Sugar Rush

by Donna Kauffman

  “That you’re so defensive—without the slightest provocation on my part, I might add—is only proof that maybe you’re feeling they aren’t up to your usual brilliant standards. I didn’t say anything about your choice of product.”

  “You didn’t have to. The look on your face just now when you tasted that frosting said it all for you. Which is another reason I don’t need you waltzing into my life on your whim, sniffing at my work, which is my livelihood now. I respect you, as a chef, more than anyone I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with, or whose work I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. I thought I’d earned some measure of respect from you as well—”

  “You know you have,” he said. “I wouldn’t have come all the way down here if I didn’t respect your work.”

  “As long as I’m baking what you think I should bake. Right? I thought this wasn’t about my abilities. You said—”

  “My respect for you as a chef and as a woman go hand in hand.”

  “Ah. So my baking cupcakes ... well, I guess that would certainly have to stop then, if ... you know, that other part of what you said ... if that part happened. Because this woman? She bakes cupcakes now. And we can’t be having any of that if your respect is to be maintained.”

  If he hadn’t have been so worked up, so ... well, flustered himself, he’d have seen how flustered she’d suddenly become trying to discuss his previously stated interest in her. In pursuing her. As a woman. Not as a chef. Because he saw his entire hopes and dreams sinking like a half baked soufflé right in front of his eyes, he blurted, “Are you sincerely happy baking cupcakes, Leilani? I mean, are you fulfilled here? Have you just given up on that amazing creative mind you have, and working your genius in ways that—” He broke off as he saw the shutters come down over her eyes. He thought back to what he’d just said, and her comment about disrespecting her chosen livelihood when she’d done nothing but respect his ... and wanted to grab the pastry bag from her hands and just shoot himself with it. In the head. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Don’t look for an argument from me.”

  “I don’t disrespect you. As a chef, and as a woman, I have only the highest regard. I’m just ... I’m confused, that’s all. Sincerely confused. I’m not condemning your choice, I’m really not,” he assured her when she merely rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to understand it.”

  “Just because it’s not a choice you can fathom making for yourself, does not mean it’s not the right one for me.”

  “I do understand that. I’m ... I’m simply trying to understand you. Who you are. I thought ... I guess I thought I knew. And now ...”

  “I was a chef with you. Beginning, middle, and end. That’s who you knew, Baxter. Leilani Trusdale, pastry chef. You don’t know all the rest of what makes me who I am. I’m more than a pastry chef. I’m a woman with diverse interests, a wide range of moods, a brand-new set of goals and dreams I’m making come true. And, you know what? I honestly don’t think you’d be attracted to that woman. If you can’t even fathom what it is I’m doing here, or trying to do, much less why I’d want to do it, I can guarantee you I’m not the woman you think I am. Or want me to be. Nor will I ever be that woman.”

  He was hearing what she was saying, every last word of it. But it wasn’t computing. Not because it didn’t ring true, but because it did. There was no doubt she was speaking the truth. Her truth.

  “You’re saying I’m a snob, then.” He was stung by it, because it was the very last thing he’d felt he was. But, given his boorish behavior, and his private thoughts proving every last thing she’d accused him of thinking, there was a ring of truth to it.

  “A people snob? No, not that. A food snob? Yes. You think in terms of educated palates, and you’d be right to assume most folks here wouldn’t know a panna cotta from a semifreddo. But what I’ve discovered is that food is just another form of art. The people on Sugarberry might not know why they like it, but they know when they do. I’m discovering that I don’t need to educate people, I just want to feed them and make them happy. And if in doing so, I get to play with new flavor profiles and complex combinations, even in something as rudimentary as a cupcake? That makes me happy. In fact, trying to maximize new flavors in a tiny cup of cake motivates me, challenges me. Seeing my customers lick their lips when they taste my creations is all the validation I’ll ever need. Win-win, Baxter. For me.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, nodding.

  “Okay then, what?”

  “Don’t look so wary. I’m hardly a snake about to strike. If anything, I’ve been a bumbling moose in the china shop since my arrival. I’m certainly not capable of stealth, much less grace, at least where you’re concerned.”

  She cocked that one wicked brow of hers. He shouldn’t find himself entranced by that little previously unseen quirk of hers, but he was finding it rather ... intoxicating.

  “Where are you capable of it?”

  “New York,” he said, quite sincerely. “Which is where I was when I concocted this entire scheme.”

  “Scheme?”

  “I told you I wanted to see you again, spend time with you, see what there might be between us. And put an end to my regrets where you’ve been concerned.”

  “How ... tidy of you.”

  “Come on, I’m trying here.”

  She lifted her hand. “You’re right. You are. I don’t know why, at this point, you’re bothering, but you are. I have a lot to do before opening today. It’s softball Sunday, our last one of the season. I have streusel cakes along with Alva’s secret weapon cakes to complete before starting on my daily stock. I open in four hours and I have at least six hours of work to do. Closer to seven now,” she said, nodding toward him to note he was wearing at least a half a bag of her frosting.

  “Secret weapon cakes?”

  “Long story. I doubt you’d be interested.”

  “I found Alva to be rather ... memorable, actually.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you did. Where were you yesterday?”

  “New York, why?”

  She frowned again. “You went back to the city? We do have hotels here, you know.”

  “I’m well aware, and am, in fact, staying at quite a lovely one in Savannah. I had to go back to tape some interviews promoting the new season premiere later this coming week. Why does it matter?”

  She shrugged. “After your spilling-of-the-beans to Alva, I thought for sure you’d take advantage of one of our biggest annual events to officially announce the fact that your show is coming to Sugarberry. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind.”

  She looked far too hopeful, and his spirits were dashed a bit further. “I had faith in Alva,” he said, allowing the smallest of smiles to lift the corners of his mouth. “And, I hadn’t secured the remainder of the details with you,” he said more seriously. “Despite the rather brash and, some would say, ill-advised manner in which I launched this proposed endeavor, I do still plan to launch it. In fact, I have no choice but to launch it.”

  “Really.”

  “Quite. Plans have been made, things put in motion. I will be filming here. Granted, it doesn’t have to be in your shop, but I’ve been listening to everything you’re telling me, and, quite honestly, I think it’s more important than ever that we do this together.”

  Her expression fairly boggled. “What gave you that impression ?”

  He shrugged, and a bit of his old determination started to pump again. He simply didn’t think in terms of giving up. Much less failure. “You’re saying I don’t get it. And, while I wish it were otherwise, as it’s not a particularly flattering self-portrait, to some degree, I must admit you’re right in your judgment of me.”

  “Wow.” She looked more surprised than he liked, but seemed to believe he was sincere. “Well, that is a step in the right direction, I suppose. Only I’d think it would be a step toward the door.”

  “Don’t you see? Doing the show here together, is the one way—possibly the only way—I’ll
get to see and learn firsthand, what it is about being here, running your own shop—a cupcake shop, no less—that is so fulfilling to you. Not to pass judgment, Lani, but to really, truly, and fully understand. What better way than to jump in and do it side by side with you?”

  “Except you don’t want to work side by side with me. You want to take over my shop and make it the Chef Hot Cakes show. You want to bring your work, your desserts, into my shop. Then you expect me to what, go back to making my simple little cupcakes, as you assume they are, and expect that to be enough? Like I said, the folks here might not have the most sophisticated palates, but I’m delivering something I know they’ll like, and that I enjoy making. If I wanted to do ridiculously over the top pastries, I could. But they wouldn’t get it and that wouldn’t satisfy me.”

  “So maybe they won’t get mine, either.”

  “You’re not that obtuse. You bring your celebrity with you, a rather hot one, at least as far as the ladies here are concerned. I can’t compete with that. And I can’t help feeling it will be a letdown after you go.” Lani put her pastry bag down and faced him, sincere now, without any added heat to her tone. “I’m not looking for reasons to shut you out. I just ... I just wish you’d never come here. I’m sorry. It’s not even personal, Baxter. I don’t want anybody else here, either. In that regard, I’m being entirely and completely, one hundred percent selfish. But that’s why I came here. Or why I stayed here, anyway. This place, these people, are mine. And I don’t want to share. I definitely don’t want to compete. I’m done with that environment. And I don’t want to start over again somewhere else. I guess we’re both being selfish, just wanting what we want, and the hell with the rest. But I was here first, dammit.”

  She stared at him, and she looked ... lost again. Or maybe just done. But not done in. He wasn’t making the mistake of thinking that.

  “You think I’m not being fair to you, by not giving you a chance,” she said, “but at least I am being honest.”

  Baxter felt a bit lost, too. He wasn’t used to being in such a position, especially one of his own making. “I realize I’ve gone about every last step of this in as wrong a way as I possibly could have. I take responsibility for that. And the fact that I’ve already moved my show here, production team and all.” He lifted a hand, to once again stall her. “I don’t deserve even being heard out, but as it pertains to you, please let me finish.”

  “Baxter—”

  “I’m filming Hot Cakes here. At least for the next week or two. Then I’ll pack up and be gone.”

  “Back to New York?”

  He shook his head. “Sugarberry is just our first stop.”

  Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. “You’re taking your big city dessert show and ... what, exactly?”

  “Going to another small town, where I will bake again. For the same people you’ve come here to bake for. I want to teach them how to expand their imaginations in the kitchen, and I hope to learn from them as well. The difference is, I don’t know how to make even one season out of that. You plan to make a whole life out of it.” He crossed the room. “So show me how you’re doing it.”

  “So now you want me as ... what, some kind of mentor? Is that why you’re really here? You have this big idea for a new season, but you don’t know how to pull it off?”

  “No, I pitched the entire idea so I’d have an excuse to come to Sugarberry, to work with you again, see you again.”

  She snorted. “You did no such thing. One show, maybe—and I’m not saying I really buy that, yet—but a whole season? Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  She held his gaze a moment longer, then her expression shifted to one of bewilderment. “You really mean that? And they went for it?”

  He flashed a short, dry grin. “I can be a good pitch man when I really want something. Present company notwithstanding.” He stepped closer. “And you’ve always been a mentor to me. Does that really surprise you?”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means I learned from you just as you learned from me. You pushed me, you provoked me. I was a better chef because of you, trying to impress you.”

  “Impress me? Baxter, you impress the world. Without even trying. I seriously doubt I had anything to do with that.”

  “But you did. You absolutely did.” Heedless of buttercream frosting and every last cautionary rule he’d made for himself, he framed her face with his hands, thinking if she couldn’t hear his sincerity, maybe she’d feel it. “Show me your world, Leilani, your new world. I loved having you in mine. I marveled constantly, over how you just walked into the only world I’ve known my whole life, and turned it into something completely different from anything I’ve ever known or understood. You know, maybe I shouldn’t be at all surprised that you’re still doing the unexpected, heading down a path I would never have predicted for you. You’ve always marched to your own drummer, I guess, and while I might not know all of you, Leilani, I do know that every part of you I’ve come to know so far has captivated me. I’m certain this will be no different.”

  She stared at him, her face expressionless. Except that her eyes didn’t look so lost anymore. More like ... barricaded. That it was a barricade against him broke his heart a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. But she was still talking to him. He was still in the room.

  “If I confuse you, that can’t even hold a candle to how much you—this—is confusing me. I don’t know what to think anymore. Am I some kind of strange muse to you, then?” Lani drifted off, shook her head. “Nothing about this is normal. You’re not even close to normal. I want normal. I just ... want ... normal.”

  He smiled then, fully, for the first time since entering the kitchen. “Ask anyone, from here to New York, to D.C., and I’m certain to Brussels and everywhere else you’ve ever been ... and I bet they would all agree that the very last thing you are is normal. From your talent, to your point of view, to the way you approach ... everything. Including your life here. I hate to be the one to tell you, Leilani. This”—he motioned with his head to the room around her—“is not normal. Not for you.”

  She searched his face, and he wanted—badly—to know what she thought she was finding there.

  “I don’t want this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He knew she wasn’t referring to her shop—but to him. And everything he’d brought with him. “I am sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to bring you trouble, or heartache. But I’m here. The show is here. I can’t undo what’s been done. So, why not just do it with me? Jump in, go for it, and we’ll find a way to make it work for you, and not against you. I know your concerns and I’m not discounting them. But trust me, okay? Trust me to do my part, and to do whatever I can to make sure good things come of this.”

  “And when the show is over? Poof?”

  “Poof?”

  “You said you’re going on to the next town. For the record, I can’t believe you’re doing a whole season set in small towns. I can’t even imagine you outside the city for more than five minutes without getting twitchy and breaking out in hives. You’re like ... umbilically attached to the energy of the city. In fact, I’d started to think that maybe the city gets its energy precisely from people like you. You feed the vibe as well as feed off the vibe. It wasn’t like that for me. The city just fed off me, sucked everything out of me; then I had to find a way to recharge—only I couldn’t because I was always there. So, I can’t teach you how to appreciate this, what I have here. You either get it, you either need it, or you don’t.”

  “I think I understand a small part of that.”

  She gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was full of it.

  “I mean it. When I got back to my hotel late last night, I thought the peace and the quiet would drive me mad, but instead I slept like a babe. I truly felt better rested this morning than I have in ages.” When she offered no response to that, he said, “I don’t know what happens next. All I know is th
at this show will happen. Please, be part of it. Team up with me. I’ll make certain it’s a smart business decision if nothing else.”

  “You know, I think I just realized something.”

  “What is that?”

  She pulled his hands from her cheeks, held them briefly, then let them go. “You’re like the city. Vibrant and engaging, but ultimately draining. You want and you want and you take and you take, and you think you’re giving back, because you’re a nice guy, and you make sure others benefit from your wants. And you are a very nice, good guy. But you’re not hearing me. I don’t want what you have to give. Not the show, not the business, not any of it. You think you’re helping me, but all you’re doing with this whole thing, while fulfilling your needs, is draining me.

  “Don’t you get it?” she implored him, not angry so much anymore, as ... weary. “I don’t care if you understand why I’m here, and I don’t care about making you understand. I”—she jabbed a finger toward herself—“don’t need you to understand. I also don’t want or need you to boost my business. I truly and very sincerely want my shop to be successful, but I want to do it all on my own. I think that’s a big part of the attraction for me. Finding out what I’m made of, if I can do it. But what now? You come down here and team up with me, indelibly linking my life here to my past, to you, and to your success, and then you take off again. I’ll never know what part of any future success I have is me, and what part is the notoriety and celebrity of you.” She framed her hands above her head in the shape of a sign. “Chef Hot Cakes baked here!” She dropped her hands back by her sides. “Where do I go to recharge then?”

  Baxter took a giant step back. In every possible way, he’d seriously, very, very seriously, miscalculated. “I’m ... I wish there was more that I could say to convey how sorry I am.” He was never more sincere, and never, not ever, feeling himself to be so completely and utterly inadequate. “I never meant this. I ... didn’t think. Well, I thought, but I thought that you—that we—that—” He finally stopped the stammering, knowing he wasn’t helping either one of them. “You’re right. I didn’t think about you, consider you. Not in the way I should have.” He looked away, then let out a deep sigh as he raked a hand through his hair, heedless of the buttercream he likely dragged through it as well. “I’m just—I’ll stop production.” He straightened and looked directly at her. “I’ll figure it out, absorb the cost if I have to. We’ll take the show to the next town, or—it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done this.”