On Any Given Sundae (23 page)

A few
days?

He pulled her into his arms. She let him, but
he could feel her holding herself back, not allowing herself to
sink into his embrace. That restraint just about killed him.
“What’s really going on here, Elizabeth? What have I done
wrong?”

She looked everywhere but at his face. “You
haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just…I-I’ve been thinking and…”
She sighed in a way that indicated whatever she’d been thinking
wasn’t good news for him. “You were upfront with m-me from the
beginning, Rob. You told me, and you were really clear on this,
that you w-wanted to go back to Chicago. That you didn’t want to
stay in Wilmington Bay after our uncles got back from Europe.
That’s still true, right?”

He wasn’t exactly sure if it was still true
but, since he had no idea what other options there were yet, he
sort of nodded.

She blinked a few times then gazed directly
into his eyes. “See, here’s the problem. I’m in love with you,
Rob.” She paused and let her words sink in. His heart soared for a
split second. “But—” Never a good word to hear after an I Love
You.

“But what?” he managed to say over his
hammering pulse.

“B-But you and I want different things. We’re
very different people, w-which I know isn’t a newsflash. And I’ve
been getting really attached to having you around, even though I
know in a few weeks you’ll be g-gone.” She put one soft hand on his
cheek. “I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened between us.
Not one thing that we’ve shared. But I think you were right from
Day One. We’re friends. And, as much as I’d like it to be
otherwise, that’s probably all we should be.”

He opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know
what he could say in response, but that was a moot point because
not a single damned syllable came out.

“Remember how you said last month that before
you left Wilmington Bay you’d tell you mother you broke up with me,
you know, s-so I wouldn’t be the ‘bad guy’?” She gave him a weak
smile. “I don’t think you should do that. I th-think you should
tell her the truth. Tell her it’s my fault. Explain that I can’t
handle a long-distance relationship, but that I want to stay good
friends. And please tell her that I’ve loved being with her and
your family nearly as much as I’ve loved being with you.”

He swallowed hard but he still couldn’t talk.
He bobbed his head a little, though, which she took as his
answer.

She kissed him lightly. “Thanks,” she said.
Then she got in her car and drove away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rob spent the next week feeling as though
he’d lost a lot of yardage in the relationship game and had been
benched indefinitely. He could see a bunch of action happening on
the field with his teammates, but he wasn’t allowed to play.
Elizabeth—head coach of their organization—had given him one
helluva time out.

Jacques and Gretchen, by contrast, were
starters in every play. With their newfound relationship out in the
open, they laughed like psychotic hyenas. They tangoed in
Tutti-Frutti’s backroom. They sipped from each other’s milkshakes.
They made a general nuisance of themselves with all their damn
humming and smiling. Rob considered locking them up in the
dry-storage pantry. On several occasions.

They had it too easy, what with living in the
same town and everything. There was no real challenge involved
because—come on—if they had to deal with what he and Elizabeth had
to deal with, they’d suffer under the intense pressure of
indecision, too. Wouldn’t they?

Sure they would.

Still, for the first time in a long, long
time, he didn’t feel like distracting his insecure self with social
interactions and chatter. Not even in debates with himself. It hurt
too much to watch Elizabeth breaking away from him, setting her
sights on another man who could deliver what she needed.

The fact that this new man hadn’t yet
materialized was little consolation to him. A perfectly
respectable, unattached Wilmington Bay male would appear in record
time to snatch her away for good. And, because Rob had nothing
permanent to offer her here, he couldn’t do a thing about it.

But then the phone rang. Elizabeth.

And, after days of moping, something finally
happened that gave him a shred of hope.

***

The phone rang.

Elizabeth picked it up only to hear Camden’s
distraught voice on the other end of the line.

“Darling, darling, please—before you kill
me—let me explain,” he said.

She was going to kill him. He was due in town
two hours from now. Everyone had worked like maniacs to get the
food ready for the shoot. “C-Camden—”

“Oh, I know. You hate me. You never want to
speak with me again let alone work with me on any big project. I’m
a scourge amongst men. My presence is a blight upon your otherwise
flawless writerly existence. I—”

“Cut the dramatics, Cam. What happened this
time, and
where the hell
are you?”

He breathed heavy on the line. “Oh, my dear,
I’ve made you swear. I am so screwed.”

“You bet you are. My deadline is in
eight—count them—
eight
days. You
promised
me you’d be
here. Why aren’t you?” Worried she’d snap the receiver in half, she
loosened her grip on the phone just a notch, but she didn’t even
try to unclench her jaw. She was going to KILL him.

“I’m in the hospital. I’m very, very
sick.”

Oh, God, please forgive me.
She said a
short prayer that his condition wasn’t terminal.

“I have the measles,” he said. “My parents,
darlings that they were, were hippies in the seventies who didn’t
think you should ever trust the government or the establishment or
any other ‘-ment.’ Not a bad philosophy. But they also didn’t
believe in vaccinations. I just found out this morning what an
unfortunate thing that was for me. I’m in San Diego. I’m highly
contagious. I’m under quarantine and not allowed to go
anywhere.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Cam…”

His voice softened. “I am so sorry, honey. I
know you were counting on me. I can try to get released in a few
days, but there’s no guarantee they’ll let me fly anywhere or that,
even if I could, that I’d be able to do everything we need to do in
time. I can call your editor and explain and maybe—”

“No. Look, you just concentrate on getting
well. I—I’ll see what I can figure out here. Maybe I can find a
local food photographer on short notice.” Well, this was doubtful,
but she didn’t want Camden sitting and worrying in his hospital
bed. “Otherwise, we can get the deadline extended a week or two.
It’s just, I’ve never worked with anyone besides you, so…”

“Whatever you decide to do, it’s fine with
me. If you can get someone else to take the shots, he or she should
get the credit in the book. If the editor will let you wait for me,
I’ll make sure—no matter what—that I’m there. You just do what you
need to do, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, pretty sure the world was
on its way to disintegrating before her eyes. She hadn’t told
Camden this of course, but her editor had been very firm on this
deadline. With the cookbook’s release date being in mid-December,
they were cutting it close as it was. If they were late getting the
photos in, the book wouldn’t make it to production on time and its
release would have to be delayed until another spot opened up.

Jacques, Gretchen and Nick stared at her in
fury, shock and horror respectively. She herself could barely see
in color. One of them, she couldn’t tell who, whispered, “What are
we going to do? I don’t know any professional photographers?”

Another one said, “Who does?”

To which the obvious person popped into her
brain. The man who knew everyone and whom everyone knew in turn.
The man she’d been avoiding for his own good…and for hers.

“I’ll call Rob,” Elizabeth said.

Ten minutes later, after explaining to him
the dire predicament Cam and his measles had put them in, Rob was
on the job.

“I have just the photographer you need,” he
said. “I’d trust this guy with my life, and I’ve already got him on
payroll. Just give me a half hour to make some calls. We’ll get him
up here in a few hours so don’t panic. Okay, Lizzy?”

The way he said her old nickname, all warm
and worried for her, made her broken heart pound for wanting him.
He’d done almost the impossible and made her
love
that
stupid name when it came flowing off his lips. He’d given her a
wealth of new memories to associate with it. For once, she didn’t
bother to correct him.

“Thanks, Rob,” she said quietly.

“Anything for you, babe,” he whispered before
hanging up. “Anything for you.”

Ah, if only that were true.

***

By two p.m., a sprightly and very
sharp-dressed young man came gliding into Jacques’s bakery where
they were all gathered. His dark features were Hispanic in origin,
but his clothes were pure Armani. Elizabeth heard Nick’s jagged
intake of breath next to her.

Gretchen detached from holding Jacques’s hand
long enough to rap Elizabeth’s arm and whisper, “Get a load of that
hottie.”

Jacques scowled and pulled her back.

Rob came rushing in a few paces behind the
dapper dude, and said, “Everyone, this is my good friend Miguel.
He’s been managing The Playbook for me while I’ve been up here, but
he’s a wiz kid.” He grinned. “His current resume says he’s one of
Illinois’s top style consultants, which is true, but I won’t let
him work for anybody else. He’s studied business, fashion and, most
importantly for us today, photography.”

Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes. If this
Miguel guy had earned Rob’s loyalty and respect, they might just
have a chance…not just getting the photos taken, but also getting
them taken well.

Miguel smiled at the group. “Happy to be
here.” He waved and smiled politely through the introductions. Then
he glanced around the bakery and specifically at Jacques’s
perfectly formed éclairs. Immediately Miguel’s demeanor
changed.

“Boss Man,” he commanded of Rob, “we need to
get the equipment from the car. Now. There’s lots of work to do.”
And he began rustling around the room, giving orders, inspecting
pastries, flicking on the special spotlights he brought, setting up
his camera on the tripod.

“I need a helper. Fast,” Miguel demanded and,
before anyone else could so much as unbend a finger, Nick had
pounced into position by his side.

Miguel’s eyebrows raised a fraction of an
inch as he got his first really good look at Nick. Elizabeth could
feel the pheromones flying.

Pretty soon photographs of the various
desserts were being snapped faster than any of them could say
“Tutti-Frutti,” which—incidentally—was closed midday, in honor of
these special circumstances.

Elizabeth saw Rob tap his buddy on the
shoulder during a short break in the shooting. “Nice work, Miguel,”
he said, edging out Nick for a moment, who was hanging on every
word they said two yards away.

Miguel huffed. “I don’t do
nice
work.
I’m a perfectionist. I do
exceptional
work.”

Rob laughed and caught Elizabeth’s eye for a
moment before responding to him. “Okay, then. Exceptional work,
Miguel.”

“Oh, I know. I just gave myself another raise
and trust me, Boss Man, I’m still a bargain.”

The two men looked at each other
affectionately for a second then Rob slapped him on the back and
strode away. Nick pranced over to Miguel again where they resumed a
discussion of either clothing or sports—Elizabeth kept losing
track. But one thing she knew for certain: Nick wouldn’t be
lamenting the loss of ex-lovers a moment longer.

She wished she could say her love life looked
remotely as promising.

This past week had been the kind of torture
she wouldn’t have cursed an enemy with (well, maybe Tara Welles),
but she knew she couldn’t take back her words to Rob. Watching him
stomp around the room now, so strong, so masculine, so
confident…she realized he’d given her an extraordinary gift. Some
of his freedom of speech had rubbed off on her, even if it had been
only a tiny bit. She found she was finally able to say what she
meant. That she could, at last, speak up for herself.

And she desperately hoped something good of
hers had rubbed off on him, if only so he wouldn’t forget her too
quickly.

***

The next few days passed in a blur of
activity. Rob returned to handling the ice cream parlor. Nick,
Gretchen and Jacques took turns having their specialties featured.
Other local cooks that Elizabeth had contacted, gladly provided
delectable-looking samples of their creations to accompany the
recipes selected to be in the book. She herself made several
batches of sweets, including her mother’s cherry cheesecake from
scratch, and had them photographed by Miguel.

By the fifth and final day of the project,
Nick and Miguel were an inseparable pair with plans to take their
relationship to the next level.

“Wisconsin has the Brewers, the Badgers, the
Bucks, the Green Bay Packers—” Nick began in his plea to get Miguel
to consider a relocation to the Dairy State.

“But Illinois has the Bears, the Sox, the
Cubs, the Blackhawks and the Bulls,” Miguel said over him.

“We used to have Brett Favre,” Nick said.

“And we used to have Michael Jordan,” Miguel
shot back, his tone taunting and more than a hint sarcastic.

Nick squinted at him. “Chicago is a serious
two-and-a-half hour drive away, Miguel. For me, it’s doable but,
man, my family would kill me for ditching them.”

“I’ve got Blackhawks season tickets,” Miguel
said simply, no doubt having already heard Nick’s fantasies about
hockey players. “Section 113. Against the glass.”