Tasty (25 page)

After
Mrs. O’Gilligan leaves, I have Summer close up shop for me.
Then I hop on the shop bike. Maybe it’s crazy nostalgia that
drives me to pedal three blocks over, to Mecca Cakes’ empty
storefront. To be honest, I’ve been stopping by every night.
And every night, the store’s been empty, the windows dark, the
space inside cavernous. I always hope I’ll catch a glimpse of
Cal, but I never do. Usually, there’s just cobwebs. But not
today. Today there’s a work crew dismantling the Mecca Cakes
once-blazing neon sign, now dark. Men with hard hats are inside the
store, too, taking the fixtures apart. I watch for a moment from my
bike. Then I head over to the foreman.

“What’s
going on?” I ask. He’s directing a forklift to place a
massive letter M down on the sidewalk.

“Owner
decided to close up shop. A new investor is moving in.”

For
some reason, my stomach sinks at that. I can’t imagine his
store just turning into something else. It wasn’t any tourist
trap. It was
Cal
’s
tourist trap.

“That’s
too bad,” I say, watching the men work. The foreman shrugs.
Then he says something that sticks in my brain, an echo of what Mrs.
O’Gilligan said.

“Shops
go under. That’s the nature of the beast.”

I
feel strange and sad as I walk my bike home. And conflicted. On the
one hand, it’s a relief. Mecca Cakes is gone, and the threat to
my business with it. But that means something else, too. It means
I’ll never see Cal again. And after everything that happened
between us, isn’t that what I wanted?

Some
days, I feel certain it is. I can move on now, be secure in my
business, be successful. But then there are others when I’m
weak and soft, days when I can’t stand how badly I miss him.
I’ll never see those green eyes again, that infuriating cocky
grin. I’ll never hear his accent, or feel his tongue against my
naked body. There are so many nevers. It feels like if I stacked them
up, they’d lead me straight to the moon.

I
miss him so much.

But
that’s life. Stores come and go, and people do, too. In a way,
this is just a reminder of how lucky I am. I might not have Cal, but
I have a place here in Key West, and people who care about me. Summer
and Evie and Ginny and Luke. Mrs. O’Gilligan and Sage Tunlaw
and Wes Lansing, too. Unlike some people—unlike Cal—I
have a home.

I
park my bike outside my apartment and head upstairs.

My
phone vibrates in my pocket just as I walk through the front door. I
answer right away. It’s Ginny.

“What’s
up?” I ask with a sigh. I don’t mean to sound wistful. It
just comes out that way. I’ve spent too much time today
thinking of Cal, our past, and my future alone.

But
Ginny doesn’t pick up on my contemplative mood.

“Are
you busy tonight? What am I saying, of course you’re not busy
tonight . . . ”

“Hey!”
I protest, but I probably shouldn’t. It’s a fair
assumption. Things have been better since her intervention with me a
few days ago, but I’m still spending a lot of time alone.
Definitely haven’t lined up any hot tinder dates or anything
like that. I sigh again. “No, I’m free.”

“I
knew it,” Ginny says, and I can almost hear the thrill in her
voice. “Luke and I want you to come out with us tonight.”

“Tonight?
Really? I don’t know. I have important things to do.” One
important thing to do, actually, which is to continue my
How
I Met Your Mother
marathon. I mean, I’m not paying Netflix $7.99 a month to
collect dust.

“No
you don’t. Not yet anyway. But we’re coming to Key West
for dinner tonight and you’re coming with us, capisce?”

Oh,
Ginny. I love it when she gets all fake-Italian with me. I laugh
lightly into the phone, despite myself.

“Fine,”
I tell her, “but I’m not going to enjoy it.”

“Great!”
she responds brightly. “We’ll see you in an hour.”

#

An
hour later, as the sun sets over Key West, I’m sitting on my
fire escape drinking the tail end of a bottle of cheap blush wine
when I see Luke’s truck pull up to the sidewalk below. I watch
as Luke holds the door open for Ginny. Even on a night like tonight,
when they’re both dressed casually, when their third-wheel high
school friend is tagging along on a date, he’s always a
gentleman. My heartstrings feel pulled tight at the reminder, because
Cal always was, too.

Well,
not always. Not with his employees. Not for the cameras. And not in
bed, not all the time. But he was a gentleman when it counted, right
up until the end, when it all came crashing down.

I
gulp down the white zin before they can ring my doorbell. Then I
climb back through the kitchen window to go greet them. When I throw
open the door, I see how Ginny’s expression is full of
merriment. Luke, too, seems to be holding a secret behind his lips.
But before I can ask them what’s up, he leans forward and
presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Ready
to go?” Ginny asks, grabbing my hand and tugging at it. I laugh
a little and hang back.

“Whoa,
girl, let me grab my purse.”

I
meet them outside a few minutes later, some light make-up dusting my
face and my purse slung over one shoulder. When we go downstairs, I
expect to climb into Luke’s car. But instead, they start
walking down the street.

“Where
are we headed?” I ask, trailing after them. They’re
walking with their arms linked, whispering to one another. I feel a
little bit like an annoying kid sibling following my older sister
around on a date.

“You’ll
see!” Ginny calls in a singsong voice. A surprise, then? Crap.
I hate surprises. But I follow them anyway. The wine has given the
night a jangly, colorful edge. The tourists are out in full force,
resplendent in their Hawaiian shirts and souvenir tees. Everyone is
laughing, including Ginny and Luke.

“You
two seem happy,” I comment. “Does that mean you’ve
finally
found a venue?”

Ginny
looks thrilled that I’m asking. “Well, the last place
fell through. But I have something new in mind.”

“Oh
yeah?”

“It’s
an industrial space. Really different. More Luke’s tastes than
mine.” She squeezes his arm. “But the lighting can’t
be beat. I have to ask the owner, though. Not sure it’ll fly.”

“I’m
sure something can be worked out,” I assure her. “You’re
Ginny Austen, famed television wedding planner! Hey, maybe you can
offer to film a TV special there, drum up some business for them.”

She
glances at Luke. Something passes between them, unreadable. “Maybe,”
she says, as we turn a corner. “Hey, I need to make a stop.”

Suddenly,
my anxiety is mounting. Because we’re heading down a very
familiar street, one I biked down this very afternoon. It’s
Cal’s street, or the one that used to belong to him in my mind,
the home of Mecca Cakes, the place where we met and fought and
flirted, where he looked at me with those traffic light eyes and I
melted and became his, whether I liked it or not. Ginny is wearing a
mischievous expression as she pulls me down the alley behind the
now-empty store.

“What
are we doing, Gin?” I ask, in a suspicious tone. She rolls her
eyes, false breezy. She’s such a terrible liar. Always was. She
always wore that same stupid, gleeful expression that she’s
wearing now when we got caught sneaking out by my parents in high
school.

“This
is the venue I was telling you about! Wouldn’t it be perfect
for our wedding? But we have to talk to the owner, first.”

“Oh
no,” I tell her. I tug on her hand, but when I try to step
back, I walk straight into Luke’s broad chest.

“March,
Jules,” he teases, nodding me forward. I put my hands over my
eyes. Sure, I want to see Cal again. Sometimes. Maybe. But on my own
terms, far in the future, when I’m rich and successful and
married to someone else. Not now, not here, not just a week and
change after all that heartbreak. But I don’t have a choice in
the matter. Ginny holds the heavy metal door open, and Luke nudges me
through it.

“Hello?”
I call, my voice echoing through the rafters. It’s dark at
first, and despite the light from the streets, it takes my eyes a
moment to adjust. But then there’s a
clack
that
reverberates through the massive space and it’s all lit up, all
at once.

“Hello,
Juliette,” a familiar voice, thick with a Scottish accent,
intones. I blink the light back from my eyes and take him in, every
single inch, every bit of stubble, both dimples, every too-white
tooth.

It’s
Cal, standing in the middle of the empty husk of Mecca Cakes.

“Cal,”
I say in surprise.

His
green eyes are burning bright. He holds out one hand and says, in a
commanding tone, “Come here.”

As
much as I hate to admit it, the tension between us is bursting. He’s
sexy. Downright mouth-watering.

And
that conflict just makes him all the more irresistible.

As
I cross the room, I’m
dismayed. Confused. Hot with anger, too, even after all this time.
Cal’s standing there, just grinning away. But I’m not
smiling. In fact, I feel a little bit like I’m going to puke.
This rollercoaster is almost too much for me to bear, especially with
Ginny and Luke peering at us from the alleyway. I look back at them.

“A
little privacy, you two?” I ask. Ginny lets out a giggle as she
pulls the door shut behind them.

“What
the hell?” I ask as soon as they’re gone. “I
thought you were in New York.”

Cal
holds both hands up, a defensive posture. “I was, Juliette. But
I thought that you and I had some unfinished business.”

I
can’t believe him. Unfinished business? We’ve been over
this already. “I told you. I’m not going to work for you.
We’re not going to merge. My store means too much to me. Rock N
Roll Cakes has been my Number One for five years now, and if you
think I’m going to throw it away just because you’re a
good lay—”

“Oh,
you think I’m a good lay?” Cal arches an eyebrow. God, I
could sock him right in the middle of that beautiful fucking face.

“Don’t
let it go to your head,” I say dryly. “The rest of you
leaves something to be desired.”

“What,
is it the way I cooked for you? The way I took you out for dinner,
bought you wine, let you help me teach one of my classes at Le Cordon
Bleu because I respected you so much?”

“That’s
beside the point. This is about our businesses, Cal, and the way you
didn’t respect mine.”

“Well,”
he says, “I respected you enough to do this.”

He
pitches something underhand at me. It’s a flash of bright
metal, and I reach out and catch.

They’re
a set of keys on a metal ring. They feel heavy in my hand,
substantial, important. I gaze at Cal in confusion.

“What’s
this?” I ask. He lifts his palm, indicating the space of the
store around us. I don’t know what to say, not at first. The
keys . . . to here? To Mecca Cakes? It makes no
sense. I can’t wrap my mind around it.

“You’re
giving me your shop?” I ask uncertainly.

Cal
nods slowly. “I am,” he says. “Only it’s not
mine anymore, Jules. It’s yours.”

Shock
lands in my stomach like a pile of wet dough. I stare at him,
searching for words. This is weird, too weird. Things like this don’t
happen to people like me. When I bought Rock N Roll Cakes, it was
after months of planning and second-guessing myself. I’m not
used to having the rug pulled out from under me like this. Not even
for something good.

And
this . . . this could be
very
good. This could be spectacular. There are so many things I could do
with this space. I can finally build the bakeshop I’ve always
dreamed about.

But
still, I’m not sure that this is what I really want. Cal
betrayed
me
,
hard. If he could change his mind because of some anonymous investors
in New York City once, why not again? Still, it sounds like a dream.
A huge, beautiful shop, rent-free. All mine.

“Why
are you doing this?” I ask him. He laughs at me.

“Because
I believe in you. Enough to throw my capital behind you.”

I
grip the keys tightly between my fingers. “I don’t need
your capital,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Yes,
you do.” Cal takes a step toward me, wraps a hand around my
waist. His touch is electric. “You need me and I need you.
Mecca Cakes was popular, but only because of my name. The shop was
straight from New York. It didn’t fit here. My customers kept
saying how they felt like they were in a big city. That’s not
what’s right for this place. Even my investors said I needed
more local flavor.”

“Local
flavor,” I repeat a little numbly. “Like Red Velvet?”

“Like
a Pink Surprise.” He pulls me closer to him so I’m flush
against him. “The store needs your touch, Juliette. Imagine
what you could do here with a great man behind you.”

“A
great man?” I smile faintly, jangling the keys in my hand. It’s
easier to tease him than to think about what this all means. “Do
you mean you?”

“Well,
I don’t mean Anthony Bourdain,” he says.

For
the first time in my life, I’m well and truly speechless. I
don’t know how to wrap my mind around what’s just
happened. This is an end to all my struggles, all my pain and panic.
And it’s come at the hands of Cal, who is asking nothing in
return.

Okay,
maybe not
nothing
.
He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t love me, still.
There might be something that I owe him, but it’s something
that I’m all-too-willing to give.

I
look into Cal’s eyes. I almost can’t believe he’s
here. I’ve dreamed about his return, but it was nothing like
this. He’s solid, present, real. He smells like Tahitian
vanilla. I slide my arms along the broad expanse of his chest,
hooking my hands behind his neck. He presses his body against mine.
And I feel torn two ways: