by Scott, Lisa
Rose grabbed a cab to stop at Grandma’s. She’d been so busy, she hadn’t stopped there in a while—now that she knew Grandma wasn’t prey. For the first time, she was hopeful the bakery might be able to stay open a while longer. If the YMCA director liked her muffins and her cupcakes, maybe other customers would accept her mixed offerings, too. But Jack had been right. She couldn’t attract cupcake lovers with a name like Yum Yum Good For You.
Grandma gave her a big hug when she walked in. “So, Jack says he’s been helping you in the bakery. He’s such a nice guy. Really. I know we had some fun at your expense, but give him a chance.”
“I don’t think I’m his type. I’m vanilla and he wants pina colada.”
“You weren’t always vanilla, dear. You used to be cayenne pepper.” Grandma reached for Rose’s hand. “I know your mother’s death still weighs heavy on your heart. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. But you’ve got to move on with your life. What good is it doing depriving yourself of fun?”
“If I hadn’t been so wild, Mom would probably still be alive.” Her voice came out in a whisper.
Grandma set her other hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I stressed her out. The partying, the slacker boyfriends. She started smoking again when I dropped out of college. She drank more. She put on weight. And then she died. None of that would have happened if I hadn’t been having fun.” She made quote marks in the air. “She told me that all the time. ‘You’ll be the death of me, Rose.’ I was making her sick.” Rose closed her eyes and sighed, the tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes. “I owe her something now. I have to be good for her.”
Grandma narrowed her brows. “Now you stop right there. She never should have said that to you. Your mother made those decisions, not you. You didn’t make her do anything. She had high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and did nothing to fix it! She didn’t take her medication like she was supposed to. And you know, she caused me a fair amount of grief when she was younger, but I didn’t start smoking and drinking to cope with it.”
“She did?”
Grandma nodded. “She started running with the wrong crowd. Her grades dropped. She got suspended for smoking in school. She dropped out senior year. I packed up her clothes for her and told her to get out, get a job, or get back to school.”
Rose was stunned. She dropped into a chair. “What happened?”
“She went back to school in a week. Living with her best friend’s cousin in a trailer didn’t work out so well.”
Rose blinked and said nothing for a while. “She never told me that.”
“That might explain why she reacted like she did to your rebellious time. I told her it would all work out.” Grandma sighed. “Your mother was unhappy, Rose. Once your father left, she was never the same. You were only two years old, so you don’t remember her before that.”
Rose nodded. She knew the pain her mother still felt all those years later. Well, Rose had felt it, too, not having a father around.
“Start living your life again. I thought my little prank might remind you how to have fun again, kiddo. I didn’t mean to send you into a funk.” Grandma’s eyes were moist with tears.
“It’s okay, Grandma.” She rubbed her back. “I was just worried. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’d be lucky if something like Jack happened to me. And so would you.”
Rose felt herself blushing. Grandma noticed. “I think it’s time for you to stop being so nice. Try naughty for a change.”
Grandma’s word clicked something in her brain; something Jack had said, too. Rose hugged her Grandma. “You’re a genius. Thank you!” She’d be making a call to the company that created her sign first thing in the morning.
***
Jack had been right; there was a way for her to balance both worlds in her bakery—and in her personal life, too. She called him right when she got to the shop. “When you’re done working over your ladies, can you come help with some baking? I’m going to have an open house this weekend introducing my bakery’s new name.”
“Of course, if it’ll get me closer to a date with you. What’s the new name?”
“You’re going to have to wait to find out.”
Jack stopped by first thing in the morning, pestering her the entire time, trying to learn the new name. He’d brush his nose along her cheek and whisper, “Go on Red, tell me your secret.”
It just about killed her to keep her mouth closed; she wanted to kiss him and spill the beans. But she liked this game. “I’m going to make you wait.”
He groaned. “You are, aren’t you?”
She stared at him. “It’ll be worth it. Let me get things under control here, first.”
He nodded. “Fine. Back to business, slave driver.” His grin had her leaning against the wall for support.
Jack distributed fliers to his clients, who promised to pass them out in their apartment buildings, and the director of the Y set fliers out on their reception desk. Rose posted it on Facebook and tweeted it so many times she felt like a chickadee. The sign installer had covered the new sign with a tarp, which could be released by yanking a beautiful gold cord at the open house.
Jack arrived the Saturday morning of the open house in a dark suit and silver tie. Rose reminded herself to breathe. “You clean up nicely, Wolff.”
Her took her hand and spun her around, twirling her dress. “And I like you out from under that cape.”
The day was unusually warm for February, with a sunny, blue sky. A good sign, Rose thought. She hoped her mother was watching. Please be proud, Mom.
“So, I’ve been trying to guess the new name. Is it, “Red’s Place?”
“Not even close.”
“Jack’s Girls?”
She whacked his arm. “You’ll find out in fifteen minutes.”
Dozens of people showed up for the open house, some having to stand out on the street, waiting for their turn to get in. She heard people complimenting her cupcakes, and two ladies were gushing over the passion bread. A few older women in the corner were having their way with her Sea Goddess Muffins, while proudly feeling each other’s biceps.
Everyone followed her outside as she prepared for the unveiling. It had cost some big bucks, but Grandma had told her someone in the building who loved the muffins wanted to be a silent partner and ponied up twenty-five thousand dollars to keep things running. Grandma was handling the details. Rose knew this was the right move that would save her shop. Smiling, she looked at Jack and thought, “And my heart.”
She stepped in front of the crowd and called for their attention. “Thank you so much for coming out today. I’m excited to announce a new mission for the former Yum Yum Good for You Bakery. A new friend made me realize that you can’t always be good. You do need to indulge once in a while. So I’m going to offer you the healthy treats so many of you have come to love, and some decadent desserts as well.” She tugged on the golden cord and announced, “At the new Naughty And Nice bakery.”
The crowd cheered, and Jack wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. “I love it! I hope that’s the new plan for you, too.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve decided I need an attitude adjustment, too.”
“Well let’s get inside and sell some cupcakes so I can start making plans to help you out with that.”
Jack was a good salesman, directing his clients to new goodies, and charming the rest of her customers. When they finally closed up shop at seven, they slumped in a pair of bistro chairs at a table covered in crumbs.
Rose swept them away. “That was unbelievable. I can’t thank you enough! I’ve got several new standing orders, three events to provide desserts for—and one of them the healthy options!” She reached across and squeezed his hands. “You were such a big help.”
“Hey, it was good for me, too. I picked up five new clients.”
“I’ll probably make a profit this month
for sure.”
He stood up and her heart dropped. She wasn’t ready for him to leave. “Are you going?”
“Yeah. I’m going to add up your receipts and see how much you sold today.”
She followed him to the register and read out the totals on each order, while he punched the number into the calculator on his phone. “Two thousand, three hundred fifty six dollars and eighteen cents.”
Her jaw dropped. “I had no idea.”
“And that puts you in the black, doesn’t it, Red?”
She nodded. “Alright, when you make reservations keep in mind I love Italian.”
He laughed. “I don’t think I can wait that long.” He stood up and held out his hand. “I’m collecting on that date tonight.”
She laughed. “I don’t think I could manage it.”
“I was thinking of a quiet evening, in.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Like with your senior fan club? I’m not doing lunges.”
He smirked that same smirk she’d first seen at Grandma’s a few weeks back. “I’m working on getting my therapeutic massage license. I could use the practice.”
Naughty and Nice. She’d been nice long enough. “Why Jack, you are a wolf, aren’t you?” She flicked off the lights and followed him out into the night, her red cape billowing in the breeze.
“I’ll let you find out for yourself.” His big hands wrapped around her head and he pulled her in for a kiss that was naughty, but also very, very nice.
Belle
Belle Foster stood in front of Prince Maxim’s apartment in Grimm Towers with her two suitcases at her feet and a whirl of butterflies in her tummy. She rang the bell one more time. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Her father had warned her the prince did not run a typical household, but since Dad had suffered his stroke she hadn’t been able to press him for further details. He couldn’t talk, much less finish his work for the prince. She was determined to save her father’s job—because he would recover. He had to.
Tapping her foot impatiently, she rapped on the door. Perhaps the buzzer was broken. Or maybe he was keeping his new carpenter waiting to make a point—he was in charge, and business would be conducted on his time. As she stood in front of the door, a woman in a red cape walked down the hall and approached her.
“Are you here to see the prince?” she asked, surprised.
Belle nodded. “I’m remodeling his library. It’s my first day.” When she’d approached the prince’s assistant about taking over her father’s job, he’d offered her room and board while she finished the work so she didn’t have to drive in to the city each day.
“Good luck.” The woman in red held a white pastry box. “I haven’t met him, but I can see his effect on his staff when I make my deliveries.”
Belle gulped, just as the door finally opened. A dour man with a balding head and a faded butler’s uniform looked at her and then at the woman in the cape. He addressed her first. “The usual, I presume?”
“Of course, six freshly-baked Sea Goddess muffins.” She handed the box to him, which he opened, inspecting the goods.
“Very well. You’ll charge that to our account and leave yourself a twenty percent gratuity.”
“Thank you.” She looked as if she might curtsy as she slowly backed away.
The man turned to Belle. “And you’re the carpenter?” His eyes flicked over her like he’d discovered an insect he needed to exterminate.
She stuck her chin out. “I am. I’m Leo Foster’s daughter. I’m going to finish the library job while my father recovers from his stroke.”
“Very well. Follow me.” Leading her inside, he held the box out in front of him as if it might detonate. “Seaweed muffins,” he explained with a shudder. “The prince has a standing order every other day. Makes no sense to me why you’d eat a muffin made with the garbage they dredge off beaches, but rule number one—never question the prince.”
She nodded at that bit of advice. Her father had told her something similar when he’d first started working here.
They walked down the marble entryway that led into a huge, high-ceilinged living room. She tried to stifle a whistle, and was so busy gawking at the paneled walls and exquisite crown molding, that she didn’t notice the line of staff members waiting to meet her. “Oh, hey,” she said when she noticed them inspecting her with the same curiosity she had for her new surroundings. She bit her lip. “I mean, hello.” She’d been trying to improve her vocabulary before starting here, but she doubted she’d ever sound suitable for a royal—or his staff.
The butler cleared his throat. “Ms. Foster, I am Reginald Parks, the prince’s butler and house manager. I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Downing, our housekeeper.”
A cheery, plump woman nodded at Belle. “You’ll fit in just fine, deary.”
Next he introduced Courtney Wilson, the chef. She was thirty-something with short, dark hair, and an eyebrow ring. She grinned. “Company. This is a first. I can’t wait to cook for someone besides the prince.”
Reginald hissed at her. “Watch your place, Courtney.”
Her smile fell and she bowed her head.
“No visitors ever?” Belle asked
“Never,” Courtney said quietly, looking up. “Not in the six years I’ve been here.”
“Not even a girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend?” Courtney asked with a snort.
Mrs. Downing drew in a breath. “Hush, child. He might hear you.”
“The prince does not have company in any shape or form. And there will be no more discussion about that.” Reginald frowned, but continued. “Next, is the prince’s assistant, Nicholas Ridgeway.”
A tall, thin man in wire-rimmed glasses looked up from his phone. “If you need to ask anything of the prince, you come to me. You will not have any contact with him.”
That was a surprise. “What if I have a question about the project? Or if I need to ask his opinion?”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll be asking me.”
Belle pursed her lips and nodded. Her father hadn’t been exaggerating.
“Nicholas will drive you to visit your father three times a week, unless of course there is an emergency. Please give him a schedule of your planned visits. And finally,” Reginald continued, “This is Rory Kirkpatrick, the prince’s dog keeper.”
A wiry young man smiled and waved. “He’s got three Irish wolfhounds. I’ll do my best to keep them out of your way.” As if on cue, they came tearing down the hall, practically knocking Belle down.
“Off you beasts, off!” Rory said in a thick, Irish brogue. The dogs looked disappointed, and slunk off to the corner, where they collapsed on velvet doggie beds.
Belle let out the breath she’d been holding. “Very nice to meet you all.”
“Let me show you to your room, dear, so you can get settled in,” said Mrs. Downing. “Reginald, carry the poor girl’s bags.” Reginald looked put out, but he did as he was told. He might think he was in charge of the household, but Belle was starting to see the pecking order already; and Reginald wasn’t at the top.
Belle followed them past the grand staircase that led to the second floor of the penthouse. “The prince’s living quarters,” Mrs. Downing explained to Belle. They passed the kitchen, a solarium, and the library where Belle would be working.
“It’s an enormous apartment,” Belle said.
“Yes. His penthouse takes up half the top two floors,” Mrs. Downing said with pride.
Then they passed a closed room that gave off a dark, sad feeling. “What’s that?” she asked.
Mrs. Downing sighed. “It was the ballroom. The prince used to throw magnificent parties there. It fits two-hundred people, you know.” She shrugged. “Now it’s just used for storage.”
Reginald scowled at Mrs. Downing. “This way, Ms. Foster.” He led her down another hall and opened a door at the end.
“Servants’ wing,” Mrs. Downing said. “I’m one room over from you.”
; “She snores,” Reginald said.
“I beg your pardon,” Mrs. Downing said through clenched teeth. “You should be so lucky as to know anything about my sleeping habits.” Her cheeks were flushed and she busied herself picking at something on the skirt of her tight uniform.
“You have your own private bathroom,” Reginald said, ignoring Mrs. Downing. “We take breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner is served promptly at six-thirty.”
“Will the prince be having dinner with us?”
“No,” Mrs. Downing said with a sigh. “He takes his meals in his room.”
“Why is he such a loner?” Belle asked.
Mrs. Downing and Reginald looked at each other but said nothing.
Realizing she wouldn’t be getting an answer to that question, Belle shrugged.
Reginald cleared his throat. “I’ll send Nicholas for you in half an hour to show you the library where you’ll be working.”
“Good. Once I get a look at where my father left off, I can tell you how long the job’ll take to finish.”
They left her in her room, and she unpacked her clothes and toiletries, marveling at the splendor of even the servant’s quarters. She still lived at home with her father outside the city, while she established her custom furniture business. Their small, two-bedroom ranch could’ve fit inside the living room and front hall of the prince’s apartment. Too bad she’d never meet the man during her stay. Would’ve been nice to say she’d known a prince.
***
Prince Maxim crouched in the shadows at the top of the stairs, hoping to hear the woman’s voice again. He’d caught just a glimpse of her slim figure, and her long, chestnut hair as she passed. But her sweet, melodic voice had intrigued him. How he’d enjoyed hearing her say his name, watching her lips and tongue move over each word in his title: Prince Maxim Phillip Alexander Whitney Duquesne the third.
He could certainly go downstairs and introduce himself and then take her hands in his. Would the fingers of a woman carpenter be rough or soft? He could find out with the shake of a hand, with a kiss to her palm. Women had fainted before just from that gesture of his. It was so much more unexpected than a kiss to the back of the hand. It had become his trademark move for the women who’d most intrigued him.