Spoonful of Christmas (12 page)

His brows shot up. “You want my cupcake?”

“I meant to bake a batch this afternoon,” she gushed, her words tumbling over themselves, “but I ended up packing spring break lunches for the needy kids in the school district. Have you heard of the Kids’ Coalition backpack program?”

He nodded. “Yes, I think the
Astoria Sun
featured the free lunch backpack program on the community page a few weeks ago.”

“I’m a volunteer,” she explained. “And after I finished, I tried to buy a cupcake but didn’t get to the store in time. I’ve never let my sister down before, and I feel awful.”

The new addition to her list of top ten dream-worthy males leaned back in his chair and pressed his lips together, as if considering her request, then shook his head. “I’d love to help you, but—”

“Please.”
Andi gasped, appalled she’d stooped to begging. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I understand if you can’t, it’s just that my sister, Kim, my friend Rachel, and I have a tradition.”

“What kind of tradition?”

Andi pointed to their table, and Kim and Rachel smiled and waved. “Our birthdays are spaced four months apart, so we split a celebration cupcake three ways and set new goals for ourselves from one person’s birthday to the next. It’s easier than trying to set goals for an entire year.”

“I don’t suppose you could set your goals without the cupcake?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Andi smiled. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“If the cupcake were mine to give, it would be yours. But this particular cupcake was delivered for a research project I have at work.”

“Wish I had your job.” Andi dropped into the chair he pulled out for her and placed her hands flat on the table. “What if I told you it’s been a really tough day, tough week, tough year?”

He pushed his empty coffee cup aside, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “I’d say I could argue the same.”

“But did you spend the last three hours running all over town looking for a cupcake?” she challenged, playfully mimicking Rachel’s flirtatious, sing-song tone. “The Pig ’n Pancake was closed, along with the supermarket, and the cafe down the street said they don’t even sell them anymore. And then . . . I met you.”

He covered her left hand with his own, and although the unexpected contact made her jump, she ignored the impulse to pull her fingers away. His gesture seemed more an act of compassion than anything else, and, frankly, she liked the feel of his firm yet gentle touch.

“What if I told you,” he said, leaning forward, “that I’ve traveled five hundred and seventy miles and waited sixty-three days to taste this one cupcake?”

Andi leaned toward him as well. “I’d say that’s ridiculous. There’s no cupcake in Astoria worth all that trouble.”

“What if this particular cupcake isn’t from Astoria?”

“No?” She took another look at the box but didn’t see a label. “Where’s it from?”

“Hollande’s French Pastry Parlor outside of Portland.”

“What if I told you I would send you a dozen Hollande’s cupcakes tomorrow?”

“What if I told
you
,” he said, and stopped to release a deep, throaty chuckle, “this is the last morsel of food I have to eat before I starve to death today?”

Andi laughed. “I’d say that’s a good way to go. Or I could invite you to my place and cook you dinner.”

Her heart stopped, stunned by her own words, then rebooted a moment later when their gazes locked, and he smiled at her.

“You can have the cupcake on one condition.”

“Which is?”

Giving her a wink, he slid the bakery box toward her. Then he leaned his head in close and whispered in her ear.

An Excerpt from

THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: RECIPE FOR LOVE

Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.

—Ernestine Ulmer

R
ACHEL PUSHED THROUGH
the double doors of the kitchen, took one look at the masked man at the counter, and dropped the freshly baked tray of cupcakes on the floor.

Did he plan to rob Creative Cupcakes, demand she hand over the money from the cash register? Her eyes darted around the frilly pink-and-white shop. The loud clang of the metal bakery pan hitting the tile had caused several customers sitting at the tables to glance in her direction. Would the masked man threaten the other people as well? How could she protect them?

She stepped over the white-frosted chocolate mess by her feet, tried to judge the distance to the telephone on the wall, and turned her attention back to the masked man before her. Maybe he wasn’t a robber but someone dressed for a costume party or play. The man with the black masquerade mask covering the upper half of his face also wore a black cape.

“If this is a holdup, you picked the wrong place, Zorro.” She tossed her fiery red curls over her shoulder with false bravado and laid a protective hand across the old bell-ringing register. “We don’t have any money.”

His hazel eyes gleamed through the holes in the mask, and he flashed her a disarming smile. “Maybe I can help with that.”

He turned his hand to show an empty palm, and relief flooded over her. No gun. Then he closed his fingers and swung his fist around in the air three times. When he opened his palm again, he held a quarter, which he tossed in her direction.

Rachel caught the coin and laughed. “You’re a magician.”

“Mike the Magnificent,” he said, extending his cape wide with one arm and taking a bow. “I’m here for the Lockwell party.”

Rachel pointed to the door leading to the back party room. The space had originally been a tattoo shop, but the tattoo artist relocated to the rental next door. “The Lockwells aren’t here yet. The party doesn’t start until three.”

“I came early to set up before the kids arrive,” Mike told her. “Can’t have them discovering my secrets.”

“No, I guess not,” Rachel agreed. “If they did, Mike the magician might not be so magnificent.”

“Magnificence is hard to maintain.” His lips twitched, as if suppressing a grin. “Are you Andi?”

She shook her head. “Rachel, Creative Cupcakes’ stupendous co-owner, baker, and promoter.”

This time a grin did escape his mouth, which led her to notice his strong, masculine jawline.

“Tell me, Rachel, what is it that makes you so stupendous?”

She gave him her most flirtatious smile. “Sorry, I can’t reveal my secrets either.”

“Afraid if I found out the truth, I might not think you’re so impressively great?”

Rachel froze, fearing Mike the magician might be a mind reader as well. Careful to keep her smile intact, she forced herself to laugh off his comment.

“I just don’t think it’s nice to brag,” she responded playfully.

“Chicken,” he taunted in an equally playful tone as he made his way toward the party room door.

Despite the uneasy feeling he’d discovered more about her in three minutes than most men did in three years, she wished he’d stayed to chat a few minutes more.

Andi Burke, wearing one of the new, hot-pink Creative Cupcakes bibbed aprons, came in from the kitchen and stared at the cupcake mess on the floor. “What happened here?”

“Zorro came in, gave me a panic attack, and the tray slipped out of my hands.” Rachel grabbed a couple of paper towels and squatted down to scoop up the crumpled cake and splattered frosting before her OCD kitchen safety friend could comment further. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the mess.”

“I should have told you Officer Lockwell hired a magician for his daughter’s birthday party.” Andi bent to help her, and when they stood back up, she asked, “Did you speak to Mike?”

Rachel nodded, her gaze on the connecting door to the party room as it opened, and Mike reappeared. Tipping his head toward them as he walked across the floor, he said, “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Mike went out the front door, and Rachel hurried around the display case of cupcakes and crossed over to the shop’s square, six-foot-high, street-side window. She leaned her head toward the glass and watched him take four three-by-three-foot black painted boxes out of the back of a van.

“You should go after him,” Andi teased, her voice filled with amusement. “He’s very handsome.”

“How can you tell?” Rachel drew away from the window, afraid Mike might catch her spying on him. “He’s got a black mask covering the upper half of his face. He could have sunken eyes, shaved eyebrows, and facial tattoos.”

Andi laughed. “He doesn’t, and I know you like guys with dark hair. He’s not as tall as my Jake, but he’s still got a great build.”

“Better not let Jake hear you say that,” Rachel retorted. “And how do you know he has a great build? The guy’s wrapped in a cape.”

“I’ve seen him before,” Andi said. “Without the cape.”

“Where?”

“His photo was in the newspaper two weeks ago,” Andi confided. “The senior editor at the
Astoria Sun
assigned Jake to write an article on Mike Palmer’s set models.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mike Palmer created the miniature model replica of the medieval city of Hilltop for the movie
Battle for Warrior Mountain
and worked on set pieces for many other movies filmed around Astoria. His structural designs are so intricate that when the camera zooms in close, it looks real.”

Mike returned through the front door, wheeling in the black boxes on an orange dolly. Rachel caught her breath as he looked her way before proceeding toward the party room with his equipment. Did the masked man find her as intriguing as she found him?

Andi’s younger sister, Kim, came in from the kitchen with a large tray of red velvet cupcakes with cherry−cream cheese frosting. The three of them together, with Andi’s boyfriend, Jake Hartman, as their financial partner, had managed to open Creative Cupcakes a month and a half earlier.

“Who’s he?” Kim asked. She placed the cupcakes on the marble counter and pointed toward the billowing black cape of the magician.

“Mike the Magnificent,” Rachel said dreamily.

An Excerpt from

THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: TASTE OF ROMANCE

All I really need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt!

—Charles Schulz

F
OCUS
, K
IM REPRIMANDED
herself.
Keep to the task at hand and stop eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.

But she didn’t need to hear the crack of the teenage boy’s heart to feel his pain. Or to remember the last time she’d heard the wretched words “I’m leaving” spoken to her.

She tried to ignore the couple as she picked up the pastry bag filled with pink icing and continued to decorate the tops of the strawberry preserve cupcakes. However, the discussion between the high school boy and what she assumed to be his girlfriend kept her attentive.

“When will I see you again?” he asked.

Kim glanced toward them and leaned closer.

“I don’t know,” the girl replied.

The soft lilt in her accent thrust the familiarity of the conversation even deeper into Kim’s soul.

“I’ll be going to the university for two years,” the girl continued. “Maybe we meet again after.”

Not likely. Kim shook her head, and her stomach tightened. From past experience, she knew once the school year was over in June, most foreign students went home, never to return.

And left many broken hearts in their wake.

“Two years is a long time,” the boy said.

Forever was even longer.
Kim drew in a deep breath as the unmistakable catch in the poor boy’s voice replayed again and again in her mind. And her heart.

How long were they going to stand there and torment her by reminding her of her parting four years earlier with Gavin, the Irish student she’d dated through college? Dropping the bag of icing on the Creative Cupcakes counter, she moved toward them.

“Can I help you?” Kim asked, pulling on a new pair of food handler’s gloves.

“I’ll have the white chocolate macadamia,” the girl said, pointing to the cupcake she wanted in the glass display case.

The boy dug his hands into his pockets, counted the meager change he’d managed to withdraw, and turned five shades of red.

“None for me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “How much for hers?”

“You have to have one, too,” the girl protested. “It’s your birthday.”

Kim took one look at his lost-for-words expression and said, “If today is your birthday, the cupcakes are free.” She added, “For both you and your guest.”

The teenager’s face brightened. “Really?”

Kim nodded and removed the cupcakes the two lovebirds wanted from the display case. She even put a birthday candle on one of them, a heart on the other. Maybe the girl would come back for him. Or he would fly to Ireland for her.
Maybe
.

Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them shut for a brief second. When she opened them again, she set her jaw. Enough was enough. Now that they had their cupcakes, she could escape back into her work and forget about romance and relationships and every regrettable moment she’d ever wasted on love.

She didn’t need it. Not like her older sister, Andi, who had recently lost her heart to Jake Hartman, their Creative Cupcakes financier and reporter for the
Astoria Sun
. Or like her other co-owner friend, Rachel, who had just gotten engaged to Mike Palmer, a miniature model maker for movies who also doubled as the driver of their Cupcake Mobile.

All she needed was to dive deep into her desire to put paint on canvas. She glanced at the walls of the cupcake shop, adorned with her scenic oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she’d have the money to open her own art gallery, and she wouldn’t need to decorate cupcakes anymore.

But for now, she needed to serve the next customer.
Where was Rachel?

“Hi, Kim.” Officer Ian Lockwell, one of their biggest supporters, sat on one of the stools lining the marble cupcake counter. “I’m wondering if you have the back party room available on June 27?”