Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie (27 page)

He shifted his hand and stroked her cheek, then tucked her hair behind her ear. “Guess I'd better get a little more motivated to finally make her seaworthy then. Take you for a sail.”

“You will,” she said, then smiled. “And we will.”

He tugged her close and shifted to his back so she rolled against his chest. “I like these kinds of visions, sugar.”

She loved the deep rumble of his voice, the stubble on his chin, the way he couldn't go a minute without touching her hair, stroking her skin, staying in contact with her. She felt . . . tended to, desirable . . . maybe even loved, or at least deeply cared for.

“I do, too. You know, I'd thought maybe I wouldn't have them anymore . . . with you, I mean . . . now that we've gotten closer. I never did with my folks or with Bea.”

“You had your guard up pretty tight all those years, though. Maybe relaxing a little, not being so worried about them, is allowing them through.” He smiled and pushed her glasses up. “Maybe it's also why you're having good, positive visions along with the occasional more alarming ones.”

She thought about that. “Maybe you were right about it being my own state of mind, or how I felt about them, that was attracting certain kinds of vibes from folks. Bea tried to explain that to me. Hers were almost always more positive and often minor, little things that didn't matter so much, but always made someone feel better to know.

“She had a few troublesome ones when the vibes were just too strong to ignore. Someone with an accident or a bad fight looming, a divorce maybe, or getting fired . . . and a few times when a person was going to lose someone close. But mine were never like that, never gentle, and rarely about trivial things. I know my second senses are stronger than hers were, but . . . I don't know. I'm beginning to think—hope—that being older, being more open to them, more at ease about having them . . . is changing the type of vibes I'm picking up.” She leaned in and kissed him, reveling in the knowledge that she could just do that because she wanted to. And oh, she wanted to.

“I hope so, sugar.” He rolled her to her back. “Maybe your spidey senses are contagious . . . because I am experiencing some vibes right now myself.”

She giggled. “Are you now?”

“I'm sensing that someone might want a nice, big, stamina building breakfast before we get up and head in to work.”

She pouted just a little, before she caught herself and smiled. “That would be great.”

He hooted out a laugh and rolled her so she was under him. “Darlin', if you could have seen the expression on your face just now. Word of advice. Never play poker.”

“I do think breakfast sounds wonderful.”

“Maybe so, but you were hoping I was sensing something else entirely? Just maybe?”

“Just maybe,” she admitted.

“How do you feel about water conservation?”

She frowned in confusion. “Water conservation?”

“I have this nice, big walk-in shower and oversized drenching showerhead. Seems a shame to waste all that water on just one person at a time.”

“Well, now that you mention it, that does seem rather wasteful.”

“Good. Come on.” He rolled off the bed and tugged her with him.

“And here I thought you weren't a morning person.”

“Only when I have reason to be.” He reached in and turned on the showerheads. Seconds later, steam started to rise inside the glass enclosed walls. “Go ahead on in. I'm going to put coffee on. Forgot to set it last night.” He grinned. “Something distracted me.” He padded out into the hall, completely unself-conscious about being naked—which was when she realized he'd pulled her straight out of bed buck naked and looking like God only knew what.

The mirror was already too fogged, and she was too preoccupied poking her head out of the door to the hallway and watching him stroll to the kitchen. Honestly, no one's butt should look that incredible. She grinned to herself. But if anyone had to have one . . . she was happy it was him.

She heard him let Lolly in and what sounded like dog food being dumped in a bowl. Then he was coming back down the hall. That sexy, teasing grin slid across his face, looking all the more devilish with the five o'clock shadow darkening his jaw. “You peekin' at my bare ass, sugar?”

She managed a nonchalant shrug. “Might have been.”

He lifted one brow. “And?”

“My, my, give a girl a string of soul shattering orgasms and you suddenly think you're hot stuff, huh?”

He moved in a sudden flash and scooped her up against his chest, making her squeal and laugh at the same time. “Soul shattering, huh?”

“You're going to be completely insufferable now, aren't you?”

He carried her straight into the shower, making her splutter as the warm water splashed over their heads and darted off their shoulders and backs. “I was already insufferable, sugar. Weren't you payin' attention?”

He closed the shower door behind him with a flick of his foot and grabbed the bottle of scented body wash from the silver wire rack hanging over her head behind her. “Here,” he said, squeezing out a pool of the creamy soap into the palm of his hands. “Let me show you some of the benefits of paying attention.” He rubbed his palms together and reached for her. “Very close attention.”

“H
e cooks?”

“He designed a walk-in shower?”

Honey should be ashamed of herself, she knew that. But for the first time in her life, she had honest-to-God girlfriends. Well, girlfriends and Franco, who was like a bonus girlfriend, only better. She also had herself an honest-to-God man. Could she really be blamed if she gushed about her man to her girlfriends, just a little? Just this once? It wasn't like she'd told them anything personal or intimate. That was just for her and Dylan.

“It's heavenly,” she admitted. “I didn't even know they made those kind of showerhead things. It was as big as a dinner plate. It was like standing in a rainstorm.”

“I saw in a magazine where you can have different nature scenes illuminate the glass enclosure like a screen, sort of like those digital picture frames,” Lani said. “And speakers that play matching nature sounds.”

“I already feel self-conscious in the shower,” Charlotte responded. “The last thing I need is to feel like I'm standing naked in the middle of the jungle.”

“I bet Carlo might think otherwise,” Lani teased.

Charlotte smiled, but said nothing.

“I wonder if you could get any sort of photos to show up on the glass,” Alva mused. “I wouldn't mind taking a shower with Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Honey choked on a snort of laughter. “I don't know which would make me more uncomfortable, feeling like I was showering naked in the jungle, or showering naked in front of Johnny Depp.”

“I wouldn't mind it,” Franco commented, “as long as Johnny was naked, too.”

Everyone was still laughing when Dre came in, balancing her sugar work tool kit and several large paper bags with handles. Honey was closest to the door, so she helped her by taking the bags off her arm and closing the door.

“You can keep the white bag,” Dre told her as she made her way to her regular worktable. “It's for you.”

Honey followed her and set the bags on her table, then slid the white one to the edge so she could look inside. Something was folded neatly in a plastic bag.

“I thought since you liked Kit's apron, and you seemed to like some of my marketing ideas”—she shrugged—“anyway, you didn't have an apron. You could just use it here, or at your own place. It's more shop apron than baking apron.”

Honey was so surprised and touched she didn't know what to say. “Dre, that's, wow . . . that's so nice of you! You didn't have to do that.”

Dre continued setting out her tools and prepping her station. “Hope you like it.”

“I know I will.” Honey slid out the plastic bag and everyone pretty much stopped what they were doing to come closer so they could all see. She opened the bag and slid out the apron. It was of heavy cream canvas material and constructed like a shop apron with deep pockets, sturdy ties. She shook it out, then turned it around so she could see the front.

A collective “oh, wow” came from the entire group.

Tears sprang to Honey's eyes and she had to dab them away so she could marvel at every detail. “This is . . . I can't even . . . you're insanely talented.”

It was a scene much like the one on Kit's apron, but instead of a map of the island with cupcakes and fairy characters representing all of the cupcake club members, this one was of a clearing in a forest filled with magical flowers, toadstools, gnomes, and fairies—all her little forest critters and creatures tucked in here and there amongst the foliage and in the trees—every one of them a design from her own catalog, stunningly reproduced in one big mural. It was like a walking billboard for her work.

She slid the strap over her neck, then hugged the apron to her chest. “I love this. It's brilliant. It's . . . I have no words. I could hug you, except—”

Dre lifted her hands, palms out. “I'm good.”

Honey smiled at that, then went right back to gushing over her new prized possession. “My God, Dre, this is—well, you've got my marketing campaign, that's for sure. When I have actual money, I'd like for you to look at my print catalog and online stuff, too. I want one look for all of it. Can you do that?”

“I can.”

Honey took off the apron and laid it on a clean worktable so they could all get a close-up look at every little detail. While everyone else was oohing and ahhing, Honey went back to Dre's worktable. “If you're ever interested in working with clay or carving, it would be my honor to teach you. On the house. I'd love to see what you'd come up with.”

Dre looked up at that, and though she seemed not to particularly care or be all that fazed by the reaction to her work, Honey could see that telltale gleam in her eyes, that satisfied feeling, knowing something you'd created had been sincerely appreciated and acknowledged. That it had found a good home. She felt like that every time someone bought one of her pieces.

“I'd like that,” Dre said, her gaze avid with sincere interest. “That's not a field of art I've done anything with and—” She stopped, seeming to realize she'd almost let herself sound excited. “Listen, I know you're trying to get up and running, so maybe we can swap classes for marketing?”

“Oh, I'd want to pay you for that,” Honey responded. “You don't have to—”

“It's a good offer,” Dre interrupted, the corners of her mouth curving in the closest thing to a smile Honey had ever seen her make. “I'd take it if I were you. I'm a fast learner. You'll come out ahead. Trust me.”

Honey laughed, but then got a considering look on her face. “You'll do great with clay, but I think what's really going to get to you is carving. Ever done it?”

Dre shook her head. “But I'd like to.”

Honey smiled. “Good. Just a word of warning. It's not a fast learning curve.”

Dre bent back to her work, but Honey could see an actual smile on her face. “We'll see.”

“Dre, this really is amazing,” Lani said as the others remained crowded around the apron. “Honey, I can't wait to see your creatures. They're all so cute! I can put some in the cupcake shop, too. Maybe you can do some of your critters holding little cupcakes or something. They'd sell like mad.”

Honey beamed, ideas already pinging in her mind. “That'd be fun. I'd love that.”

“Did you get your stuff ready to ship yet?” Lani asked. “You must be dying to work. At least, that's how I felt about baking the whole time it took me to get this place set up.”

“I am,” Honey said. “I've been sketching some new ideas in the evenings, and it's helped me to stop thinking about the five million things I have to do.”

“Did the inspections go okay?” Charlotte asked.

“Define okay?” Honey replied dryly. “That list of five million things? Yeah, that's all just from the inspection guy.”

Lani groaned. “I so remember those days.”

“I'm still living them,” Kit said. “We just got signed off on the final food services health inspection. Talk about cutting it close.”

“Dylan is giving me a list of names of guys who can do some of the work, but Lani, if you have that list you mentioned, it would be great. I'm pretty sure I need every kind of tradesman there is for something.”

“Oh, right! I forgot. I have it . . . somewhere.”

“I have it,” Kit said. “I kept a file on my computer. Just drop by and I'll print it out for you.”

“Show-off,” Lani said.

“Yeah, but I work for cupcakes,” Kit shot back, and they both laughed.

Everyone wandered back to their workstations and Honey held up the apron to look at it again. “I could look for hours and keep seeing new things. I don't want to put it on; I don't want to mess it up.”

“That's how I felt about mine,” Kit said, gesturing to her Babycakes apron. “I've washed this a hundred times already. They hold up.”

“I'm glad you said that, otherwise I might have just had to frame this.” Honey slipped the loop over her head and was walking past the back door as she tied it around her waist when the door burst open and a tall, buxom blonde with hair like big corkscrews came bounding into the kitchen. “Oh! Hi!” she bubbled, stopping just short of plowing Honey down. “I'm Riley.”

“I'm Honey.”

Riley's eyes popped wide. “Oh, yea, I'm so glad you've joined us! Kit said you might.” Before Honey knew what was going to happen, Riley enveloped her in a hug. “Welcome to Cupcake Club!”

“Riley, no!” Lani shouted.

But it was too late. Off Honey went, but it wasn't the big jerk sideways. In fact, she didn't even really leave the room. It was like she was just having a little moment. Her pulse zoomed, but there was no dread, no fear. It was more of a pleasant little buzz as if she'd just gotten a private, cerebral text message with photo attached. She had a quick visual of Riley and, well, she recognized the man as Quinn Brannigan because she knew him from his book jacket photo, but she also knew he was Riley's significant other. He was beaming, and Riley was—oh, poor thing. Riley was puking, actually. Why was he smiling? Then she saw a . . . a blue cross? A hospital? No, it was . . . on a white plastic stick. Oh, a pregnancy test!

Just like that, the vision snapped away and Honey was fully back in the kitchen.

Riley let her go, ducking down so she could look straight into Honey's eyes. “I'm so sorry. Are you okay? They told me, but I wasn't thinking. I'm a hugger, and I just . . . It was spontaneous. I was just so excited to tell everyone my news and . . . Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine, really.”

“Excited to tell us what?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, what?” Lani chimed in. “How was the boat trip? We haven't heard a peep from you since you left. Was it good seeing your friends again?” She smiled. “Oh no. Did they want their boat back?”

“No, no, but something did happen with the boat.”

Lani frowned. “Are you okay? Quinn? I mean, did you get caught in a storm or something?”

Riley laughed. “No, but we kind of rescued someone from a storm. Of sorts.”

“A storm rescue!” Alva exclaimed. “How exciting. That would make a great article for the newspaper.” She sent a short glance toward Honey, then smiled back at Riley.

“There's even more to it than that,” Riley gushed on, mercifully saving Honey from Alva's continued, not-so-subtle campaign to be the one to “break” the story about Honey's “gift.” “Her name is Emmaline Sweet. How awesome is that name, by the way? We brought her back with us. Well, that's not entirely true. She sailed the boat back and Quinn and I flew back up. She's an amazing cook and I got her a temporary gig working at Laura Jo's starting next week.”

“Oh, sure, sure. You can call Laura Jo, but you can't call your best friends,” Lani said with an exaggeratedly aggrieved air.

Riley laughed, but her cheeks were rosy and she was all but bouncing in her shoes. “There was a good reason not to call. At least it felt like a good reason at the time. I didn't want you all to be mad at me. At us.”

“For rescuing someone and finding her a job?”

Riley lifted her hand and held it in front of her face, which was when Honey—and everyone else—saw the giant diamond sparkler on her ring finger.

“You got engaged? Did it have something to do with the rescue? How romantic.” Alva pulled a notepad out of her apron and started writing down notes. “How did he propose?”

“Actually,” Riley said, her gaze skimming the room. “He did more than propose. We eloped. We got married.” She covered her mouth with her hands, but her joy was all but dancing in her eyes . . . and her bouncing curls.

The room collectively gasped, while Honey sighed in relief. So, her vision was probably—hopefully—going to be a good thing for Riley. She already knew Quinn was going to be happy. As everyone crowded around Riley, with Franco being the first one to examine the diamond ring up close, Honey watched from the fringes of the excited group.

Not that she felt at all excluded. She was certain they'd be quite happy for her to join in. But she really didn't want to know anything else about any of their futures, good or bad, at least not this evening. So she kept a little distance, and enjoyed their exuberant reaction to Riley's big news, and the good natured ribbing they directed her way for having the nerve to get married and deprive them of a big, local wedding.

It made Honey think about what life was really going to be like with these people who had so openly accepted her, pulled her into their world, and seemed to sincerely want her to be part of their lives. She wanted all of that. Badly. Everything about it, about them, already far exceeded any hopes or dreams she might have had about having a normal life.

Except it wasn't normal. She wanted to be right in the thick of the celebration, oohing and ahhing over Riley's wedding ring and romantic elopement stories. She also knew she couldn't handle a steady stream of visions like that, even the brief, essentially pleasant ones. It was still a lot to deal with, to be saddled with information about people she cared about.

In truly letting her guard down, letting people into her life, and actively participating in theirs, she wasn't going to have the one protection she'd enjoyed in the past—that of not knowing things about those closest to her. She was still having visions about Dylan and imagined she would have them about many people in her life.

That was something she had to really think about—both the energy it took to experience them . . . and the burden of knowledge they left behind. Even though it was happy news, knowing Riley was going to become pregnant in the not too distant future was something Honey didn't want to think about every time they saw each other or chatted. There was no compelling reason to tell Riley what she knew, nothing seemed wrong or dangerous in the vision she'd had, so that meant she should keep it to herself and just . . . know. That begged the questions, How much would she learn about her new friends? And when would it simply become too much?