I breathed in the aroma of my accomplishment with pride. This was my home away from home; the only thing missing was a bed where I could lay my head at night. Had there been enough space, I just might consider it. It would save me a buttload in rent, that was for sure. But you’re not supposed to shit where you eat, right? At least that’s what Dad used to say.
Before I knew it, Hammond, Miriam, and Kyra had taken their places and the day was rolling past us with ease. Hammond and Miriam were students from Kingsborough Community College’s culinary program, and Kyra was a young girl, still in high school, looking for a summer job to get her feet wet in the industry. She reminded me of myself at her age and I took an immediate liking to her ambition. Thus, I hired her on the spot. My tiny but mighty staff helped me run this place with much ease and tons of laughter, creating a vibe that any employer could only pray for.
It wasn’t until a bubbly Kyra came into my office to drag my attention from invoices and future orders that I noticed the morning had bled into afternoon and it was already close to lunch time.
“Lina, there’s someone here to see you about a wedding cake.” Her eyes were wide with wonderment as she gnawed the gloss off her bottom lip. This led me to believe the customer was a man. An attractive man, of course. Kyra took the bus from the heavily Italian-infused Bensonhurst to our other-worldly Williamsburg every day. She’d informed me she wanted a job at the bakery because it would beef up her resume, but I imagined she was more interested in the wide variety of enigmatic hipster men than she was in learning to fill a cannoli.
“Girl,” I laughed. “Let me guess; manbun, Ray Bans, and grizzle for days?”
Kyra arched a brow and then waggled both of them. “Nope. Not even close. I’ll admit he’s not my usual type, but damn, is he fine!”
I shook my head and stood from the squeaky desk chair. “Too bad he’s inquiring about a wedding cake.”
Kyra shrugged. “Could be for his sister. You never know.”
“Maybe it’s for his boyfriend.”
“Skeptic.” She stuck out her tongue.
“Hornball,” I retorted. “Now get your cute little tush back on the floor. I just heard the chime ring. We have customers.”
Kyra scooted back to the front with a sway to her hips. I waved her off as I arranged the mess of papers on my desk into a neat pile. Summertime in the city was prime wedding season and it seemed there weren’t enough hours in the day to keep up with running the business end of things and baking. I wasn’t complaining, though, because it could’ve been a lot worse. I stood from my rickety chair and re-knotted my hair into its bun as I walked through the shop to meet with my customer.
Once our eyes met, I immediately remembered him from when he and his fiancé came in to select their dream wedding cake. Zander and Zoe—I thought their names were adorable together—were set to be married at a spot on Eighth called the Brooklyn Winery. I loved the spot in all its rustic-chic glory, and the intimacy of their one-wedding-at-a-time policy. Not to mention, their wine was crafted on-site and it was pretty damn fantastic—the dry rosé was my fave.
Zoe was a haughty, petite blonde with a British accent who fell in love at first sight with the handsome, dark, and free-spirited Zander when he served her an Oyster from his stand at Smorgasburg. No, I wasn’t a stalker; merely a hopeless romantic. And one of the best parts of creating wedding cakes for a couple’s special day was learning how they met.
Zander and Zoe’s story stuck out to me because, A, he was a foodie like me; and B, the fact they were polar opposites made me curious. It was obviously not uncommon for an African American man and a Caucasian woman to marry, but a Trump supporter and a liberal . . . you catch my drift?
While it was pleasant to see him—everything about him was more than pleasing to the eye—I wondered why he was here. “Hey, Zander.” I greeted him with a smile and a friendly pat on the arm. “What brings you by? Your deposit was squared away weeks ago and your balance isn’t due until delivery.” If memory served me, and it almost always did, their wedding was set for the second Saturday in October.
My innocent question caused Zander visible distress. He blinked his gorgeous amethyst eyes two or three times and his full-lips arched into an unmistakable frown. He stared back at me, seeming forlorn, and then brought his gaze down to the floor before dropping the bomb. “The wedding’s off. She left me a Dear John letter and went back to Manchester. Apparently, I’m to deal with cancelling all the vendors. Talk about adding insult to injury.”
I knew I didn’t like that bitch. Zander had seemed too good for her. She was so picky when choosing their cake fillings. Right from the start I could tell he was easy to please and nice to a fault. Of course, darling. Whatever you want, babe. How could she do this to him? I wanted to tell him this was a blessing, not a curse. He would be relieved when he looked back on this someday, remembering her pert little nose turned up in the air when she sampled my red velvet and called it ordinary.
Okay, maybe I was making this a personal thing. This had nothing to do with Zoe’s awful taste in baked goods, and everything to do with what she’d done to her clearly distraught fiancé—er, make that former-fiancé. While I didn’t need consoling, poor Zander was on the verge of tears.
“Oh, my God, Zander,” I whispered so no one in the shop would overhear. “I am so sorry.” Impulsively, I wrapped my arms around him in a great big hug.
He accepted my gesture, allowing me to take it a step further and rub his back with soothing strokes. My curious hands couldn’t help but roam the expanse of his broad shoulders and beyond when they caught on to the rock-solid physique he’d been hiding beneath his signature short-sleeved button downs. Zoe, you bloody fool.
When I looked up from taking a whiff of his scent—musky cologne, a hint of the sea, and pure manliness—Kyra’s eyes were on me with a minxy grin.
Caught mid-decadent sniff, I immediately loosened my grip, stood tall, and cleared my throat. “I-I . . .” What was I supposed to say? Forget that prissy wanker. I can make you feel better. Marry me instead.
No. Never. That wasn’t me. While I may have been thinking it, nothing of the sort would ever leave these lips. Instead, polite and kind by nature, I said, “Why don’t you come back to my office? I’ll get that deposit back to you.” The contract they’d signed stated the deposit was non-refundable, but come on. My heart proved bigger than my business sense in this situation.
Downtrodden, Zander nodded. I placed a hand on his back, ushering him through the shop. I peered over my shoulder to check on Kyra for good measure. Little biotch was giving me the thumbs up. Two, in fact. Luckily, Zander was too preoccupied by his current jilted-groom status to notice when I sliced my hand across my throat and gave my erotically charged assistant the death glare.
ZANDER SAT ACROSS from me, his large frame wilting in the small wooden chair. I hardly knew the guy, but I hated to see him this way. I realized I was merely the baker here, but an innate need to wash away his sorrow brewed inside as I wrote up the check to refund the deposit.
I peered at him over the top of my reading glasses. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked with the slightest hesitation. My question could be received one of two ways. Zander would either think I was nosy and overstepping. Or perhaps—even though I had no place—he would realize I was trying to be a friend and offer him an outlet for his feelings.
It took about two point three seconds to understand it was the latter.
“I still can’t believe she did this, you know? I can’t even focus on the heartbreak because I’m still so shocked! There was no indication she was even the tiniest bit unhappy. Everything was perfect. Unless I was being insensitive and didn’t see it. Do you think I’m insensitive, Paulina? Do you think I caused her to pull a Runaway Bride?”
“Oh! I love that movie.” Is that really the first thing that flew out of my mouth? God, what an idiot. But I couldn’t help it. I absolutely adored Richard Gere and Julia Roberts onscreen togethe
r, and I was the queen of putting my foot in mouth at the most inappropriate moments. Like when you suddenly get a fit of uncontrollable giggles at a funeral. Or you can’t keep a straight face when your icing tube makes a farting sound while you’re instructing a lesson in front of a room full of students and your supervisor. Yeah, that was me. Finding humor one unfortunate moment at a time.
“Forgive me,” I apologized, handing him the check. “I get stupidly awkward in situations like this.”
To my surprise, Zander cracked a smile and my heart rate decelerated from nervous galloping down to a jumpy pitter-patter. “It’s okay. I always liked that movie, too. Up until now, of course.” He took the check without looking at it and folded it in half before tucking it into his back pocket. He quietly stared down at his empty hands as they rested in his lap.
Poor guy was so sad and here I was, ill-equipped to better the situation. How could anything I had to say mend his shattered spirit? He didn’t know me beyond these bakery walls and even though I could say the same about him, I felt I had a handle on the type of man he was. I was good at reading people—maybe I should’ve told Zander my qualms about Zoe after our first meeting, but then again, he wouldn’t understand a stranger’s warning. It was best to keep quiet and not risk infringing where I don’t belong. Unless, of course, someone is asking my opinion, right?
Words from the heart. I heard Dad’s voice in the back of my mind. Sensitive situations such as these always called for TLC. Too much thought would ruin the sincerity and muddle the meaning. Say what you need to say—beautiful song lyrics and a wise truth. It couldn’t hurt to tell him what I really believed.
Before I lost my nerve or gave my awkward giggles the chance to appear, I rolled the chair closer to the desk and made sure our eyes were connected before I said what I felt needed to be said. “To answer your question . . . No, Zander. You couldn’t possibly be insensitive. I don’t know much about you, but from the little I’ve seen, it looked as if Zoe was very happy. She was eager to share the wedding details when we had our meeting. Her eyes twinkled when she spoke about how you first met and your plans for the future. And if I’m being honest—even if I didn’t exactly think she was the friendliest person around—I could tell she was genuine with you. Her hands never left you, Zander. She made sure the two of you were physically connected the entire hour. I imagine the need to be that close is a sign of the purest love. It was real. There is no mistaking that.”
I shook my head, lost in the haze of romance. I was yet to have that with anyone. The necessity to always touch or be touched. Usually, too much contact with anyone was bothersome, if anything. But I imagined when I finally fell in love, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him for fear of letting him slip away.
“That means a lot,” Zander said, still hanging his head.
“Does it make you feel any better?”
“No, not really.” He chuckled. At least I got him to laugh. And what a melodious sound it was. The way his shoulders quaked and his eyes glistened made me that much angrier at Zoe for taking that joy away from him. And then he said something that really made me want to jet to Manchester and slap the deserting bitch myself. “I feel so lost without her. I can’t explain it.”
I felt physical pain at his admission, my hand clutching my chest. “Oh, Zander. I’m so sorry. I know it must hurt like hell right now, but you will get over her. You’re a great guy. She’s an idiot for letting you go.”
“I know. I know. This too shall pass, but for now I’m the one who feels like the idiot.”
It was obvious why he was so down on himself. Hell, I’d be picking myself apart one flaw at a time if I were in his Doc Martens, but I wanted to help him snap out of it. There was only one thing left to do. Chocolate therapy.
“Hey,” I called out and sprang from my seat. “Wait right here.” My deep chocolate cupcake with fudgy ganache filling was to die for. One might say it was For Heaven’s Cake’s most beloved item. I ran to the front of the shop and plucked one from the display counter.
Kyra sidled up next to me and nudged me with her hip. “Having fun back there?”
“Kyra, I don’t know how to get this through your hormone-flooded teenage brain, but a man and a woman can be in the same room together without jumping each other’s bones.”
Her hands flew to her hips. “That sounds like a personal problem. Maybe you should let me back there instead.”
“You’re sixteen!” I scolded, cradling the delicious treat in my hands. Had they not been full I would smack that smile right off her face. “Now, let me get back there before he thinks I’ve jilted him, too.” I swiveled away from her and started for my office.
“Wait a hot minute. Are you saying—”
Crap! Me and my big mouth.
“That’s why you were hugging him, isn’t it? Oh. Em. Gee. Paulina! This is perfect!”
I turned back to face her and then scanned the store to make sure no one was around. When I noticed the coast was clear, I inched closer to Kyra and whisper-yelled, “How is this perfect? I lost a customer and the potential of more because the event is cancelled. Not to mention, he’s a mess and this gives me one more reason to believe true love only exists in romance novels. Nothing about this scenario is perfect, young one. Now, go Windex the front door again. I have a pity cupcake to deliver.”
“But, I Windexed it this morning.”
“Do it again.” She was lucky we had a sort of sisterly bond. Another boss might have fired her on the spot for her sassy ’tude and backtalk, but it was all part of Kyra’s adolescent charm and I knew she meant well.
“Fine,” she huffed before stalking off and saying, “But the way I see things, that hottie doesn’t need a cupcake. He needs a rebound, and you need a good time. It’s been too long, Lina. Even my parents get more action than you do.” With that, she stalked off, found the Windex under the cash register, and left me with my mouth hanging open and a really yucky visual of Mr. and Mrs. DeLeo.
In the seconds it took me to return to my office, I rummaged through multiple excuses why I hadn’t put myself out there in so long. I was busy with the shop. All the guys around here had longer hair than I did and it kind of grossed me out. I didn’t fall lightly into bed with someone. Who actually wanted to be a rebound, anyway? I was confident in my decision to ignore everything Kyra said, and then I caught sight of him again. My reaction was similar to the way a starving person might devour the cupcake in my hands with their eyes, their mouth watering in anticipation of tasting the scrumptious treat, their stomach growling with expectation. While my stomach wasn’t rumbling, a hunger I was unaware of kicked up inside of me.
He was still seated in the chair, his back toward me so I could take the chance to ogle unsuspectingly. He rolled his head from side to side, probably unkinking the stress in his neck. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. They weren’t visible from this angle, but I could tell he had a pretty strong hold on the wood because his triceps contracted, showing off just how defined his muscles were. Even from behind, he was something to look at. Short curly hair, caramel colored-skin, a quirky sense of style captured by his llama and cactus covered button-up shirt.
Surely, Kyra had gotten to me and reminded my libido that it had been ignored for a bit too long, because never in my life had this kind of thing happened to me. The guy was practically crying over the loss of his soul mate and I was eye-fucking him from behind. Clutching the cupcake, I willed my own raging hormones back in check and announced my entrance.
“If this doesn’t make you feel better, even if only temporarily, then I’ll have to rethink my recipe.”
Zander craned his neck and his gaze followed me as I walked closer to him and handed him the cupcake. Smiling with every inch of those lush lips, he received my offering and said, “How’d you know chocolate is my favorite?”
“It’s mine, too.” My eyes took him in from head to toe as the words popped out of my mouth. I snapped my lips together when I realized wha
t that must’ve insinuated. “I mean . . . I just . . . I’m gonna shut my mouth now and let you eat your cupcake.”
He laughed at my failed attempt to cover up my brain leakage and then peeled the wrapper off the cupcake. Bringing it to his nose, he took a sniff—I had the same habit of smelling my food before I ate it, too—and then licked his lips. “It smells delicious, so I can only imagine how good it must taste.”
That sounded more erotic than it should have. My cheeks heated at his words, his somber but sexy tone, and the way his tongue darted out to take a lick of the icing. Gulp! Don’t moan, Paulina. Please, God, whatever you do, don’t moan.
“Oh, God,” I managed to keep my whimpers at bay, but Zander, however, did not. After taking a generous bite, succeeding in eating half the cupcake, he closed his eyes and savored as he chewed. My eyes dared to follow the lump that traveled down his throat as he swallowed my cupcake. He swallowed my cupcake. Talk about erotic.
“You like?” I asked, nibbling on my lower lip in anticipation.
“I love!” he grunted and opened his eyes. “Why do you not have a stand at Smorgasburg? If you sold these alone, you’d make a killing!”
My fingers itched to swipe the few remaining crumbs from his lips. He must’ve noticed my attention on his mouth because he thumbed them away and then sucked his finger clean. Is he doing this stuff on purpose?
I cleared my head of all sexual thoughts in hopes of giving him a solid explanation to the question I’d been asked time and time again. “I’ve tried. There are too many cupcake stands at the festival. I apply every year but For Heaven’s Cake never makes the cut.”
The Hipster Chronicles Page 10