Don't Call Me Cupcake

by Tara Sheets

  Juliette dropped onto the couch and plunked the popcorn bowl in her lap. “It’s fate.”

  “Don’t get too excited.” Emma set the puppy on the floor and watched him explore the cozy living room. “We’ll have to find him a more suitable family. I can try taking him with me to work for a week.”

  The puppy scampered across the rug, tripping over his feet. “How big is he going to get?”

  “I’m not sure,” Juliette said. “He’s around ten weeks old, but I think he’s a miniature.”

  He didn’t look like a miniature. His feet were the size of dessert plates. But he wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter. On Monday, Emma would put an ad in the local paper and ask around town to try to find a place for him. Maybe a nice home with kids and parents—a real family who could love him the way he deserved.

  Emma laid a knit throw blanket on the floor to make a bed near her feet. The puppy pounced on it, fascinated by the tassel fringe.

  “Did you feed him?” She’d have to get dog food on her next trip to the grocery store. Just enough for the week, anyway. Maybe a treat, or two. And toys. Puppies loved toys.

  “Yup, he’s all good. Just tired, running from Luna all day. My cat can be a holy terror. I don’t know why I put up with her.”

  Emma sometimes wondered the same thing. Luna was a huge black cat, with lamplight eyes and a very fickle temper. One minute she’d be licking your hand and the next, it was razor-sharp claws to the forearm. Never a dull moment with that one.

  Juliette curled her feet underneath her and snuggled deeper into the couch. “So are you ready for your big date tomorrow night?”

  On the TV screen, Spike was kissing Buffy up against a wall as the building crumbled down around them. Emma ignored it. “It’s not a date. I’m just going to show him the wharf areas to spruce up before the festival. Then he said something about grabbing dinner. But it does freak me out a little, because it sounds so ‘datey.’”

  “Yeah, it sucks to be you. A gorgeous man wants to take you out and buy you dinner. How will you ever survive it?”

  “It’s not that. You know as well as I do that he has to leave, or my business is ruined.”

  “Which is why you will just go out and schmooze him. Make sure he likes you. Meanwhile, I’ve checked the calendar, and the moon will be full next Monday. We have to get up before the sun rises and go out on the jogging trail at the edge of the forest. You know, the one by Bethany’s B&B?”

  Emma groaned. Bethany Andrews never liked the Holloways, and made sure both Emma and Juliette knew it. It probably had something to do with Bethany’s father having a rumored affair one summer with Emma’s mom, on one of the rare occasions her mom returned home. But Bethany’s father was a known womanizer, so that shouldn’t have been a big surprise.

  “Bethany hates us,” Emma said. “If she catches us traipsing through the woods near her place, it won’t be a good scene.”

  “She’s not going to be up at the crack of dawn, Em. It takes at least an hour to make those beach wave curls, and don’t even get me started on her makeup. It takes time to look that plastic. Besides, that trail has the only wild night-blooming jasmine on the island. I’m going to distill it for us to use in the magic ‘Go Away’ cupcake on summer solstice. Jasmine binds the heart, so I think it would be a good ingredient. It’ll help with the yearning.”

  Emma had given up trying to make a bed for the puppy. He was now curled on her lap again, using the afghan throw as a chew toy. “Can’t we just use the jasmine in your garden?”

  Juliette shook her head. “Wild is better. Plus, full moon. The ingredients will be much more potent. We have to do it on Monday.”

  Not for the first time that week, Emma got the feeling she was getting in over her head. She sighed. “Fine. But you’ll have to spend the night Sunday because I’m not going to be held responsible if I oversleep.”

  “Oh, I totally forgot!” Juliette sat up straighter. “I have another surprise for you.”

  “No more gifts, please. Yours all come with strings attached.”

  “Not true.” Juliette pointed at the puppy. “He only comes with a leash attached. This is even better. I was talking to Molly, and she needs more part-time work because she’s trying to save up for some esthetician training thing. Anyway, she said she could help out in your shop on weekends and two days during the week, if you want.”

  Emma gasped. “Are you serious? That is crazy wonderful!” Molly was one of their good friends who worked at Dazzle, the hair salon near the waterfront. She had helped Emma in the past, so she already knew what to do. Paying an employee for a few hours per week was going to be tough on Emma’s finances, but she was in desperate need of the help. “I can only pay her minimum wage, she knows that, right?”

  “She doesn’t care. Fairy Cakes is just a block from Dazzle, so it’s an easy commute. She’s all for it.”

  Emma felt a wave of gratitude for her cousin. Juliette was always looking out for her. Their mothers were sisters, and Juliette had been Emma’s best friend since she was seven years old. When Juliette turned nine, her mom died in a car accident. Even with the gift of healing, she couldn’t heal her injuries because Holloway magic didn’t work that way. Juliette was left to be raised by her father. He had been a kind, quiet man with a broken heart, who eventually moved away after Juliette turned eighteen. Over the years, Juliette always said that Emma was her rock, but really it was the other way around. Emma didn’t know what she would have done without her cousin. To Emma, Juliette was more than family. She was her lifeline.

  “Jules, I would totally throw my arms around you right now, but I don’t want to startle . . .” She glanced down at the puppy. “What’s his name?”

  “Doesn’t have one. Orphan, remember? I think my client was calling him something stupid like Fifi or Foofoo. One of those dumb names. But he needs a real one. You’ll have to think of something.”

  Suddenly, with a warm puppy in her lap and the prospect of having someone to help in the shop, Emma felt like the days ahead seemed much rosier. Never mind that she had to meet Hunter tomorrow night, and never mind that she had to go gallivanting through Bethany Andrews’s backyard on the full moon next week. Maybe things were going to be okay.

  She grinned down at the puppy.

  He hopped onto the rug, scampered to the edge of the room, and squatted. A puddle formed on the hardwood floor.

  Yeah. Things were looking up.

  * * *

  It was well past midnight when Juliette extracted herself from a nest of throw blankets on the couch and headed home.

  Emma stood in the kitchen cleaning up as the puppy explored the tiled floor. He was snuffling around a crack in the wood cabinet near the back wall, his tiny tail wagging so hard, it was just a blur. She smiled. “What are you looking for?”

  She lifted him up and held him close to her face. He really was the cutest thing. Soon, she’d find him a real family. “Sorry, Charlie. I just swept the floor, so you won’t be finding any more stray popcorn.”

  He cocked his head, pink tongue lolling.

  Emma scratched him behind the ears. “Not Charlie, huh? Well, what am I supposed to call you, then?”

  The puppy busied himself trying to lick leftover buttered popcorn from her hands. She set him back on the floor and started on the dishes, laying them out to dry near the sink.

  A few minutes later, her ancient recipe book tipped over. Emma straightened it and turned away. Behind her, she heard it tip over again. Turning slowly, she found it lying open on the counter.

  Occasionally the house got her attention by putting things right under her nose. Sometimes it was helpful, and other times it was just annoying. For a while, Emma kept finding a leaflet for online dating lying around on tabletops or her nightstand. But after the fiasco with her ex-fiancé, Rodney, Emma was not in the market for a new boyfriend. It took weeks before the house finally gave up.

  Now she tilted her face to the ceiling and sighed.
“It’s past midnight, house. If you have something to say, tell me later.”

  The pages of the ancient recipe book fluttered as if a breeze had swirled into the room. Except of course, there was no breeze, since all the windows were closed.

  “What now?” She glanced down at the pages of her worn recipe book. The leather-bound tome had been in her family for more generations than she knew, handed down from one Holloway woman to another, until her grandmother had given it to her. Most of the original recipes were scrawled in faded ink, the words reinforced over the years with her ancestors’ handwriting.

  Emma never bothered with the truly ancient recipes. The measurements were far too vague for her comfort. Dash of salt. How much was a dash? Lump of butter. What exactly was a lump? Splash of oil. What kind of oil? None of that was clear enough for her, and if she was going to carry on in her grandmother’s footsteps, she was going to do it right. For that, she needed precise recipes. Exact measurements. Luckily, there were hundreds of recipes for her to try that were easy enough to follow.

  All of Emma’s grandmother’s recipes used precise measurements. Tablespoons. Cups. Things that were accurate. Things that Emma could count on. After her mother left, Emma had grown to rely heavily on the order of things. For a long time she felt as though she were blowing around in the wind, just like her mom, and it always made her feel unsettled. She never wanted to feel out of place ever again. Rules, or in her case, measurements, were very important to her.

  When Emma began to embrace her gift in the kitchen, she had poured over the book in fascination. There was something so soothing about the worn edges, the aged leather, the spells that were her birthright. As a little girl, Emma couldn’t imagine any other book in the entire world that held as much intrigue and excitement as this. But when she began making spells and trying out the recipes, she wanted to follow them precisely.

  Her grandmother had been a kind and patient teacher, sometimes teasing Emma to try to tweak recipes to make them her own. She often tried to get Emma to listen to her instincts and just “go with the flow,” but Emma wasn’t comfortable with that. She was perfectly fine with the recipes as they were, thank you very much.

  Now the book lay open to a very old spell. The words had faded over the years and the edge of the page was singed, as if left too close to the stove. Her grandmother had written into the margin to complete the ingredients. Emma knew the spell very well, because she had been obsessed with it as a child. It was the only spell in the entire book that was supposed to work on Holloway women, too.

  The title of the recipe was “Day of Bliss.” It was rumored to bring about the most uplifting, happiest of days to everyone, including the Holloway women. The only spell where, for just one blissful day, the Holloway women could benefit, too. It was supposed to be used on wedding days or birthdays, or whenever someone really needed a boost of happiness.

  As a little girl, Emma had been fascinated by the concept. She loved the idea that there was a spell that could make everything fall into place as it should, no matter what hardships people faced. Even if it only lasted for one day out of the year, it had been marvelous to contemplate. The last time she’d thought about the spell was the last time she’d seen her mother.

  Emma stood at the edge of the yard, watching her mother stroll through the garden. The older woman’s blond hair was faded with streaks of gray and her skin was tanned from years in the sun, but she was still as beautiful and elusive as always.

  She turned toward Emma, the scent of patchouli and far-off places clinging to her like a love song. “Summer’s ending.”

  Emma nodded. At seventeen, she finally understood why her mother had to leave. Her gift of wanderlust wasn’t a choice, it was a calling. She’d never be content unless she embraced it.

  The wind ruffled her mother’s rainbow silk dress, catching it on the breeze and floating it around her body in a soft blur. She was like a watercolor painting left out in the rain; a dissolving medley of colors that would soon fade to nothing. Her voice held a faint echo, as if she was already far away. “I have to go now.”

  Emma sighed. “I know.” For a brief moment, she wished she could use the “Day of Bliss” spell to make her mother stay a little longer, but some things were impossible to change.

  After that, Emma had forgotten about the spell. Now, as she stared down at it, she wanted to laugh. Her grandmother had never liked the “Day of Bliss” recipe. She swore up and down it was useless, and there had never been any notable day of bliss for her. In fact, Emma’s grandmother had recounted the tale of how she had tried the recipe once as a young woman, and it had brought her nothing but a day of discord and heartbreak. Faint pen lines made an X over the page, and her grandmother had written the word “broken” near the title.

  “This old recipe is a dud, house. Grams said so herself. It doesn’t work.”

  The pages of the book fluttered again, then settled back on the same recipe. It was the house’s way of disagreeing.

  She leaned in and peered at the page. It was so old, most of the words were written in formal, flowery script that had faded over time. Emma read the first few ingredients.

  Half splash of vanilla.

  Three large bird eggs.

  Scant cup molasses.

  Yeah, no. This recipe wasn’t happening anytime soon. Not if she had anything to say about it. None of the ingredients were exact. And what the heck did it mean by “large bird egg”? Egg of ostrich? Large egg of chicken? Forget it. The last ingredient was added by her grandmother in the margin, near the burnt edge of the page. One quarter teaspoon of dried lavender. Now that, she understood, but it still didn’t matter.

  Emma shut the book firmly and shook her head. She placed it back against the wall and spoke to the air around her. “I’m not making this recipe, house. Grams tried it once and it never worked. But thank you for thinking of me. I know you’re just trying to help and I really do appreciate it, but the recipe’s a dud. I’m sorry.”

  She blew a kiss to the air and a soft breeze wafted across her face, as though the house were kissing her back. “I love you, too.”

  She called to the puppy and turned off the kitchen lights. The book thumped open on the counter again, but she ignored it.

  Chapter Eight

  On Saturday evening, Emma stared into his soulful eyes and whispered, “If I’m not careful, I could fall in love with you.”

  The puppy licked her face and wagged his crooked tail. All day he had been with Mrs. Mooney and Bonbon next door. For the most part, he slept in his cozy basket, occasionally venturing out to wander the perimeter of the baby gate area Mrs. Mooney had set up in the back of her shop. Things seemed to be going well, and the biggest surprise of all was that Bonbon didn’t hate him. The older dog just ignored him, which was so much better than Emma had expected. It was really too bad she couldn’t keep the little guy.

  She set him back in the basket and glanced at the clock. Almost six. Hunter would be arriving in thirty minutes. “Thanks again for letting him hang out with you guys tonight.”

  Mrs. Mooney nodded. “He’s a good boy. Not very refined, of course, but that can’t be helped. It’s the poor breeding. The American Kennel Club doesn’t even recognize Labradoodles, don’t you know?”

  “Mmm.”

  “But we won’t hold it against him.” The older woman smiled fondly at the puppy.

  “You’re so great to help out with him, Mrs. Mooney. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Well, I’m staying late to do inventory, so we’re happy to have him. Aren’t we, Bonbon? Yes, we are.” Bonbon was reclining on his pink princess bed in the corner. He yawned and looked away. “Have a good time on your date, dear.”

  “Oh, it’s not a date,” Emma said a bit too loudly. “We’re just getting together to discuss the plans for the festival.”

  “Of course, dear. Oh, and make sure you lock your shop up good when you leave. Tommy Jenkins reported a burglary in his garage the other night, d
id you know? Someone stole his watering can. Can you even believe it? Never can tell what hooligans are roaming the streets these days.”

  By hooligans, Emma wasn’t quite sure what Mrs. Mooney meant. Pine Cove Island was just about the quietest, most laid-back town in the world. The only time it ever got rowdy was during the summer when tourist season was in full swing.

  Back at Fairy Cakes, Emma poured herself a cup of tea and checked her appearance in the kitchen mirror for the third time. She looked casual in jeans and a simple black top, but her messy bun was like a ratty tumbleweed on top of her head. Lovely. She tried to smooth it out, then forced herself to stop. What did it matter? It was just a business meeting, anyway.

  “Halloo,” a chirpy voice called. Gertie Fraser pushed through the back door with her usual enormous tote bag. She was the top hair stylist at Dazzle, and one of Juliette’s and Emma’s closest friends. In her late forties, Gertie had the kind of vivacious energy that always made her seem younger than her age. It was hard to believe she had two sons in college and a firefighting husband in his fifties. With her petite frame and spiky hair dyed varying shades of red, she looked like an autumn wood sprite.

  “The girls are right behind me,” Gertie said. “We just wanted to pop in before—whoa. Have you been drinking?”

  Emma frowned. “No.”

  “Well, you might not be drunk, but your hair definitely is.” Gertie gave Emma a quick hug and pulled a stool in front of the mirror, pointing. “Sit.”

  Emma sat. No one argued with Gertie Fraser when it came to hair. She was a natural at what she did, and she always seemed to know exactly what a person needed.

  Gertie dug around in her bag and whipped out a brush, a large-toothed comb, a can of hair mousse, two different bottles of gel, and a small pot of some sort of pomade. Emma half expected her to do the Mary Poppins thing and pull out a large table lamp.

  “I can’t believe you carry all of that in your purse,” Emma said, shaking her head.

  Gertie gave her a pained expression. “Have we met?”