Sweet Tooth: A Second Chance Romance Page 4
“That's really thoughtful,” I said appreciatively. I was just about dropping on my feet. “Thank you, Kelsey. I appreciate it.”
“No worries, Ms. Hendricks.”
I hauled myself through the rear door of the kitchen and stood under the awning, looking out over the gray back-yard, the gray sky above. I felt like crying. I took out my own lunch – a bagel I'd prepared yesterday – and ate desultorily, listening to the hiss of traffic on a rain-wet road-surface beyond.
What is up with you?
I had no idea as I thought it, if the thought was addressed to Drew or to me. I was confused by all of it, quite frankly. His appearance, my response. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to react?
His response had been what confused me most.
I thought he hated me. Now he smiles like that? Seeks me out, even?
I couldn't even begin to make sense of it. I had rebuilt my life on the firm foundation that Drew Liston was completely indifferent to me. Now he burst in and acted as if I really mattered?
“What an ass,” I muttered, swallowing a mouthful of salad-filled bagel and swearing at an invisible specter of Drew across the yard.
I laughed.
I had never expected, of all the crazy things that could happen to me, that Drew bursting into my life would be one of them. Now he had. And, even if I'd expected him to be there I would still have had no idea what to say.
“Drew Liston, you are a mystery to me.”
I said it out loud to the rain-soaked yard, the wire-topped fence, the row of dumpsters. None of them, predictably, replied. I sighed. If any of this made sense, it would take someone more sensible than me to see it.
I scuffed my feet on the mat by the back door and headed slowly inside.
The kitchen was busy and industrious, with the scones already halfway to being finished and the frosting ready for the cupcakes.
“Wow, team!” I said, feeling pleased. “You guys are awesome! Great.”
Kelsey giggled and Marcelle smiled.
“Now. All we need is the last batch of scones...” I went to open the oven, coughing as smoke came out with the usual savory smell hovering in the background, somewhat subdued.
“Something burning?” Marcelle asked.
“It's okay,” I said, fanning with my hands as the smoke started to clear and then reaching inside. “I made extra...we've messed up about ten of them, though. Anyone want one?”
Kelsey appeared at my elbow like a scone-hunting missile and I passed her one of the less-burned casualties with a grin.
“Here you go. Great work, too,” I added, looking approvingly at the ready-cut scones. “I don't think anyone will notice if we're a bit crisped around the edges for the last two dozen...”
I felt a bit self-conscious as I divided up the last scones and left them to cool off. They weren't the best I'd made, but the rest hopefully made up for it. I felt a bit jittery as I scooped them into the middle of the trays, later, hiding the flawed ones.
I don't think anyone will notice. The cupcakes carry the day. They look superb.
Marcelle was a skilled baker in her own right, with a real flair for cake decoration. I looked forward to making her a business-partner one day. The scones were topped with fluffy frosting and decorated with pink and white buttons of fondant, the colors marbled onto them with a bamboo skewer.
“Right,” I said, feeling proud of our result. I glanced at the clock. “I'll re-open the front and then we'll get those sent off in an hour. Okay?”
“Yes, Ms. Hendricks.”
I took over at front-of-house while Kelsey finished the scones and was just making one of an unnumbered amount of coffees when she appeared behind me.
“It's two o' clock.”
“Oh. Heck!” I spun round, heading into the back. It was time for us to get the delivery underway. I had said I'd get the scones and cupcakes to the town library at three. “I'm on my way.”
“Great.”
I loaded the cupcakes and scones on their trays into the back of the car, glad I had mastered the art of getting them wedged in firmly so they wouldn't be damaged. Then I set off.
“Oh for...” I closed my eyes as the traffic started to build up around me. I wasn't cut out to be a driver. I have the patience threshold of a bull terrier and am about as excitable. My blood-pressure was rising a few bars every minute, I would imagine, and as the traffic finally cleared I shot ahead, my heart thumping.
“Whew.”
I pulled up at the destination at exactly three o' clock. Jumping out, I ran around the back of the car and got out the first load. I walked quickly and nervously up the steps.
“Hello?” I greeted a woman in a black uniform, who seemed to be setting out food stands. “I'm one of the caterers. Sugarlips café?”
“Ah. Great. We were waiting for that. There’s a tower over there,” she said, scraping a strand of blond hair away from her eyes and pointing to a table where I should set my tray down.
“Awesome. Thanks.” I hurried to the corner and obliged. It seemed like we were running late, as already the rest of the caterers were packing away, and the sound crew were just testing the microphone.
Oh heck. Now you'd better rush. It's bad enough some of the scones are burned.
I headed out to the car, afraid to make a bad impression. I grabbed the tray and ran in. That was when the guy got in my way.
I yelled as I walked into him. Luckily I'd slowed down somewhat, or the mess would've been unthinkably-worse. As it was, the first row of scones collided into his back, leaving cream on the smart black overcoat.
He made a surprised noise and turned round.
“I'm sorry, I...” I was almost crying with frustration and contrition. Then I saw his face. I stared.
“Allie?”
“Drew!”
I exploded. Of all people! Why, when I was running late and things were already unraveling, did he have to stand in front of me. I almost swore.
“I need to get these into the hall,” I said tightly. “I'm sorry about your coat,” I added, reaching into my pocket for a tissue. I passed it to him. Our hands met.
I felt my jaw clench as the soft touch sped up my nerves with the power of a thousand watts. I felt my heart ignite and my nerves shiver and my cheeks turned bright crimson with some strange mix that was part embarrassed and part absolute pleasure.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“I need to go,” I said hastily. I was already heading past.
The woman who'd been overseeing the proceedings appeared ahead of me. “Oh!” She took in the ruined scones – only the front row, for which I was grateful – and then nodded. “Never mind. We'll just eat those here. Put them on the table and we'll take those five...” she was taking the ruined ones off, “and put them out for the rest of us. Okay?”
“Thank you,” I murmured gratefully. She nodded.
“No worries,” she said warmly. She was about to bite into a scone when she looked behind me and saw someone. “Mister...Oh. Sorry...”
He smiled at her. “No worries,” he said. “I'm early. I know. I just wanted to get some sunshine.” He indicated the lawn outside, bathed in warm light. Then he turned to me. “Ms. Hendricks. My apologies. I got in your way.”
He looked genuinely remorseful, but that wasn't enough to stem my fury. My embarrassment and impatience mixed together into a cocktail of rage.
“You didn't have to stand in the pathway,” I said sharply. The event coordinator looked at me like I'd just exploded. I had, more or less. “Of all the...” I trailed off, sighing.
“I know. I am sorry. Really. Alexandra?”
I looked into his eyes and I wanted to forgive him. He looked so sorry.
“Good,” I murmured. I turned away and walked inside. He didn't try to stop me. Inside, I narrowed my eyes to accustom to the dark and looked around.
“Over here, please,” the organizer said to me nervously as she led me to the place where I should put the t
ray. She seemed somehow afraid of me, as if the way I'd growled at Drew was something unheard-of. I guess it was.
“Are we ready yet?” Someone said coming in – I guessed her to be a secretary of some sort. The organizer nodded stiffly. “Just finishing off. Five minutes. Okay?”
“Perfect, Carla.”
The secretary seemed to notice about the same time as all of us did that Carla was standing with five scones in her hand and that there was a man with a cream-stained jacket in the doorway. We all looked at each other and I laughed.
“Let's put those on a plate,” I said quickly, grabbing an occasional plate and handing it to the organizer, who looked relieved. “We can offer them around to the technicians later, maybe.”
“I don't know why they should get them,” Carla grinned, lifting one and sampling it. “They're really good.”
I blushed. “Thanks,” I said.
“You made them?” the voice I really didn't want to hear said behind me.
“Yes, I did,” I said tersely. What did he think I did, paint pictures? I was a cook. This was what I did.
“I look forward to trying them,” he said softly. I let his words shiver down into my bones. It felt almost as if we were alone together, discussing something other than my confections.
“I should go,” I said, feeling my throat closing up with longing. “I need to get to work.”
“Of course,” the secretary said to me, eying Drew with a worried glance. He wasn't supposed to be in here early, that was clear. For once it seemed he was as much breaking rules as I was.
“I'll be off, then,” I said to the two women, pointedly ignoring Drew where he stood just behind my right shoulder. “Thanks, guys.”
“Thank you,” Carla said, finishing the scone. I smiled and walked out.
At the car, I leaned on the door with my eyes tight shut. Whew. It could have been worse. I could have dropped the whole tray of cupcakes. As it was, everything made it somewhat whole. And what was he doing here, of all things? I looked at a banner, which welcomed us to the fifteenth annual charity tea.
“Weird place for someone who's an out-of-town celeb.”
Because he was. Drew Liston was fairly well-recognizable from articles in magazines and the press, features on blogs and news sites. If the two women in the community hall didn't recognize him, it was probably just because having him there was really unexpected.
I'm almost getting sick of him walking in and turning my world upside-down. It seemed like no matter where I turned, there was no getting away from the guy.
I noticed it was almost four P.M. I should go. I opened my door and slid inside.
“Allie?”
He was running out towards the car. I stayed with the door part-open, just waiting to see what would happen. He ran up, panting, and bent down to the door. I opened it. Why not hear what he had to say? I watched with weary disinterest as he ran up.
“You leaving?” he asked. He looked distressed.
“Yes. I am. I have to go back to work, Drew,” I said tiredly. “I'm sorry I bumped into you. Okay. Really I am,” I added with some asperity. “Now, if you don't mind, I have to go. Have fun.”
He stared at me. “But Allie...you could stay,” he protested. “Won't you just talk?”
I shook my head. “I can't stay, Drew.” I looked at the time. “I can't spend that long away from the business. Have a good day.”
I said it more firmly than was needed, but it gave me a sort of painful pleasure to see him look distressed. I closed the door and drove slowly off.
“Of all the arrogant, selfish...” I started, fuming. I said a lot of words that weren't appropriate to be said in front of polite company. I ran out of them and leaned on the steering-wheel. I sighed.
I was furious with him. I was also deeply affected by seeing him again.
Why does he have to make a nuisance of himself? I thought angrily. It wasn't as if I acted particularly pleased to see him, now was it? So why did he have to go and inflict his company on me, as if I really wanted to spend time talking to him?
Well, if I was honest with myself, I thought as I pulled away from the lights with a bit of a roar, I did want to spend time talking to him. I wanted it terribly.
But I'm not going to let him see it.
I reckoned he deserved to stew for a bit. He had been cruel to me. Really cruel. And now that I had the chance to confront him, all those years of bitterness and anger were starting to bubble to the surface inside me, like the curds in milk.
“Arrogant asshole,” I said with some savagery as I sped ahead and then turned right, heading for the parking around the back lot of the bakery.
I strode in feeling as if the air was going to catch fire as I went into the bakery. I was really mad now, having done my level best to make my hurt and confusion into a good healthy stew of anger as I drove up.
“How did it look?” Marcelle asked me.
“Like it looked in the shop – pretty and professional,” I said. Marcelle looked surprised.
“I just asked,” she said.
I realized I'd snapped at her and shook my head.
“Sorry, Mar. Just in a bad mood.”
“Is there something I can do?” she asked, sounding concerned.
“No,” I sighed. I don't think anyone can help. How's things going here?”
She jerked her head towards the front room. “Getting less hectic. Only a few customers. Winding down.”
“Whew.” I breathed out a sigh of relief. It was a Thursday afternoon an hour and a quarter to closing-time. At least that meant things were peaceful.
“I know how you feel,” Marcelle grinned. “This place never stops.”
“Well, I'm usually glad about it,” I commented, reaching for my apron and tying it on before I went over to start packing the dishwasher. More custom meant higher earnings, after all. “But today I'm finished.”
Marcelle chuckled. “Doesn't happen all that often, does it now? You've got energy for three.”
I laughed. I usually did. I often had enough energy to stay on my feet all day at the bakery and consider heading to the gym. But the last two days I'd been feeling somewhat subdued.
I knew why, too. It was because Drew was back in town. And I couldn't make any sense of it. If I stopped to think about it I felt as if my brain was melting. Why was he being so damn friendly to me? I thought he hated me. I couldn't understand it!
“Come on,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “Just an hour to go.”
“Yup,” Marcelle echoed as she worked on a new batch of pastry to be used tomorrow morning. “One more hour.”
“Thank goodness,” I said. I meant it. At least when I was done I could head home to think. I knew I needed to. All of this was just a bit crazy.
I closed my eyes as thoughts of Drew flashed through my mind. I remembered meeting him years ago. I was at college, just about to quit my second year of Graphic Design and follow my dream of enrolling at cooking school. My friend Des and I had decided to go out to celebrate – she was totally behind me following my dreams.
I remembered how the car had broken down outside a fancy hotel. I'd jumped out to look under the hood and Des had joined me. We'd pushed the car into the parking area and were just calling the AA when a chauffeured car arrived.
“Hey,” the driver had said. I'd turned red – we were blocking up the way – and stammered.
“Uh, sorry. We're having trouble...”
The driver had lowered his brows, looking like he was about to lose his temper with me. Then the man beside him got out.
“Hello,” he said warmly. “Can I help you?”
I had stared at him. I'd melted. He was so handsome, with that fluffy brown hair and those long-lashed eyes. And the body! I felt myself heat up thinking about it.
“We're on our way out to a party,” Des had said helpfully. “And we've broken down.”
“I think it's the radiator,” I'd said. “We're calling the AA.”
“Sure,” I said. I knew a bit about cars – they were a family passion and I often overheard my dad and uncles discussing them and what went wrong with them. I'd always paid attention and over time some of it had sunk in. “I can see that's what it is,” I added. Nothing more obvious than an overheated engine, now, was there?
He whistled. “I wouldn't know.” he said. He gave me a grin. “Never looked.”
I stared at him and we'd both laughed.
“Tell you what,” he'd said helpfully. “I'll call the guys to fix it. And let me give you a lift. Please?” he added. “Just tell Max here where you need to be and he'll take you.”
“Thanks!” Des had said enthusiastically. She'd looked at me. I'd been hesitating but she was keen on the idea. “In fact, don't stress about the car. We can leave it. I'll call the AA tomorrow morning. They'll sort it out.”
I laughed. “Des...”
“Your friend's right,” he nodded. “Only I think we'd better move the car. People will get mad if it's in the way.”
Laughing, I nodded. “Yeah.”
We pushed the car out of the way – at least I tried to. The man and his chauffeur insisted on doing it for us, which made me feel slightly peeved at first.