have you been on a date? Why haven’t you told me about him before?” She threw the questions at me rapid fire. I raised my hand to stop the flow.
“Whoa, slow down.”
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I’ve waited for this day for a very long time. You’ve finally met someone.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
Sheila’s smile fell. “Oh, he’s a four? No problem. You can be that couple where one of them dates someone above their standards.”
“Sheila!” I reprimanded, laughing despite myself. “That’s horrible. It’s not like that. Daniel is very handsome. We’re just not each other’s types.”
“He doesn’t like beautiful and successful women? Is he gay or a misogynist?”
“Sheila, oh my god! The second time we met he was on a date with a woman, so not gay and not a misogynist either. We get along wonderfully and I am insanely attracted to him. He’s not the kind of man I want to date, you know.”
“Well, things have never worked out for you with the kind of men you want to date. Maybe what you need is someone who’s not your type,” Sheila said thoughtfully.
I opened my mouth to reject that idea immediately. There was a reason I didn’t date men like Daniel, the charming, attractive devilish types who drew you in and made you do things you would never do. I needed a controlled environment where I was the one in charge. The men I dated provided that. The only downside was, after a while they all demanded things I could never give them. Like my time and trust.
“I am such a cliché, having a crush on my friend’s older brother,” I moaned.
“We’ve all been there,” Sheila said.
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
“He had a motorcycle. I was doomed from the start.” Sheila sighed deeply, looking wistful.
I worked like a dog for the rest of the day. That was such a funny phrase, wasn’t it? Dogs didn’t work. They lived like kings or queens. Whoever came up with that phrase must not have had dogs.
Any slacking I’d done when I read Roth’s article was made up for. Daniel was right. I was good at what I did and I couldn’t waste my time wallowing. My creative juices weren’t flowing, that didn’t mean I could ignore my clients and my business. I’d save the self-pity for when I was alone in my bed.
By nine at night, I had made a small dent in my to-do list and decided to take a break to get some dinner. Everyone else had already left since the bakery closed at eight. I made sure the ovens were off, grabbed my purse, and left.
I drove to a popular café in downtown that served the best Mac and cheese empanadas. I had to park two blocks away, which I didn’t mind in the least.
I pulled open the door of the café and stepped inside. The five-story building was also a hotel and bowling alley. It was fairly quiet at this time of night and I could still hear the noises coming from the bowling alley. A long counter was placed on the left side of the dining area on the right with steps leading up to a loft-style seating area.
My phone rang while I was waiting in line to order. I pulled it out to see my father’s name across the screen, with a picture of the two of us in the background. With a heavy sigh, I answered the phone.
“Don’t tell me Mom’s convinced you to do her dirty work,” I said in greeting.
“This is where love gets you, honey,” Dad said, chuckling lightly. “Never fall in love.”
“Well, I work too much and have no charm to speak of. So, that horse is dead and buried.”
“Why would you kill a horse? This isn’t The Godfather, although your mother makes it seem that way sometimes,” Dad remarked.
Dad was the opposite of Mom. They were both defense lawyers at the same law firm, where they met and fell in love. Dad was semi-retired; in that he took cases he found interesting and mostly spent his time writing best-selling romance novels under a pseudonym. He was far more relaxed and laid back than Mom unless he was in court.
“Have you tried talking some sense to her? I can’t rely on Elijah because he’s a pushover when it comes to Mom,” I said.
“Many have tried to talk sense to your mother, including myself,” Dad said wistfully. “The word divorce was thrown around a lot. She’s yet to file for one but a man can hope.”
I laughed miserably. “You’re never going to leave Mom.”
My parents were deeply in love with each other. Dad liked to joke around, but he would never leave Mom. Their relationship was an aspiration for me. I hoped I had what they did, one day. I’d also lived the alternative, watching my bio-Mom crave for her boyfriend’s attention while he ran around with other women. My mother was convinced he would always come back to her, and he did. He strung her along and she let him. Looking back, I understood that she was a vulnerable young woman with a child and he was a charming, devil of a man who could talk himself out of being convicted for murder. She had no chance against him.
“She wants me to call her every day,” I said. “Every. Day.”
“You have a point,” Dad said finally.
Huzzah! Finally, a parent who understood.
“How about how I talk to Mom and we settle on a day for you to call her? That way she won’t worry so much.”
“That works perfectly.”
“Good, now that we have that settled, tell me how are things? Everything good?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that everything was great, which was my automatic reply whenever anyone asked me how things were. I didn’t want to be a bother, and I didn’t want to talk about my struggles with my baking.
“I’m getting there,” I said.
“Oh?” Dad asked, curious. “Anything you want to share?”
“Not really. Not tonight, anyhow.”
Dad was silent for a beat. “You know, you can talk to me if you’re having any sort of trouble?”
“I’m not in trouble. I would tell you if I was. I promise,” I said. I was hoping by the time he asked about it again—and he would—I would have solved my little problem. Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer since the customer in front of me was paying and I was next in line.
“I’ve got to go; I have to order.”
“Alright, I’ll drop it. For now.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Superstar.”
I hung up just in time for me to step up and place my order. I talked to Pete, the guy who always worked the night shift, while I waited for my order to be completed. Once it was ready, I carried it up to the loft dining area and took a seat by the window. Then I pulled out my recipe book from my bag and flipped it open to the last recipe I had been working on, the one I couldn’t get right. I had only just picked up a forkful to eat when I felt a shadow move across my table. Frowning, I looked up to see the one person I least and most wanted to see.
Not My Type : Golden Girls 1 Page 8