Awkward.
“So what would you like to serve?” I asked.
Wayne rolled his eyes. “Brittanie decided we should do a—a whatcha call it?”
“A luau,” Brittanie supplied.
“Right, a luau. Pig roast and flower necklaces and stuff.”
While I shuddered to think what kind of poi you could get in North Texas, and I’m not usually a fan of theme parties, a luau at least had the potential to be classy.
“All right; then maybe something tropical? Everyone loves Tahitian vanilla ice cream, and we could top it with fresh pineapple, mango, and a gingered caramel sauce. How does that sound?” Wayne frowned, but before he could open his mouth, I added, “I’ll do some without pineapple for you, Wayne.”
Wayne shot a glance at Brittanie. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her give a tiny nod.
“That sounds fine, Tally. But here’s the thing. I want to put the Weed and Seed stamp on this hoedown. So I’d like the ice cream to be green.”
“Green?”
“Yep. Wayne’s Weed and Seed green.”
Wayne’s Weed and Seed green wasn’t just green, but an intense chartreuse.
So much for classy.
“Wayne, I don’t know. I’m not sure how to get all that ice cream a real bright green without it tasting funny.” I held my breath, praying he would just let it go.
“Well, how about that sauce stuff? Could you make that green?”
“I don’t know. That’s a pretty tall order.”
Brittanie leaned forward in her seat and drummed a manicured index finger on the top of the contract. “I hear what you’re saying, Tally. I really do.”
Oh, lordy. It was one thing if she wanted to manage Wayne, but I wasn’t too pleased at Little Miss Fancy Britches managing me.
“But branding is really important for a growing business,” she continued.
I turned to Wayne. He shrugged. “Brittanie just got her degree in marketing from Dickerson.”
“Branding,” Brittanie said, giving the word as much weight as a bottle blonde with big ta-tas could. “We need the green.”
She rested her hand on Wayne’s forearm. “Baby, I know you wanted to help Tally out, but I think we should go with the original plan and have bright green fondant-covered cupcakes. I was so disappointed when Petite Gateau canceled on us, but I bet Deena Silver could help us find someone else. Lord knows we’re paying her enough to cater the meal; she ought to throw in the dessert for free.”
I bristled at the notion of Wayne throwing me a bone, giving me the job out of pity. But the ominously erratic hum of the display freezer was a constant reminder that I was in debt up to my eyeballs. I needed this job badly, even if it meant working with Wayne and Brittanie. Even if it meant making Day-Glo green sundaes.
“I can do it,” I blurted.
Brittanie sighed and shook her head. “Really, I don’t think—”
“No, I’m serious. I can do it. I can use a coconut sauce instead of caramel. I’ll tint the coconut sauce green, and with the fresh pineapple mixed in, the effect will be Wayne’s Weed and Seed green.”
Brittanie pouted, but Wayne reached for the contract. “Get me a pen so we can sign this thing.”
I looked over at my display freezer, filled with tubs of ice cream—rosewater pistachio, raspberry mascarpone, peanut butter fudge. My own recipes, mixed by my own hands, in custom-made vertical batch freezers I’d designed myself. If I couldn’t pay the bills and those freezers went kaput, my heart would melt right along with the banana caramel chip.
They say if you lie down with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas. As I clicked my ballpoint and reached for the sheaf of contracts, I tried to pretend I didn’t feel an itch coming on.
OTHER BOOKS IN THE MYSTERY À LA MODE SERIES BY WENDY LYN WATSON
I Scream, You Scream
Scoop to Kill
A Parfait Murder Page 20