Sweet Dreams: A Sugar Rush Sweeter Treat

by Nina Lindsey

  “You could take him to the Renaissance Fair.” Mia held up her cell phone triumphantly, waving it at Polly from a table where she was sitting with Ramona and Tom. “Now that is a man I’d love to see decked out in velvet breeches and a waistcoat.”

  Polly tried to picture it and failed. The images of Luke in her head were all about crisp, tailored suits or just his long, muscular body stretched out above her…

  She shivered, trying to focus on filling éclair shells with chocolate cream. Though she would happily jump right back into bed with him for the rest of the weekend, she did want them to have some fun that wasn’t sex-related.

  “There’s a UFO meet-up and watch in Davis next Monday,” Tom offered.

  “Or you could bring him to my fortune-telling group on Friday.” Ramona flicked one of her dreadlocks over her shoulder.

  “Maybe you could get his-and-her massages,” Mia suggested. “Or take him for a spa day. Soothe in Indigo Bay gives detoxification baths using mud from a volcano in Cartagena.”

  “Luke could just fly to Cartagena and go skinny-dipping in the volcano, if he wanted to.” Polly spooned more cream into the pastry bag. “Besides, I have to do things that don’t cost too much since I don’t want him to both advise me about the bakery and pay for dates, especially since dating was my idea. I thought I’d take him to the Snowflake Club for the Riders concert on Saturday night.”

  Mia looked doubtful. “Snowflake skews a little young for him, doesn’t it?”

  “He’s thirty-four, not fifty-four,” Polly said, vaguely insulted on Luke’s behalf.

  “I’m just saying you might want to consider something more sophisticated.” Mia approached the display cases, peering at the rather sparse offerings.

  “He’s the sophisticated one, remember? I’ll bet he hasn’t been to a dance club in ages.”

  “Neither have you,” Mia reminded her.

  True. But this whole thing with Luke had started as a way for her to get back out into the world, and she was doing exactly that. So good for her.

  Her phone buzzed, and she took it out of her apron pocket. A text lit up the screen:

  L. STONE: How did the CEO feel without his peach?

  POLLY: Hungry?

  L. STONE: PIT-iful.

  POLLY: I have to break up with you now.

  L. STONE: I’d never sign off on that request.

  POLLY: Are you at work?

  L. STONE: In a board meeting.

  POLLY: And you’re texting me?

  L. STONE: Under the table.

  POLLY: Omg. I’ve made it to the boardroom under the table. Maybe next time I’ll make it into your lap.

  L. STONE: Any time you want. My lap is reserved for you.

  “Earth to Pols.” Mia waved her hand in front of Polly’s face. “You’re out of doughnut holes.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Polly slipped her phone back into her pocket. “I’ll fry you up a batch. Can you watch the counter?”

  Mia went around the counter to wait for non-existent customers while Polly returned to the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl of dough and dropped spoonfuls into the fryer. As she waited for the dough to crisp, she indulged in a memory of Luke’s fingers trailing down her spine, as if he were memorizing each of her vertebrae while he pressed his lips to the hot hollow of her throat and…

  She jerked herself back to attention and fished the doughnut holes out of the fryer. After draining them and sprinkling them with powdered sugar, she brought them out to Mia.

  “Yum, thanks.” Mia plucked a doughnut hole out of the basket and bit into it. Her eyebrows rose. “Wow. What did you do differently?”

  “What do you mean?” Polly put a few on a plate and brought it over to Ramona and Tom.

  “New recipe?” Mia indicated the doughnut hole as she chewed.

  “No.” Polly frowned. “Why? Do they taste different?”

  “Yeah, they’re better, actually. Lighter.”

  “It’s just the regular batter.” She selected one for herself and took a bite.

  A crisp, sweet flavor flooded over her tongue alongside a light airiness that reminded her of the pâte à choux dough for éclairs rather than doughnut batter.

  “Wait a second.” Polly went into the kitchen and peered into the stainless steel bowl sitting beside the deep fryer.

  Well, that explained it. How had she not noticed she was frying the wrong dough?

  Because you were too busy remembering Luke Stone ravishing your body.

  Any girl in the world was entitled to a free pass for making a mistake while thinking about getting hot and heavy with CEO Stone.

  “I used the wrong dough,” she explained, returning to the front counter. “That was the pâte à choux I fried, not the doughnut batter.”

  “Happy accident.” Ramona reached for another one. “You should sell these too.”

  “I’ve used similar dough for French crullers,” Polly said, “but those are ring-shaped like actual doughnuts.”

  She put the bowl on the counter next to the pastry bag and the tray of éclairs she’d been filling. Out of curiosity, she picked up one of the fried éclair balls and piped a bit of custard into the center before popping it into her mouth.

  Wow. Her senses exploded with the taste of rich, creamy chocolate combined with the crisp airiness of the pastry.

  “Try this.” She filled more of the fried éclairs with custard and handed them to Mia, Ramona, and Tom.

  All three ate the confections, their eyes growing wide with appreciation and surprise.

  “Delicious.”

  “Amazing.”

  “A little eggy,” Mia remarked. “But if you tweak the recipe, you’ll be on to something.”

  The wind chimes over the door jingled. Polly’s heart gave a little leap at the thought that Luke might be coming to pay her a visit. Instead what looked like a geeky special ops force entered.

  The five men were dressed in black trousers and black polo shirts bearing an insignia on the breast, and one of them—a tall, square-jawed guy with glasses who wore an impassive expression—was carrying a tablet and a briefcase.

  “Polly Lockhart?” He extended a business card. “Gavin Knight, Knight Security. Luke Stone asked us to conduct a security risk assessment of your establishment.”

  The men behind him were already skulking around, checking the door locks and windows and muttering to each other.

  “Go ahead.” Polly took the card with a slight sigh.

  She really didn’t want to be indebted to Luke any more than she already was, but damn the man for being right. Wild Child had needed a security upgrade for months now. Heck, it had needed security.

  “We’ll need access to your computer later today.” Gavin Knight removed his glasses to peer at her with penetrating blue eyes. “We’ll start with the physical assessment.”

  “Sounds fun,” Mia remarked.

  Gavin Knight regarded her blankly. “Are you an employee here, ma’am?”

  “No, sir.” Mia slid her gaze over the security guy’s rather broad shoulders. “But I am a miss, not a ma’am.”

  Polly threw her friend a “really with the flirting?” look.

  Mia shrugged and mouthed, “I’m bored.”

  Gavin returned his expressionless gaze to Polly. “Ms. Lockhart, we’d also like a list of your employees to assess staffing security levels.”

  “I only have one employee,” she said. “I assure you she possesses a zero threat security level.”

  “We still need her information, ma’am.”

  “She’ll be in tomorrow morning, if you want to talk to her yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gavin Knight gave Polly a short nod before setting his briefcase on a table and opening it to reveal a high-tech laptop.

  “Can I offer any of you some coffee?” Polly asked.

  “No, thank you, ma’am. We’re here to work.”

  She left them to it. Mia, Tom, and Ramona polished off the rest of the fried éclair balls and gave
Polly their opinions on what the pastry needed to make the launch from delicious to out of this world.

  As the security team continued to work, Polly went back to the kitchen to experiment with the pâte à choux she normally used for the éclairs. She tested and fried several recipes, then put each batch on a separate plate and filled them with the chocolate custard.

  She brought the plates to the front counter. Tom had left, but Ramona was conducting a tarot card reading for Mia.

  “Attention, please, gentlemen,” Polly called to the security guys who were still prowling around the bakery, writing on their notepads, inputting things into the laptop, and still doing a great deal of muttering. “Since you’re all experts on assessment, I’d like you to assess these different pastry recipes, please.”

  The men looked up, glancing from her to their leader, Gavin. He frowned.

  “We don’t offer pastry assessments, ma’am.”

  “You can start now.” Polly nudged one of the plates toward a blond man who was crouched beneath the cash register, fiddling with the wires. “Just taste them and tell me which one you like best.”

  With an audible sigh, Gavin nodded at his team. The men approached the counter and sampled the different offerings, making noises in their throats and looking up at the ceiling as they chewed, swallowed, and assessed.

  “This one.” The blond guy pointed at the first plate. “Light, airy, and rich without being overly sweet.”

  “Agreed,” another dark-haired man said. “Nice chocolate flavor too.”

  “Two is a little saltier,” a third man remarked. “The extra salt pairs well with the chocolate, but the first one is crisper. I’d go with one too.”

  Polly marked three votes for the first plate as Mia and Ramona came over to sample and offer their opinions. After more discussion, they agreed that number one was the winner.

  “Mr. Knight?” Polly gestured to the plates.

  Looking faintly irritated, Gavin stood up from the laptop and came to taste the different pastries. Unlike the other men, he wasn’t quite as methodical, eating them in swift succession before nodding at the now-empty plate number one.

  “Agreed,” he said. “Number one. Back to work, men.”

  The security team dispersed and resumed their tasks. Gavin picked up a napkin to wipe the chocolate off his mouth.

  “Are they cream puffs?” he asked.

  “They look like hot security guys to me,” Mia remarked, eyeing the blond man.

  Polly grinned. Gavin Knight did not.

  “I mean these.” He gestured to the remaining pastries.

  “They’re a combined doughnut and éclair,” Polly explained. “I invented them by mistake.”

  “Do you sell them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Best cream puff I’ve had in a while,” Gavin remarked, before adding in a deadpan tone, “I do declare.”

  Mia swung her gaze to him. “You did not just say that.”

  “I believe I did.”

  “Are you from the South?” Polly asked, though she hadn’t detected an accent.

  Mia gave her a pointed look. “Pols, he just named your new creation.”

  Polly grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the word Declare, then crossed it out and changed it to Declair.

  As she looked at the word, she realized it was the first time she’d ever created an original recipe. Her mother had been a master of recipe creation, unafraid of mixing and matching ingredients to come up with the perfect confection. And Polly had always been a willing taste-tester, but she’d left the actual inventing up to her mother.

  Until now.

  Before she forgot all the ingredients and proportions, she scribbled down the recipe, then returned to the office and pulled up the website for The Art of French Pastry class. She’d sent in her mother’s éclair recipe with her application, and though she still didn’t think much of her chances of acceptance—it would be like winning the golden ticket for Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory—she also wasn’t very happy about the idea of passing her mother’s recipe off as her own.

  Dear M. Lacroix (not that Himself would be reading this, but what the heck…)

  Enclosed please find my original recipe for a hybrid pastry known as The Declair, a cross between a doughnut and an éclair. I would like to add the Declair to my application, as submitted earlier, to fulfill the original recipe requirement.

  Thank you for your time.

  Sincerely,

  Polly Lockhart

  She hit the send button and returned to the kitchen to make up another batch of Declairs.

  Chapter 14

  After their pastry assessment, the Knight Security special ops force returned over the next few days to purchase Declairs during their off-duty hours. Their appreciation for the pastry seemed to spread the word among their friends and family, as several people came in specifically to ask for it, often buying muffins and croissants as well.

  Polly was both surprised and pleased by the small but increasing profits at the end of the day, and she emailed the total sales to Luke to keep him apprised. But if she had thought the consummation of their relationship—not to mention his texting her during a board meeting—would have turned him into a fluffy, low-density marshmallow, she was proven sorely wrong. When it came to the business of Wild Child, CEO Stone was as demanding a taskmaster as ever.

  For the rest of the week, he came to the bakery every day. In between making his own calls and responding to emails, he sat with her in the office and instructed her on how to use a new accounting program, where she needed to cut expenses, and how to calculate business ratios. He advised her on tax preparation, her leasing contract, health insurance, and employee management.

  Polly absorbed so much information that she might soon be qualified to run Microsoft with all she was learning. She completed the somewhat painful task of choosing which products to take off sale and which to keep, negotiated with suppliers, and changed the pricing list. Luke contacted a financial services company on her behalf, and the manager agreed to give Polly a small business loan, which she could use for remodeling the interior.

  Gavin Knight and his security guys also returned to install the security system at both Wild Child and Polly’s apartment. She always had plenty of Declairs waiting for them, and by the time they were finished with the installation, she was pretty sure not even Houdini himself would be able to break in.

  Gavin spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the system, assuring her she was connected to a twenty-four-hour manned control center, inputting passwords and security codes, and using terms like biometric access and encrypted communication paths.

  Despite the fact that Polly thought it was all a bit of overkill, there was no question she felt more at ease both at the bakery and at home. And knowing she would pay Luke back for the cost, she plunged even more determinedly into shoring up the bakery’s business plan.

  The following Saturday, after Polly dressed in a Mia-approved, drinks-and-dancing outfit consisting of a blue stretchy top (“makes your boobs look spectacular”) and a short, pleated skirt (“flirty and cute”), she and Luke drove to the Snowflake Club, which was housed in a somewhat run-down building on the other side of town.

  A sense of misgiving rushed through Polly as they went into the jam-packed room that was vibrating with ear-splitting music and noise. She didn’t remember it being quite this crowded and loud. But now that they were here, finally on a real live date, she couldn’t falter.

  “Isn’t this great?” she yelled, squeezing into a chair between the wall and a table which Luke had miraculously discovered was unoccupied. “It’s one of the hippest joints on the alternative music scene!”

  Luke responded, but Polly only knew that because she saw his mouth move. Since she couldn’t hear what he said, she smiled and nodded.

  He folded his body into the chair beside her. His gaze moved over the crowd, which was packed wall-to-wall with sweaty, T-shirt-clad college student
s bopping and jumping in time to the beat of the Riders playing on stage.

  Mia had been right about the Snowflake Club skewing too young for Luke. In his tailored white shirt and gray wool trousers, he looked like a professor or chaperone rather than a guy out to have a good time.

  He spoke again, though she couldn’t hear him over the noise.

  “Excuse me?” she shouted, leaning closer to indicate he should speak into her ear.

  “I’ll get us some drinks!”

  “Great!”

  He patted her knee beneath the table, eased out of the chair, and started making his way toward the narrow bar, which was five tipsy college kids deep and seven across. Luke didn’t stand much of a chance of coming back with a drink, but Polly appreciated him for trying.

  She settled her elbows on the table, wincing as something greasy and sticky clung to her bare arms. She dug in her purse for a tissue and tried to scrub the tabletop. Had the Snowflake Club always smelled so richly of body odor or had the Riders brought out the “too much wrath for a bath” crowd?

  “I’m guessing beer is the safest bet here.” Luke squeezed back into the chair beside her, depositing two glasses of watery-looking ale on the table.

  “How did you manage to get these?” Polly yelled.

  “All that football with my brothers must have paid off.”

  “You played football a lot?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing!”

  Luke sat back, reaching up to wipe a trickle of sweat off his temple. He reached into his pocket for his phone and started scrolling. Polly couldn’t blame him for being bored and restless—this clearly wasn’t his kind of place.

  She started to suggest they leave when her cell phone vibrated. She took it out and glanced at the screen to find a text.

  LUKE: Are you a magician?

  POLLY: Uh…no. Why?

  LUKE: Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.