Don't Call Me Cupcake

by Tara Sheets

  Juliette pouted. “It doesn’t make you glitter. It imparts a soft, luminescent glow.” She dusted some of the iridescent sparkles across her own cheeks. “See?”

  With her glowing skin and lavender blouse, Juliette was as radiant as the dawn. Emma smiled. “You’re beautiful, Jules.”

  Juliette spun Emma around to the mirror over the kitchen sink. “Look who’s talking.”

  Emma stared at her reflection in mild surprise. Her usual messy curls were smooth and glossy this morning, and her eyes looked brighter and bigger, thanks to some magic Juliette had done with her eyeshadow brushes. “Not bad,” Emma said slowly. “You think he’ll believe my act?”

  “I think,” Juliette said as she tossed her things into her bag, “he’ll be marshmallow fluff in your hands. Just remember, you have to be nice.”

  “Nice,” Emma repeated.

  “Yeah. And charming.” Juliette lowered her voice as if she were imparting some secret wisdom of the ages. “Bat your eyes a lot. And laugh at his jokes. Make him feel all manly and stuff. Guys really go for that, no matter how sophisticated they think they are. Besides, it’s only for a few weeks. How hard can it be?”

  That was really the question. For the next few weeks, Emma had to feign friendship with the man whose very presence meant doom and gloom for her future. She glanced around her tiny cupcake shop, the shop her grandmother had left to her. It had a shabby chic vibe, with whitewashed tables and chairs, and soft floral tablecloths. It was as much a home to Emma as the beloved Holloway house with its weathered edges and dilapidated roof. She would do anything to keep them, even if it meant befriending the devil.

  As if on cue, the front door opened and Hunter stepped inside. He had a slightly rumpled appearance and a smile that was more of a grimace. With his bloodshot eyes, all he really needed were a pair of horns to finish off the look. But even disheveled, he was darkly, dangerously attractive. Emma sucked in a breath. Hello, king of the underworld.

  Juliette poked her in the back and hissed, “You’re on.”

  Emma smoothed her hair one last time. Befriend the devil. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” He clutched at his temple with one hand. “Sorry, I had a late night and I’m not feeling that well.”

  Juliette slung her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Emma can fix you up. She’s good with stuff like that. I’m Juliette, by the way. Her cousin.”

  Hunter murmured a greeting and they shook hands. Juliette sidled behind him toward the door, then fanned herself, mouthing, So hot.

  Emma ignored her cousin and pasted a smile on her face. Some smiles showed happiness. Others just showed teeth. She’d work on it later. “Come on in and I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Hunter winced as Juliette shut the door. He took the table closest to the coffee maker.

  Emma studied him from beneath her lashes as she prepared the espresso machine. His features seemed sharper this morning, the hollows under his cheekbones more pronounced. He was much paler than usual, and his full lips were drawn tight. Even though he had managed to make their meeting on time, it was clear he felt terrible.

  A knee-jerk wave of sympathy hit her, but she shut it down fast. This man was the enemy. He should feel terrible. He was going to ruin everything because she had been too stupid to see him for what he was. If only she hadn’t given him those magic cupcakes. But he had seemed so charming and genuine, and she had wanted to help him.

  She grit her teeth and banged the portafilter a little louder than was necessary. When would she ever learn? Her ex-fiancé, Rodney, had seemed charming and genuine, too. Emma had been devastated the day he stole all her savings and ran off with another woman. She forced back the painful memories and took a deep breath. Things were different now. She knew how to take care of herself, and whom to trust. No matter what happened, she was never going to be manipulated again. Making the “Go Away” cupcake on the summer solstice with Juliette was going to fix everything. She just needed to stay focused and stick to the plan.

  Emma began making a double shot of espresso. “So what did you drink last night?”

  Hunter rubbed the back of his neck. “Just punch, mostly.”

  “Not Mrs. Mooney’s Hawaiian Punch Surprise?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Emma tried not to laugh. Served him right. “That stuff will knock anyone flat.”

  “What does she put in it?”

  “You mean, what doesn’t she?” Emma grabbed a small espresso cup from the shelf above the machine. “If Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam threw a frat party on the beach, and then Captain Morgan crashed it? That would be her punch. Just a big wild party full of Jell-O shots and Goldschläger confetti.”

  Hunter grimaced. “I wondered about those little sparkly things.”

  She handed him the espresso and pulled a fluffy white cupcake out of the case. The crisp scent of peppermint and ginger floated between them. She placed it in front of him, but he was already shaking his head.

  “Have just one bite.”

  He held up a hand. “God, no. I’m not even sure I can handle coffee right now.”

  “I promise it will make you feel better.”

  “Look, I already took a swim in that fruit punch last night. The last thing I need right now is more sugar.”

  Emma pushed the china plate a couple of inches closer to him. “Just trust me.” She batted her eyes. Juliette would be so proud.

  He eyed her solemnly. “Maybe later.”

  Emma crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard stare. According to Juliette, the eye-batting thing was a slam dunk. He was a stubborn devil. “Look, if we’re supposed to be working together for the next few weeks, then there’s something you need to know about me. There are a lot of things I’m not good at. Organized sports, for one. Pretty much any sport. You’re doomed if you’ve got me on your team. And don’t ever ask me to give you a jump if your battery’s dead because cars—actually most machines in general—are a complete mystery to me. I also can’t hang a picture straight if my life depended on it, but I know what I’m doing when it comes to baking. If you’re going to be a local here, you need to accept that. Now”—she picked up the cupcake and held it out—“just one bite.” She batted her lashes a couple of times for good measure, then lifted her chin and brought out the big guns. “I dare you.”

  With obvious effort, he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. She had him now. Didn’t it just figure? A guy like him wouldn’t take a challenge lying down. Too much pride.

  His face was ashen, but Emma had to hand it to him. The devil was going for it. He pressed his mouth into a thin line and took the cupcake, stared her straight in the eye, and took a huge bite, chewing forcefully. She watched as his green eyes widened and he blinked, then swallowed. He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Already his complexion seemed less gray.

  Emma nodded. “See?”

  Hunter stared at the cupcake in amazement. “What’s in this?”

  “I call it ‘Be Well.’ It’s very popular on New Year’s Day.”

  He lifted the espresso cup and took a sip. “Whatever you put in that thing, it’s a miracle cure.”

  She shrugged and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. “It’s just what I do.”

  “I like it.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the bistro table. Emma ignored the way his shirt strained across his broad, muscular shoulders.

  He shot her a lazy smile.

  She ignored that, too, taking the seat opposite him. He was so tall he dwarfed the little round table, and their knees knocked together for a moment. She scooted back. Focus, Holloway!

  Sipping her coffee, she let the rich, earthy flavors ground her. “So, Mr. Kane—”

  “Hunter.”

  She took another gulp of coffee. “What do you want to know about the summer festival preparations?”

  “I understand you’ve been the head of the operation for the past several years.”

  “Three. My grandmother and
I used to run it together before she”—Emma swallowed—“passed away. For the last year and a half, I’ve been in charge.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Emma bristled. “I think I’ve managed just fine.”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  How the hell would he know? “For your information—”

  “No, I meant I’m sorry about your grandmother. That must have been hard.”

  “Oh.” He seemed pretty sincere. Crud. “Thanks. She was important to the community. Always helping people.” Emma cleared her throat and added, “It was difficult.” Understatement of the century. But what else could she say? That losing her grandmother had been like losing a piece of her own heart? That the one person in the world who truly knew her and loved her, faults and all, had gone and left a gaping hole inside her that she feared she’d never be able to fill?

  The silence stretched out for too long. This was getting weird. She needed to stick to business. “So we basically have a list of festival vendors that gets updated every January. Once we review and approve the applicants, we help map out where the booths are staged. We also do a routine cleanup around the wharf area a couple weeks or so before the festival. The town committee has an annual budget they designate to fund it.”

  He listened intently, his arms crossed as he leaned back in the tiny bistro chair. Emma could almost imagine him at the head of a conference table in some high-rise office. He just looked comfortable in charge.

  “What system do you use to keep track of vendor applicants?” he asked.

  “We just keep files. It’s usually the same vendors every year.”

  “But what program are you using to file the information? QuickBooks, I’d imagine.”

  Uh-oh. That would be a big fat nopey-nopesters. “We don’t use QuickBooks.”

  “Something more manual then? Excel spreadsheets are fine. Just send me what you have so I can familiarize myself with the different vendors. It might be the easiest way for me to acclimate.”

  Emma thought of the stack of file boxes she kept in her office at home. At the moment, they served as a makeshift table for a vase of roses from Juliette’s garden. The only “spreadsheet” was the tablecloth draped over them. “Um, why don’t I just bring the files in sometime next week and you can take a look?”

  He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “E-mail would be much easier, and more efficient. You don’t have to send me anything confidential. Just a database of names and types of businesses would help.”

  Database? Crap. Emma took a deep breath and let it out fast. “We don’t use databases and Excel spreadsheets here. I took the job over from my eighty-year-old grandmother.”

  His expression was blank. Emma forged ahead. “She wasn’t big on QuickBooks or computers, okay?”

  Hunter blinked. “But . . . surely you use a computer?”

  “Of course I use a computer. I just didn’t have a whole lot of time between taking care of her and running the business to change anything. And now that she’s gone, I’m still working things out.”

  He looked as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying.

  Heat swept up the back of Emma’s neck and across her cheeks. He made her feel old-school, and she wasn’t. Just because her laptop at home was mostly used for e-reading her favorite novels and browsing Etsy and Pinterest, it didn’t mean she was archaic. Besides, who the hell was he? People on the island did things their own way and it worked fine. “Look, I’m sticking to this filing system right now because it works. Do you want to see the lists of vendors, or not?”

  A small crease formed between his eyes, but he nodded.

  Surprise, city boy. You’re dealing with Small Town, USA, now. Get over it.

  “How about we, uh, schedule a time to meet and go over them next week? We could meet here. . . .” He glanced at the little round bistro tables, each barely large enough to hold two plates and cups. “Or we could meet somewhere with more room. Do you have an office?”

  “A home office, but that’s not an option.” The house would have a field day with him if she ever let him inside. It was very protective. “We’ll figure it out next week, okay? What else do you want to know?”

  “I’d like to check out the wharf with you. I’ve donated some funding to the cleanup project and I want to see what’s been done in the past. Maybe we can walk down there sometime today and you can show me.”

  “Today won’t work. I’m here all day and I have to stay late to fulfill a catering contract.”

  “How about Friday?”

  “I can’t. I’m helping Juliette with a project after I close the shop.” Technically, eating popcorn and watching old reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer wasn’t really a project, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “Saturday, then?”

  “I close at six o’clock.”

  “Why don’t I come by at six-thirty, would that work? There will still be plenty of light to walk the wharf, and we could grab dinner afterward.”

  Emma considered his request. It sounded easy enough, but dinner changed things. She stole a glance at him, sitting there in a stray sunbeam. He looked like sin on a stick. Did he really have to keep doing that? She could almost hear Juliette urging her to play nice.

  “All right, fine,” Emma said.

  He nodded and sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup.

  “I have to get back to work now.” She scraped her chair back and stood.

  Hunter rose and gestured to the remaining crumbs of the “Be Well” cupcake. “Thanks for that. No idea what you put in it, but I do feel a lot better.”

  “No problem.”

  “See you Saturday at six-thirty, then?”

  “Yup.” Emma watched him go. A flutter of nervous anticipation caught her off guard. She felt like a teenager who had just been asked to the prom. Get a grip, Holloway.

  Hunter shut the door behind him.

  It’s just a harmless business meeting.

  He stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Followed by a harmless dinner.

  He glanced back and winked.

  With the harmless king of the underworld.

  Chapter Seven

  On Friday night, Emma sat in her living room with her feet propped on a faded ottoman. A candle glowed on the coffee table, filling the air with the scent of vanilla sugar cookies. She snuggled deeper into the overstuffed couch and pulled a patchwork quilt over her lap, settling a bowl of fresh popcorn on top. Yup, this was heaven.

  Her home was filled with a jumble of mismatched things, collected over the years by generations of Holloways. Emma knew the shabby-chic/bohemian vibe would never grace the covers of Stylish Home magazine, but she didn’t care. She loved it anyway.

  In the foyer, the house swung the front door open for Juliette.

  “It’s ridiculous,” Emma called out. “I mean, it’s just business. Why am I so nervous about meeting him for dinner? What the heck is my problem?” She stuffed popcorn into her mouth as Spike said something in his sexy British accent on TV.

  Juliette glided into Emma’s living room with a box in her arms. “Your problem is that Hunter Kane is a total hottie, and you’re trying to pretend he’s not. Just like Buffy tries to pretend Spike isn’t mouthwateringly delicious.” She glanced at the TV and set the box on the coffee table. “I can’t believe you started without me. Here, I brought you a present.”

  Did the box just make noise? Emma sat up, frowning. “It’s not my birthday.”

  “No, it’s your un-birthday. And you need him.”

  “Him?” Emma leaned forward and lifted the lid. A small, furry ball looked up at her and wagged its crooked tail. He was the color of brown sugar, and about the size of a bag of flour. “Juliette, what is this?”

  “A Labradoodle. Katie over at Soaps n’ Sundries had a customer who got transferred to New York and couldn’t keep him. So when I dropped off this month’s batch of bath products, there he was.” Juliett
e made soaps, health tonics, and lotions with organic herbs and essences she distilled from her own garden. It wasn’t a booming business, but she’d been selling upscale body products at all the local boutiques and farmer’s markets for years.

  She lifted the puppy and placed him in Emma’s lap. “Isn’t he the cutest thing?”

  The puppy grinned at Emma, pink tongue lolling.

  Emma reached down and stroked the top of his fleecy head. “He’s adorable, but he can’t stay with me. I’m never home.”

  “Well, I brought him to my house but Luna is having a hissy fit, terrorizing him every time he wanders two feet from his box. I always knew she was the most stubborn cat in the world, but now I’m going to have to add ‘malicious bully’ to the list. So I thought of you, and how you’re here in this big house all alone.”

  Emma stroked his cloudlike fur and he wiggled in approval. “I’m fine being alone. I have been for over a year and a half.”

  “But you’d be happier with this guy. I just know it.”

  “I can’t leave him here by himself all day. And do you have any idea how many health code violations I’d be breaking with a dog living in my bakery?”

  “I have it all worked out. Mrs. Mooney said she’d be happy to let him hang out in her shop next door until you get off work.”

  “Come on. Can you imagine Bonbon with a puppy around? That dog is mean, on his nicest day.” Emma grinned as the puppy discovered a stray piece of popcorn on the couch. His tail wagged so hard, the whole back half of him wagged, too.

  “Well, she said Bonbon would love to have a friend. And she also said it’s about time you brought a man into your life, even if he’s canine.”

  Emma shot Juliette a look. “Wow, she said that? I’m so lucky to have you two looking out for me.”

  “Come on, he’s an orphan now. Can’t you see he needs you?” Juliette was really laying it on thick.

  The “orphan” licked Emma’s hand and whimpered. He actually whimpered. And that was all it took. She was a total goner. “I guess I can keep him for a little while. . . .”

  “I knew it!”

  “But, only a little while. He’s going to need a real home.”