Tasty (20 page)

“That’s
good to know,” I say, feeling just a little bit reassured,
though it would be better if they asked for them in
my
shop. Then I remember that he’s
leaving
soon. But I don’t say that part. Instead, I put my hands on my
hips and let out a breath strong enough to blow my bangs from my
eyes. “It’s not that.”

Cal
takes the cupcake that I’m about to trash, rich almond with a
bright cherry center. Seems appropriate for him, actually. He takes a
bite.

“What,
then?” he asks, hopping up on my counter. Normally I’d
have his hide for food safety for mucking about my kitchen. But he
looks so comfortable, sitting there like he owns the place. And he
looks genuinely curious, too.

So
I spill. I tell him every little sordid detail about how stuff with
Ginny’s been getting to me lately. I tell him about our friend
break-up and messy reunion, her wedding plans, her perfect life with
Luke and the way it makes me feel when I see the two of them
together, so lost in each other’s eyes.

“Jealousy’s
an ugly emotion,” he says, but he’s not lecturing me
about it. That’s usually what I get, from my parents, from
Ginny, even from Summer, on occasion. But Cal just sounds empathetic.
Like he’s been there before, and will again. Like we’re
equals. My old boss never spoke to me like that.

“I
know. The worst part is, I’m not sure who I’m jealous
over. Ginny or Luke.”

“She’s
back, and her heart belongs to someone else,” he says sadly. I
look into his laser green eyes, and honestly, I feel stunned. I
hadn’t thought of it that way, but it’s true. Way back in
the day—like middle school—I’d been Ginny’s
number one human on Earth. When she hooked up with Luke, part of me
always assumed it wouldn’t last. So for her to waltz back into
my life with Luke still on her arm, well, it hurt. But I pushed that
feeling down, telling myself it was too ugly to feel. Of
course
I was happy for Ginny and Luke. It would have been terrible to act
anything but.

But
I’ve missed her, my best friend. I’ve missed a time when
guys weren’t even a part of the picture. Funny, to be thinking
that as I stare at Cal, with his rakish, red-flecked hair and killer
smile.

“How’d
you get so good at talking to women?” I ask. I mean it
genuinely. But Cal only waggles his eyebrows.

“Practice,”
he says. Then he finishes off the cupcake and holds out an arm. “Now
come here,” he commands me. I step forward, slipping my body
into the space between his knees. We kiss passionately. His hands
pull at the fabric of my T-shirt until he slips his hands up along my
lower back. His touch feels so good, so familiar. It’s like
coming home.

But
just as I start to lean into him, opening my mouth, the shop door
jingles open again. I’m just about to shout out “We’re
closed!” when I turn to see a frantic-looking woman with a baby
in a sling around her front, dragging a snot-faced toddler over the
threshold. The toddler’s wearing a pair of cock-eyed pink bunny
ears and looks on the verge of tantrum city.

“Harper,
calm down!” the woman commands. Then she levels her crazed eyes
at Cal and me. “Oh my god, you’re Cal McKenzie, aren’t
you? I knew I’d find you here. Funny, the photos in the Yelp
review made your store look bigger.”

Her
eyes sweep the modest surroundings. I start to correct her, but then
Cal hops off the counter and swaggers right up behind the register.
He looks like he belongs there, but then, Callum McKenzie looks like
he belongs just about anywhere. He’d be equally at home on a
red carpet or riding a motorcycle down a long straight highway at
night. And he’s definitely comfortable in a bakeshop. He puts
his hands on the counter, gives the woman an easy grin, and says:

“What
can I do for you?”

“I
need
eight dozen bunny cupcakes for Harper’s second birthday party
tonight. My ex was supposed to bring them, but it”—the
woman drops her voice low, as if whispering will keep the kids from
hearing—“it looked like they had dildos on their heads.”

I
hear Cal stifle a laugh. I’m giggling a little too. And
excited—finally, some business! Cal takes the reins, grabbing a
pen and paper and jotting down notes.

“Rabbits,
Harper, really?” he asks the little girl, who beams up at him.
“Nasty creatures. Not nearly as cuddly as they appear. But if
you insist. What flavor, ma’am?”

I
sit back, crossing my arms over my chest to watch Cal take down the
order. It’s fascinating to watch him work, actually. At his
shop, he mostly lets the counter girls take over. But his manner with
the woman is easy and smooth. Even little Harper looks at ease. No
longer on the verge of tears, she’s jamming her finger up her
nose, instead. Cal jots down the order, his smile one of cool,
confident self-possession.

“We’ll
have the order for you in two hours.”

“Do
you deliver? I saw the store bike out front, but we’re all the
way up by Pelican Key Cove . . .”

“It’s
not a problem. Just jot down your address.”

“Oh,
thank
you
,
Cal. You know, you’re not anything like they make you seem on
TV.”

I
see Cal’s mouth twitch a little at that.

“Hmm,
well, my assistant can ring you up.”

It
takes me a half a second to realize that he means
me
.
His assistant, hmm?

“You
mean your business associate,” I correct him gently. He grins.

“My
partner in crime,” he agrees. I ring her up.

“That
will be one-ninety-two, plus tax.”

#

We
have two hours to make, bake, and decorate eight dozen cupcakes. An
hour twenty, actually, what with transit time to Pelican Key Cove
factored in. Usually, I’d be a wreck, cursing at the Wedgewood,
barking orders to Summer as I scramble to get the ingredients
gathered and mixed. But it’s not like that with Cal in my
kitchen. Look, Summer’s great, but she’s just a baby
chef. Not Cal. I don’t need to
tell
him to do anything. He anticipates my needs, setting out bowls when I
need them, cracking eggs when my back is turned. He even manages to
coax the Wedgewood into submission. Every cupcake comes out evenly
baked, not burnt, not gooey in the middle, but fluffy and hot and
perfect.

I
swear to god, cooking with Cal is almost better than sex.
Almost
.

We
chat and flirt easily as we bake. As he boxes up the cakes, I offer
him a lick of batter off one of the spoons. He looks scandalized.

“Ms.
Rockwell, what would Mr. Reynolds say about the sanctity of your
kitchen?”

“What
Mr. Reynolds doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Mr. McKenzie,”
I shoot back, my eyebrows arched. So Cal leans over and gives the
spoon a hearty lick. I want his tongue on me, in me. Crap, I’m
randy. But this is how this whole thing started, didn’t it?
Over icing?

“I
never would have thought that an icing injector tool would lead me to
love,” I muse. Cal doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t
exactly shoot me down, either. He just smirks at me, self-satisfied.
That’s when I realize what I’ve just said. Love. We
haven’t used the L-word before.

“We
should start driving,” he says smoothly.

Together,
we carry the boxes out to his suburban, where they sit, stacked
neatly, on the back seat. I buckle them in just to be sure no
disaster will befall our baked-good buddies. Cal starts driving, just
a little too fast and a little too wild. But I guess that’s the
kind of guy he is. In the passenger seat beside him, I study his
features. In a way, he’s not that different than the guys I’ve
loved before: Wes Lansing, my old boss. They were all alpha males,
guys who owned the road and trampled my heart. I’m sure Cal
could
crush me, if he wanted. Look at how he handles his business,
ruthlessly and without remorse. Look at the way he can turn on his
charm for a customer, or play the mean guy for the cameras on his
show and in the tabloids. But there’s something different about
him, too, and it’s not just the way he cooks.

I
can’t put my finger on it, not quite. He pulls up to the
address the woman gave him, a sixties-style ranch house with a
manicured front lawn and a big bouquet of rabbit balloons tied up out
front. There are kids running around the yard, parents clutching
beers and making small talk to one another as they intermittently
shout orders to their rabbit-eared rug rats. Cal and I carry the cake
boxes in. I spot the customer by the snack table and head over.

“Wonderful,
you made it just on time!” she says. She’s still got a
baby strapped to her, and Harper is circling her knees like a hungry
piranha. But her mother doesn’t even seem to notice. She just
smiles at me. “You’re Cal’s business partner,
right? What’s it like working with a celebrity?”

Cal
comes over, two cake boxes in hand. But he puts his free hand on my
hip, and pulls me close.

“Actually,
she isn’t my partner. Her name’s Jules Rockwell. She owns
a fantastic bakeshop down in Key West. Jules, give her your card.”

“Oh!”

I
fumble in my pocket for a minute, and hand one over. The woman reads
it, and slips it into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Well,
if Cal McKenzie says you’re good, you must be. You can put the
cupcakes down over there.” She indicates a spot at the end of
the table.

Cal
goes over and starts setting the cupcakes out. In a moment, he’s
swarmed by two-year-old kids in bunny ears and tails.

“Hello,
Princess!” he says, handing Harper a cupcake. The little girl
beams. It’s ridiculous. The infamous Cake Nazi, drowning in
tiny children. But it’s adorable, too. He’s not annoyed
with them like my ex used to be. He hated kids, even his own. But Cal
just grins down at them and starts handing out bunny-emblazoned
cakes.

He’s
different from other guys. Warm and gooey at the center, no matter
how tough he appears.

That’s
the moment I realize that I’m falling for him, hard. And I
never, ever want him to leave.

A
few days later, Ginny finally calls me up to schedule that double
date she’d promised with her and Luke. Things still feel
strange between us even as I agree that we should have a barbecue at
Luke’s place. Our conversation is stop-and-go. We’re
either talking over one another or letting the silence stretch out
awkwardly between us. But after my chat with Cal, I’m feeling
hopeful that everything will be fine. If nothing else, I’ll
have Cal on my arm, reassuring, steady, handsome. I’m sure
he’ll bolster me even if things with Gin get weird.

He
picks me up in his big boat of a car just before sunset. I’m
dressed only in a light sundress with a slinky shawl over my
shoulders, but I don’t even need it, not really. Warm weather
is coming, the humidity thick and heavy in the air. I hop inside and
press a kiss to Cal’s cheek, drawing in a deep breath of his
heady scent.

“I
brought snacks,” I say, gently tossing the box of baked goods
into the back seat. “Red velvet cupcakes with vanilla icing.
Luke’s favorite. In high school, Ginny used to have me bake
them for him, and then pretend that she was the chef.”

“You
were a regular Cupcake de Bergerac, hmm?” Cal says, adjusting
the rearview mirror as we coast down the highway. I giggle and put my
feet up on the dash.

“Yes,
but I’m much better looking.”

Cal
doesn’t argue. Instead, he puts a hand on my knee and slowly
slides it up my thigh. I put my hand on his and give it a squeeze.
But then I falter a little bit. I’m thinking about him leaving
again. It’s bound to be soon.

“So
I guess Luke will be disappointed to hear that you’re not
interested in having him build you a house, huh?”

“Oh?”
Cal asks. He sounds distracted, and slides his hand off my thigh.

“Since
you’re closing up shop and leaving soon, you won’t need a
million-dollar luxury home.”

“Oh,”
he says, “yeah.”

It’s
all a little too abrupt, a little too final for my liking. He leans
forward in his seat and clicks on the radio. I sit back again and
gaze out the window. The sunset is all gorgeous colors over the
highway, hot pinks and tangerines and purple at the edge. It should
make me feel something, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m only
thinking about Cal, and the future, and all of its uncertainties.

We
make the rest of the drive in silence.

#

Luke’s
house is right on the ocean. Modern construction, all glass and steel
and dark wood. It looks like it could go crashing into the water at
any second, but since Luke himself designed it, I trust that we’re
safe on his massive cedar deck overlooking the sea. Ginny’s
barefoot, in a pair of cut-offs and a bikini top, her hair done up in
a sloppy ponytail. Luke’s wearing trunks and a tee shirt and an
apron that says “Kiss the Chef.” I don’t think I’ve
ever seen the two of them so happy, not even at prom when they both
knew they were getting laid. And I’ve definitely never seen my
best friend looking so at ease. She laughs and touches Luke’s
shoulder too much as he grills. Even with Cal’s muscular arm
looped into mine, it feels strange to be watching her. She’s
going on and on about the venue they’ve chosen, some sprawling
arboretum where the flowers all grow naturally in exactly the colors
she’s chosen as their wedding shades.

“That
sounds amazing, Gin,” I say, and mean it, but the words come
out sounding false for some reason. I give my head a small shake,
untangle my arm from Cal’s, and take a step away from the three
of them.

“You
alright?” Cal asks, setting his hand on the small of my back,
his brow wrinkling in concern.

“Yeah,
I’m good. Just going to grab a drink. Anyone want anything?”