Sweet Hearts (2 page)

“Sam?” Jen poked her head past
the curtain that separated the kitchen from the sales area. “A lady who wants a
custom cake.” She tilted her head toward the front of the shop.

“Be right there.” Sam sighed and
wondered how she was going to live through the coming week.

A woman sat at one of the bistro
tables, hands folded in front of her. She was about Sam’s age, with
salt-and-pepper hair in a short, layered style. When she looked up, the lids
over her dark brown eyes seemed tired. Deep lines of long-term sadness etched
the corners of her mouth. A smile flickered and she introduced herself as Marla
Fresques.

“Did Jennifer offer you some
coffee?”

“Yes, she did. I don’t care for
any, thanks.” The thin fingers went back into their clasped position.

“What can we make for you?”

Marla’s mouth opened and then
closed again, as if she had one answer in mind but thought better of it. She
took a deep breath.

“I know this is short notice,”
she said. “But I wonder if I can get a cake by tomorrow afternoon.”

As if this week weren’t busy
enough already. Sam worked her mouth into a smile. “It would depend on what you
have in mind.”
Please do not let it be another wedding.

“It’s for a small gathering in my
home.”

“A birthday? A shower?” With
hope, Sam envisioned a quick, standard cake.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more
specific.” Marla stared at her hands for a few seconds. “It’s a remembrance.
For my son.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sam filed
away her cute birthday cake ideas.

“Tito, my son . . . He
disappeared ten years ago. I believe he is still alive, somewhere. We get
together and pray for his safe return, every year on his birthday. It’s
tomorrow.” Marla fixed her with a steady stare. “I know that someday he will
come back.”

Sam had no idea what to say to
that.

“What type of cake did you have
in mind?”

Marla’s shoulders relaxed. “The
white cross is a sign of hope. Red is Tito’s favorite color. I want the cake to
contain those things . . . but I am not sure in what way.”

Sam directed her pen at the order
sheet she’d brought out with her. Sketching quickly, she suggested that the
cake itself could be in the shape of a cross. It was simple to create but
always carried a lot of impact—she tended to get lots of orders for them around
Easter.

“Then we can put red flowers in a
garland, draping it like so.” She sketched some shapes to indicate what she had
in mind. “What’s your favorite flower?”

Marla gazed upward for a second.
“I love daisies. Tito always liked roses.”

“Perfect.” Sam filled in the rest
of the details on her form. “We can have it ready for pickup around three, if
that’s good? Or, I can deliver it.”

Sam almost bit her lip as soon as
the words were out. Where did she think the extra time would come from?

But the look of sheer gratitude
on Marla Fresques’s face was so touching, Sam knew she would make the time.
Whatever this poor woman’s story was, the expression in those chocolate eyes
was haunting.

She watched the customer get into
an older sedan, one that showed the dings and scuffs of many years’ use. It was
probably the car she’d been driving at the time her son disappeared, and the
woman held onto it like a lucky talisman. If she kept the same house and the
same car, then the young man would come back. How unwavering, a mother’s hope
for that kind of reunion. Sam shook off the haunting feelings as Marla pulled
away from the curb.

The order called for red velvet
cake, and Sam found that the freezer contained a half-sheet of it that wasn’t
committed to anyone else. According to the tag it was baked yesterday, so it
would still be nice and fresh. She pulled it out and made space on the stainless
table. Working quickly with a serrated knife, she cut the sheet into pieces and
placed them together to form a cross. A coating of white buttercream sealed the
raw edges and she placed it into the fridge to set. In the morning, it would be
a quick matter to add flowers and borders.

“Becky, hold back five of those
large red roses for me,” Sam called out to her assistant. “And when you get a
chance, could you do about a dozen white daisies, yellow centers?”

“Sure thing. I could use a break
from making roses anyway.” Becky’s skills with the pastry bag had steadily
increased since the shop opened and Sam knew she could trust the young woman
for good results.

At her desk, she turned to the
stack of orders, calculating quantities, and entering an online order for
supplies from her wholesaler in Albuquerque. A couple of the proposal cakes
required special elements. One was to be in the shape of a ring box with a
giant molded-sugar diamond in it. Apparently the groom wasn’t too intimidated
by the idea that his bride would see this thousand-carat thing right before he
presented her with something undoubtedly less sizable.

She rummaged through the bin of
plastic molds until she found the one for the 3-D monster diamond solitaire.
Another cake, for a bridal shower, needed a glass slipper for the
fairytale-romance theme, and she had a mold for that as well. The technique for
cooking perfectly crystal-clear liquid sugar was tricky, and Sam knew that if
she could get it right in one try, she might as well make both items at the
same time.

An absolutely clean pan, clean
molds, and pure white sugar were the essential elements. She let herself get
lost in the work, setting up the molds, cooking the sugar and checking it with
the candy thermometer. Watching the instrument reminded her that she needed
more practice on her chocolate techniques. Perhaps she could make time for that
a little later in the day, she thought as she carefully poured the clear,
molten sugar into the molds.

But that never happened. Shortly
after lunch—two pizzas brought in and shared among the crew—Kelly called.

“Mom, help! Riki left on an
errand and I have an emergency over here!”

The panic in her voice sounded
genuine. Sam dropped the phone and dashed out the back door. The grooming shop,
like Sam’s own place, had a back door to the alley and luckily it was unlocked.
Sam flung it open to the roar of what sounded like a hundred dogs, all barking
at once. In the work area, a dozen wire cages lined the walls. The doors to two
of them stood open, and the dogs in three others loudly protested their own
captivity. A deep metal sink stood to one side, with a spray hose shooting
water toward the ceiling.

“Watch out—the floor’s wet!”
Kelly scrambled after a sudsy dog with long reddish fur but the animal was far
quicker, completely undeterred by the water that pooled over the concrete floor
in the work area. As Kelly lost her footing and went down face-first, the dog
bolted for the short hall that led to Puppy Chic’s small reception area.

Sam headed after the dog, arms
out to her sides to keep her balance.

“You okay?” she asked Kelly as
she passed the prone figure.

Kelly pulled herself to her
knees. “Not if that dog gets away. He belongs to the mayor.”

“I got him.” Except that the dog
was out of sight now. Sam hustled as quickly as she could, following the soapy
trail.

From the hallway, she could hear
the dog shaking himself vigorously. In the reception room, a medium-sized
Sheltie stood, cornered near the glass entry door. A black Lab was giving his
best effort to mount her.

“Oh, god,” Sam yelled, “stop
that! You dogs, get over here!”

Like they were going to mind her
commands.

The wet Irish Setter had flung
soapsuds all over the room and now he circled the Sheltie from the other side.
Sam reached for him but she might as well have been trying to grab a fish
barehanded. None of the dogs had their collars on, but Kelly had grabbed up a
leash with a loop in it. She snagged it over the head of the Lab and pulled at
him. Toenails screeched across the tile floor and it took all Sam and Kelly
could muster to pull him back to the work room.

“That’s his crate,” Kelly said,
indicating one of the ones with the open doors. “Somehow he figured out how to
open the latch.”

They shoved the Lab inside and
slammed the door, double checking the latch.

“We better get that other one—”

A scream came from the front.

Kelly’s eyes went wide. Her feet
slithered sideways as she headed for the other room.

Sam was right behind her
daughter, and they found a woman standing inside the reception area, clutching
a wide-eyed Yorkie to her chest.

“What is—?”

“Give us a minute, ma’am, if you
could,” Sam said.

Kelly had looped the snare over
the Setter by now and Sam found another one to use on the Sheltie. She held the
smaller dog aside while Kelly basically slid the bigger dog across the floor on
his wet feet. They disappeared into the back room.

“Sorry about that,” Sam said to
the new customer. The sound of a metal crate clanged from the back. “I’ll
just—” She tilted her head toward the hallway and started pulling the Sheltie
with the cinched-in lead.

Kelly passed her in the hall, her
brown curls sticking out at wild angles, her plastic apron askew over her
chest. She rolled her eyes as she headed toward the front, and Sam could hear
Kelly putting on her best customer service voice as she greeted the stunned
woman as if she’d not witnessed anything out of order.

Sam found a crate for the
Sheltie, across the room from all the other occupied ones. When she had the
little girl securely locked inside, she turned off the spray hose at the sink.

“The lady decided to wait for
another day to get the Yorkie groomed,” Kelly said as she walked into the room.

“Gosh, I wonder why.”

Sam and Kelly both dissolved into
giggles.

“What on earth—” Erica
Davis-Jones’s silhouette showed against the open rear door.

“Oh, gosh, Riki, I am
so
sorry!”
Kelly grabbed up a mop that Sam hadn’t noticed before. “We had a little mishap
. . .” She began mopping at the pool of water.

Sam mouthed an apology to Riki
and then headed back to the pastry shop. And she’d thought life as a baker got
a little crazy at times.

By that evening, when Kelly
walked into the house, the whole incident had taken on tall-tale proportions.
Sam had hoped to have quiet time at home to work on her chocolates, but two
people had already called to ask about the riot at the dog groomer’s place and
Jen said it was all the bakery customers could talk about all afternoon.

“Yeah, a few people said they’d
heard that dogs were getting away and running all around the plaza,” Kelly
said. “Riki had her hands full, explaining that her shop really is a safe place
to bring your dog.”

“Sheesh, I hope that one witness
doesn’t cause her to lose too much business. It’s amazing how much harm an old
gossip can do.”

“Nah, you know Riki. She was a
little peeved with the owner of the Sheltie for bringing the dog when she was
in heat. Riki has a rule about that and the woman didn’t tell her. But by the
time she finishes telling the story in that cute accent of hers, everyone
actually gets a good laugh over the whole thing.”

Sam handed Kelly a truffle she’d
made. “What do you think? Honestly.”

Kelly took a bite and let it rest
on her tongue. “Well, it’s not Bobul’s. Sorry, Mom. It’s good. Really. Creamy
and tasty.”

“But I don’t know about selling
them in the shop,” Sam said. “People got used to a pretty high standard when he
was there at Christmas. I’m afraid these will disappoint.”

Kelly pursed her lips and nodded.
“You’re right. They’re almost there . . . but not quite.”

Sam couldn’t take the chance of
losing customers because they thought the quality had gone downhill. It wasn’t
worth the risk. She stared at the rack of truffles she’d just finished.

“They’d make nice favors for the
wedding,” Kelly suggested. “Or I could take some to the nursing home. The old
folks love their sweets.”

Sam stared at her.
Who is this
girl who’s always thinking of others?
Ever since her experience with Beau’s
invalid mother she’d loved spending time with the elderly. Even if she had to
mush up the candy and spoon feed it, Sam knew her daughter would do so,
happily.

Kelly went to the refrigerator
and pulled out the makings for a sandwich. It had become her routine a couple
nights a week, to eat something quick at home and then go spend the evening at
the nursing home reading stories and holding withered old hands. When Kelly
carried the sandwich into the living room to watch one of her reality shows
while she ate, Sam began the kitchen cleanup.

She’d tried everything with this
chocolate venture, including handling the mystical carved wooden box—a gift
from a purported witch that seemed to give Sam special abilities. Although her
chocolate making had definitely improved over her early efforts, something was
still missing. She ran hot water into the sink, dunking her pans and bowls
beneath the sudsy surface, sending a silent plea out to the universe at large.
What
will it take for me to get this chocolate-making right?

A knock at the back door
disrupted her thoughts.

“Hey beautiful,” Beau said,
stepping in and depositing a grocery bag on the counter. While he slipped his
jacket off and hung it on a hook near the door, Sam peeked inside. He’d brought
a roasted chicken, salads and rolls from the deli counter at the supermarket.
It smelled heavenly, the meaty scent a welcome break from the sugary smells
that surrounded her all day.

They indulged in a lingering kiss
until Sam became aware of Kelly’s presence.

“Sorry, you two,” she said, “but
I need to get to that door.” She picked up the small paper sack into which
she’d put some of the truffles, and pulled her hoodie from the wall hook. “Off
to see the oldsters. You guys behave while I’m gone.”