The Cupcake Diaries: Sweet On You

by Darlene Panzera

  “Jake and I continue to have fun,” Andi argued.

  “That’s because you and Jake are made for each other.” Rachel picked up the tray of cupcakes they’d decorated to look like white rabbits peeking out from chocolate top hats. “And so far, I haven’t met any man who looks at me the way he looks at you. If I did,” she said, pausing to make sure her friend got the hint, “I’d marry him.”

  Andi pushed a strand of her long, dark blond hair behind her ear and blushed. “Maybe Mike will be your man.”

  “Maybe,” Rachel conceded and smiled. “But every relationship starts with a first date.”

  WHEN RACHEL ENTERED the room, Mike was in the middle of performing a card trick. She scanned the faces of the two dozen kids sitting at the long, rectangular tables covered with pink partyware and colorful birthday presents. Mike did a good job of holding their attention. They sat in wide-eyed fascination. Not one of them noticed her as she distributed the cupcakes to each place setting.

  Next, Mike the Magnificent showed the audience the inside of his empty black top hat. Placing the hat right-side up on one of his black boxes, he waved his wand over the top and quickly flipped the hat upside down again. Rachel smiled as he invited the birthday girl up to the hat. The six-year-old reached her hand in and pulled out a fake toy bunny with big, white floppy ears.

  Caitlin looked at Mike, her eyes betraying her disappointment, then mumbled, “Thanks.”

  “Were you hoping for a real rabbit?” Mike asked her.

  Caitlin nodded.

  “Let’s try that again.” Mike told Caitlin to put the stuffed bunny back into the hat. Then he turned the hat over and placed it down on the black box again. He waved the wand. This time when he turned the hat over a live rabbit with big, white floppy ears poked its head up over the top of the rim.

  Caitlin let out an excited squeal, and Rachel laughed. Mike the Magnificent was good with the kids and a good magician. How did he do it? She stared at the box and the black hat and couldn’t tell how he’d been able to make the switch.

  Dodging a couple of the strings that hung down from the balloons bobbing against the ceiling, she moved closer.

  “Just the person I was looking for,” Mike said, catching her eye. “Rachel, could you come up here for a moment?”

  “Certainly.” Rachel gave him a wide smile and moved to his side. “What would you like me to do?”

  “Get in the box.”

  Rachel glanced at the large horizontal black box resting upon two sawhorses at the front of the room. It looked eerily like a coffin.

  “And take off your shoes,” he added under his breath.

  Rachel stepped out of her pink pumps, and when Mike moved aside the black curtain covering the box, she slid inside.

  “How about a pillow?” Mike asked.

  “A pillow would be nice,” she said.

  His large, warm hand cupped the back of her head as he placed the white cushion beneath her, and his gaze locked with hers. “Are you married?”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “No.”

  “Have a steady boyfriend?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  “Good,” Mike said and grinned at the audience. “I won’t have to worry about anyone coming after me if something goes wrong.”

  “What do you mean, ‘if something goes wrong’?” she demanded.

  He held up a carpenter’s saw with a very large, jagged blade, and the kids in the audience giggled with delight.

  “He’s going to saw her in half!” Mia exclaimed. “I don’t think my mommy will like that. How will Rachel help my mom bake cupcakes?”

  “Saw me in half?” Rachel gasped and stared up at Mike. How did this trick work? He wasn’t really going to come near her with that saw, was he? “I . . . uh . . . have a slight fear of blades. If I get hurt, do you have a girlfriend or wife I can complain to?”

  Mike grinned. “No wife. But if you survive, maybe I’ll marry you.”

  The young audience edged forward in anticipation probably wondering if they’d see blood or hear her scream.

  Rachel had done some pretty crazy things in the past to get a date, but this ridiculous stunt had to top them all. “I really am afraid of blades,” she said, her voice raised to a high-pitched squeak.

  “Don’t worry; I’ve only killed two people in the past,” Mike reassured her, then leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Roll to your side and curl up in a ball.”

  Rachel did as she was told and faced the audience. There was more room in the box than she’d first supposed. Mike made a few quick adjustments, and an inside board slid up against her feet. Then he raised the shark-toothed blade above her and began to saw the outside of the box in two.

  The box rattled, and the fresh sawdust made her sneeze, making the kids laugh.

  “Does it hurt?” Caitlin asked.

  “Not yet,” Rachel admitted.

  “Here we go,” Mike announced.

  Rachel closed her eyes, and memories of her uncle filled her mind. Distracted, he’d slipped while working a circular saw and cut off three of his fingers. Blood spurt in every direction. She’d been seven and stood by his side when it happened.

  Everyone in the room shouted as Mike pulled the black boxes apart. Rachel frowned. She didn’t feel any different.

  “Rachel, are you alive?” Mia called out.

  “Yes, I’m still here.”

  Jake’s daughter, Taylor, pointed. “Her feet are sticking out of the other half of the box.”

  “How do you know those feet are mine?” Rachel challenged, knowing her bare toes were still curled beneath her.

  Caitlin laughed. “They are wearing your pink shoes.”

  Rachel craned her head around to see the other half of the black box several feet away. The two flesh-colored, lifelike feet sticking out of the end wore her pink pumps.

  “How ’bout we put Rachel back together?” Mike suggested.

  The kids clapped and cheered.

  Moving the two boxes back together, Mike motioned for her to slide out of the first wooden compartment. Then he removed the set of fake feet out of the second compartment and gave her back her pink pumps. When she’d slipped them on, he took her hand and led her in front of the audience.

  “She’s back together again!” Mia exclaimed.

  “Take a bow,” Mike told her. “You’ve earned it”

  “I survived.” Rachel tilted her head and gave the masked magician a questioning look to remind him of his earlier words. But he didn’t ask her to marry him.

  He didn’t even ask her for a date.

  Disappointed, Rachel left the party and headed back to the kitchen, where Andi and Kim waited for a progress report.

  “Does he like you?” Andi asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Rachel said and swallowed the knot in the back of her throat. “He called me a ‘good sport.’”

  An Excerpt from

  THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: TASTE OF ROMANCE

  All I really need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt!

  —Charles Schulz

  FOCUS, KIM REPRIMANDED herself. Keep to the task at hand and stop eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.

  But she didn’t need to hear the crack of the teenage boy’s heart to feel his pain. Or to remember the last time she’d heard the wretched words “I’m leaving” spoken to her.

  She tried to ignore the couple as she picked up the pastry bag filled with pink icing and continued to decorate the tops of the strawberry preserve cupcakes. However, the discussion between the high school boy and what she assumed to be his girlfriend kept her attentive.

  “When will I see you again?” the boy asked.

  Kim glanced toward them, leaned closer, and held her breath.

  “I don’t know,” the girl replied.

  The soft lilt in her accent thrust the familiarity of the conversation even deeper into Kim’s soul.

  “I’ll be going to the university for two years,” the g
irl continued. “Maybe we meet again after.”

  Not likely. Kim shook her head, and the bottom of her stomach locked down tight. From past experience, she knew once the school year was over in June, most foreign students went home, never to return.

  And left many broken hearts in their wake.

  “Two years is a long time,” the boy said.

  Forever was even longer. Kim drew in a deep breath, as the unmistakable catch in the poor boy’s voice replayed again and again in her mind. And her heart.

  How long were they going to stand there and torment her and remind her of her parting four years earlier with Gavin, the Irish student she’d dated through college? Dropping the bag of icing on the Creative Cupcakes counter, she moved toward them.

  “Can I help you?” Kim asked, pulling on a new pair of food handler’s gloves.

  “I’ll have the white chocolate macadamia,” the girl said, pointing to the cupcake she wanted in the glass display case.

  The boy dug his hands into his pockets, counted the meager change he’d managed to withdraw, and turned five shades of red.

  “None for me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “How much for hers?”

  “You have to have one, too,” the girl protested. “It’s your birthday.”

  Kim looked at his lost-for-words expression and took pity on him. “If today is your birthday, the cupcakes are free,” she said. “For both you and your guest.”

  The teenager’s face brightened. “Really?”

  Kim nodded and removed the cupcakes the two lovebirds wanted from the display case. She even put a birthday candle on one of them, a heart on the other. Maybe the girl would come back for him, or he would fly to Ireland for her. Maybe.

  Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them shut for a brief second. When she opened them again, she set her jaw. Enough was enough. Now that they had their cupcakes she could escape back into her work and forget about romance and relationships and every regrettable moment she’d ever wasted on love.

  She didn’t need it. Not like her older sister, Andi, who recently lost her heart to Jake Hartman, their Creative Cupcakes financier and news reporter for the Astoria Sun. Or like her other co-owner friend, Rachel, who had just gotten engaged to Mike Palmer, a miniature model maker for movies who also doubled as the driver of their Cupcake Mobile.

  All she needed was to dive deep into her desire to put paint on canvas. She glanced at the walls of the cupcake shop, adorned with her scenic oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she’d have the money to open her own art gallery, and she wouldn’t need to decorate cupcakes anymore.

  But for now, she needed to serve the next customer. Where was Rachel?

  “Hi, Kim.” Officer Ian Lockwell, one of their biggest supporters, sat on one of the stools lining the marble cupcake counter. “I’m wondering if you have the back party room available on June twenty-seventh?”

  Kim reached under the counter and pulled out the three-ring binder she, Andi, and Rachel had dubbed the Cupcake Diary to keep track of all things cupcake related. Looking at the calendar, she said, “Yes, the date is open. What’s the occasion?”

  “My wife and I have been married almost fifteen years,” the big square-jawed cop told her. “We’re planning on renewing our vows on our anniversary and need a place to celebrate with friends and family.”

  “No better place to celebrate love than Creative Cupcakes,” Kim assured him, glancing around at all the couples in the shop. “I’ll put you on the schedule.”

  Next, the door opened and a stream of romance writers filed in for their weekly meeting. Kim pressed her lips together. The group intimidated her with their watchful eyes and poised pens. They scribbled in their notebooks whenever she walked by as if writing down her every move, and she didn’t want to give them any useful fodder. She hoped Rachel could take their orders, if she could find her.

  “Rachel?”

  No answer, but the phone rang���a welcome distraction. She picked up and said, “Creative Cupcakes, this is Kim.”

  “What are you doing there? I thought you were going to take time off.”

  Kim pushed into the privacy of the kitchen, glad it was her sister, Andi, and not another customer despite the impending lecture tone. “I still have several dozen cupcakes to decorate.”

  “Isn’t Rachel there with you?”

  The door of the walk-in pantry burst open, and Rachel Donovan and her fiancé, Mike Palmer, emerged, wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing and grinning.

  Kim rolled her eyes. “Yes, Rachel’s here.”

  Rachel extracted herself from Mike’s embrace and mouthed the word “Sorry.”

  But Kim knew she wasn’t. Rachel had been in her own red-headed happy bubble ever since macho, dark-haired Mike the Magnificent had proposed two weeks earlier.

  “I’ll be in for my shift as soon as I get Mia off to afternoon kindergarten,” Andi continued, “and the shop’s way ahead in sales. There’s no reason you can’t take a break. Ever since you broke up with Gavin, you’ve become a workaholic.”

  Kim sucked in her breath at the mention of his name. Only Andi dared to ever bring him up.

  “Gavin has nothing to do with my work.”

  “You never date.”

  “I’m concentrating on my career.”

  “It’s been years since you’ve been out with anyone. You need to slow down, take time to smell the roses.”

  “Smell the roses?” Kim gasped. “Are you serious?”

  “Go on an adventure,” Andi amended.

  “Working is an adventure.”

  “You used to dream of a different kind of adventure,” Andi said, lowering her voice. “The kind that requires a passport.”

  Kim wished she’d never picked up the phone. Just because her sister had her life put back together didn’t mean she had the right to tell her how to live.

  “Painting cupcakes and canvas is the only adventure I need right now. I promised Dad I’d have the money to pay him for my new easel by the end of the week.”

  “Dad doesn’t care about the money, but he does care about you. He asked me to call.”

  “He did?” Kim stopped in front of the sink and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Her sister was known to overreact, but their dad? He didn’t voice concern unless it was legitimate.

  With the phone to her ear, she returned to the front counter of the couple-filled cupcake shop, her heart screaming louder and louder with each consecutive beat.

  They were everywhere. By the window, at the tables, next to the display case. Couples, couples, couples. Everyone had a partner, had someone.

  Almost everyone.

  Instead of Goonies Day, the celebration for the 1985 release date of The Goonies movie filmed in Astoria, she would have thought the calendar had been flipped back to Valentine’s Day at Creative Cupcakes. And in her opinion, one Valentine’s Day a year was more than enough.

  She reached a hand into the pocket of her pink apron and clenched the golden wings she received on her first airplane flight as a child. The pin never left her side and like the flying squirrel tattooed on her shoulder, reminded her of her dream to fly, if not to another land, then at least to the farthest reaches of her imagination.

  Where her heart would be free.

  Okay, maybe she did spend too much time at the cupcake shop. “Tell Dad not to worry,” Kim said into the phone. “Tell him . . . I’m taking the afternoon off.”

  “Promise?” Andi persisted.

  Oh, yeah. Tearing off her apron, she turned around and threw it over Rachel’s and Mike’s heads. “I’m heading out the door now.”

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, Kim stood outside the Astoria cupcake shop on Marine Drive, wondering which direction to go. The tattoo parlor was to her left, a boutique to her right, and the waterfront walk beneath the giant arching framework of the Astoria−Megler Bridge stretched straight in front.

  Turning her back on it all, she decided t
o take a new path and soon discovered an open wrought iron gate along Bond Road, the side entrance to Astoria’s new community park. Hadn’t her sister told her to smell the roses?

  Kim walked through the gate toward the large circle of white rosebushes and began to count off each flower as she leaned in to fill her lungs with their strong, fragrant scent. “One, two, three . . .”

  After smelling seventeen, she moved toward the yellows. “Eighteen, nineteen, twenty . . .”

  Past the gazebo she found red roses, orange roses, and a vast variety of purple and pinks. “Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight . . .”

  Her artist’s eye took in the palette of color, and imagining the scene on canvas, she wished she’d brought along her paints and brushes. “Sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four . . .”

  Andi had been right. The sweet, perfumed scent of the roses did seem to ease her tension and help block out all thoughts of romance. Even if the rose was a notorious symbol of love. And the flower that garnished the most sales over romantic holidays. With petals used for flower girl baskets at weddings.

  Who needed romance anyway? Not her.

  She bent to smell the next group of flowers and noticed a tall, blond man with work gloves carrying a potted rosebush past the ivy trellis. As his gaze caught hers, he appeared to pause. Then he smiled.

  Kim smiled back and moved toward the next rose.

  “Can I help you?” the gardener asked, walking over.

  Oh, no. He had a foreign accent, Scandinavian, like some of the locals whose ancestors first inhabited the area. And she had an acute weakness for foreign accents.

  “I think I need to do this myself,” Kim replied. “My goal is to smell a hundred roses.”

  “Why a hundred?”

  “That’s the number of things on my to-do list. I thought stopping to smell one rose per task might balance out my life.”

  “Interesting concept.” The attractive gardener appeared to suppress a grin. “How many more do you have to go?”

  “I’m at sixty-seven.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He set the rosebush down, took off a glove, and extended his hand. “I’m Nathaniel Sjölander.”