Second Time Around (22 page)

“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady who made that fabulous Coca-Cola cake?”

Anna snapped to attention. “Yes. Hi. Anna McCauley.”

A short, stout woman bundled up in a red barn coat and multiple colorful winter scarves smiled at her. “I thought that was you. You probably don’t remember me, but we met at Belinda Elquest’s party. Kris Doyle.” She extended her right hand.

“Of course I remember you, Kris,” Anna fibbed, shaking hands. “It’s wonderful to see you again. How are you?”

“I can’t stop thinking about that cake.” Kris kissed her fingers in appreciation. “You know, I’d never heard of making cake with soda pop, and when Belinda gave me a piece, I admit I was reluctant, but my word! You’ve really got talent.”

Anna returned the Belgian chocolate to the shelf and tried to will herself into a cheery, convivial mood. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been dying to know: Wherever did you find that recipe?”

“Oh, I collect vintage cookbooks.”

“Really!” Kris put down her shopping basket and started to unwind her jumble of scarves. “Do you buy them on eBay?”

“Once in a while, but I’ve found some amazing stuff at garage sales and used-book stores. I love reading about all the
different food fads that have come in and gone over the years.”

“What a fascinating hobby.”

“My husband got me started.”
Why
was she talking about Jonas? Stupid Belgian chocolate. “He gave me a first edition of
The Joy of Cooking
for our first anniversary, and I used it to make a custard pie. I’ve been hooked on baking ever since.”

“How sweet.” Now Kris was taking off her coat and settling in for a nice long chat right here next to the sacks of flour. “You’re lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.”

Anna’s thoughts flashed over to the last conversation she’d shared with him: reckless accusations of PMS followed by unsolicited phone sex propositions. “Yeah, he’s a real prince.”

“Do you two live here in town?”

Anna paused. “Not really. Well, I live here. For now.”

Kris tilted her head, waiting for Anna to finish.

“I went to Thurwell.” Anna smiled brightly, as if this explained everything. “Graduated ten years ago.”

“And your husband?”

Anna pretended to misunderstand the question. “Oh, he went to Skidmore. We didn’t meet until the end of senior year, actually. He sat next to me on the bus to the airport for spring break.”

When Kris opened her mouth to interrogate her further, Anna cut her off with, “Anyway, I have a few cookbooks from the 1950s, and sometimes I’m religious about following the recipe to the letter, but for the Coca-Cola cake, I ended up playing around with the ingredients and adding a few little extras. I thought palatability was more important than historical authenticity.”

“What sort of extras did you add?”

“Trade secret, I’m afraid. But if you give me your email address, I’d be happy to send you the original recipe and you can whip up your own variation.”

Kris dug through her handbag and produced a business card. “How far in advance do you book up? My husband is the president of the local Civil War reenactment society, and I’m hosting the holiday dinner for all the members and their wives. Do you have any desserts that might do for that sort of event?”

“Oh, I’d love to do a Civil War buffet!” Anna clapped her hands together.

Kris looked impressed. “You’ve done them before?”

“No, but I’ve got loads of ideas. I could do an orange flummery, maybe a modified Spanish blancmange, a plum cake—oh, and I’ll have to see if I can scrounge up some gooseberries. You know, it’s funny you should ask me about this today. Just last night, I was reading about a really rich sponge cake called a Robert E. Lee cake.”

Kris’s eyes lit up. “You’re hired. But you have to make the Robert E. Lee cake completely authentic. And don’t give anyone else the recipe!” She rubbed her palms together with glee. “Oh, this will be the talk of the Civil War circuit. I pity next year’s hostess.”

Anna saw an opportunity for Henley House synergy and made her move. “You know, if you really want to wow your guests, I can research Civil War centerpieces and table settings. One of my best friends is an event planner, and I’m sure she’d work with me.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Kris nibbled her lower lip. “Oh, and then I’m hosting a baby shower for my niece. I’d love to
serve one of your cakes. Something feminine, but not too cutesy.”

Anna’s spirits plummeted at the mention of the b-word. “I apologize, but I can’t.”

“But I haven’t told you the date yet.”

“Well, you see …” She exhaled slowly. “The thing is, I don’t handle baby showers.”

Kris looked startled. “Why on earth not?”

A voice cried out, “Hey! Kris! Hellooo!”

I’m saved!
Anna took a step back and prepared to make her exit.

Trish Selway strode down the aisle and wedged herself directly between Kris and Anna. She gave Kris an air kiss and Anna a sharp, dangerous smile. “I thought that was you.”

I’m screwed!

“Trish!” Kris’s face went crimson. “Goodness, dear, I didn’t even see you over there!”

“I’m getting harder and harder to miss these days.” Trish patted her belly, which was obscured under a puffy down parka. “Second trimester in full effect.”

“Second trimester already!” Kris exclaimed. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, now that the morning sickness is gone. I’m back to business as usual,” Trish said. “Speaking of which, did I just hear you say that you need a baby shower cake?”

Kris started weaving her fingers through her scarf fringe. “I … well … that is—”

“Look no further,” Trish said. “I’m your girl.”

Anna cleared her throat.

“Yes?” Trish towered over her. “You have something to say, Legacy?”

Anna used her wire shopping basket to stake out her personal space. When Trish tried to jostle her aside, Anna’s handbag fell to the floor, spilling out her wallet, cell phone, and a tattered paperback volume of Shakespeare.

“Oops.” Trish didn’t even bother turning around to assess the damage. “I am so sorry. Must be that pregnancy klutziness.”

“Oh, I had that in spades.” Kris crouched down to help Anna gather up her belongings. “I spent the entire nine months covered in bumps and bruises. It was especially bad with my youngest.” She picked up the paperback and glanced at the title.
“Twelfth Night?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite of the comedies.” Anna tucked the book into the interior pocket of her bag. “I like to read it every few years. It’s such a funny, hopeful story, you know? Always cheers me up.”

“Now, which one is that, again?” Kris furrowed her brow. “Is that the one with Uncle Toby and the yellow garters?”

“Exactly. And Sebastian and Viola.”

“Viola. What a pretty name.”

“I always thought so,” Anna said. She and Kris were both kneeling, which excluded Trish entirely from the conversation. “In fact, I decided, way back in college, that if I ever had a daughter, I’d name her Viola.”

“Viola,” Kris repeated. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“And it’s unusual without being ridiculous or impossible to spell.”

“Viola?” Trish suddenly hunkered down alongside them. “What a coincidence. That’s what I’m planning to name the Bug here, if it turns out to be a girl.”

“You are not!” Anna said.

“Oh yes.” Trish nodded solemnly.

Anna searched for an appropriately stinging response. She finally managed, “Nuh-uh.”

“It’s true.” Trish smirked. “Viola is number one with a bullet on my baby name list. Has been for years. Ask anyone.”

Anna stood up, offered her hand to Kris, and helped her newest client regain her footing. “You know what, Kris? I’d be honored to cater your niece’s shower. Just let me know when and where, and I’ll whip up something truly—”

“Too late,” Trish interrupted. “You already turned down the job.”

They both turned to appeal to Kris.

“I have to go.” Kris pivoted and fled in a flurry of tartan wool.

“Email me!” Anna called after her. “Pleasure seeing you again!” Then she rounded on Trish. “What is wrong with you? Trying to poach my clients right in front of me!”

“Who’s poaching?” Trish shot back. “You said no to the baby shower. I heard you with my own ears.”

“So you’re an eavesdropper
and
a poacher.”

Trish squared her shoulders. “That’s it, Legacy. I tried to be nice. I let you share my kitchen—”

“
Let
me?!?” Anna choked. “
Your
kitchen?”

“—and I let it slide when you called me up, all hysterical in the middle of the night, and accused me of stealing equipment that was right under your nose.”

Anna’s indignation faltered as she fought off a fresh wave of embarrassment over the Hobart mixer incident.

“But I’m through being nice,” Trish announced.

“Then so am I.”

They faced off in silence for a few seconds, posturing like parka-clad prizefighters.

“Tell you what,” Anna finally said. “I’ll give you the baby shower job if you step away from my baby name.”

“I don’t need you to ‘give’ me anything.” Trish grabbed an armful of the Belgian chocolate bars Anna had been eyeing.

“Hey, I was looking at those!” Anna protested.

“Yeah, and I’m buying them.” Trish swept her hand to the back of the shelf to make sure she’d gotten every available bar.

“You can’t buy them all!”

“Watch me.”

Anna gasped and reached into Trish’s cart, but Trish slapped her fingers away.

“Back off, Grabby. That chocolate was on the shelf. That’s fair game. Public domain.” She shook her head. “God, you really are psycho, aren’t you?”

“But I need it,” Anna said.

Trish shrugged again. “Life’s a bitch sometimes.”

“I don’t think ‘life’ is the bitch here.” Anna wrapped her hands around the rim of the cart’s basket while Trish secured the metal handle in a death grip. A brief scuffle ensued, punctuated with high-pitched yelps, until the store manager dashed over to break it up.

Gary (according to the small gold name tag pinned to his shirt pocket), a stocky, middle-aged man with nervous eyes and patchy stubble, made his way through the small crowd clustered at the end of the aisle and regarded Anna and Trish with evident trepidation before puffing out his chest and asking, “What seems to be the trouble here?”

Anna pointed at Trish. “She stole my chocolate!”

“Liar!” Trish retorted. “I got all of this right from the shelf.”

Gary’s gaze went back and forth between the two of them
for a moment. Finally, he addressed Anna. “Is that true? It was on the shelf?”

“Technically, yes,” Anna admitted.

Damp sweat stains had started to appear in the armpit creases of Gary’s white shirt. “I’m going to escort you to the checkout line,” he told Trish. “And then I’m going to have to ask you both to leave the premises.”

“We’re
banned
?” Anna had to fight an overwhelming urge to laugh. She’d never been banned from anyplace, ever. She’d never even gotten detention in high school.

“Not banned,” the manager said. “But I’m going to have to ask you to finish your shopping at another time. We can’t allow this kind of behavior.”

Anna lowered her face and humbled her tone. “Of course. I apologize, sir, and I promise this will never happen again.”

When she glanced up again, she saw Trish making a face and mouthing the words “kiss ass.”

She ignored Trish and asked Gary, “Before I go, is there any way you could check in the back and see if there are any more of those chocolate bars available?”

He used his shirt cuff to dab the sweat off his upper lip. “Whatever we have is on the shelf. A new shipment might be in next week.”

“Guess you’ll just have to use Nestlé’s Toll House,” Trish said. “But that shouldn’t be a problem, you being the confectionary ninja and all.”

“Checkout,” Gary said hastily. “Let’s go.”

Trish tossed a wink back over her shoulder at Anna. “Until we meet again, Legacy.”

H
ow can you look at once so delicate and so decadent?” MacCormick’s gaze raked over Helena’s unclothed body, his eyes full of heat, nearly palpable upon her flesh
.

Even in the soft candlelight, she felt shy before him—she’d never been exposed like this, had never before been in a room with an unclothed man. But he gave her no time for a maiden’s sensibilities
.

His mouth met hers once more. When she drew a breath, she felt his tongue slip in between her lips. She’d read enough about kissing to know that she should meet him in kind. Once she did, he groaned against her, his grip on her waist tightening
.

Deeper and harder he kissed her until any inhibitions that might have remained vanished. Nothing could stop her from having this man. As if he
sensed her complete surrender to him, he maneuvered himself between her legs
.

“I should no’ do this, but God help me, I want you so much,” he grated
.