The Sweetest Dare (2 page)

“Who knows, it might be for your friend Annalise.” Tish nudged her and laughed.

“Don’t hold your breath, as much as Annalise likes cake.”

Tish regarded her, tilting her head. “Well, if you ever meet a guy, I got the perfect design for
your
cake.”

She’d be hanging onto it for a while. “Thanks.” Kit let out a nervous laugh.

Something, or someone, distracted Cal and he wandered away from the booth. Sue made to follow her but winked at Kit and said, “If it’s any consolation, we have an anniversary coming up and Cal loves your red velvet rolls.”

“Come in anytime, hon. Don’t wait
that
long to see us,” Tish called back with a laugh. The banter stopped abruptly with the first wave of customers, forcing them to take orders and money.

Within the first two hours, they saw half their inventory sold. People carried away truffles by the dozen and fawned over the new French macarons Tish was testing for the shop. Kit worried they’d run out of boxes first, then realized Tish might use that as an excuse to bolt. The thought warmed her, more so than that last sip of her vanilla latte. If she took a nap after this event, she might be refreshed enough to keep up with Annalise tonight.

“How many macarons are left?” Vinnie asked, bringing Kit back to work. “If it’s divisible by six, you think we should just sell them by the half-dozen instead of singles?”

Tish pointed to a couple walking past, each holding an ice cream. “I wouldn’t mind, but I imagine somebody will want to eat one here and now,” she said. “I’d hate to say no, so we’ll break up a set only if somebody asks.”

“I was thinking if there were extras, I could have one.” Vinnie smiled, sheepish. “I’m starving.”

“I’m thinking about a plate of those pancit noodles over there.” Tish nodded toward the food truck owned by Turo Turo. Kit saw them around town often, after Dareville passed an ordinance to allow food trucks to operate along select streets during the week, and had tried their Filipino cuisine. As far as she knew, they didn’t have a restaurant as a base of operations.

Other trucks doing business today, though, were attached to some kind of brick and mortar eatery in Dareville or Virginia Beach. Kit decided earlier if she bought lunch here today, she’d try the fish taco truck…which had the longest line at present.

She was about to offer to make a food run when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Excuse me, which one of you is Tish Richmond?”

Kit’s breath hitched at first sight of the vision standing before the booth. She couldn’t have stood taller than five-three, with shoulder length blond hair that fluttered around her shoulders in a brief gust of wind. She wore dark-framed glasses with small, rectangular lenses. Matched with her pert nose, Pac-Man t-shirt, and form-fitting jeans, she worked the geek-girl look well. Granted, the young woman appeared more feminine than she preferred—Kit loved her taut boi chicks—but she seemed the kind for whom she’d definitely make an exception.

“That’s my name, part of it anyway. Mrs. Petrocelli, at your service.” Tish held up a hand, then scowled. “You’re not here to serve me with a lawsuit, are you?”

Kit spotted the manila envelope as well and feared the same thing. Mentally she ran through any incidents in the shop where a customer might have complained, but came up blank.

The girl tensed for a moment, then shook her head.

“Oh, gosh, no. I love you guys,” she said. “My name is Sidney Campbell, and I saw the ad on Craigslist that you were hiring.”

“Oh, well that’s an old ad. I couldn’t figure out how to del—”

“We do need somebody full-time at the counter, yes,” Kit broke in, and ignored Tish’s slack-jawed stare. Like hell would she stand working with Gloria another day if somebody competent wanted the job. Vinnie should not have had to come take her place at this event, even if he wanted the time with his wife.

Sidney’s smile fell. “So, you’re not looking for an assistant in the kitchen? I’m about six months from my degree in Baking and Pastry Arts at Hancock Culinary Institute. I’m taking classes at their Dareville campus.” She held up the envelope. “I heard you were setting up here today, so I brought references and a resume.”

“Hancock, eh? Good school. Kit, you wanted to go there, right?” Tish nudged her hard, but Kit soaked up the sharp pain of elbow meeting arm with a smile. Okay, Tish was peeved that Kit overstepped her boundaries, but she didn’t have to hit metaphorically below the belt. Kit had dreamed of culinary school, yes, but bills and real life intervened. Anyway, she learned the craft well at her mother’s feet, and no customer had complained about her desserts yet.

Damn it
. Everybody who applied for work at Tish’s wanted to bake. Kit couldn’t fault Sidney for that. Operating a cash register and putting food in a bag required no great skill, but Kit had enjoyed that work because it brought her closer to their customers, who became regulars and friends. She hadn’t counted on customer service as a career, though.

When Tish’s last assistant resigned to open her own place in Williamsburg, she felt as though the heavens opened for her. She loved to bake, and loved the boss who loosened the reins in the kitchen and let her dream.

She sensed Tish watching her, like she’d tell Sidney to forget it. Don’t call us, we’ll call you. The image of mouth-breathing Gloria, standing at the counter and staring at her with vacant eyes, chilled her to the bone.

“I’m Kathleen Cheever.” She stuck out her hand. “Everybody calls me Kit.”

“Of course, you know who
I
am. Tish Richmond-Petrocelli, the
owner
. I like to hyphenate things.” Tish’s voice had a sharp edge to it, but Kit sensed more bemusement from her boss than annoyance. Tish then gestured to her husband. “This is Vinnie. He works elsewhere, but if you come to work with us you’ll see a lot of him.”

“So to speak. Tish sees the most of me.” Vinnie approached and slid an arm around Tish’s waist. Kit bit her lip as the walk-in cooler memory resurfaced.

Pointing to the ground between them, Tish added. “I love your shoes, Sidney.”

Sidney looked down, and Kit followed everybody’s line of vision to where the young woman turned up each heel one at a time to show off her custom high-tops. The right one featured a painted-on Pac Man about to gobble a bright power pellet, while the left highlighted a red, bug-eyed video game ghost.

“Do you always coordinate your shoes with your outfits like this?” Tish twirled her finger at Sidney’s ensemble. “Because I’m likely to hire you based on this alone.”

“Hey, if it gets me a job, I’ll show up naked but for an apron.” Sidney laughed.

Just like that, the image of a stripped Sidney Campbell filled Kit’s head. No doubt the aspiring baker had a nice pair of perky breasts hiding underneath those t-shirt Pac ghosts. Kit folded her arms over her chest and tensed, as though fighting off the cold. Hopefully Tish and Vinnie wouldn’t suspect her fleeting thoughts had caused her skin to shiver with arousal.

“Well, we do have to abide by health codes,” Tish demurred, and winked. “What else you got besides Pac Man?”

“Oh, um…” Sidney looked completely caught-off guard. She probably expected to answer a pop quiz about sugar measurements and whisking etiquette. Kit quirked her lip to keep from laughing—she seemed likeable, and a better alternative to Gloria by far. The idea that Sidney might edge into her kitchen space, though, concerned her.

Kit shook away her paranoia.
Don’t assume everybody’s after your job
, she scolded herself.
Tish likes you. The kitchen is plenty big.
Besides, she realized, if Tish finally gave the green light to a food truck they’d need more competent bakers to help.

She’d worry later about who got to operate their mobile sweet shop.

“What say you, Kit?” Tish’s voice broke into her reverie.
Damn it
. She looked up and noticed many faces gazing at her with interest.

“Monday morning is okay with you for orientation?” Tish asked, presumably for a second time. “If so, you’ll need to come in an hour early.”

“Fine by me. Whatever gets the freeway moving.” She extended a hand to Sidney and sucked in a breath at her soft touch. The strong, warm grip shot a pleasured sensation up her arm. Kit’s nipples tightened at contact and her pussy gave a squeeze. She thought of Sidney’s hands and how they might knead a ball of dough, giving the same attention to a woman’s breast.

Her breast. Then down her belly to cup her mound…

“Thank you so much. I promise I won’t disappoint you,” Sidney said, looking at Tish. She tugged Kit, who then released her hand and laughed away the awkward moment. Sidney gave her a bashful smile and nodded her exit. Kit fixed on Sidney’s cute little bottom as she disappeared into the crowd.

Seconds later, Tish rubbed against her. “You okay with this? I know you’re fed up Gloria. To be honest, you’re not the only one. Customers aren’t fond of her.”

Kit backed away to retrieve more macarons. “Well, she’s pretty nice and seems to have skills. Anybody’s better than you-know-who.”

“Uh-huh. A girl with a degree from a culinary school—”

“She hasn’t graduated yet.”

Tish eyed her sharply as though to remind her that Sidney had gone way further than she in that department. “If I decide to let her try out her stuff in the kitchen, am I going to hear complaints?”

“Not from me. Nothing wrong with that.” She answered too quickly. What could she say, though? Tish paid the bills, signed the paychecks.

Tish glanced at a grinning Vinnie. “No, not at all. I’m sure you’ll do well in your first day as trainer, seeing as how I have some orders to fill next week and you were rather enthusiastic about hiring her.”

“I’m sorry if I pulled rank on you, but you know we haven’t had many qualified applicants.” Kit picked up a resume Sidney had left behind. The woman had come from Wyoming, but Kit figured they would find all the bakeries and references listed through online search. “Why let a good one get away?” she asked. Especially a good-looking one.

“Well, I hope your Spidey sense is fine-tuned on this gal,” Tish said. “Since you’re on an authoritative high, there’s one more thing you can do for me on Monday morning.”

“What’s that?”

Tish arched an eyebrow at her. “Fire Gloria.”

“I start Monday morning. I’m so excited! They’re gonna work me up front to start, but I’m sure after a while I’ll be in the kitchen.” Sidney looked down into her mobile screen at the shadowed face staring back at her. “If you think about it, they’re gaining business so Tish will have to let me help.”

“I’m happy for you, Sid, but don’t get stuck doing a job you don’t want. If you hit a glass ceiling, have a plan. Damn, where the hell are you?” The scene on her phone shifted back and forth, and the man on the other end squinted.

Sid looked over her shoulder to seek whatever activity her brother presumably caught. She’d come to The Woolf’s Den, a gay bar on the outskirts of town with a higher lesbian patronage than the rest, to indulge in a celebratory cocktail. With Wyoming two hours behind her, she thought to make a quick call to Roman and apprise him of her progress on the job front. Looking down the bar counter, she saw nothing that appeared out of place, just people sipping drinks after a long day.

She turned back to Roman’s miniature face. “I’m out having a martini. It’s the weekend, after all.”

“Lezzie bar?” Roman grinned a full set of teeth, and Sid huffed. She’d come out as bisexual to her family in high school, yet her brother teased her every chance he got. Clearly his idea of such a place included hot women in thongs serving whipped cream body shots to everybody who walked through the door. Not that she didn’t appreciate a sexy chick, but she simply preferred low-key establishments.

“Yeah. The nude ramen noodle wrestling tournament ended before I called you. Sorry.”

Roman pushed out an exhausted laugh. “Whatevs, sis. The women there probably all look like Dave Letterman. Listen, you let me know when you get promoted. I want to see my little sis on the Food Network winning a cake war.”

“Right. Love you.” She rang off without saying goodbye and sipped her drink. The bartender had made her Cosmo a bit heavy on the vanilla vodka as she requested, and it cut the tartness of the cranberry juice. Sid hardly missed, too, the taller woman’s lingering stare when she’d set the dewy glass in front of her.

When not using her phone, she fixed her gaze on two bottles high on the shelf, as though discerning the liqueurs The Woolf’s Den offered. She’d bounced between the beach and Dareville over the last few years, having come to Virginia to earn her culinary school degree, yet still felt like the new girl in town who couldn’t make her way around. Outside of classmates she saw regularly and a few baristas at her favorite coffee joint, Sid knew few people, and she wouldn’t exactly consider those people friends. Tonight marked her third time at the Den, and even here she had trouble making eye contact with the staff to order a lousy drink.

She sighed. She needed to work on her shyness, of course, if she expected to impress Tish. Working the register of a busy shop meant answering questions from customers and communicating often with the kitchen. If her new boss suspected discomfort every time Sid turned her face away from somebody, she might question if Sid could represent them up front.

It also mattered to her that people didn’t mind having a bi girl ring up their chocolate orders. Coming out in a small Wyoming town proved to be an adventure, to say the least. Not everybody expressed support, and she imagined people thought she moved away to avoid a scandal. In truth, she wanted to live near the sea. She found affordable prospects in California, closer to home, but a pastry chef friend had graduated from Hancock, and Sid trusted her recommendation.

She sipped deeply from her martini glass and flagged down the bartender for a refill. The alcohol helped a bit this time—she didn’t flinch when rewarded with a wink. She then looked down the bar at a couple in an intimate clinch, and she realized they shared the same barstool.
Oh, my.
The woman with her dark hair swept into a ponytail supported her lighter, blonder companion on her lap, and they laughed and kissed, oblivious to the world around them.