Good In Bed

by Bromberg, K

  “Did you say for The Club?” I swore I misheard her the first time from the back, know I heard her clearly the second time, but want to make sure one more time.

  “Yes, dear. You know, The Club.” She pats her hair and smiles. “And pardon me for asking, but aren’t you related to one of the members?”

  Once again, I’m left to look around for a hidden camera. This has to be a joke, right? But there is no camera. Just DeeDee’s eyes widening and teeth biting into her bottom lip as she holds back a smile.

  This woman thinks I’m related to Rebound Sarah.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh, because you could be the long-lost sister of the organizer’s new daughter-in-law. You’re the spitting image of her.”

  The irony.

  I swallow over the sarcastic laugh threatening to bubble out and try to remain patient and professional with this obviously clueless-to-The-Club-drama customer. “No. I don’t have a sister.”

  “Well, good thing,” she whispers and leans over the counter and pats my hand. “The daughter-in-law is a tad . . . how do I put it politely? Pretentious? Conniving?”

  “A bitch?” I provide the word for her since she’s too polite to say it herself. Her cheeks flush instantly and the diminutive smile she grants me says all I need to know.

  “Something like that, yes. The whole family is for that matter.” She shakes her head indifferently and dismisses the matter. “Now where were we? Oh yes, cupcakes for The Club. It would be a great feather in your cap to get their business. The members have a lot of valuable connections you could benefit from. In fact, I’m so positive the organizer would love these, I’m going to go ahead and place an order for next week’s meeting.”

  My smile widens to epic proportions as I lower my voice just like she did a moment ago. “While I’d love to provide them, you make sure to tell the organizer I am currently backlogged on orders for the foreseeable future. Besides,” I shrug, trying to be cordial because she seems like a nice lady, which is a rarity for a member of The Club, “I think my cupcakes might be a bit too sweet for their tastes. Thank you, though.”

  “Well, I think they’re delicious. It’s a pity but I’ll be sure to deliver the message.”

  “Yes, please do so,” I say in my kindest voice as she nods to me in farewell before turning to leave the store. With a box of cupcakes in her hands.

  I’d love to see the look on Uptight Ursula’s face when she receives that message.

  * * *

  “Say, there’s a phone call for you.”

  I murmur an acknowledgment, but keep my head down where I’m working on some elaborate icing designs. The convention center’s catering manager requested some samples so they could decide if we were worthy to make their preferred vendor list.

  “And not from The Club.”

  “Ha. That’s funny.” And now she has my attention. “Can you take a message? I need to—”

  “No. I think you need to take this.”

  I look up, her expression one of guarded excitement as she holds the phone out to me. Curiosity has me to standing to full height and taking the phone from her.

  “Sweet Cheeks, this is Saylor. How may I help you?”

  “Hi. Yes. My name is Sally Destin and I’m calling on behalf of the organization Divorce Support California.”

  “Hello.” I narrow my eyes at DeeDee and am feeling slightly had here, but uncertain exactly how. “How may I help you?”

  “Yes, I was just explaining to your assistant and she thought it would be best if I spoke with you. Is this the owner?”

  “Yes, my name is Saylor. How can I help you, Sally?”

  “I was wondering what your capacity and reach is for your delivery range. Are you just local or all of California?”

  I grab a pen and pad to make notes. “Well, that depends on the quantity needed. If it’s a couple of dozen, then just local, but if we’re talking a larger volume we can deliver.”

  “Much larger.” She chuckles and I glance back over to DeeDee whose smile is growing wider as she watches me. “We are a company who runs, manages, and coordinates California’s largest network of divorce support groups. We have on average five different events a week in varying locations with an average attendance of a hundred or more members.”

  “That’s a lot of members. So how can I help you?”

  “We saw you on camera yesterday with those breakup cupcakes and would like to place regular orders.”

  My head starts swirling with specifics. Finding a reputable courier service. Volume packaging. Endless possibilities. I shake my head in hopeful disbelief, the excitement bounding off DeeDee starting to make sense.

  “You mean the grudge cupcakes?”

  “Yes, but we’d like to refer to them as breakup cupcakes. Divorce cupcakes or fresh-start cupcakes.” She chuckles at herself. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself naming them. We can decide their name later once we schedule a standing order for them. Typically, I’m looking at about needing approximately five hundred a week. And once we establish those demands, I was thinking of creating some kind of partnership with you where when we unfortunately add a new member to the group, we send them a sampler as a welcome to the group type of thing.”

  Five hundred plus a week? Did I hear that correctly? Holy. Shit.

  I think I blink a few times. Open my mouth and close it as I try to gain my composure. “Oh. Okay. I’d love to work with you and figure something out.” My voice sounds calm but my trembling hands reflect my excitement. “I’d have to see the delivery range and work with you on what you’d like them to say . . . the details . . . and then I can come up with a proposal for you.”

  “That sounds great. I’m on your site right now so is that the email to use to send the info over?”

  “Um. Yes. That’s perfect.”

  “And you know, we do have someone from our main office typically go to each of the meetings, so if some of the events are out of your delivery range, maybe you can ship them to the main office and the counselor or staff member heading to the meeting location can bring them. Just a thought.”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you, Sally. I look forward to getting the information.”

  “I hope it’s not out of line to say this, but you’ve been put through the wringer this week. Someone needs to tell you that the way you handled yourself yesterday—smashing the cupcakes for the cameras—was inspiring. And the idea is brilliant. We’ve been looking for an idea like this for a while now. I’d love nothing more than to give the okay to issue a contract for your company. It’s only a matter of time before other companyies come knocking and I want to make sure we reserve our spot before you have to start turning orders away.”

  “Thank you. Truly. Thank you. And I look forward to making this work.”

  I hang up the phone and with eyes probably as wide as saucers look at DeeDee. We both give a little scream at the same time.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  * * *

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  You must be a keyboard @SweetChks because you’re just my type. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game

  * * *

  “You weren’t joking, were you?” Ryder asks as he looks up from the email to meet my eyes.

  “No. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s a huge amount of cupcakes.” I can see him mentally calculating the profit and what it means to the store. “Like enormous.”

  “Yeah. I know. Do we have the capability to do it?” I ask, knowing it means I’d have to hold off on paying him back because I’d have to redirect those funds to buy the extra supplies needed to make this work. I bite my lip and wait for him to say no.

  “If we don’t, we’ll make sure we do.” Something about the way he looks at me right now causes my breath to catch. It’s like looking at my dad. The expression on his face is identical to the one my dad would give me when he was proud of me. Every part of me preens from his unshakable support. “Breakup cu
pcakes. Who would’ve thought?”

  “I know. We’ve received about ten orders for them today.”

  That catches his attention. I can all but see the cogs of his mind turning. “We need to update the website ASAP. We’ll dedicate a whole page to this product and start looking into how to sell franchise opportunities to other stores to help with this increased demand. Internet sales are where it’s at, and if we could get something going on that front then—”

  “Whoa. Slow down, turbo.” I laugh but feel the same excitement he does.

  “There are divorce support groups like this all over America, Say. You could tap into this niche.”

  “One thing at a time.” I roll my eyes at him but silently sigh in relief. This phone call might be just what the bakery needs to turn the tide toward success and not failure.

  “I might not kill him after all,” Ryder mutters as I walk out of the back room.

  * * *

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  Are you a camera @SweetChks? Because every time I look at you I smile. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game

  Hayes

  TWO DAYS LEFT

  “Dude, do you have any coffee in this joint?”

  Fuck, I’m tired. And hyped. Dreading the long day ahead but loving that I get to see her today. I shuffle down the carpeted hall I used to practice my baseball slide on and into the kitchen. It’s painted a different color now but that doesn’t erase the memories it holds. Of where the jar used to sit on the counter full of the cookies I would steal from Saylor. Of the cupboard to the left of the refrigerator where Mrs. Rodgers used to hide a stash of candy we all would sneak from when we didn’t think she was paying attention. Of sitting down for meals and there was always a place setting made up for me whether I asked to eat here or not.

  Ryder sits in the same location as when we were kids, but at a different table and lifts his eyes to meet mine. He looks as worse for wear as I feel—and points his finger to the Kuerig on the counter.

  “Thanks.” I brew some coffee, doctor it, then sit across from him and think that this is where it all started for me. My love for Saylor.

  We sit in comfortable silence. The kind two friends who have known each other forever can sit in without words and figure out how we feel about the turn of events.

  “Do you think Jenna’ll show?” He raises his eyebrows and pushes one of the tabloids to the side he was looking at to see if shit was dying down.

  “If she knows what’s good for her, she will.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Is my IOU paid off yet?” I chuckle. Thinking about back then—a few months after I’d left for Hollywood and was waiting for filming to start—how he helped my mom out, separating their mess of finances when my dad came after her in their divorce. How I had no money to pay him, but he called in favors anyway and got everything I needed to help get her taken care of. And despite his continued denials, I know he paid money out of his own pocket to get those favors done for me.

  “Make her cry again, I’ll still punch you. I don’t care how famous your ugly ass is.”

  “So noted.” I nod my head. Tuck my tongue in my cheek and prepare myself for the day ahead. “She have any clue about today?”

  “Not a one.”

  Good.

  I miss her.

  It’s sure as shit going to be hard to stick to my guns and not talk to her when I see her.

  Twitter

  TWO DAYS LEFT

  TWITTER

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  @SweetChks Are you still in need of a cardboard cut-out holding a sign selling your wares? #10Days #MadA-Game #GrudgeCupcakes #Anticipation

  @SweetChks

  @HayesWhitOffcl Only if I get to place the flour handprints. In the right places. #IveGotGameToo #10Days #TalkIsCheap

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  @SweetChks Proud of you. Class act the other day. BTW, what’s the most important thing in a kitchen to you? #GameOn #48Hours #ActionIsBetter

  @SweetChks

  @HayesWhitOffcl Granite slab on the island. With flour. And sugar.

  #MmMmGood Can we skip the next #2880minutes?

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  @SweetChks I’m a man of my word. What are you going to do to try to break me of it? #Decisions #GameChanger #ILoveIcingInYourHair #CountersAndFlour

  @SweetChks

  @HayesWhitOffcl I’ve got my ways to make you talk. #MadSkillz #GameChanger

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  Better bring your A-Game @SweetChks Mine’s stronger. #HayesFTW #ShipsSink

  Saylor

  TWO DAYS LEFT

  It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you wake up and have a Twitter flirt with Hayes. It’s the first time he’s responded and it’s ridiculously silly that the small interaction put me on cloud nine. Yet it has.

  Between the divorce organization proposal I spent all night working on that I sent to Ryder for his opinion, my little morning exchange with Hayes, and the knowledge I get to speak with (and hopefully see) him in forty-eight hours—after his asinine ten-day rule is up—today feels like it’s going to be a good day.

  I slowly enjoy sipping my coffee and spend a little extra time getting ready. I feel relief and contentment, which is welcome after a tumultuous couple of months.

  “Say? You’re going to want to come down and see this,” DeeDee calls up the stairs, just as I finish getting ready. There’s something in her voice that reminds me of the first time Hayes came to Sweet Cheeks.

  I shut the door to my apartment and jog down the stairs to find the bakery abuzz. A camera has been set up in one corner. Men in dark clothes with headsets huddle in another. All of the tables and chairs have been pushed to the side of the room except for one set. A tray of my most lavishly decorated cupcakes has been set atop it.

  What the hell is going on?

  The slew of photographers outside has grown tenfold with their cameras held at the ready, all vying for shots of what’s going on inside the store.

  “What the—?” I’m about to lose my temper. Just because the letters on the logos of their jackets belong to one of the biggest entertainment networks—doesn’t mean they can just waltz into my bakery and take over without asking.

  It’s then I catch the look on DeeDee’s face—huge grin and excitement palpable —and then Ryder standing beside her looking just as excited but with guilt mixed in.

  “What’s going on?” My hands are on my hips and accusation is in my tone.

  “The studio rented out the space for the day. They gave Hayes the okay to do a few interviews here for his upcoming movie.” Ryder challenges me to argue with him but all I heard was Hayes and here and my heart leaps into my throat.

  “He’s coming here?”

  “Do you not want him to?” The smirk on Ryder’s lips is half-cocked.

  “Yes. No, I mean, yes, he can come.” I’m ridiculously flustered. A million questions and thoughts run through my mind, but the one that rings the loudest is I get to see Hayes.

  I don’t think of the crazy-ass press outside who I lied to when I said there was nothing exciting happening here. I don’t worry about whether the Divorce Support proposal is good enough. I can’t. Because my mind and body are focused on Hayes Whitley and getting to see him again.

  Over the next hour, I watch the people in the bakery prepare for the interview. I rearrange the cupcakes on the staged table. I pepper my brother with what seems like a thousand questions as to how this happened, but of course, get very little out of him. I roll my eyes at DeeDee when she tells me she had no clue until this morning. Her answer seems suspect, considering her extra effort at cleaning up last night.

  And my eyes keep flickering to the storefront, waiting, wanting, then waiting again to see Hayes. It’s been way too long. I miss him.

  The photographers scurry like mice when a black limo pulls into the parking lot, and the person who gets out of the car is the last person I ever expected to see here.

  My hands stop fiddling w
ith my hair. My feet stop shifting in anticipation. That simmering ache over getting to see him again burns cold. Every part of me freezes when Jenna Dixon emerges from the car.

  The photographers become frenzied. Their cameras vie for the best shot. And she stands there, quite the picture in her skinny pants and low-cut top with her sleek hair—smooth and straight, and perfect lips turned up in a practiced smile. Completely soaking up the attention she needs almost as much as the air she breathes.

  I dislike the bitch instantly.

  “What is she doing here?” I sneer, saying it loud enough that the network camera crew inside chuckle out loud, telling me they are more than aware of the situation.

  And within seconds the chaos from outside fills the bakery when she opens the door and steps inside. The door closes. The sound mutes.

  But her eyes find mine. Hold. And every part of me wants to kick her out. Tell her to take her bullshit lies and get the hell out of my store, because she’s not welcome here.

  What in the world was Hayes thinking by setting up the press junket here when she’s taking part? Is he crazy? He knows how quick my temper is. Surely he doesn’t want me to give the tabloids any more fodder to print about.

  The room falls silent and the tension stretches across the distance. I refuse to back down and look away first. I’m surprised when she walks up to me, the click of her heels on the floor the only sound I can hear.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” Her voice is throaty. Reserved. Aloof.

  Flustered but aware of the many pairs of eyes on us, I respond immediately. “Sure. Here. Right back here.”

  I usher her into the kitchen, then point to a stool if she’d like a seat and just stare at her as the unsettled feeling within me takes hold. Her lips purse as she plays with the strap of her purse. She all but looks at her nail polish so she doesn’t have to look at me. It’s not hard to infer she has zero desire to be here.