Sugar Rush (21 page)
“What did you do, after you parted ways?”
“I’d discovered the joys of chocolate by then, and making sweet things, delectable things. Her father had been a candy maker and she definitely had a taste for sweets. I’d made it my mission to see to, um, all her needs ... so, I poured some of my burgeoning energies into developing my baking skills, but it quickly became my passion in earnest. I’d already switched from kitchens to pastry shops before we parted, learning as fast as I could. I stayed on that path. I knew that was where I was meant to be. I lived, ate, breathed, slept, and dreamed pastry.” He smiled, thinking perhaps he had at least one affectionate family memory after all. “And, at core, I have Emily to thank for that.”
They walked for another several yards in silence, then Leilani elbowed him again.
He glanced down at her. “What was that for?”
“Nothing. Just—” She looked up at him, and the moonlight caught and highlighted the structure of her face, lending a sparkle to her eyes. “You’re a very gallant man. And a kind one. I don’t think anyone can teach that part.”
“I—thank you.” He was caught off guard, by the sentiment, and the affection for him that colored it.
He stopped then. She took another step before she realized it, and turned back. “Baxter?”
“My real name is ... well, I don’t rightly know that, I suppose. But the one I was given by the sisters was Charlie Hingle.”
She walked back to him, but there was no hint of amusement on her face, no teasing smile, just honest curiosity. “When did you change it?”
“When? Well, I lied about it long before I made it legal.”
“Why? Were you teased about it for some reason? It seems rather ... normal to me.”
He lifted a shoulder, a hint of self-deprecation coloring his smile, and his response. “Maybe it wasn’t gallant enough.”
She smiled at that. “Is that really why?”
“No. I ... I don’t know why I lied the first time. I guess ... well, I guess when I found that first kitchen, when they let me come inside, I felt like ... I don’t know. Like I was my own person. Like it didn’t matter where I came from, or who I came from. I could be anyone I wanted to be.”
“You just wanted the right to define yourself, to choose who you were going to be,” she said.
“That was exactly it.”
“So, where did you come up with the name? Had you been thinking about it?”
He shook his head. “They’d ask my name and I’d tell them the first thing that popped into my head. Nobody cared, but they had to call me something if they wanted me to work. It only mattered to me. I’m sure more than a few others working in those same kitchens weren’t using their real names. It wasn’t a particularly—shall we say—well-heeled part of town. Nobody poked into your business too closely.”
“So, when did it become Baxter Dunne?”
“Around the time I was working to lose my accent, posh myself up a bit.”
She smiled more widely then. “So, did you come up with it? Or did ’enry ’iggins?”
He smiled at that. “It was mine. Cobbled together from ones I’d used over the years.”
“When did you make it legal?”
“When I got my first real job, with an honest paycheck. Before, it had always been cash under the table, sometimes food, or a place to sleep. But when I had to fill out actual forms, I paused over the name. I couldn’t write in the real one. It had never felt real. It wasn’t me. So I put down Baxter Dunne, then when I got paid, I went and made it legal.”
“A little backward, perhaps. And weren’t you still underage? That didn’t cause problems?”
He shrugged. “It all got worked out.”
She smiled. “Well, I can see how that whole thing might be a little complicated to include in your celebrity bio, but I’m still surprised no one ever ferreted it out.”
Again, he lifted a shoulder. “There’s no one to know. Except me. And now, you. I’ve never told another living soul.”
“Why? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No, and I’m not. But it’s mine, not for public consumption.”
“What do you tell interviewers when they ask about your childhood?”
“Just that I grew up hard and worked kitchens my whole life. It’s the truth. They don’t need the details.”
She nodded, then looked up into his face. “Why tell me?”
“Because we’ve been talking about me not knowing all there is to know about you. And you were sharing about your family, telling me about yourself. I guess I wanted you to know that it went both ways. You didn’t know me, either. And ... I wanted you to.”
She paused for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Does it matter? Now that you know?”
“In what way do you mean?”
“Does it change anything?”
“I appreciate you telling me, sharing that with me. You know you can trust me with it. I won’t tell anyone. Not even Charlotte.”
“That’s not what I mean. Does it change what you think of me?”
“Of course not,” she said, without hesitation. “Why would it? I mean, it helps me to understand more about you, but, if anything, it just makes you more”—she paused—“it just makes you more. That’s all.”
He lifted his hands, wanting to cup her moonlit face, wanting—needing, perhaps—to make contact in a more tactile way. He was feeling more connected to her in that moment than he’d ever been, and he wanted to ... engage all his senses. Sight ... smell ... sound. Touch.
Taste.
“Leilani ...”
She looked up into his eyes, searching for what, he wasn’t quite sure.
“Coming here, getting to know you ... it just makes you more, too. Do you understand?”
“Baxter”—she took a small step back—“you conceded, remember? You said you knew, agreed even, that we can’t—”
“That’s all I’m saying, Lei. That’s ... all I’m saying.” He curled his fingers into his palms, and dropped his hands back to his sides.
She looked down at the sand between their bare feet. “We should be getting back. It’s late.” When she looked up, she was smiling, but whatever it was he’d been seeing her in eyes, almost from the moment she’d gotten into the car—that extra little sparkle—was gone.
“Right. Right.”
Too late
. He didn’t regret telling her. Didn’t regret anything he’d said. But he did regret the loss of that spark.
Too late
. He didn’t regret telling her. Didn’t regret anything he’d said. But he did regret the loss of that spark.
He turned and gestured for her to lead the way. As he watched her trudge quietly back down the beach, lost in her own thoughts, he found his drifting as well.
He had always gone after what he wanted.
Always
. He believed if he worked hard enough, he could achieve any goal. It had been no small thing for him to admit that, where Leilani was concerned, he couldn’t get what he wanted. For once, no amount of hard work was going to achieve that particular goal. In the end, Leilani also deserved to have what she wanted, to achieve the goals she was working toward. And he didn’t fit into that picture. Nor could he make his goals dovetail with hers.
Always
. He believed if he worked hard enough, he could achieve any goal. It had been no small thing for him to admit that, where Leilani was concerned, he couldn’t get what he wanted. For once, no amount of hard work was going to achieve that particular goal. In the end, Leilani also deserved to have what she wanted, to achieve the goals she was working toward. And he didn’t fit into that picture. Nor could he make his goals dovetail with hers.
He knew exactly what he wanted. All the parts of Leilani Trusdale—the parts he knew, the parts he’d yet to discover. He didn’t need to know another thing about her to know the absolute truth, the utter certainty of that want.
But he had nothing to offer her that she wanted. She didn’t want his life.
The question now was ... what kind of life was he going to have, going forward without her?
Chapter 11
L
eilani punched her fist into the dough. “You should see it, Char.” She punched again. “My poor, adorable, cute little shop
thwump
it’s overrun, with cables, cameras, racks of lights, and
thwump
and strangers. Tromping all over it. Putting their hands—their stranger hands—all over my stuff.” She shuddered. Then punched the dough again.
eilani punched her fist into the dough. “You should see it, Char.” She punched again. “My poor, adorable, cute little shop
thwump
it’s overrun, with cables, cameras, racks of lights, and
thwump
and strangers. Tromping all over it. Putting their hands—their stranger hands—all over my stuff.” She shuddered. Then punched the dough again.
Charlotte gently elbowed her out of the way. “Killing our bread isn’t going to change that.”
“I know, but it might keep me from kneading that guy who keeps pawing through my aprons.”
Charlotte looked up. “Why on earth is anyone pawing through your aprons?”
“The producer, Rosemary? Privately I call her Rosemary’s Baby if that gives you any clue. She’s five-foot-nothing, somewhere between the age of sixty and infinity, steel gray hair cut into a short, razor edge bob, steelier gray eyes, and thin lips that are always pursed. You know what I mean? She scares me. Anyway, she got wind of the fact that I wear some of my collectibles to work and she thought it would make a cute story angle for the show. But apparently I can’t be trusted to pick out my own aprons.” Lani folded her arms. “My shop is overrun with cables and wires, I have pawing strangers, and I’ve been reduced to a cute angle.” She air-quoted the last part with yeasty fingers. “Remind me again why I signed on for this?”
“Community goodwill?” Charlotte pasted on a fake smile.
“Right. I’d rather run for Miss Kiwanis and wear a bikini made of palm fronds. That’s goodwill.”
“That’s ... just wrong. Come on, knead some dough, we’ll bake, it will smell good, we’ll eat too much, and trash men.” Charlotte patted Lani on the shoulder. “You’ll feel all better by morning.”
“I have to go back there in the morning. Very early in the morning.”
“You’re used to early mornings.”
“Yes, when it’s just me, a very big cup of coffee, three hundred cupcakes that need me, and the theme from
Hawaii 5-0
keeping us all company. That is an early morning I can live with.”
Hawaii 5-0
keeping us all company. That is an early morning I can live with.”
Charlotte grabbed Lani’s fist before she could punch the dough again. “Wine. We need wine. Let me finish up here while you pour us each a glass.”
“You can have a glass. I’m getting a straw.”
“Whatever keeps you from committing harvest bread homicide works for me.”
Lani wedged herself around behind Charlotte and got two glasses down, then pulled out a dusty wine bottle from the cupboard.
“So,” Charlotte asked, “how many glasses of wine is it going to take before you spill the beans on your date last night?”
“It wasn’t a date.” Lani yanked out the cork with a bit more force than absolutely necessary. “It was a business meeting.”
“I found your sandy shoes on the front porch and rolled up jeans in the laundry this morning. Sand in those, too.” She gave a quick wiggle of the eyebrows as Lani handed her a glass. “I like how you islanders do business.”
“It wasn’t like that. And what are you doing in my laundry ?”
“Hey, I woke up, you’d come and gone, and I’d already caught up on
Iron Chef
. I made cinnamon rolls, then needed something to occupy me until Tyler Florence. Ultimate cheesecakes today. Tyler. And cheesecake.” Charlotte took a moment, hand to chest, sighed. “It’s the closest I’ve been to multiple orgasms since February. Your pantry is organized now, too. By the way, what is up with the fifty pound bags of flour?”
Iron Chef
. I made cinnamon rolls, then needed something to occupy me until Tyler Florence. Ultimate cheesecakes today. Tyler. And cheesecake.” Charlotte took a moment, hand to chest, sighed. “It’s the closest I’ve been to multiple orgasms since February. Your pantry is organized now, too. By the way, what is up with the fifty pound bags of flour?”
“I stole them from myself. I knew we’d bake and I figured I was giving Baxter my whole shop, so his crew could buy their own damn flour.” Lani sipped, sighed, and shuddered with great pleasure as the bittersweet bite of grape slid past her tongue and down her throat. “Maybe if I just take the rest of this bottle with me tomorrow, I’ll make it through.”
Charlotte slid the bread into the oven, picked her wineglass up again, and leaned back against the counter as she sipped. “So ... is this really about the shop invasion?”
“This?”
Charlotte widened her eyes. “I’m not in New York on speakerphone, I’m standing right in front of you. With two perfectly functioning eyes in my head.”
“This”—Lani lifted her glass, then downed the last sip—“is about the shop invasion. And it might also have a tiny little bit to do with the date.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t a date.”
“It wasn’t.” She poured another glass, but just swirled the wine around in the glass without taking another sip. Finally she looked up at Charlotte. “But I wanted it to be.” She let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I
really
wanted it to be. There was a moment, toward the end, that I thought—” She shook her head.
really
wanted it to be. There was a moment, toward the end, that I thought—” She shook her head.
“Thought what?”
“I thought he was going to kiss me again.”
Charlotte’s face lit up. “And?”
“And I ended the evening right there, before ... before we both lost our resolve.”
Charlotte’s excited expression fell. “Why?”
“
Why?
Charlotte, we’d agree there was no future in it. And we were right.”
Why?
Charlotte, we’d agree there was no future in it. And we were right.”
“So why the moonlit stroll on the sand? Seems to be tempting fate, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. He’d never gotten sand between his toes and we were laughing and ... it just sort of made sense at the time. But we kept it civil, friendly. For the first time since he came down here I was enjoying being with him. So, I thought—stupidly thought—maybe I could just go with the flow. Accept the fact that the show was going to happen, accept the fact that doing the show meant spending more time with Baxter. Accept that he’s going to leave in a few weeks when it’s all over no matter what ... and put my big girl pastry chef panties on and just try to enjoy the time I get.”
Charlotte studied her with a considering eye. “How is that working out for you?”
“We haven’t even started filming yet and already I’m a bread murderer, that’s how.” Just like that, her eyes welled up and her mouth went all wobbly. “And I love bread.”
“Oh, dear.” Charlotte put her wine down and pulled Lani into a tight hug.
“This is so stupid,” Lani whispered. “I’m so stupid. Why can’t I just deal with it?”
Charlotte untangled their arms, steadied Lani’s wineglass in her hand, then looked her straight in the eye. “Because you love him, you idiot.”
Lani sniffled and nodded. “I know. I sort of figured that out last night.”
Charlotte picked up her glass again. “About time.”
Lani squinted one eye at her best friend. “Hey.”
Charlotte shrugged, completely unrepentant. “All this time, I was supportive. Like a good friend, I didn’t say anything. I let you find your own way to the truth. But anyone with eyes to look and ears to listen could see this.” She nudged Lani’s glass up and Lani obediently took a small sip.
“When you left for good, I thought, well, no point in saying it now. You’ve ended it. You’ll move on and so will he. Then I find out he’s moving his entire show to your island, and I thought, she’d better not screw this up.”
Lani’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. “Screw this up?”
Charlotte nodded, her chin set.
“Is that why you’re here? To make sure I don’t screw things up?” Lani’s eyes narrowed. “Was there really a kitchen fire?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” Lani prodded.
Charlotte suddenly studied the wine in her glass. “It was a small grease fire. And we do have to wait for HD to clear us. Should take maybe a day, three at most. I got someone to cover the rest for me. Franco can manage.” Stronger now that she’d made her little admission, she finished with another defiant lift of the shoulder. “Clearly, you needed me.”
“Well, I’m not going to lie and say I’m not thrilled, relieved, and ecstatic that you’re here.” Lani took another sip, enjoyed it all the way down, then looked at Charlotte. “So ... how am I screwing this up?”
“By not giving him a chance. You want him, you love him, but didn’t think he’d even noticed you that way. Now he comes here and tells you he can’t forget you and wants you in his life. He kisses you, lays claim to you, right there in the front of your shop, for the world to see, and what do you do?” Charlotte was working up a good head of steam, and she downed the rest of her wine and smacked her glass on the counter with enough force that Lani was surprised the stemware didn’t snap in half. “You reject him! Of course I had to come.”
“What choice do I have?” Lani demanded. “He’s leaving in two weeks. My life is here.”
“And this is the life you would choose over a life with the man you love? I know your father is here, but you say he’s disappointed in your choices, too. You can still have your own shop, Lan. It doesn’t have to be here.”
“I know. With a few more evenings like the last one, I probably would have started to reconsider. But Char, it’s not that simple. Yes, he wants me, but he doesn’t have a life to offer me, even if I was willing to try. He said as much last night. He told me that he hadn’t really thought it through, but now he has. He said he shouldn’t have come down here. That it would never have worked.”
Charlotte was all geared up to deliver some other strident piece of commentary, but that made her pause. She opened her mouth, then paused again. “Oh,” she said finally, then grabbed her glass and filled it again as she pondered this new piece of information. “You said he almost kissed you.”
“I said I thought he wanted to. For a moment. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But it doesn’t matter.”
“What, exactly, did he say?” Charlotte took a sip of wine, then pointed her glass at Lani. “Leave nothing out.”
Lani took a fortifying sip of her own. “He said that he is going to be on the road filming this show for the next few months, but that even when he goes home again, he really doesn’t have a home life. His work is his life. He knows how much running my own place means to me. He still has Gateau. Even with everything else he has going on, he doesn’t want to give that up. He, of all people, understands that proprietary sense of pride and accomplishment. Granted, our goals with our respective shops are worlds apart, and he has others running his place now, but it’s still his, and the desire is the same. Just like his schedule is crazy and demanding, mine would be too, running my own shop, especially just starting out. Even if I was willing to move north, start over, what kind of life would we have? He’s running one direction, I’m running another; we’d be lucky if we passed each other in the hallway occasionally.”
“It would probably be a much bigger hallway. And a better home kitchen,” Charlotte offered, though will little real enthusiasm.
Lani sighed. “I know. In a fully renovated brownstone. In the Village.”
Charlotte shifted so she was leaning her back on the counter, too, elbow to elbow with Lani. They both sipped.
“You’d have to live with a boy, though,” Charlotte said. “All the time.”
“Yeah,” Lani agreed. “With all his boy stuff lying around everywhere.”
“And boy smells.”
They both wrinkled their noses.
“But, there would be regular boy sex,” Lani said.
Charlotte sighed. “That is true.”
“I’m pretty sure it would be really great boy sex.”
“Almost makes it worth the smelly parts.”
“Doesn’t it?” Lani finished off the second glass, then turned her head to look at her best friend. “I’m pretty sure Baxter has sweet parts,” she whispered, then snickered.
Charlotte did, too. Then both of them were giggling uncontrollably.
“We might have had a little too much wine,” Lani said.
Charlotte held up two fingers. “Just two glasses.”
Lani held up her glass. “Really big glasses. Really quick.”
The oven timer went off, making them leap away from the counter with a squeal, which sent them into another peal of snickering laughter.
“We, on the other hand,” Charlotte said as she pulled out the perfectly risen, perfectly browned loaf of savory harvest bread. “We only have good smells.”
“Delicious smells,” Lani agreed, breathing in deeply.
“Heavenly harvest smells,” Charlotte agreed. “But I think perhaps we should switch to tea while we enjoy a slice. I’ll brew, you get the herb butter.” She looked at the oven clock. “Bobby Flay comes on in ten minutes.”
“Bobby Flay,” Lani said with reverence. “I wonder if he’s smelly.”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte snorted. “But I’d smell Bobby Flay firsthand and let you know.”
That sent them off all over again.
“I’ll get the plates,” Lani said, hiccupping for air. “Last one to the couch is a smelly boy!”
Their mad dash was abruptly cut short when the front doorbell rang.
“I think you have company,” Charlotte said.
“I didn’t even know I had a doorbell,” Lani said. “I’ll get it. You finish the tea.”
“Careful,” Charlotte called out. “It might be a smelly boy.”
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