“Maybe Pauly insisted and Siegfried couldn’t say no. Rob is Pauly’s nephew, after all. And,” Gretchen added gently, “Rob is reputed to be a pretty successful businessman.”
“Oh, I know. But can I help it if I want to avoid him as much as possible? Maybe someday I’ll be calm and capable enough not to get so tongue-tied around him. But that day is not today. Or tomorrow, for that matter.”
Gretchen rubbed her temples, a sign she was in deep thought. “After your uncle dropped this bomb on you, you called and told me you were going to make up a schedule, right? One that Nick, Jacques and I could help you with. Did you do it?”
“Yes. And I purposely planned my shifts so I’d work with any one of you except for him. I’m not working with him, Gretchen.”
“Okay, okay. Not a problem.” She laughed. “You say he talks a lot? I hope you stuck him with Nick as often as possible. That boy could talk the ears off of corn. The two of them ought to cancel each other out.”
Elizabeth had to agree. “I don’t even remember what I wrote anymore, except that Rob and I are at opposite ends of the day. I made sure I worked around all of your busiest times, though. Nick’s got his brother’s restaurant during the day—”
“Ah, yes. Jason the spanakopita god. Nick’s learning from the best. I never thought I’d come to love spinach but…mmm.”
“I know. And Jacques has the bakery in the morning.”
“That man’s talent amazes me. And his accent makes me giddy, although not nearly as giddy as those incredible fig cookies he makes. You know, he told me he puts a teaspoon of—”
“Gretchen! Stay with me here. And you have to work at Chocolate Heaven every afternoon, right?”
“That’s true.”
“So the general plan should work. I scheduled myself to do the opening shift and the next one. Rob has to do a midday shift and also close the shop.”
“So, see, you can avoid him.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Maybe, but the problem is that twenty-four hours are nowhere near enough time for everything I have to do. Whether I open or close, I’ve got a ton of writing left to finish for this cookbook. My deadline’s August first. And some recipes need to be rewritten. Camden has to fly out here to shoot the pictures. I want to make sure my best friends—” she squeezed Gretchen’s arm, “get their creations highlighted in the book in a way that makes sense…”
“Just stop worrying. Nick and Jacques will be there tomorrow morning, too. Between the four of us, we’ll put the Hot Italian in his place and figure out a way to get you some quality writing time. Okay, um, Lizzy?” her blond friend said with a saucy grin.
“Oh, don’t you start.” She gave Gretchen a light smack. But she felt better already. Thank God for true friends. Especially friends who could make such wicked things with chocolate.
She grabbed one last truffle then closed the box.
***
Ten a.m. Tutti-Frutti time. And they were all assembled at the confectionary shop. Except for Rob.
“I can’t wait to meet the infamous Roberto Gabinarri. The guy was amazing on the football field,” Nick declared, fingering his black sideburns and looking especially Greek this morning.
Elizabeth marveled at the twenty-two-year-old’s classic features. Turn him into marble and prop him up by the Parthenon. No one would suspect he didn’t belong there.
“He was a legend you know,” Nick said in Part Two of his Roberto Dissertation. “I read about his senior season in the Wilmington Bay High School record books. Do you know he averaged fourteen points per game as a quarterback and that during game three of the regional playoffs he scored a record thirty-two points? And isn’t it just amazing when you think—”
“For a gay guy, isn’t it just amazing how into sports he is?” Jacques interrupted in a loud whisper to Elizabeth and Gretchen. “Good thing he can at least make a mean baklava or all would be lost.”
Nick shot him a pitying look. “Don’t go all stereotypical on me, man. The body is a temple.” He punched Jacques’s small paunch. “And from what I’ve heard about Rob, he’s got a body on him that makes everyone drool.”
“Is that true, Elizabeth?” Gretchen asked her, one eyebrow cocked.
“I regret to inform you all that, yes, he’s the epitome of ‘hot.’ I refuse to be witness to any drooling, however.”
“I won’t drool,” Jacques promised.
“I make no such vows,” Nick said, hip-hopping around the tiles. “So, I hope I’m on lots of shifts with him.” He checked his watch. “Damn. Ten after ten. When will he get here?”
“Look, I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, the nervousness rising like soda fizz inside her. “The only thing I’m certain of is that I will never get done with my draft of Perfect Pastries, Pralines and Parfaits if I have to spend an entire five hours per day in this shop. Aside from not getting the features and recipes finished, I’ll probably gain back all the weight I lost eight years ago. Some of us—” she tossed Nick her most evil look, “are not natural athletes. Three half-hour sessions of X-treme Abs and Thighs is all I can handle each week. No way am I doing more just because I can’t resist ice cream and éclairs.”
“It’s all right, chéri,” Jacques said, patting her arm. “We all know how you’re trying to help us by featuring our specialties in your cookbook. We’re here to help you, too.”
Gretchen and Nick both nodded, and Elizabeth felt the familiar tightness in her throat, but this time it was because of the affection she felt radiating from her friends. They choked her up and left her buoyant. They made her feel as though she could handle this enormous responsibility. And she wouldn’t freeze the next time she had to talk to Rob. No! She’d be cool, like ice cream, and smooth and—
“Hi, everyone,” Rob said, surprising them by entering through the backroom door. “Sorry I’m late, but I picked up bagels and coffee for all of us.” He deposited his goody bags on one of the tables and managed to elicit Oohs and Aahs from her cadre of helpers. The traitors.
Her friends introduced themselves to Rob and then quickly turned their attention to the treats. As they spread strawberry cream cheese on their cinnamon-raisin bagels and doctored their coffees to their liking, she watched Rob watching them, and she realized she hadn’t heard the backdoor bang before he entered. Had he just gotten here? Or had he been here already, lying in wait, listening to them? Had he overheard their discussion of his ‘hot’ body?
The possibility of this made her blush, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t given him his own set of keys to the shop yesterday in her panic. Then he wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on them today.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said, speaking her name with noticeable deliberateness. “And how are you doing on this bright Friday?”
“F-F-F—” Oh, hell! “F-Fine.” She gestured an “And you?” with her nearest hand.
“Long night, last night, to tell you the truth,” he said. “Kind of stressful, actually. I locked up the shop about a half hour after you left. Spent some time with my family. Dinner. Discussions. More discussions…”
She couldn’t help but notice the way he eyed her every move while he spoke. Goodness, what was he looking for? Did he think she had any connection to his family? She barely knew them.
“What did you do last night?” he said.
“I-I—” She made a scribbling motion in the air but Nick took this opportunity to jump right into their conversation. Bless him.
“Oh, man, she’s an awesome writer. She’s only twenty-seven and she’s co-written a couple of books and gotten a three-book contract for her own dessert cookbook series.” Nick turned to her. “I know your deadline’s during the summer, but when’s the publication date for book one? Thanksgiving?”
For a reason she wasn’t able to analyze, her voice unfroze. “No, just before Christmas. The s-second book is supposed to be released b-by Thanksgiving next year.”
“That’s right,” Nick said. “And the third one around Hallo
ween of the year after.”
“And the first one is going to be fantastique,” Jacques added, “because my éclairs will grace the cover of the pastries section.”
“His are long,” Nick said appreciatively.
And Gretchen laughed, which made Elizabeth laugh, which made Rob look at them all like they were more than a little psycho.
“So, we should get organized here,” Gretchen said. “Elizabeth needs to get a lot of work done, and all of us have other part-time jobs to return to. Who’s got the opening shift today?”
Rob pulled out the schedule Elizabeth had scrawled on the notebook paper yesterday. “Looks like Elizabeth and Gretchen are on the docket for round one. But—” He waved the page in the air before dropping it and letting it float to the tabletop.
“But what?” Jacques asked.
“But it seems to be in all of your best interests to have Elizabeth concentrate her time on finishing this cookbook. Isn’t that right?” Rob said, scanning their faces as he spoke.
“Oh, absolutely,” Gretchen agreed heartily.
“You bet, man,” Nick said.
Jacques squinted at Rob. “But of course. This is why we’re here. This is what friends are for.”
Rob gulped down some coffee and turned his gaze fully on Elizabeth. “And your having to work these extra shifts is dramatically cutting in to your writing time, right?”
“R-R-Right, but—” she began.
“Well, how about I take over your shifts,” Rob said. “I could handle them, too, if…”
“Oh, no. That’s not fair to you. I-I’m willing to work—”
“Let the man speak, Elizabeth,” Nick said. “My baklava is being featured on page sixty-five. I’m protective of this book.”
She glanced at Gretchen, who winked unhelpfully.
They all turned their eyes to Rob, but Elizabeth sensed his offer of help wasn’t quite as altruistic as it seemed.
“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I can see you’re signed up for the first two shifts today, Elizabeth, first with Gretchen from ten to twelve-thirty, and then with Jacques, twelve-thirty to three. If I take over both of those, would you be able to help me for just two and a half hours tonight instead?”
“S-Sure. You mean do the closing shift for you, from eight to ten-thirty?” This she could handle. It would be like her schedule before Uncle Siegfried left, with only half the time away from her computer screen. And Rob would, obviously, be somewhere else. Nighttime party plans, no doubt.
“Not exactly,” Rob said. “I can still do the mid-afternoon and late-evening shifts you assigned me as well. What I need from you is the time between five-thirty and eight. I need you to come to dinner with me.” He paused. “At my mother’s house.”
CHAPTER THREE
“W-What?”
Rob took in Lizzy’s—no—Elizabeth’s stunned expression, but if a little trickery was required to get Mama off his case, he wasn’t too proud to stoop to it. Last night had been an evening of enjoyment right up there with a toasty visit to Hades. He had no intention of repeating it. Ever.
“That seems like a more than fair trade,” the young guy Nick said to her.
The Frenchman nodded his approval.
Only the blonde looked dubious.
As for Elizabeth, she opened her mouth several times but not a single word emerged after that first “What?” This surprised him. Here was, after all, the woman who apparently could talk up a firestorm without stuttering when among her friends…
He grimaced. So she thought he had a hot body, huh? Wasn’t that always the case with the Wilmington Bay crowd? Rob the Hunk. Rob the High-School Football Star. Rob the Popular Guy. Just about anything but Rob the Intelligent. Hell, he’d even settle for Rob the Occasionally Bright. But it was always about his body and his face, never about his mind.
Which hurt sometimes. Especially when he was trying to talk to a woman as smart as Elizabeth Daniels.
“So, what do you say?” he asked her. “Do we have a deal?”
“I-I—”
“Of course you do,” Nick said for her. “Why don’t you leave right now, Elizabeth, and get back to typing?”
The blonde started to speak, but Elizabeth stopped her. The ladies did some eye-contact thing and Gretchen said, “Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth said, “B-B-Bye e-everyone.” She waved and headed for the door. Always one for abrupt departures.
“Pick you up here at five-thirty sharp,” he called after her. She shot him a worried parting glance, but she nodded.
“L-Later,” she said, but he wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or addressing Team Tutti-Frutti.
The moment she was out the door, Gretchen started whispering to Jacques rapidly and, it seemed, in code because he couldn’t figure out from their words why Gretchen was acting so panicky. He might’ve gone ahead and asked her if their first customer of the day hadn’t shown up.
“Roberto Gabinarri? Is that really you?” his mother’s favorite hairstylist said. “Just look at how you’ve grown up. Such a fine young man.” She sparkled at him and, yes, actually pinched his cheek.
He heard Nick stifle a laugh before the Frenchman said to him, “C’mon, Nick. It’s Gretchen and Rob’s shift now. You promised to help me with the Grand Marnier tortes.”
“Okay,” he said to Jacques. “Need to be at Jason’s Joint in two hours, though.” Then, to Rob, “See you later, man. I’ve got some football questions for you this afternoon.”
“All right,” he said, turning his attention back to Mama’s hairstylist and to Gretchen, who lobbed an ice cream scoop at him, and none too gently either.
***
Elizabeth stared at her iMac’s blue screen, heaved in gulps of air (in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent hyperventilation) and mentally retraced the past half hour for evidence of personal psychosis. Dinner with his family? Good heavens, how could she have let that happen?
Her cell phone rang. Gretchen.
“Oh, God, Elizabeth! I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop it. I’m going to wring Nick’s neck later. There’s no way you have to go through with this. We’ll think of something to get you out of—”
“Where are you?” Elizabeth asked her. “I thought you were working this shift?”
“I am,” her friend said. “I told the Hot Calzone that I needed a bathroom break. Look,” she said, lowering her voice, “I can see why you get tongue-tied around him. He’s pin-up-boy gorgeous.”
Elizabeth groaned. “He’s a scheming deviant.”
“That, too,” Gretchen said.
“And he wants something—something more than a live body to take along to dinner at his mother’s house—b-but I don’t know what it is yet.”
“We’ll find out.” She paused. “Elizabeth, I know this all has you rattled, but there’s no reason we can’t come up with some excuse for you to skip tonight. People get sudden cases of the measles or rheumatic fever or Asiatic flu or…or elephantiasis without warning, all the time probably.”
“Elephantiasis?”
“Or something,” Gretchen insisted. “My point is, you can come down with a contagious disease almost immediately. I can ring up my brother and ask him to give me a list of really vile-sounding symptoms. In fact, he’s on call at St. Andrew’s right now and I’ll bet he knows—”
Elizabeth sighed. “Thanks, Gretchen, but you know I can’t.”
“Why not? Rob tricked you. That’s…that’s entrapment. And, anyway, Nick was the one who said yes for you. You didn’t say anything. You never actually agreed.”
“Quite true, literally, but my silence was my agreement. And I nodded. And I left. Not staying to work my shift confirmed my acceptance of the terms of his deal, however bizarre. So, even if this means long years of psychotherapy are in my future, I do have to go tonight. But just tonight.” Unless…did Rob mean for this to last longer than one night? The very thought made her shudder.
“But Eliz—”
“Look, you know
I need the writing time, Gretchen. For all of our sakes.”
“Damn. That’s the real reason you did this, isn’t it? You agreed for us. That’s why you didn’t say anything to him.”
“I didn’t say anything to him because my throat closes up like the space inside a cream-filled donut whenever I’m around him. And I need the cookbook to succeed as much or more than you or Jacques or Nick do,” she said, which was the truth. “I’ll be all right for an evening,” she added, which was a monstrous lie.
There was a long pause. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I have to get back to work, and so do you.” For good measure, Elizabeth made a few clicking noises on her computer keyboard.
“Okay, but one more thing—”
“Yeah?”
“If he tries any fresh moves on you, just tell me,” Gretchen said. “I’ll have him bound and gagged so fast he won’t know what hit him.”
Elizabeth laughed and hung up. How could she tell Gretchen that doing this very thing to Rob had been the cornerstone of many of her high school fantasies? Rob bound. Rob gagged. Rob all hers.
She rested her head on her arms, thought about the terror-inducing event that stretched out before her tonight and began hyperventilating in earnest again.
***
Five-thirty wasn’t The Witching Hour in anybody’s book, but Elizabeth decided it ought to be renamed.
She dressed carefully and conservatively in a pale pink shirt and dress slacks, adding a light summer sweater to camouflage the inevitable sweat rings—from nervousness not high temperatures. Then she packed herself and the pastries she was bringing into her Camry, drove over to Tutti-Frutti with all of forty seconds to spare and eased her way out of the car.
On Any Given Sundae Page 3