But Jack could feel the skepticism hanging in the air between them. “I think you’ll be surprised when you see them,” she said and resisted the urge to push Darcy out the door.
“I can’t wait.” Darcy closed her notebook and slipped the pen into the notebook’s spiral spine. “Thanks for your time this morning.”
“We were happy to talk with you,” Jack said. She stood by the table, hip pressed firmly against the wood as Darcy collected her bag and left.
The door hadn’t even closed when Graham grabbed Jack by the hand and led her into the back. “C’mon. Let’s get this out of the way so we can move on with the day.”
She stopped by the worktable, unsure of what he was proposing. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Okay,” she managed. She took a step toward him. He squeezed her hand before letting it go.
“I saw that look in there. I know you won’t be happy with the Twilight cups after what Darcy insinuated. So, let’s go over the design again,” he said.
Disappointment hummed in her chest. She turned away from him. Pulling the clipboard off the wall, Jack reviewed their notes from meetings with Melanie, looked over sketches she had provided, and tried to formulate a plan of attack.
“I know she asked for these images, but isn’t there something a little sexier or more interesting we could do?”
Graham considered while he mixed icing. “I like the building idea you threw out earlier. But I don’t really know what I can do that’ll make the chains or wheels look better. I think if that’s what Melanie wants, that’s what we’ll give her, and I’ll make it as pretty as possible.”
“Maybe how we arrange them would make it seem more fun,” Harper added as she walked into the back. “You know, if you intermingled the wheels and the chains, and then have the shops in rows above them like it’s a street view?” She grabbed the box and went back to the shop and the customer she’d been helping.
“That could work,” Jack said to Graham. “What about color? I remember some of those really bright gels at The Market. Could we do something with some of them to give it a little kick?”
“That’s definitely a possibility. We might need to stick with some of the more standard colors though, instead of mixing our own with the number of them we have to do. I’m worried it’ll look messy if we have too many shades of the same color.”
“Okay. Would you be willing to try it on the test cupcakes next week? Just to see how it’ll work? If it doesn’t, we’ll come up with a better solution.”
“Sure,” he said.
ten
Jack and Graham had sketched out and discarded so many options for the cupcake designs that by the time the test run actually rolled around, Jack couldn’t remember what they’d finally decided to go with. When she flipped on the lights in the kitchen the following week, her legs went weak. Jack had to hold onto the edge of the worktable to keep herself upright.
Graham had pulled out all the stops.
The cupcakes covered the worktable. Instead of six distinct designs, they were arranged as one cohesive image. Bike spokes and chains blurred along the bottom with thin circles of tires and legs of hunched-over riders. Storefronts and Darlington oaks had been done in more subtle colors and styles, as if fading into the background behind the whiz of motion from the bicycles. Blues and purples and grays swirled on top to form the night sky with a van Gogh–style full moon—complete with concentric circles in yellow and white rippling away from it.
It was almost impossible to tell where one cupcake ended and the next began. No individual one held a complete scene. Separately they would resemble puzzle pieces with disjointed images and colors that only made sense when pieced together.
She stood, heart thudding a frantic pace in her chest, studying the minute details of the design. It was ten times more artistic than anything she’d seen from Graham before. But working with Harper over the past few weeks had paid off. The icing strokes appeared messy, but had a studied, deliberate feel. Colors were used both strategically and haphazardly to create a whimsical yet lifelike interpretation.
Though it violated the specific instruction from the client, it was the most beautiful thing to ever come out of Crumbs. And Jack dared anyone to say otherwise.
She was in the office uploading the thirty or so photos she’d taken to her computer when Graham tromped through the back door. She jolted when he tugged on her ponytail.
“What’d you do with the cupcakes?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“The cupcakes? You know, small, tan-colored puffs. We sell them here.”
“They’re right where you left them,” she said. “And they’re stunning, Graham. I didn’t know you could do that to them.”
He stared at her as if a second head had sprouted on her neck without her noticing. His eyebrows arched in perfect half circles. “No, they’re not. The only thing there is one of Harper’s paintings.”
“Stop messing with me. It’s not a painting. And it’s not Harper’s.”
“Not your sister’s my ass. It looks like everything I’ve ever seen her do. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty fantastic, but it’s in my way.”
The anxiety returned, hitting her full force. She sucked in one breath before her lungs seized. The pain of air clogging in her chest roared in her head like static. Jack reached out and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Please, God, tell me she didn’t.”
Recognition bloomed on his face as he looked from the cupcakes to Jack and back again. “I think she did,” he said. He looked sick. His eyes were wide, his mouth cracked to let air through.
Neither said anything as the seconds ticked by. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Jack couldn’t look at the cupcakes without wanting to shove them all off the table into the garbage. It would be professional suicide to show a client something they could not deliver.
“I have to call Melanie and tell her we need to reschedule. We can’t show her these,” she said. Her voice was rough, shaky. She swallowed hard a few times to ease the throbbing ache in her throat and blinked back tears that burned her eyes.
“But you loved them a few minutes ago.”
“That’s when I thought you’d done it. It’s one thing for you to make a design change, but it’s a whole other story when someone else messes with what the customer is expecting. How am I supposed to explain this?”
“Calm down, Jack. What we’re giving the customer is ten times better than anything I could come up with. It was way out of line, but what Harper did is amazing. There’s no denying that. As for Melanie, we’ll just tell her that it’ll add even more clout to the whole event if they could promote that a celebrated local artist created the design. She’ll love it.”
“That’s not the point. Harper needs to—”
Graham put a restraining hand on her arm. “No, right now, that is the point. Making sure the customer is beyond thrilled is all you need to think about. We can’t change it. And even if we could fix it, I wouldn’t. We’ll deal with your sister later.”
She stalked around the kitchen. Her arms were so tense, she started to lose feeling in them. She uncrossed them and clenched and unclenched her fists. Her hands tingled as blood started to circulate again.
At least Harper had had enough sense to make the collage moveable. She had constructed it on a large piece of paint-splattered plywood.
With Jack on one side and Graham on the other, they started the trek to the freezer. Their steps were cautious, steady. They maneuvered through the door like slugs, sliding across the floor a fraction of a millimeter at a time. Once they cleared it, they only had another yard to go. As soon as the first corner of the board could be slipped onto the shelf, they repositioned themselves to handle the shift in weight.
She wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans. He huffed out a breath. In the cold air, the exhaled breath hung in the air between them as a translucent white cloud before dispersing.
“There’s a reason we make
cupcakes and not real cakes,” he said.
“I like cupcakes,” she said.
“They’re easily portable,” he clarified. “Can you imagine going through that every time we had an order? At least then I might finally get your wimpy little arms into shape.”
Jack knew he was trying to diffuse her anger, but it didn’t stop her from taking the bait. “My arms are not wimpy.”
Graham reached out and encircled her left bicep with one hand. His middle finger and thumb had less than a half inch between them from tip to tip.
His grip was light on her skin, but she couldn’t move. Her heart raced from the electricity in the simple contact. She wondered what, if anything, he felt. When she met his eyes, the playfulness was gone.
They stood less than a foot from each other, neither leaning in or pulling away, and simply stared. She concentrated on each breath. In, out, in out. The tart scent of lime hanging in the air made her mouth water. If he didn’t move soon she was going to do something she’d regret.
As if he’d read her mind, his fingers released their hold, and he stepped back.
She tried to feel relieved, but the disappointment built in her chest until she was forced to expel it in one long, hot breath.
“Steamy,” Harper said from across the room. She fanned herself as Graham followed Jack out of the cooler and shut the door behind them.
Jack hadn’t heard her come down. Her head was still a little foggy. It took a moment for the anger to push through. “What in the hell went through your mind, Harper?” she shouted. When her sister smirked, she said, “I’m serious. Did you just see them there and think ‘Oh, I know how to screw with Jaclyn today. This’ll really get her’? We could lose the entire job—thousands of dollars between the trial and the real event—if Melanie’s not happy.”
“Did you see them? She’ll be delirious.”
The stubborn defiance in Harper’s tone drummed in her head. Jack alternated between wanting to throw something and trying not to cry. She took a deep breath to force herself to calm, at least a little. “That is so not the point. You can’t just come in here and start messing with my business because you feel like it.”
“I wanted to help. I thought I could make them better. What she wanted was so boring and drab. She would’ve been disappointed. Now she won’t be,” Harper shot back.
“I’m not having this argument with you. You were in the wrong, no matter the outcome. End of story.” Jack picked up dirty pans and piping bags and dropped them in the sink with a crashing thud.
Graham walked in and, ignoring them, went to inspect his pans. He turned on the tap, letting the steaming water fill the basin with a soft, gurgling rush.
“You thought my cupcakes were good, didn’t you Graham?” Harper implored.
“They’re amazing.”
“Told you,” she said to Jack.
The tone was so childish Jack was surprised Harper didn’t stick her tongue out. If she had, Jack would have been tempted to yank it out. “Are you seriously taking her side?” she asked Graham.
“We’re all on the same side, Jack. You know she did an amazing job. The way she did it maybe wasn’t the best, but I could never do anything like that. And if you want the shop to move to the next level, we’re going to need something like that.”
Jack turned to him, but the words piled up so fast in her head, she couldn’t decide what to say to him. In the end, she just looked away. The sidewalks teemed with people carrying canvas shopping bags and walking dogs no larger than rats.
He touched her back, but she shrugged him off.
Gripping her sister’s arm, she maneuvered Harper out front and toward the stairs. Pushing her from behind, Jack forced her up and through the apartment door. They broke free from the narrow confines of the staircase like water being expelled from a geyser.
Once inside the cluttered room, there was little space to walk. Even less to sit. Canvases laid siege to the floor, covered the kitchen counter, and propped against the walls in varying stages of completion. Some bore the replications of the whimsical handpainted llama statues that littered downtown. Others captured the essence of the city through buildings and architectural landmarks.
The colors were blindingly bright and vibrated with life. They mimicked the tones Harper had used on the cupcakes. The greens, blues, purples, and oranges of the oil colors and acrylics were emphasized by scratchy pen and ink outlines in neons, reds, yellows, and rich blacks.
One painting in particular caught Jack’s attention. The storefront of Crumbs was unmistakable. Harper had duplicated the logo on the awning with a precision Jack had never seen before in her sister’s work. The bricks were uneven, sloppy even, but looked all the more realistic because of the imperfection. Graham’s bike was parked out front. As she reached for it, her sister snatched it away.
“When did you get so damn nosey?” Harper asked. She set the canvas facedown on a pile far enough away that Jack couldn’t get to it.
“Since you quit telling me things.”
“I’ve never told you things.”
“You used to. Back before you knew what sarcasm or hair dye were.”
“What, like in utero?”
“Why do you hate me?” Jack asked. She sat stiffly on the hand-me-down couch while Harper lowered to the bed.
“Why do you hate me?” Harper countered.
Her flippant attitude and bored stare were better suited for a sixteen-year-old than a woman on the verge of thirty. And that was the root of the problem. Harper had never wanted to grow up. To take life seriously.
“I may not understand you, but I could never hate you, Harper. You’re my sister.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Always telling me what I’m doing wrong, what I could’ve done better, faster, bigger, brighter. Nothing’s ever good enough for you.”
“I only do it because—”
“Don’t say because you love me.” Harper held up a hand in protest. “That’s too Lifetime movie, even for you.”
“Fine,” Jack huffed. The smell of turpentine and paint was suffocating. Her head pulsed. She massaged her temples with one hand.
“Why can’t you ever be happy with me as I am?” Harper asked after a moment.
“You have all this potential just sitting in there, screaming to get out. And you just ignore it. I could never understand that.”
“What’s not to understand? Hutton’s the popular one, you’re the go-getter with a freakin’ magical ability. I couldn’t compete, so I quit trying and did what I was good at.” She wasn’t mad. If anything, she sounded bored. Like she’d been having the conversation in her head for years.
Jack sat up when her sister slouched farther into the voluminous pillows and covers on the bed. After a moment, she was completely hidden from view except for one phantom leg dangling off the side. It swung limply. Jack stood to ensure she had Harper’s attention.
“Not trying is not something you want to be good at,” Jack scolded.
“I meant my art,” Harper groaned from underneath a puff of white. “That’s what I’m good at. But it doesn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t even recognize that. Hell, you’ve never even been to one of my shows.” A flicker of hurt leeched out with the cynicism. It was a slow drip that left alone could fill the room and drown them both.
She opened her mouth to respond, and not knowing what to say, closed it again without uttering a sound. Staring at her sister, she wondered how it was her fault. Coming up with nothing, Jack finally managed, “I would have come, if you’d ever told me when they were.” She watched the lump on the bed that was her sister. It remained lifeless. Not even a twinge of movement.
Jack thought she heard her name as the door closed. She didn’t look back.
Downstairs the air was thick, suffocating. She pushed through it one sluggish step at a time.
Graham looked up when she walked into the kitchen. His hair fell into his eyes. He swiped at it with the back of his hand and
smeared red icing across his forehead.
She suppressed the urge to wipe it away.
“I need you to watch the front for a while,” she said.
“You okay?” Graham held her in place with a hand on her arm. His touch was hot and sticky.
She shook him off. “I’ll see you later.”
She grabbed her purse from the office on her way out. The door slammed with a clang behind her. The dark clouds that had been threatening all morning ripped open, dumping mutinous drops from the sky. The cold rain splattered against her face and soaked her shirt as she ran to the car. Goose bumps erupted on her arms and legs.
Cranking on the heater, she let the car idle while she pulled herself together. It had been bad enough that Harper refused to take responsibility for her screw-up. But for Graham not to back her up on it—that was a first. They were partners. They were supposed to trust each other and make decisions together.
What does it say about our relationship if we see this so differently?
When her hands shook on the wheel, she tightened her grip. She pushed it out of her mind and concentrated on the swish, swish of the windshield wipers. When the question tried to peck its way in, she cranked up the music.
By the time she reached her parents’ house, she could no longer hear the rain pelting the windshield. It was a miserable drizzle that tickled her face as she jogged up the walk. She wiped off the thin layer of wet with the back of her hand.
“Mama?” she called out after letting herself in. She followed the muffled response to the kitchen. “What’re you doing?”
Charlotte was wrist-deep in a mixing bowl. She looked up, surprised. “I’m testing out a new dressing recipe for Aria. She had a couple and wasn’t sure which was better so I offered to give them a try. What are you doing?”
“Trying not to kill your youngest child.” She moved beside her mom and offered her hands to the cause. The cold mass of crumbs and raw eggs squished between her fingers, oozed and stuck to her hands like damp dirt. She suppressed a shiver.
“Whatever she did, I’m sure it’s not worth becoming a felon over.”
Love and Cupcakes Page 12