Bittersweet

by Jacquie Underdown

  A weight had lifted from her shoulders, replaced with a heady sense of accomplishment.

  She knew each cake tasted delicious because she’d been sure to taste each and every batch as they came out of the oven. And over the entire morning, Amy deviated from the recipes only once. The caramel drizzle and pecan recipe had called for her to use store-made jersey caramels, but there was none in the store cupboard, so she had made her own.

  She’d darkened the caramel just a little to give it the rich caramelised, nutty flavour she loved.

  Hopefully, the customers would approve.

  Now, all that was left to do was have a quick five-minute break before she prepped the register and opened the doors.

  In the afternoon, after the last rush of school children and parents had ebbed away, Amy had a well-earned coffee break out the back while she wrote a list of what ingredients she needed to be delivered tomorrow.

  During the day, she had managed to finish most of the cleaning, though there were still floors to mop and a final wipe over the cabinets.

  She would close the doors at five and wanted the cleaning finalised by then so all she had to do was lock up and walk out.

  The front door bells tinkled. Amy jumped to her feet, washed her hands, ready to serve the customer.

  ‘Amy?’ A deep, resonant voice that hummed through her body like a sensuous tune. Tom.

  Amy smiled as she dried her hands. ‘Out the back,’ she called. Her heart sped in anticipation.

  ‘I love the smell of this place. If Heaven had a scent, this would be it,’ Tom said as he met her out the back. A small gap was all that sat between his head and the top of the arch between the rooms.

  Amy laughed as his kind brown eyes found hers. Then a breathless sensation overcame her as that gaze travelled to his delicious smiling mouth.

  ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

  It took concerted effort to find her voice. ‘Good. Quick.’

  ‘Nearly sold out of cakes, I see.’

  ‘Almost. Been quite busy. More so than I expected.’ A teasing grin curled her lips as she said, ‘Not too many left for you.’

  He laughed. ‘That’s why I noticed.’

  Amy pointed to the stool beside hers. ‘Take a seat. You got time for a coffee?’

  ‘Yeah. I’d love one.’

  She flicked the jug on to boil on her way out the front. She gathered a small white box and placed three cupcakes inside—cappuccino, raspberry cheesecake, and caramel pecan drizzle (a little more ‘adult’ than yesterday’s butterfly variety)—and carried them out the back for Tom.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, placing the box in front of him. ‘Before you miss out altogether.’

  That mouth-watering smile spread across his face again as he opened the lid and looked inside. ‘Thank you.’ The caramel drizzle was his first choice. He peeled back the paper with haste and bit down, nearly consuming the lot in a single bite.

  She laughed as she watched him. As a chef, Amy loved people with an unapologetic appetite. It was what she lived for. But she’d have been untruthful if she didn’t admit that a gentle stir of nervous anticipation was working through her body.

  This was a cupcake she had adjusted the recipe on. If this batch was disagreeable, it would be her fault.

  ‘Oh my bloody God,’ he said as he chewed, words muffled by cupcake. ‘These are amazing.’

  Amy smiled, her shoulders relaxing. ‘Glad you like them.’ She started for the jug to make him his coffee.

  ‘What did you do to the caramel?’ he asked.

  She stopped mid-stride, blood draining from her head, and spun to face him. ‘Why?’

  Catching her paled expression, his eyes widened. He qualified, ‘It’s delicious. They don’t taste like the ones Rachel makes.’

  Amy strained a smile and turned away, busying herself with mugs, spoons, and coffee. ‘I made my own.’

  ‘So much more flavour. Not that Rachel’s aren’t fantastic. I just noticed the difference.’

  The doorbell tinkled again. ‘Yoohoo!’ came an older woman’s voice.

  Amy made her way out the front. A lady with greying hair stood in front of the cabinets holding up a white box. Amy remembered her from earlier that day purchasing a mixed selection of six cupcakes.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about your cupcakes.’

  Amy nodded, swallowed hard. Her heart stuttered as memories of customers in her restaurant flashed. Complaints that the soufflé had deflated, the dessert was too sickly sweet, the chocolate too bitter.

  A chef could never please everyone, and some customers got thrills from complaining—a lesson learned early in her career—but towards the end, when she was so worn down from weathering the storm of attacks from critics with every intention of destroying her reputation (and her soul), each complaint was personal.

  An angry man’s face came to mind. He’d been drunk as he stormed through the kitchen doors and threw his plate at Amy. She’d ducked, jumped back, the plate smashing at her feet. Sloshes of creamy vanilla risotto splashed over her shoes and up her pant legs.

  ‘Call yourself a chef. Keep this type of work to the people who know what they’re doing.’

  Her attention returned to the lady. She couldn’t handle a complaint, an insult. She couldn’t. Not now. She wasn’t ready.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked the lady with evident concern.

  Amy blinked. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was wavering.

  Tom joined them out the front and rested his hand on Amy’s shoulder. He gave a wide smile to the lady and stepped forward. ‘Can I help you?’

  The woman’s forehead furrowed as she looked up at Tom then back to Amy, but a smile soon came over her face. ‘I was just coming to tell this young girl here,’ she said smiling and gesturing at Amy, ‘that I adored the pecan caramel drizzle cupcakes. I don’t know what she did with the usual recipe, but they were delicious. I’d like to get a few more to take to my grandkids.’

  Tom grinned; Amy exhaled.

  ‘Thanks for coming by to tell us. Audrey, isn’t it?’ Tom asked.

  She nodded. ‘Oh, you’re a Mathews boy?’

  ‘Tom,’ he said, coming out from behind the counter and shaking Audrey’s hand. ‘Good to meet you. I played football with your grandson Macca.’

  ‘How lovely.’

  ‘You’re lucky you dropped by now, there aren’t too many left.’

  ‘I’ll have whatever you’ve got,’ Audrey said.

  ‘Can you take care of that, Amy?’ Tom asked, looking back at her with a smile, but the concern was unmissable in his cautious gaze.

  ‘Of course.’ She planted a smile on her face. ‘I’m glad you like them, Audrey.’ Her words were breathless, anxiety stealing the volume.

  ‘This is Amy,’ Tom said. ‘She’s going to take care of the shop while my sister-in-law has her baby and settles in.’

  ‘How kind of you,’ Audrey said.

  Amy placed the remaining three cupcakes in a box for Audrey with trembling hands—it frustrated and shamed her to see it. ‘There you go.’ She rested the box on the cabinet and remained outwardly composed until the money was handled and Audrey left.

  Out the back, she finished preparing Tom’s coffee and placed it on the bench in front of him. Tom caught her eye as he thanked her. So much remained unspoken in the silence between them.

  Thankfully, the trembling had ceased, and her heart rate had returned to normal.

  ‘Thanks for helping me out there.’ She took a seat beside him, forcing back the tears that wanted to break through her unruffled veneer.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I … I thought she was here to complain …’

  His eyebrows rose then fell back into place. ‘Had some pretty tough experiences?’

  ‘You can’t even begin to imagine what I’ve dealt with. Some people are arseholes.’

  He nodded, sipped his coffee. ‘Not going to argue with you there.’

  Was this how it would always b
e for her now—anxiety, fear? She hoped not. How weak. And that was the last thing she could be in the restaurant industry; she’d get eaten alive.

  A small bundle wrapped in white tissue paper sat on the bench. She didn’t notice it until Tom offered it to her. ‘I stopped in to give you a shop-warming present.’

  A smile reached her lips. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘No. Probably not. But I wanted to.’

  She took it from him, her fingers touching his warm fingers as she did. How could that slight touch of skin feel so good? Her attention focused on his eyes, his lips, then down to his chest. She wanted to bury her head in his heat until all her fear went away.

  He had that quality about him—an infallibility, an unrelenting strength. She hated to admit it, but she needed some of that at the moment.

  Beneath the wrapping paper was colourful printed material. Amy unfurled the material revealing an adorable apron. Her name was stitched into the top in an elegant font.

  ‘Oh my,’ she said, meeting his gaze. ‘This is beautiful. Thank you.’

  His grin was somewhat smug. ‘Glad you like it. I thought you needed a little representation of yourself here, and when I saw that, I thought of you …’ he trailed off.

  Her chest blossomed with warmth to hear that he’d been thinking of her. ‘Incredibly kind. Thank you.’ A sudden urge shook her then, to lean forward and kiss his cheek. But something held her back, a knowingness that if she went there, tasted what it was like to be that close to him again, she’d want more. Much more.

  Instead, she stayed upright in her seat. Tom devoured the remainder of his cupcake in a single bite, and Amy laughed.

  ‘What?’ he asked, as he licked a little caramel from his bottom lip.

  Sweet Jesus, he was driving her crazy. ‘Your appetite. You’re a chef’s dream come true.’

  He pointed to his chest, eyebrows raised. ‘I’m a dream come true? Na-ah, you’ve got it backwards, Amy. You’re the dream come true.’ He held her gaze for a long moment. ‘Keep baking like this and you won’t be able to get rid of me.’

  That didn’t sound like such a bad idea, but completely implausible. Amy would be leaving soon after Rachel came home; she had to get on top of her finances and re-start her career before it was too late.

  Sure, she’d look and fantasise, but that’s as far as it could ever go with Tom Mathews.

  Tom finished his coffee and stood. ‘Anyway, I better get out of your hair and let you finish up here. What are you doing for dinner tonight? I could return the favour.’

  Amy hadn’t had a moment to herself since arriving in Alpine Ridge. A stack of bills was waiting at home for her to sort. Burying her head in the sand as far as her financial troubles went wasn’t going to make them go away.

  No, Amy was always one to know how far up shit creek she was, so she could work out how she would get her hands on a paddle.

  ‘Thank you for the wonderful offer but I’m exhausted. I’m just going to go home and make a cheese sandwich.’

  ‘If you change your mind, call me. Offer’s open—’ he looked down at his watch, ‘—until about six-thirty. After that, you’re on your own. This man’s hunger waits for no-one.’

  Amy laughed. She enjoyed his light-hearted side and how it made her forget about her otherwise miserable situation.

  Amy needed a clear mind to tackle her bills, so she ignored the abundant supply of wine in the fridge. She didn’t bother with a sandwich, instead settled in on the lounge with her laptop and a cup of chamomile.

  One by one, she worked through her creditors notices, credit card statements, loan and tax balances, entering them into a spreadsheet ordered by due date.

  After she was certain she hadn’t missed a single item, she added them up.

  In her chest, a painful tightness bloomed as she stared at the bolded figure on the screen. Six hundred and five thousand, seven hundred and six dollars.

  Anger blistered through her blood.

  Amy looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. Concentrate.

  The restaurant building she had bought was up for sale already. She had set those wheels in motion even before she closed the doors on the restaurant for the final time.

  When the building sold, it would solve a little over half of the problem but in the meantime, she still had interest repayments and three hundred thousand remaining in personal debt.

  Reality settled on her like a torrent of ice cold storm water, leaving her breaths sharp and quick.

  After the sale of the restaurant, she still had over three hundred thousand dollars of debt and absolutely nothing to show for it.

  Nothing.

  Imminent tears constricted her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing her self-pity away. Wallowing wasn’t going to solve her problems. To get through this required a level head, not tears, not anger.

  Looking back now, it had been so stupid to keep her staff for as long as she had, but she kept pushing and pushing, always so naively positive. She believed if she just worked hard enough, she’d win.

  Wasn’t that how life worked—the good guys won? But, eventually, the crevice beneath the restaurant grew so deep, swallowing everything, she had no choice but to surrender.

  Such sadness overcame her as she remembered the final night, facing her staff. Her voice had wavered as she told them they were out of a job. Never had she been more embarrassed. Never had she regarded herself as a failure until she’d seen the disappointment reflected in their eyes.

  Closing and locking the doors for the final time and driving away was the hardest thing she’d ever done. As she turned the lights of her restaurant off, a part of her had dimmed too.

  Her reputation was left behind in that cold, dark building.

  Amy fell back against the couch. Her eyes blurred with tears, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry—refused to be utterly defeated. She shook her head, sat up straighter. Crying wasn’t going to pay the bills. And neither were the profits from Sugar Cakes, going by today’s takings, but it was better than nothing.

  And for the time being, she wasn’t ready, emotionally or spiritually, to face the restaurant industry again, so being here was the best option.

  She just had to make the most of it. Do her best to remain positive until she found her old self, once again capable of facing the world with confidence.

  Amy showered and made another cup of tea. She settled on the lounge with the television humming in the background and called Rachel to check on her and the baby.

  Rachel answered. ‘Hi, Amy.’

  Amy’s stomach sunk. Rachel’s voice sounded stuffy like she had been crying. ‘Hi. Everything okay?’

  ‘I’ve … had a little setback. The medication isn’t as effective as it had been.’

  ‘Oh God. What does that mean?’ Amy didn’t mean to sound so scared, but she had googled all about pre-eclampsia earlier and knew about the possible complications.

  ‘They’re keeping a closer eye on me. But the possibility of the baby being born early now is almost an inevitability.’

  ‘Any idea of when?’

  ‘No. We’re taking it day by day, hour by hour, at this stage. But I’m staying positive. Many babies have been born this early without a problem. It will just mean a little stay in hospital before I can bring her home.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘It’s still scaring the hell out of me, though.’

  ‘Of course it is. How’s Mitch coping?’

  She chuckled low. ‘Oh, you know Mitch. He wouldn’t admit if he were frightened. He’s staying strong for me. That’s his way of coping.’

  ‘I wish I was there with you. I’ll make sure I’m there Saturday morning bright and early.’

  ‘You’re doing more than enough. Please, I want you to have the weekend off. You’ve just had your restaurant close and then headed straight into running Sugar Cakes for me—’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’m coming to visit.’

  ‘I mean it,’ Rachel s
aid with firm assertiveness. ‘You’re to take a weekend off. Mum and Dad are coming to visit me on Saturday, so I’ll be occupied anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure? I would like—’

  ‘I’m certain. Take some time for yourself.’ She lowered her voice, understanding coming through strong in her tone. ‘I know this can’t be an easy time for you. Your dream has come to an end—’

  ‘I’m fine—’

  ‘I know you, Amy. And I know you need time to grieve for what you’ve lost.’

  Rachel was the most intuitive person she knew. At times that filled her with hot agitation, because she quite liked to hide thank you very much. But, in all other moments, the requirement to be honest was refreshing.

  ‘Besides,’ Rachel said, her voice lightening, ‘you and Tom could use the time to get to know each other better.’

  ‘Is that what this is all about?’

  ‘Not entirely.’ Rachel giggled. ‘But mostly.’

  Amy laughed. ‘You are the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met.’

  ‘I’m going to take that as a compliment.’

  ‘But I love you regardless of your continual attempts to play Cupid.’

  ‘I love you too,’ Rachel said.

  ‘And I’m worried about you.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘Don’t be. I’m tough. And little Sophie is even tougher.’

  ‘Keep me up-to-date. Every detail.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rachel said.

  ‘And say hi to Mitch for me, and Pete and Barb when they arrive.’

  ‘I will.’

  Amy supressed an incoming yawn. ‘Anyway, I better let you get some rest. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.’

  They said their goodbyes, and Amy ended the call. She sat back in the chair, head turned upward to the ceiling. She could whine and cry and feel broken-hearted all she wanted, but none of her problems was as frightening and stressful as the possibilities Rachel and Mitch were facing.

  And it was helpful for Amy to keep things in perspective.

  Chapter 7

  Tom strolled through the rows of vines, arms outstretched, his fingers touching the coarse green leaves as he passed. The morning sun beat down on him, chasing away the chill in the air. The sweet, herbaceous scent reminded him of when he was a small boy running through the rows between the long lines of trellises as Dad inspected the grapes near harvest time.