The Icing on the Cake (19 page)

Tempest spun around and walked to the other side of the gallery, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked.

“You still have a thing for her,” I said to Patrique once Tempest was gone. It was so obvious.

Patrique was silent. The silence said yes.

“But if you have a thing for her, why all the mushy talk and touchy-feely stuff with me?” I asked.

“My soul may belong to Tempest, but I am still a man,” Patrique replied.

I rolled my eyes.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Patrique led me to the other side of the gallery, where I stood in the shadows as the business of selling and buying art unfolded before me.

For two and a half hours.

I made up a song in my head. I came up with tons of ideas for Carrie’s bridal shower menu. I played a few games of Skydiver on my cell.

I was trying to top my high score when the phone rang. I checked the caller ID: unknown number. I ducked my head and answered the call anyway.

“Hello?” I whispered, wanting to kiss the person on the other end of the line for giving me something to fill the time.

“Annabelle, it’s Isaac.”

Yep, I definitely wanted to kiss the person on the other end of the line.

“Isaac, I’m so glad you called.”

“Are you busy right now? I was thinking we could have dinner.” Isaac’s voice was so gorgeous, I could barely contain myself.

My eyes scanned the gallery. I didn’t see Patrique anywhere. I could disappear for an hour and he probably wouldn’t even notice. But then again, what if he sold all of his paintings and came looking for me? A story from Patrique to Jean-Pierre about how I just up and left would probably not help my working relationship with Jean-Pierre very much.

“You have no idea how much I would love dinner,” I said.

“It sounds like you’re about to say ‘But . . .’” Isaac predicted.

“No, I was about to say ‘However . . .’” I said with a laugh. “However . . . I’m a little tied up with work right now.”

“You can’t get un-tied-up?” Isaac asked, sounding cu-ute.

Then I heard a female voice in the background on Isaac’s end of the line. “Mwa she mwa go mwa you mwa me mwa mwa mwa mwite mwagether.”

Since I am pretty fluent in girl-in-the-background-ese, I could make out that the female voice was saying something along the lines of, “If she can’t go then you and me can get a bite together.”

“Who’s that?” I asked Isaac.

“That’s Rona. We’re just finishing up getting some shots of a huge house on 17 Mile Drive.”

A vision came to my mind. In the vision Rona and Isaac were driving along 17 Mile Drive—which for those of you non-Monterey-residents is this gorgeous, long coastal drive that’s so incredible you have to pay to drive on it, unless, of course, you live in one of the mansions it leads to.

Okay, so back to the vision. Rona’s perfect hair was blowing in the wind as she drove her snazzy little convertible. She was smiling over at Isaac, and Isaac was smiling back. Then the two of them drove to a quaint little café in Carmel, and there wasn’t a fluorescent light in sight, so Rona looked flawless. Then Isaac looked at Rona and said, “I’m so glad you aren’t engaged anymore because . . .”

“What do you know, Isaac, I just got un-tied-up,” I said quickly, hoping he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that Rona was the main factor in my quick change of heart.

But if you remember from before, Isaac doesn’t really pick up on these things too well. And this time was no exception.

“Great,” he said, completely believing that somehow, although I hadn’t spoken to anyone, made any type of phone call, or yelled out some version of “I’m outta here,” I had gone from busy to un-busy in three point five seconds.

“I’m down by Cannery Row. Do you think we could meet there?” I asked hopefully, not sure what I would do if he said no.

“Sure, I’ll meet you at the little amphitheater thing where all the musicians perform. Say in about half an hour. Then we can pick a place to go. Sound good?”

“Yes,” I answered. “That sounds so good.”

“All right, I’ll see you in half an hour.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” I said.

Smiling, I flipped my phone closed. Now I just had to sneak out of the gallery and hope that no one bought Patrique’s paintings over the next hour and a half or so—and it seemed pretty unlikely to me that anyone would.

I was making a plan of escape when I saw Patrique looking around. I silently begged him not to be searching for me. But no such luck. He caught sight of me and called me over to where he stood. I made my way toward him slowly.

“Annabelle, I really need a Rolaid,” Patrique said, rubbing his chest.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, not quite sure why he was telling me this.

“Can you go buy me one?”

“You want me to buy you one Rolaid?” I asked slowly.

“No,” Patrique said, his voice agitated. “You’ll probably have to buy a pack.”

“But are you sure it’s a good idea for me to . . .”
Wait a minute. Why am I arguing? This is perfect. The perfect opportunity to get out of here.
“Yes,” I said. “I will go buy you a Rolaid.”

“Great,” Patrique said.

I stood next to Patrique for a second, waiting for him to hand me some cash.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“For you to give me some money,” I answered.

“Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me. Can you spot me?”

I groaned to myself. “Sure.”

After all, buying Patrique his chalky round antacids was my ticket out of that gallery. My ticket to see Isaac.

H
ello there,” I greeted Isaac. He was sitting on one of the benches in the amphitheater, watching a long-haired musician play a wind instrument. The mellow music was accompanied perfectly by the sound of the ocean waves in the distance.

“Hello,” Isaac said as he stood up from the bench. He put his arms around me for a hug and my heart started pounding like crazy. “Do you want to eat now, or do you want to stay and listen to the music?” he asked as he pulled away from me.

“Could we eat now? I’m starving.” A girl can only live on bottled water for so long
.

“Sure. I have an idea.”

“Oh yeah, what is your idea?” I asked, sounding quite f lirty.

“Why don’t we have a transient dinner?”

“A what?”

“Why don’t we walk Cannery Row and get food along the way. We’ll be sure to get the basics from the food pyramid. Of course, the food won’t be the most nutritious . . .” Isaac sounded like he was losing confidence in his idea.

“I love it!” I exclaimed. “Can we start with a jumbo pretzel? I smelled them on the way over and ooh they smelled so good.”

Isaac smiled at me, and I noticed that the sea breeze was making the hair on the right side of his head stand straight up. It was quite possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen. “All right,” he said, “let’s go get some pretzels.”

Isaac took hold of my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. It felt so natural, yet as incredible as I remembered. We chatted as we walked to the nearby pretzel vendor.

Then, with our huge, warm pretzels in hand—well, a large portion of mine was already in my mouth—we walked down Cannery Row in the direction of the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

“So what were you up to when I called?” Isaac asked as we strolled.

I pointed to my mouth to indicate to Isaac that it was full.

He smiled. “You are so cute,” he said, and the words made my insides flutter.

I chewed the pretzel in my mouth and swallowed as quickly as I could. “You don’t want to know what I was doing,” I replied before taking another bite of my pretzel.

“Sure I do.”

“Okay. I was trying to get on Jean-Pierre’s good side by going to an art show with his nephew.”

“His nephew? You know, come to think of it, I heard Ethan saying something about Jean-Pierre’s nephew moving here and working in the restaurant.”

“Apparently his other job is painting. And if you ask me, he should probably stick with working in the restaurant.”

“So how was the art show?” Isaac asked.

“Actually it’s still going on.” I bit my lip, feeling a sense of anxiety come over me. How long would I be able to be gone without Patrique suspecting that I had done more than just search for his Rolaid?

“Do you need to go back?” Isaac asked.

“No, not yet,” I answered. I moved closer to Isaac to let an older couple pass us on the sidewalk. “I really want to be with you. I’ll take my chances.”

Isaac let go of my hand and pulled me close to him. “Good,” he whispered in my ear.

A shiver went through my entire body. “Thank you,” I said breathlessly. “For saving me, I mean. I don’t know how much longer I could have stayed at that art show.”

“Don’t thank me. I was hungry,” Isaac answered. He was still holding onto me.

“You could have gotten food without seeing me,” I said.
In fact, I remember Rona Bircheck inviting you to get some with her.

“Yes, but I wasn’t just hungry for food,” Isaac explained, his voice low.

I turned my head down nervously, pulled away from Isaac, and began walking again, watching my feet as they moved on the sidewalk.

After strolling in silence for a while, Isaac and I stepped into this large mall-type building that is full of shops and is home to John Steinbeck’s Spirit of Monterey Wax Museum. We found a bench on the main floor of the building and sat down to finish the last bites of our pretzels. When my pretzel was gone, I wadded up the wax paper it had been wrapped in and tossed it into a trash can about five feet away. The paper went into the can like a basketball going through the hoop.

“Nice shot,” Isaac praised.

I stood up and gave Isaac a little curtsy. “So, do you want to look at the shops?” I asked.

Isaac shook his head. “I actually like what I’m looking at right now.”

I smiled shyly and took the wax paper from his pretzel out of his hand. I crumpled the paper up. “Let’s make a friendly wager,” I suggested.

“Sorry, betting is against my religion,” Isaac teased.

“All right,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I got ready to shoot the paper into the trash can.

“No, wait,” Isaac called out. “A
friendly
wager is probably okay.”

I smiled. “What should we wager?”

Isaac looked up at the ceiling like he was deep in thought. “If you don’t make it, you have to show me that pink notebook you wouldn’t let me see the other day.”

My body tensed at the suggestion. I couldn’t show him my Pink Notes. I just couldn’t. He’d think I was a lunatic and run away for sure. But, of course I wasn’t going to lose. I mean, it hadn’t been hard at all the first time. Plus, I already knew exactly what I wanted to collect when I won.

“Okay,” I agreed. “And if, I mean
when
, I do make it, you have to give me a photograph that you’ve taken of the ocean.”

“Deal,” Isaac agreed.

With exaggerated movements, I got into a wax-paper-shooting stance. I smiled at Isaac. “Prepare to lose,” I said.

Then I shot.

And I missed.

“Yeah!” Isaac hollered.

I gave him a dirty look. “That wasn’t fair,” I argued. “You probably did something to your paper when I wasn’t looking. Weighted it with salt or something.”

“A bet’s a bet,” Isaac said. “Looks like I get to see that book.” Isaac rubbed his hands together quickly and grinned a satisfied grin. “Is it in there?” he asked, looking at my handbag.

“Actually it’s not,” I said. I was suddenly grateful that I had picked that day to use my tiny fancy bag and not my everyday bag, and thus had left my Pink Notes at home.

“That’s cool. You can show me later,” Isaac said. Then he leaned close to me and added, “And don’t plan on me forgetting.”

I nodded slowly. “Let’s walk around,” I suggested.
And while we walk I’ll think of ways to make you forget about our bet.

We walked side by side for a while, perusing the shops inside the building. But I have no recollection whatsoever of what I saw in those shops.

Why? Because all I could think about was the fact that Isaac wasn’t holding my hand like he had before. Had he thought I was lying about not having the notebook, and thus decided that he wanted nothing to do with me? Had my hand sweat too much the last time and totally grossed him out?

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. We were inside a photo gallery, and Isaac was commenting on some photos of cypress trees when I blurted out, “Will you hold my hand again, please?”

Isaac grinned at me. “I would love to.” He took my hand, and I savored the sensation.

We continued looking in the shops, and when we stepped into a candy store, my eyes widened with glee. In the corner of the shop, a teenage girl stood behind the counter, dipping shiny red apples into a creamy caramel sauce. I watched the process, mesmerized, my mouth salivating as if I were one of Pavlov’s dogs.

“Would you like one of those?” Isaac asked, noticing my wide-eyed look.

“Well, we should get something from the fruit and vegetable group for our dinner,” I answered with a grin.

“You’re right. It would be un-nutritious of us not to.”

Isaac politely asked the girl behind the counter for two caramel apples. When the girl handed the apples to us, I offered to pay for them, but Isaac insisted on paying.

We were walking out the candy shop door when I spotted a barrel of chocolate covered gummy bears. “Ooh, milk chocolate covered gummies. I love those.” I moved my feet toward the exit of the shop, but my head was turned toward the barrel of gummies.