Don't Call Me Cupcake

by Tara Sheets

  “You have no business coming here, Rodney. You left, remember? And you took all my money with you.”

  He brushed his hair back, arm muscles flexing. It was another “Rodney” move. Her insides coiled with resentment. It used to make her feel giddy when she was a starstruck teenager, but none of it worked on her anymore.

  “Well, technically, it was our money, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  Wow. The urge to kick him was strong. But she was barefoot, and she might chip the polish on her new pedicure. He wasn’t worth it. Still, it didn’t stop her from fantasizing about it for a second. A nice roundhouse kick to the solar plexus, ending with him flying through the air, just like on Buffy. It worked for her.

  “It was my money and you know it,” she said through clenched teeth. “And now my house is falling apart and I can’t even afford to have it repaired.”

  As if to emphasize her point, the porch step right behind him snapped in half.

  Rodney jerked his head around, gazing uneasily at the broken step. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned back to Emma. “Look, I never meant to hurt you, okay? I was just confused.” His eyes went wide and serious, but she knew that look well. He usually reserved it for telling saccharine-sweet lies.

  “Yeah, I can see how being a cheater and a thief might get confusing,” Emma said. “Must be hard to keep all the facts straight.”

  Rodney glanced away. “You were so sad all the time, Emma. With your grandmother dying, and all. You were always crying, and I guess . . . I didn’t know what to do. I just felt like I had to get away. I couldn’t breathe, you know?”

  Of course. It was always about him. “I’m so sorry my grieving over a loved one bothered you so much.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, it’s okay. I just couldn’t deal, that’s all.”

  She shook her head in disgust. Typical Rodney. He was so wrapped up in himself that he couldn’t even recognize her sarcasm. “What do you want, Rodney?” There was always something he wanted.

  He shifted on his feet. “I just wanted to see you. I was thinking of you all alone here, and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “I’m doing great,” she lied. There was no way in hell she was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing poor little Emma fall apart. “Everything’s going great.”

  He nodded. “Good, that’s good. I’m glad. My parents are giving me a hard time since I got back. My mom’s still mad at me for taking her car when I left town, which is stupid since I worked on it so often, it was pretty much mine anyway.”

  Of course it was. He always found a way to rationalize his actions, because life owed him a living. How silly of her to forget.

  “Anyway, they won’t let me stay at their house right now, so I kind of need a place to crash until they cool off.”

  And there it was. Her stomach churned with anger and resentment. How did he even have the guts to ask?

  He gave her his best smile. The canned one. A flash of perfect teeth that ended on a smolder. She had seen it too many times to be fooled.

  “It would just be for a little while,” he continued. “I’m sure I can get them to come around in a week or two. Anyway, I thought of you here, all by yourself.”

  Emma was already shaking her head. “There’s no way I’m letting you stay here.”

  “I don’t have to stay in the house,” he said in a rush. “To be honest, this place always kind of creeped me out, anyway.”

  Rodney had never liked visiting. He always had trouble with doors jamming or tripping on the stairs. She used to try to make excuses, but it was pretty clear the house never liked Rodney much. Once, when they were teenagers, he tried sneaking in her bedroom window in the middle of the night. Halfway over the ledge, the window slid shut on him and stuck. By the time they were able to pry the window off him, he was in no mood to stay. Convinced the house was haunted, he never tried to sneak over at night again.

  “Just let me hang in the room above the garage for a couple of weeks, all right?” he asked. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  Emma glanced behind him at the small outbuilding near the edge of her yard. It was used for storage, but there was a tiny room above it. “Absolutely not. I want you to go. Now.”

  He dropped his head in disappointment, then peered up at her like a street urchin from a Dickens novel. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Annoyed, Emma bit the inside of her cheek. It was a tragedy that Hollywood had never discovered Rodney Winters, because he’d have made a fortune on the silver screen.

  He turned to go, jumping over the broken step. She was about to close the door when he called out, “I’ve missed you, Angel. I’m going to find a way to make it up to you.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  She shut the door and leaned against it, staring up at the ceiling. She was so over him, but it was still a shock, seeing him there on her front porch. After all these months, he thought he could just waltz back into her life like nothing ever happened. It was absurd! She thumped the back of her head against the door and groaned. Rodney had a knack for weaseling his way into people’s good graces, but she was never going to fall for it again. Not after what he’d done. She was a different person now. A stronger person.

  She walked into the kitchen with Buddy at her heels. A few minutes later, she sat at the table with a steaming cup of orange cinnamon tea while he snuffled around near the corner cabinet.

  The ancient recipe book thumped open on the counter again.

  “I’m just going to ignore that,” Emma told the house. She added a dollop of honey to her tea, sighing. “And I can’t believe you broke the front porch step just to scare him. As if we didn’t have enough things to fix. Was that really necessary?”

  The deadbolt on the front door slid firmly shut.

  Apparently, it was.

  Chapter Ten

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hunter gripped his cell phone and sat down hard in the corner chair of his rented room. A frilly nightmare of a pillow jabbed into his lower back and he tossed it onto the floor. “Sam Norton is the owner of the entire waterfront?”

  “That’s right. All of it,” Jim Creese said in his usual clipped tones. The New York native always sounded like he was in a hurry to get things done, which made sense considering he was the best commercial real estate broker Hunter had ever met.

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person? Sam, the old guy who’s on the commerce committee? It just doesn’t make sense.” The few conversations Hunter had with Sam revolved around town gossip, island traditions, and the best places to get a good drink. The man had to be in his eighties. He had never expressed any interest in property investments, let alone mentioned the fact that he owned all the real estate on the wharf.

  Jim’s laugh was as cold and sharp as the steel beams in Hunter’s high-rise penthouse. “Well, we did have to dig pretty deep on this one. Turns out the waterfront is one big lot, and the property hasn’t changed hands for several decades. The county clerks had to go into the paper archives for the title, if you can believe it. He’s not using a corporate entity or anything, so my guess is that he inherited it.”

  Hunter mulled this over. It made sense, because Sam didn’t strike him as a real estate tycoon. Take the way he dressed, for example. Faded pants and shirts so old, they belonged in a museum. And then there was Sam’s car. The Datsun pickup looked about the same age as its owner. But it wasn’t just the way Sam looked that made this news so surprising. It was his personality.

  Hunter had met many investors in the past few years since he made a fortune with his e-commerce website. He and his college roommate, the founder of the company, had developed an online retailing business that eventually got bought out after it went public. Those investors had a different vision for the company, and Hunter finally sold off his interest and moved on to other projects.

  After several years, Hunter was now the owner of three upscale, successful restaurants in Seattle. One of
them was on the waterfront, just steps from the famous Pike Place Market. He’d had a lot of experience dealing with investors, and all of them had a calculating, aggressive quality to their personality that Sam Norton lacked. They were like circling sharks, always searching for the next big bite. Hunter knew this because he swam in their circles. Staying sharp, staying hungry—that’s how you made it in the world. Sam just didn’t fit the mold. But then again, no one on Pine Cove Island was typical.

  “Listen,” Jim said. “You already bought the other plat on the wharf there, and that’s no secret. If this guy knows you want his properties, too, he’s going to try to manipulate you.”

  Hunter could hear Jim clicking his pen, the way he always did when his gears were turning. It was hard to imagine Sam Norton being manipulative, but appearances could be deceiving. If years of working with cutthroat investors hadn’t proved that to Hunter, then his ex-girlfriend, Melinda, had sure brought it home.

  Hunter stood and began pacing the small room. He refused to think about his ex’s betrayal. After what had happened between them, taking a break from Seattle was the best way to rid himself of the bitter regret so he could just move on. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.

  “If you really are interested in this place, I think it would be best if we extended Mr. Norton an offer from an ‘undisclosed investor,’” Jim said.

  Hunter rubbed his face with one hand and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was four-thirty in the morning, but Jim had called from the East Coast, three hours ahead. Hunter considered talking to Sam face-to-face. Sam the drinker. Sam the octogenarian. Surely, he’d be reasonable? But then, we were also talking about Sam the real estate mogul who owned half the business property in town. There was a lot more to this guy than Hunter had realized. Jim was probably right.

  “Yes,” Hunter said. “Extend him the offer and we’ll go from there.”

  “Okay, good,” Jim confirmed. “I’ll have Trisha get ahold of him later today. One other thing. I’m pretty sure you’re aware of your capital situation. . . .” Jim was alluding to the fact that Hunter didn’t actually have enough to buy the entire waterfront at anywhere near fair-market value. “You’ll need to sell some property.”

  “The Hornstein brothers still interested?” Hunter asked. They had extended an impressive offer to buy his two larger restaurants a few months ago. At the time, Hunter had been reluctant to cash out and walk away. Now things were different. He not only wanted to expand onto the islands, he also needed the change of scenery. Maybe throwing most of his capital into this new project was his best opportunity.

  “I just spoke to them this morning before I called you. Their offer still stands.”

  Hunter considered the step he was about to take. Pine Cove Island had been on his radar for a couple of years now. He could see the potential in the sleepy island town, especially with all the tourist traffic from both the Seattle area and British Columbia. Initially, he had only planned to open Haven on the wharf, but after researching the property, he wanted all of it. The waterfront was run-down and needed work, yes. But so much could be done to make it thrive. He had a gut feeling about the place. It would be a huge risk, but one he was willing to take. The timing was perfect, and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself into a new project and watch it succeed. This was what he knew. This was what he was best at.

  “Tell them I’ll consider their offer,” Hunter said. “Let’s hear what Sam Norton has to say first.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Hunter, listen. I think you may be onto something huge here. But understand, if this plays out, you’ll be all-in on this little backwater town of yours. You know what I’m saying? The only property you’ll have left in Seattle might be the bistro and your penthouse.”

  “I know,” Hunter said. “I’ll make it work. Thanks, Jim.”

  After he hung up the phone, Hunter felt a rush of adrenaline over what was to come. Once Sam Norton accepted his offer, the game was on. He could see the waterfront in his mind’s eye. A resort and a retreat for the harried crowds from the city. It would be a combination of the comforts of home and an escape from the fast-paced lifestyle on the mainland. The whole idea invigorated him and gave him a sense of exhilarating purpose that he hadn’t felt in too many years to count. He would make it more profitable than any of his past investments had ever been, and at the end of the day, it was all about profit, wasn’t it? Money talked. It was a language he knew well. Everything else was just noise.

  He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. It was still dark outside, but he was wide awake now. At this hour of the morning, there wasn’t much else he could do yet, but there was one thing.

  He could run. Running always helped him clear his head and focus. In Seattle, he had a treadmill in his penthouse so he could run any time of the day or night without being subjected to the rain. Here, he had to make do with what was available. He stretched to ease the tension in his neck and reached for a T-shirt.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was so early in the morning that the moon was still visible in the dark sky, with just a tinge of light on the horizon to herald the rising sun. Emma trudged after Juliette, her cell phone’s flashlight scanning the path in front of her. They made their way down the forest trail that wound along the perimeter of Bethany Andrews’s B&B, the rich scents of evergreen and damp earth kicking up around them with each step.

  Emma yawned, wishing she hadn’t forgotten her coffee in the car. She was barely awake and grossly unprepared for this stealth operation. The soft broomstick skirt she had dragged on over her hiking boots that morning wasn’t the best choice, but that’s what happened when you had to function before coffee.

  “What time is it, anyway?” Emma asked.

  “It’s almost five o’clock. The sun’s on its way,” Juliette said, searching the edge of the trail. She always knew when the sun was going to rise. It had something to do with her affinity for plants and their need for daylight.

  The trail wound in a circle around a small pond, and instead of staying on the path, Juliette stopped at the edge of a copse of trees. “We need to go this way.” She pointed into the thick undergrowth.

  “Are you sure?” Emma peered into the thick foliage. “It looks pretty wild and, you know, woodsy.”

  “Exactly. The night-blooming jasmine is growing through there.” Juliette charged ahead, ignoring the overhanging branches and thick ferns in her path. It wasn’t that she was being careless, she just didn’t need to worry about them. Emma watched the ferns and evergreen branches sway as though caught in an underwater current, bending away to let Juliette pass.

  Emma, on the other hand, had no such treaty with Mother Nature. She stepped off the jogging trail and tripped over an exposed root. “Jules, hold my hand!” she whispered loudly.

  “Are you still afraid of the dark?” Juliette teased.

  “No,” Emma said testily. Even though she was, a little. She should never have watched that scary movie when she was in fourth grade. Scarred for life by the bogeyman. “It’s just that if you’re touching me, the plants behave. And I’m not in the mood to be smacked in the face with a tree limb this morning.”

  Juliette backtracked and grabbed Emma’s hand, hauling her across the thick undergrowth. “It’s down this way, near the pond.”

  A few minutes later, Emma could make out a shimmer of water through the trees. The sky had grown lighter, and she could now see the moonlight reflected off a tiny pond in the middle of a clearing.

  The scent of jasmine filled the air, and Juliette let go of Emma’s hand, running to the plants. “Here you are,” she said to the delicate flowers.

  Dropping down on one knee, she pulled cutters from a satchel slung over her shoulder and began clipping sprigs of jasmine. Every once in a while, she murmured to the plants. It would have been unusual for anyone else to see, but Emma was used to it. Juliette always talked to plants, and they seemed to liste
n.

  Emma dug around in the satchel for the bag of blackberries Juliette had brought from her garden. It wasn’t even blackberry season, but Juliette’s plants either didn’t know or didn’t care. She bit into the wild berries, savoring the tart, sweet flavor. “These are crazy good.”

  “I know,” Juliette said absently. “I put a spell on the blackberry bushes last year so the birds and rabbits wouldn’t be tempted. Now I can pick all the ripest, juiciest berries and they’re right up high, out in the open.”

  “Nice,” Emma said around a mouthful of berries. “Can’t get much better than that.”

  “Sure it can.” Juliette threw her a mischievous smile. “I also made it so those bushes don’t have thorns. Now picking blackberries is easy as pie.”

  “Mmm, pie,” Emma said. “You should make me one for my un-birthday. It’s today, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Juliette said. “Right after I give Icarus a bath.”

  Emma popped another berry into her mouth. “Who’s Icarus?”

  “My flying pig.”

  Emma shook her head. “Meanie.” She ate another blackberry. Juliette had absolutely no interest in baking or cooking and they both knew it. Her idea of making dinner involved picking up the phone and ordering pizza.

  “Okay, I think this is enough,” Juliette said, clipping the last of the jasmine. “Bring me the basket.”

  Emma crept forward, congratulating herself for only tripping once. She waited as Juliette filled the basket, wondering if their magic “Go Away” cupcake was really going to work.

  “Do you know I planted these back in high school?” Juliette said. “I had that crush on Logan O’Connor, remember him?”

  Emma took a seat on a spongy patch of moss. “Of course. You used to write his name with hearts all over your notebooks. You wanted him to ask you to the prom.”