Macarons at Midnight (5 page)

“Hi, H!” Trixie said. Her smile was cheery and huge, and she was exuberant as always. Her friend was considerably less so. She surveyed his tiny shop coolly, a serene smile on her face. Henry liked to hope he wasn’t being judged. He knew he was.

“This is my friend Poppy. Remember?”

Poppy? Henry wracked his brain, trying to think of when Trixie had ever introduced him to someone named Poppy. She had an entire army of well-bred friends, so it could’ve happened at any time.
Poppy… Poppy… Uh yeah! The macarons.
“It’s really nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers. Poppy’s hand was cool and manicured and her ring finger had a rock the size of the Titanic on it. He hoped she didn’t try to swim with that monster. She’d sink to the bottom.

“Aren’t you the cutest thing ever? I could just eat you up.” Henry smiled his most winning smile. Her accent was soft and lilting compared to what Henry was used to. Southern, he imagined. He wasn’t fooled by the sugar. He had a feeling she would eat him if he didn’t make her happy. Most likely while he was still alive and squirming. “So, Henry, darling, your sister told me you were the best baker in the city. I have a job for you.”

He wanted to kill his sister for overpromising. Or promising anything at all. “Trixie’s just being a good sister. I’m far from the best. But I’d be honored to have my cookies at your party. Macarons right?”

“Yes, macarons. I just think they’re too cute. The girls love them.”

“When is the event?” Henry asked.

“The party is tomorrow, and I know that’s short notice, but Ruby Grace just could
not
make up her silly mind about what she wanted.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “Girls these days.”

“T-tomorrow?” Henry tried not to look panicked. “How many do you think you need?” Saturday was one of his busiest days at the bakery, and he already had a morning full of baking lined up. His ovens would be full from four until opening.

Poppy pulled out a list. “This should do it. And make them colorful. She likes bright colors.”

Henry looked at the list and nearly had his second heart attack in under a minute. Two hundred in four different flavors—blackberry cassis, anise, passion fruit, and pistachio. Henry breathed a sigh of relief. At least they were flavors he had the ingredients in stock to make. That wasn’t a problem. Time, on the other hand, was. Millie was so right. They really needed an assistant. Too bad he wasn’t likely to find one in the next ten hours.

He saw Millie eying him from the corner of the shop where she’d gone to hide from Trixie’s friend. Millie had a deep and long-standing hatred of most of Trixie’s friends. Even ones she’d never met. She was busy glaring at him significantly. Henry knew. When the hell was he supposed to bake two hundred macarons and everything else? Never. Not if he was planning on sleeping. Still, he kept smiling, and wrote down Poppy’s order like it was the best thing that could happen to him.

“We’re going to head out,” Trixie said when he’d finished. “We have lunch reservations.”

“It was nice to meet you, Poppy,” Henry said with another hopefully charming smile and handshake.

“You too, sweetheart. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Five o’clock sound about right?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

“And you’ll help with the setup, I assume?”

Henry nearly groaned aloud. “Yes. Of course,” he said, smile plastered in place.

“You want to go get us a cab, hon? I’ll say good-bye to my brother and be right behind you.”

Poppy waved, and flowed out the door in a fragrant eddy of perfume. It was a skill all of Trixie’s friends had mastered.

“Don’t piss her off,” Trixie muttered as soon as Poppy had gone. “She will
bury
you.”

“No kidding,” Henry grumbled back. He swatted her on the shoulder. “Best baker in the city? Thanks for that.”

“You
are
good. I want you to be successful.” She gave him her best winning Trixie smile. Henry had to admit it still worked on him, even though he knew all her tricks.

“I know. And I love you for that. But please, give me a little more warning when you’re about to bring in one of your society friends. A text, a flare. Heat-seeking missile. Something.”

“I did text you. Twice.” Trixie raised her eyebrows and smoothed the edges of her flowery scarf down over her shirt. “Might be helpful if you check your phone once in a while.”

“Oh.” Henry felt dumb. Then again, he never had time to check his phone during the morning rush. Again… they really needed to hire someone soon.

Trixie leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, bro. Good luck with everything.”

“Love you too. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“At a party filled with thirteen-year-olds?” She scoffed. “Kill me now.”

T
RISTAN
HAD
had a long week, but one of the first good ones he’d had since he’d gotten to town. He really
liked
Shatara. Not in a grab-a-pint-after-work kind of way, but he respected her. They worked well together, and he felt wanted for the first time since he’d left London. It was also a relief to spend most of the day away from his floor and Jordan’s little crew. He, Wendy, and a new import called Jeremiah, who seemed like a decent guy, had holed themselves up in the conference room with Shatara, tossing around slogans and layouts and color schemes they hoped would sell some ridiculously overpriced celebrity fragrance that kind of smelled a bit like Pimm’s, if you asked him.

It was Friday, nearly Saturday, according to his watch, and Tristan had taken himself on a much longer walk than usual. He’d honestly gotten himself a bit turned around. It couldn’t be far from his flat—he recognized some of the street names—but he felt like he’d been walking in circles for hours through darkened brick-lined streets, past scores of stoops and closed shops.

T
HERE
WAS
a light coming from the corner on the opposite side of the street, bright and cheery, beckoning. Tristan found himself walking a little faster, trying to get closer. It was rarely really dark in the middle of the city, but still, he was somehow drawn to the bright windows.

When he got there, he realized it was a bakery, obviously closed, but someone was there. The shop was empty but lit up, glowing gold in the night. The walls were bright yellow, the floors black-and-white checkerboard. There was an eclectic collection of bright barstools along the window and the bakery’s lone counter. The shelves were empty for the night, but Tristan could imagine them full of all sorts of gooey, drippy treats, biscuits and cakes, puddings, and mouthwatering buns straight from the oven. There was something magical about the tiny little room, from the checkered floor to the painting of a winged jar of honey flying across the wall with a whimsical little trail of stars behind it. “Honeyfly Cakes and Cookies,” it read under the jar. Tristan liked it. It didn’t make a great deal of sense, but it still made him smile.

He heard the faint buzz of the radio and soft singing coming from around the corner. He walked around to investigate. When he found the source, Tristan’s mouth went dry. He blinked and looked again.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Nobody bloody looks like that.
He’d found the kitchen door of the bakery, propped open, probably to let out the ovens’ stifling heat. But that wasn’t what made Tristan stare. It was the baker. He was
beautiful
. One of the most beautiful men Tristan had ever seen. Maybe even the top of the list. He was dancing along with the music whilst he worked with one of those bag things, squeezing bright pink dough onto trays. Tristan went to move closer, and stubbed his bare toe on the corner of the building.

“Ow! Bloody fucking wanking
shit
!”

The beautiful baker looked up, obviously startled. He froze, staring at Tristan, who wordlessly stared right back.
Disapparating would be a fantastic talent to have right about now.
Tristan was embarrassed that he looked like a Peeping Tom. And he was also never wearing those stupid sandals ever again.

“Sorry, um, I’m not a creeper. I promise. I’ll be going now. Just on a walk. Yes. Clearly. Good night.” He nodded and backed away quickly, wishing he could simply disappear.

“Hey, wait.” Tristan stopped and looked up at the voice coming from the open door. The voice matched him. Mellow, tenor, friendly. “Are you lost?”

“A little,” Tristan said truthfully. “I think I’m close to my flat, but for the life of me, I can’t find my way back there. All these streets tend to blend together and I get turned around.”

The beautiful man smiled. “Why don’t you come in here for a little while? Take a break.” He beckoned. “You look like you could use a cookie, and I could use someone to talk to.”

Tristan didn’t even consider saying no.

A Manhattan classic and a favorite at the Honeyfly Bakery.

Soft, cake-like cookies slathered in gooey black-and-white icing. Always a winner!

For Cookies

• 1¼ cups all-purpose flour
  
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
  
• ½ teaspoon salt
  
• ⅓
  cup buttermilk
  
• ½ teaspoon vanilla
  
• ⅓
  cup unsalted butter, softened
  
• ½ cup sugar
  
• 1 large egg
  

For Black or White Royal Icing

• 1½ cups icing sugar or 1½ cups confectioners’ sugar
  
• 1 tablespoon clear corn syrup
  
• 2 teaspoons lemon juice
  
• ¼ teaspoon vanilla
  
• 1 tablespoon water (approx.)
  
• ¼ cup cocoa powder (for black icing)
  

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt in medium bowl. In small bowl or cup, mix together buttermilk and vanilla. Beat butter and white sugar together in a large mixing bowl with an electric mixer for about three minutes or until everything is incorporated and smooth. Add egg to butter and sugar mixture and beat until blended. Gradually mix in flour mixture in three batches, alternating buttermilk mixture between each cup of flour, and mix until smooth. You’ll need to scrape down the sides of the bowl while mixing. Spoon batter in ¼-cup-size servings onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake on middle rack for about 15 to 17 minutes, or until the tops are golden brown and spring back when touched. Makes big cookies! Put the cookies on a cooling rack and allow to cool completely before icing unless you want a big old mess!

Stir together icing sugar, corn syrup, lemon juice, vanilla, and ½ tablespoon of water in bowl until smooth. Place half of mixture into a separate bowl, and add cocoa powder and remaining water bit by bit until it is the same consistency as the white icing. If the icing is too runny, add more icing sugar until it is smooth and spreadable. Turn cooled cookies flat side up and spread icing with pastry spatula or butter knife. White over one half, chocolate over the other. The icing does not set solid on these cookies and does not harden, but it dries enough to be wrapped as they are sold in the city. They can be wrapped individually in cellophane or sealed in a plastic container.

E
VEN
THOUGH
he’d just stepped over a threshold into what seemed to be a very crowded kitchen and nothing more, Tristan felt like he was in a different world. Something settled in him, weird as that might sound, but lifted at the same time, like his belly was trying to float clear out of his body. He giggled a little like a gawky year nine with a crush, and then clapped his hand over his mouth.

The beautiful man, who, even covered with flour and sweaty from his ovens, was refined and elegant enough that he looked regal, as though if he were to don armor, he could easily be gallant Lancelot or a beautiful king. Tristan found himself thinking that, and shook his head. Perhaps America was making him lose whatever faculties he had left. He realized the baker was speaking again. Tristan found himself blushing, his cheeks heating with the lightness in his stomach and the embarrassing stars in his eyes.