On Any Given Sundae

by Marilyn Brant

  He held up the mike and waved at the crowd. Finally, they became momentarily silent.

  “Okay, folks, this is what’s going to happen,” he told them. “Pretty soon we’re going to call up all the people who brought out their favorite toppings for the Taste Test. Everyone who wants to will taste them on free scoops of Tutti-Frutti ice cream, we’ll vote on them and we’ll award the winner with a prize. Now, let’s hear a shout out from everybody who brought in a topping for your friends and neighbors to try.”

  A roar went up around him. Whoa. He was going to have to divide this clan into smaller groups. No way could all of them come up at once.

  Elizabeth whispered frantically in his ear about separating the crowd alphabetically, with each of them—Gretchen, Nick, Jacques and herself—taking a table with about a fourth of the alphabet and leaving Rob to be emcee.

  “We can have semi-finalist voting at each table, with the four winners competing for the grand prize at the end,” she said.

  Bright lady.

  So that was how they announced it and, soon, the chaos was quartered.

  No doubt about it, though—it was still chaos.

  ***

  Elizabeth served up gobs of ice cream and watched as the citizens with last names beginning with the letters A through F devoured the toppings and debated the taste of each. At her table, it was a race to the death between candied pineapple bits and crushed chocolate-covered cherries. Gretchen waved at her holding up a box of Cracker Jacks, which apparently had taken the lead at her G through M table.

  Nick had his hands full with the N through S bunch, a couple of whom were in an all-out war over the merits of cashews versus pecans. And Jacques had the T through Z clan, who were rather subdued by comparison. Then again, maybe that was because there were fewer of them.

  She watched as Rob deftly handled most of the social chitchat as well as wielded that dreaded microphone. He was so at ease speaking in public—it was amazing. So unlike her. Not that this was much of a great revelation, considering their longstanding history. She’d known how different the two of them were ever since she was five.

  Lance Burk sauntered up to her table and plopped a plastic bag of chocolate-covered somethings on one corner.

  “If you guys are wild about those chocolate cherries, you’ve gotta give these here a try,” he told the group. “Hand me a bowl of that ice cream, Lizzy.”

  No courtesies from Lance. No please or, when she gave him a bowl, no thank you. But what did she expect? This was the same guy who’d stopped speaking to his own father because he didn’t get the specific car he’d wanted for graduation. And he’d never been nice to her in his life.

  “Mmm. Crunchy,” one avid taster declared before moving on to the sliced star fruit.

  “What are these?” asked another, gingerly holding up one of the chocolate blobs between her fingers.

  “Try ‘em, you’ll like ‘em,” Lance said.

  Not the kind of forthcoming response Elizabeth wanted to hear. She went over and picked up Lance’s bag to get a closer look.

  “Oh, here. Let me feed you one.” Lance snatched the bag out of her hand and waved a chocolate something in front of her mouth. His spidery fingers rolling the “treat” back and forth.

  “N-No th-thanks,” she said, taking a step back.

  He laughed. “What a timid little wallflower you are, Lizzy Daniels. Gabinarri is even more of a fool than I thought.”

  Rob Gabinarri, she had learned, was far from being a fool, so Lance was, once again, pointing out how incompatible she and Rob were. Everyone, even a jerk like Lance, knew she wasn’t up to Rob’s usual girlfriend standard.

  But now wasn’t the time to get thrown off course by her own insecurities. Everyone at her table wanted to try the topping Lance brought in, but she had a bad feeling about it. When he put the bag on the table again, she snitched a sample.

  She turned it over in her palm and broke it in half. As she studied the inside, the pit of her stomach dropped to her toes. Although well concealed in considerable chocolate, Lance’s topping bag was entirely filled with insects.

  She pulled the bag off the table.

  “Hey, Frizzy Lizzy! What d’ya think you’re doing?” Lance marched over to her and tried to yank it back, but she resisted.

  “Don’t eat these,” she told her crowd. “They’re c-c-crickets.”

  A few people gasped, a couple of them coughed, one gagged and went behind a tree, but most started yelping and flinging the chocolate-covered crickets off their ice cream and onto the grass. Several just tossed away their entire bowls and began complaining. The other groups stopped eating to watch her table’s total upheaval.

  Lance laughed.

  Rob came striding over. “What’s the problem here?”

  An enraged lady in fuchsia was quick to fill him in, agitated in equal parts by the fact that she had to throw away perfectly good ice cream and that she was a vegetarian who’d now eaten insect flesh.

  “Why did you go and do that, Burk?” Rob asked him. “This is a family-friendly event.”

  Lance waved a rainbow-colored flier at him. “It says right here—“ He pointed. “‘Bring your favorite topping to share.’ That’s just what I did.”

  “Get out of here,” Rob said in a low, dangerous voice.

  Lance raised his light eyebrows. “You can’t kick me out of a public park. Besides, I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t force anyone to try my favorite topping. It’s not my fault if they didn’t like it.” He laughed again, daring Rob with his insolence to make the next move.

  “Leave now, or I’ll call the authorities,” Rob said.

  Lance shook his head and crossed his arms as if rooting himself to the spot. “You’re a freakin’ idiot, Gabinarri. This whole event is just a stupid stunt you’re using to try to distract people from noticing what a failure you are. You always played that same game on the field, too, so the fans wouldn’t notice your poor form when you threw a long pass or how you rarely scored any points in the final quarter.” He sneered. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still more show than substance. Still dumb as a rock.”

  To Elizabeth’s horror, Rob didn’t answer him back right away or put that Lance bastard in his place. He just stared at him with the oddest expression. A yard away, Nick’s fists were clenched, however, and despite not being much of a fighter, she knew her Greek buddy wouldn’t hesitate to throw a left hook or two if it came to blows.

  It looked like Rob was thinking. Planning. But something had to be done. And fast.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she stepped up beside Rob and pried the microphone from his fingers. Most of the Wilmington Bay residents were eavesdropping with unabashed interest, so she had a ready audience. She flicked on the mike, gulped some air and said a prayer to both Madonnas for wisdom in using this thing.

  “H-Hi everyone,” she said, the loudness of her amplified voice making her want to cower under the red-, white- and blue-covered table, but she pressed on. “I-If you haven’t cast your vote y-yet for the semi-finalist round, pl-please do so now. But, before we m-move onto the f-finals, I just wanted to say, on behalf of all of us at Tutti-Frutti, how much w-we appreciate such a fine group of people coming out for our special event t-today.”

  She paused to take a few long breaths and was surprised when people started clapping. She glanced around at the cheering crowd before noticing Lance’s fallen expression. She’d deprived him of his spotlight. Well, good.

  She felt a small smile rise on her lips. She could do this. Yes, she really could. If she just pretended she was talking to Rob alone, maybe she could trick herself out of this fear for a minute. She fixed her eyes on him.

  “I also w-want to add that, in Tutti-Frutti’s long history, we’ve never had the p-privilege of having someone like Rob Gabinarri on staff. He’s so clever. He’s always thinking of ways to bring fun and entertainment to our little sweets shop. F-For one thing, he brought us these amazing jugglers.”
She pointed toward the two men, who were quick to do a couple of terrific, showy stunts involving back flips and flying beanbags. The crowd went wild. Rob turned his attention away from Lance and stared at her.

  “And, of course, y-you all know that today’s Topping Taste Test was Rob’s idea, too.” She paused for more enthusiastic cheering. “So, thanks, Rob,” she said to him, her voice echoing across the park.

  “THANKS, ROB!” the crowd parroted back.

  Rob waved his arm in response, but he didn’t say a single word. He just kept looking between the gathered taste-testers and her, seemingly surprised and very, very uncharacteristically silent.

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed. She suddenly thought of about five thousand things she wanted to say to the good people of Wilmington Bay, starting with how remarkable it was to finally see Rob Gabinarri speechless.

  But she didn’t. He shot her a questioning look, and she responded by sending him a love letter with her eyes. After a very long moment, he rewarded her with a blazing smile.

  Maybe it was crazy but, at least for today, she didn’t care that their relationship wouldn’t last the summer. For the first time in over twenty years, she understood something about the guy she’d once idolized: Rob also needed someone to believe in him. And he needed it just as desperately as she did.

  Lance Burk stalked off, dragging a whining Tara away, while the rest of them returned to their tasting and voting.

  “I—um—” Rob tried to say.

  “We’ll talk later,” she promised him. He nodded slowly and returned to tallying the ballots, the serious expression never quite leaving his face, though.

  Jacques slipped over to her. “Nice speech, chéri.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tell me,” he said in her ear, “is he worth it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is he worth your heart of love, ma petite brioche? Because that’s what’s happening to you, isn’t it? You’re beginning to fall in love with that boy all over again?”

  She looked into her dear friend’s kind eyes and bit her lower lip. “Oh, Jacques. That’s the worst part. I never stopped.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rob knew Elizabeth was falling in love with him. She’d braved the microphone and public speaking for him, and if that wasn’t a grand gesture of love for someone like her… Well, this had to stop.

  Although he’d only been biding his time before punching out that idiot Burk, he owed her for standing up for him. For putting herself out there in his defense. And the best way he knew to reward her was to steer her clear of him.

  The fireworks would be starting soon.

  Team Tutti-Frutti closed up shop at dusk that night to gather on a blanket under the canopy of stars, which would soon be replaced by the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air and the mosquitoes buzzing everywhere else.

  She sat no more than a foot in front of him, the glow from the distant streetlights caressing her hair. He felt his arm rise, lifting his hand toward the shimmering waves, but he forced it back down. He had to pull away from her.

  “Birthday torte?” Jacques said, passing around a cookie tin stocked with his delectable apricot concoctions. He blew Elizabeth a kiss and handed her a special one with the number “28” on it.

  “Thanks, Jacques,” she said. “Please tell me I don’t have to wait until my birthday officially starts at midnight to eat this gorgeous thing.”

  The Frenchman grinned. “Enjoy, mon amie.”

  When the tin reached him, Rob grabbed a torte for each hand to keep himself from seizing Elizabeth instead.

  Nick popped a big one in his mouth. “Mmm, man, these are awesome.”

  “Gretchen helped me with them,” Jacques said. “You should see that woman brandish a pastry crimper. She’s frightening. Comes snapping at you like a one-pincered lobster.”

  Gretchen retaliated by giving him a hard shove. “Don’t forget, I’m going to do the tartlets with you, too. You promised, and you’d better be nice about it or I’ll cut off your supply of amaretto truffles.”

  Jacques shuddered. “Cruel woman. Okay, you win. We’ll do the tartlets in the next week or two and let you all try them. They’re fairly safe. Only slight crimping is involved.”

  Gretchen made a comic face and the group laughed. Rob smiled before remembering that pretty soon their future plans wouldn’t include him. Sure, he wanted to return to Chicago but, at the same time, there was a growing list of things he’d miss about Wilmington Bay.

  “Oh, you guys,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t forget, Camden rescheduled. He’s now coming out on the fourteenth to do the photographs, so leave that following weekend open. He’ll probably be here Thursday through at least Saturday finishing the shots. We’re going to need lots of good ones from all of you.” She paused and grinned at him. “We’ll except for you, Rob. We won’t make you bake us any desserts, but we’ll probably need you to tackle most of the shop’s shifts alone during those days.”

  “I can handle it,” he told her. “No problem.” But, yeah, how could he not feel a little left out?

  “Oooh! Sparklers,” Gretchen said to Elizabeth. “Wanna get some?”

  “Sure,” Elizabeth said. “How about you guys?”

  Nick shook his head. “Sissy stuff. You two enjoy.”

  So they went off together leaving Rob alone with the other men for a few minutes. There was a long silence.

  “So, about Elizabeth’s cookbook,” he began. “Why is this project so important to her? You two know her writing history better than I do.”

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was trying to butter them up a bit. He’d always paid extra attention when one of Elizabeth’s essays was read in class and, on the infrequent occasion when she wrote a story for the school paper, he always read it two or three times because the way she explained things on the page was in the same voice she used when she spoke, which was a rare occurrence back then. He liked “hearing her,” if only on paper.

  Jacques, of course, got right to the heart of it. “She’s dedicating it to the memory of her mom. It’s Elizabeth’s farewell offering and, in her mind, it has to be perfect. An absolutely flawless project.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “She was close to her dad, too, but her mom was the one who taught her how to bake. I guess Mrs. Daniels was a great lady, although I never met her.”

  “I met her,” Rob said. “A few times, but it was years ago, when we were still kids. She was always very nice to me.”

  “I met, too,” Jacques said quietly. “More recently. She and Elizabeth acted like sisters. Elizabeth didn’t make her mother’s cheesecake recipe for two years after she lost her.” He paused, as if trying to decide how much Rob could be trusted to know. “Elizabeth is also completely self-supporting now. Only a tiny amount from the will remained after expenses were paid and, since she normally only works a few hours per week at the shop to relieve her uncle, her Tutti-Frutti salary is also very small. So, the advance and the royalties on her cookbooks are her major source of income. She can’t afford to be irresponsible.”

  The way he said it, it was like an accusation. As if Rob were one of Elizabeth’s few bad choices. It was an insinuation he sure could have lived without.

  The ladies returned, sparklers in hand.

  “We brought some to share with you boys, even though you said they were for sissies.” Elizabeth gave Nick an especially saucy grin. “I’m willing to bet you won’t be able to resist once we light them.”

  Nick laughed and snatched one of the packs away from her.

  “See,” she said, pointing at him.

  Rob watched as they lit a few, the sparklers brightening up their little corner of the park and casting a warm glow wherever the light shined. He noticed Elizabeth’s facial expression. How different it was tonight. Not because of the bright sparklers’ light but because of her growing confidence. That look of self-assurance flattered her, enhanced her natural quality of competence by adding
a dash of poise.

  She may fancy herself in love with him, but it was clear she’d do just fine without any dumb jock hanging on her sleeve. He was seeing her transformation from the fearful, stuttering duckling to the secure, dignified swan right before his eyes. She didn’t need him to rescue her. If truth be told, she’d been the one rescuing him today. She didn’t need his help.

  Hell, nobody needed his help.

  Miguel assured him (at least twice a day when Rob checked in via cell phone) that The Playbook was doing just fine, despite him being over a hundred miles away and in another state. He’d worked long hours for years—hiring the right people, organizing every aspect of the restaurant, automating as many procedures as possible—so he wouldn’t be indispensable forever. Now, he wasn’t.

  Mama, Tony, Maria-Louisa and the gang were great, as always.

  His other siblings, in a variety of conversations and e-mails, declared they, too, were in terrific shape. No problems on their end, thanks.

  Tutti-Frutti required only a warm body to open and close the place, so even there he was nobody special.

  Maybe when the uncles returned he should close his eyes, throw a dart on a map and go somewhere new. Nothing pressing was holding him to either Wilmington Bay or to Chicago…other than a sense of duty and a bunch of old habits.

  The fire chief made the announcement that the first set of fireworks would be going up in a few moments. Elizabeth scooted next to him—so damned close his pulse started racing—and she nudged his side to get her expected hug. He knew he should pull away. He wasn’t going to stay in Wisconsin. He’d break her heart…but he just couldn’t do that to her tonight. Not now. Not when she was so confident for once, so sure of his eagerness to hold her.

  And the worst part was that he did want to hold her on this, the eve of her twenty-eighth birthday. Tightly, passionately, desperately.

  He wanted more than that, too.

  Boom!

  The opening display shot ribbons of colored light through the blackened sky, like streamers chasing each other then disappearing in a game of tag.