Take the Cake

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Wright
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,

no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted

in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system,

without prior written permission of the publisher.

Omnific Publishing

P.O. Box 793871, Dallas, TX 75379

www.omnificpublishing.com

First Omnific eBook edition, August 2010

First Omnific trade paperback edition, August 2010

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead,

is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Design by Amy Brokaw

Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

Dedication
For my friends near and far

Chapter 1

Unexpected Kindness

Oh, help, this is going to be visual.

Kate Shannon tripped on a piece of pavement and staggered, one arm flailing for balance as she clutched at her fragile cargo. Equilibrium restored but self-composure now in tatters, she took a deep breath and hefted the carton of eggs more carefully in her arms as she kept walking. She concentrated on taking a few steady breaths, flicking her head as the wind blew her long dark blond hair around her face. Naturally pale skinned, she could feel a tide of heat rushing into her cheeks but kept walking. Fortunately, this was New York so no one gave her a second glance. A few more paces and she was able to pretend it had never happened. Rounding the corner, she looked ahead and felt the familiar lift as she saw the fluttering red canopy heralding the bakery’s presence in Greenwich Village. Although it was still early, a small figure stood at the front door, raising a hand in welcome as Kate approached.

“Morning, boss.”

“Wren, don’t call me boss,” Kate reprimanded with a smile.

“Sorry, boss.”

“What got you here so early this morning? Did you wet the bed?” Kate fished out her keys and unlocked the door, standing aside to let Wren in first.

“Nope. Just motivated. I can sense victory in the air today,” Wren announced with a grin as she followed Kate inside, shrugging out of her jacket and carrying it into the kitchen to hang it up along with her bag. Kate followed.

“Like that, huh?” Kate replied, flicking on the coffee machine as she passed, before carefully setting the egg carton down on the counter in the kitchen, and then stowing her bag in the cupboard. “Bring it on, babe. It’s all about you.”

“Finally, something we agree on,” Wren said as she hefted a wooden framed chalkboard up onto one of the tables and, after a moment’s thought, scribbled her quote for the day. She swiveled the board for Kate’s inspection, and then carried it outside to hang it on the waiting brass hooks. Wren stood regarding the chalkboard with her hands on her hips before nodding with a “that’s that” satisfaction and returning inside.

“What’s your poison?” Kate smiled as Wren approached the counter. Wren’s bright red pixie cut hair had been spiked up this morning and sported a few plastic daisy hairclips.

“Mocha grande,” Wren replied as she disappeared into the back.

“Gotcha.” Kate nodded and started to measure the espresso.

“Oh, my God,” Wren called from the kitchen. “Where did you get these eggs? They’re enormous.”

“My neighbor gets them from I don’t know where, so I bought some off her last night.”

“Are you sure they’re from chickens?” Wren appeared, looking doubtful. “Seriously, the birds that laid those must’ve had tears in their eyes.”

“I know. Paul calls them Mothercluckers.”

Wren gave a whoop of laughter as she pictured Kate’s brother’s face. He always had a smart-ass comment to make. She strolled over to accept her coffee from Kate. The kitchen out back was small but held everything she needed: an industrial sized oven, a large stack of cooling racks, and some mixers. Kate stood quiet for a moment, staring off into space.

“Getting in touch with your inner Zen master?”

Kate blinked and came back to the present, shushing Wren as she opened the refrigerator. “Shut up, minx. I’m calculating quantities.”

“Really? Because any longer and it looked like you were going to start drooling.”

“Hey, you want to be able to lick the beaters or not?”

“Yes’m,” Wren replied, trying and failing to look deferential.

“Then scat.” Kate shooed her away and got to work with a smile. She measured some butter and sugar into the mixing bowl and set it going before turning to what she called her “magic cupboard” for further inspiration. Pulling the door open, she looked at the stacks of translucent containers as she mulled over Wren’s chalkboard quote of the day, wondering how she was going to top it but determined to do so. Opening one of the storage tubs, she pulled out a bottle of food coloring and gazed at it as a vague idea stirred in the back of her mind. Standing at the mixer as she mixed the frosting half an hour later, she smiled to herself. Wren wasn’t the only one who could be competitive.

“Boss?”

“Mm-hmm?” Kate didn’t look up.

“People are asking what today’s one is going to be. What’ll I tell them?”

“You got the board?”

“Good to go.” Wren held up a small foolscap-sized chalkboard this time.

Kate dictated, and after a brief sigh of dejection, Wren scribbled on the board and carried it out to the front of the store. Kate scooped the frosting into a piping bag and started to swizzle it onto the cakes, flicking a glance at the pièce de résistance she had gotten delivered to the bakery ten minutes prior. A few minutes later, she carried out the first tray and put the items into the glass-fronted display case with all due ceremony. Standing back, she surveyed the fruits of her labor. It was going to be a good day.

~~~

Michael sighed and sat at his desk with his chin in his hands as he gazed at the black computer screen. He’d been writing for years now. He knew how it all worked: you got an idea, you started writing, and then you kept at it until it became a book. That process didn’t work so well when the ideas weren’t forthcoming, and right now he was caught up in what felt like a monumental word drought. He dropped his head forward and rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, wondering what on earth he was going to do today. The phone sitting beside his laptop rang, jolting him out of his reverie, and he paused before reaching out to answer it with considerable reluctance.

“Forrester,” he mumbled, his head in his hands as he held the receiver to his ear.

“I know it’s early, but I’m on my way to a meeting and I’m hoping you’ve got some good news for me.”

There had been no greeting, but Michael knew the voice of a stressed editor when he heard it.

“Alistair,” he began and heard a heavy sigh at the other end of the line.

“Fuck, when you say my name like that, I know it’s never going to be good news.”

“So why did you call?”

“I was hoping against hope that you’d have something different to tell me.”

“Sorry.”

“Have you got anything?” Alistair ventured after a pause and, after a heavy silence on the other end of the line, added, “Well, keep me posted. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Stop calling
. “I’ll let you know,” Michael said aloud.

“Okay, man. Talk to you later.”

Michael disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Since his words had left him, some of his social niceties had gone too, particularly where his editor was concerned. He slumped back in his chair, scratching at his morning stubble as he stared at the blank screen. The day hadn’t started well. Resolving to quit smoking the night before, he had gone to bed feeling virtuous, but this morning was a different matter entirely. Now he felt tired and out of sorts with the world; there was laundry to be done, a book to be written (or at least an editor to be avoided in the short term), and not a single cigarette in the house for emotional support.

I give up
.

Resting his elbows on the desk, he slid forward until his head was resting on his arms and closed his eyes in defeat. It was going to be a long day.

~~~

A door slamming somewhere nearby jerked Michael awake, and he groaned as his neck began to ache. He’d fallen asleep sitting at his desk which seemed indicative of his productivity of late. He looked around as he knuckled his eyes, wondering what had woken him up, and then heard his cell phone beep again. It was a text message.

Anything? Anything at all? – A

He looked at his watch. It was nearly ten a.m. and his editor had been in touch with him twice. Alistair must be getting pressure from the top, which meant that he was going to pressure Michael by default. He had to get out of the apartment; otherwise the phone was going to ring again. Getting up, he went back into his bedroom and gathered up his laundry, stuffing it into a large cotton carry bag. He pulled on an old gray pea coat, stuffed his wallet into his back pocket, picked up his keys, and left. Once he was downstairs, he slung the bag over one shoulder and stood on the pavement, looking up and down the street. He’d have to get out of West SoHo; it’d be too easy for Alistair to come looking. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he put his head down and began to walk.

Words. He needed to find some words, the more the merrier.

~~~

“More?”

“Keep ’em coming, boss. I think we’ve hit a nerve today.”

“Okay.” Kate thought quickly. “But we’re going to need to order some more supplies in. Remind me to do that later,” she said as she shook her head in bemusement. Some days were more surprising than others, and it looked like today was no exception. She slid the next couple of trays into the oven, and then washed her hands and made the most of the momentary lull to head out to the front of the shop. Wren was serving, and Kate moved further down the counter and took a few orders, sliding the coffee orders onto the slot over the espresso machine. Wren was busy frothing milk but scanned the slips and nodded once, indicating that she was on top of things.

Kate gave the store a quick scan, and then picked up a large plastic tub to balance on her hip as she walked out to collect empty cups, saucers, and plates. Some of the customers were regulars and so she stopped to exchange a few words and a smile here and there. Everyone seemed to be happy, and she hauled the tub into the kitchen and began to transfer its contents into the dishwasher. They had lost their kitchen hand to the lure of international travel a few days ago, and Kate was still trying to find a replacement.

“Everything going okay?” she stopped to ask Wren on her way back out to the front of the store.

“Yeah, thanks for clearing the tables,” Wren said as she slid out two more coffees to the waiting customers. “Have you thought more about my suggestion?”

“Call her,” Kate replied distractedly as she scribbled down another order and slid it across to Wren. “I’ve advertised but you’ve seen the applicants.”

“I have.” Wren pulled a face. “Trust me, I know just the person.”

“Good to hear. Just give her a call and get her in as soon as she’s able, and we’ll take it from there,” Kate advised.

Going out into the front of the store again, Kate finished straightening up the tables, topping off the sugar supplies, and getting everything looking neat and tidy to her satisfaction. She ran her gaze over the café, looking for any imperfections, but it seemed that everything was as it should be.

~~~

Michael had not been paying any attention to where he was going. He’d dropped off his laundry and just kept on walking, blending in here and there before moving away from the crowds and heading toward Greenwich Village. It felt good to be out of the apartment, although for comfort’s sake, he’d avoided going uptown where his publisher was based. He didn’t want any reminders of the work he wasn’t getting done.

Lifting his chin slightly as he walked, Michael started to pay more attention to his surroundings. He hadn’t been into the Village much over the last few months, and he was surprised to see that some of the retail spaces had changed. What had been a shoe repair store now sold comic books, a music store was now an Indian restaurant, and the travel agent had given way to a bookstore. It seemed that the stores were still all independently owned; there were no major franchise names, which meant the area was retaining its individual charm. A fluttering red canopy further down the other side of the street caught his eye. He squinted but couldn’t make out the lettering. His curiosity piqued, he crossed the street and walked toward it.

It was a bakery. Michael stopped and peered in at the display in the bay window. A series of bell jars had been set up, some stood on stacks of old hardcover novels, others on folded newspapers. Each jar had been propped on some sort of reading material, no doubt sourced from the bookstore nearby. The cupcakes were little works of sugared art, each one designed to tempt. He hesitated, and then glanced at the chalkboard that was hanging on brass hooks outside. He read the artfully written quote, and a wry smile tugged at his lips.

Ever feel like your guardian angel
has just stepped out for a smoke?

Charmed in spite of himself, he stepped inside.

Wren looked up at the movement and gazed at the tall man who stood deliberating in the doorway.

“Holy shit,” she whispered to herself.

At that moment, Kate, who had stopped at a table to chat to a couple of customers, threw back her head and laughed. The sound bubbled around the store, catching the eye of the visitor. His eyes flickered toward the source of the laughter, and Wren watched his reaction.

Michael stood in the doorway, fidgeting slightly as he decided whether he wanted to go further inside or not. That was when he heard the laughter; it was such a warm sound that he was in the store before he quite knew what he was doing, looking to see where the sound had come from.

The woman had a slight build and pale smooth skin. Her hair had been pulled back, so he could see a heart shaped face with warm brown eyes that danced with amusement. She stood teasing the two old men sitting at a table, wagging a finger warningly at them in mocking indignation before moving away and out of sight behind the counter.

Michael found that he wanted her to come back and stood there for a moment, waiting.

Wren ran an appreciative gaze up his tall frame, observing him as he stood watching Kate. He was gorgeous and, unlike a lot of striking men she knew, clearly had no idea of his appeal. As he had walked in, the two women sitting at the front table had exchanged quiet murmurs of appreciation, their eyes raking over him while he paid them no attention at all. His hair was a riot of curls that clearly indicated he had rolled out of bed and into the day with barely a thought, and his morning stubble merely served to accentuate a jaw line that begged to be kissed. Not that she would be the one doing the kissing, Wren realized. As soon as Kate had laughed, he’d only had eyes for her. Naturally, Kate had no idea.