Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake (27 page)

“Not that it matters what she thinks,” he continued, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “I agree with her. We’re meant to be together, Merrifield — well, I think we are — and I couldn’t think of another way to show you that I love you and support your decision to adopt the baby than to decorate this room for you both. My efforts at cooking and being Johnny Castle fell on deaf ears.”

Okay, so I was in shock now. My mouth had begun to flap but no words came out. If the window had been open a few Willie Wagtails might have flown in though.

“I want to be a part of yours and the baby’s lives.” He said this extra slowly, like he was hoping I wasn’t going to faint at the thought.

“If that means somewhere down the track we officially become a family, I want that too.”

I could feel my brow tightening. “You’re saying you want me and the baby? Even though you know I’ll probably never be able to give you a house full of children.”

“Sometimes you behave like a house full of children. I’ll cope.”

“You don’t mind that cake will always be my enemy? That you’ll never be able to road test in the house?”

“I thought we’d solved that problem.”

“What about the singing? You know I run rings around you at karaoke. And dancing? Can you cope with being the second best entertainer in this relationship?”

He’d moved towards me, gathering me in his strong arms. He was laughing. “I’ll give you the singing, but there’s no way you’re better at dancing than me. You can’t even keep upright. Now, if you’ve run out of objections, I think you should shut up and let me kiss you.”

So I did.

KING OF CUPCAKES FINDS HIS QUEEN

By Barry Bloomsfeld

Over the past twelve months, this reporter has followed the story of Cole Anderson, owner of Death By Cupcake in Merrifield. Regular readers to this page will remember Cole as the father of Phoebe Anderson, delightful Telethon Child of 2011. Sadly, Phoebe passed away in 2012 but to fulfill his daughter’s dying wish, Cole has opened a cupcake shop. This reporter is happy to announce that earlier this month Cole’s Phoebe cupcake was awarded with Best Cake in Show at the prestigious Perth Cake Bake-Off. Judges from a number of major cooking shows proclaimed it the most exciting new flavour in cake and sources report Cole has been offered a guest spot on Masterchef Australia.

But Cole hasn’t only been busy in the kitchen. It appears that, out of the women who’ve leant on his cake stand over the past year or so, he’s fallen for capricious ex-weather girl Olivia Merrifield. Olivia caused a stir after photographs of her shorts — or lack thereof — at The Killers Perth concert were splashed across Twitter. The photos trended on three continents with the hashtag #bootybabe, a ratings windfall for Channel Seven News who were set to promote her to The Morning Show before she then disappeared from the public eye.

The two celebrated an intimate wedding in the grounds of their renovated Georgian mansion, Oak Hill, last month. Olivia looked stunning in a custom designed gown by Wayne Cooper. Her headpiece was a vintage Chantilly lace veil worn by female members of the Merrifield family. Cole did not disappoint either, donning a Prada dinner suit for the occasion, despite calls for him to make one last appearance as the Reno King. Shortly after, the couple announced the birth of their first child, Anna Phoebe Anderson. The child was delivered via surrogate on June 30
th
.

Olivia now spends her days caring for their baby. She has returned to the world of journalism, via a blog on parenting which she writes from the small, refurbished room Cole decorated for her as a pre-wedding gift. Cole Anderson is busy developing his newest cupcake flavour, to be named after the couple’s baby daughter.

THE END

Did you enjoy this story? Why not sign up to Lindy’s email list where you can receive updates and information on new releases PLUS another FREE read as a thank you.

CLICK HERE

Or discover other novel length titles by Lindy here

Storm in a B Cup
~ Sophie’s (and Lindy’s) breast cancer story of love and laughter

Thin Girls Don’t Eat Cake
~ Fall in love with Olivia and Cole as they fall head over heels for each other. Literally.

Perhaps… Perhaps
~ OCD Flora learns how to let go and take a chance with Luke

Heart of Glass
~ A reunion romance. Ben & Bella belong together but life always seems to get in the way.

The Taming of the Bastard 
~ The story of  lovable rogue Sam and how Millie whipped him into shape.

The Bastard Takes a Wife
~ Sam and Millie finally tie the knot

Angel’s Bend
~ A paranormal page turner starring doomed eighteen year old Lacey and her guardian angel, Cam.

Want a quick fun read?

Try one of Lindy’s bestselling sweet romantic novellas

Daisy Darling Meets A Man
~ Daisy the farm girl falls for Hawk the rock star

It Started With a Kiss
~ Georgie and Nate rekindle a love that began when they were eight

A Cupid Kind of Day
~ Lily learns that Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to suck when she meets gorgeous Damon in a cobbler’s shop

Now enjoy an excerpt from
The Taming of the Bastard

Chapter 1

For longer than I can remember, well, at least the last three years, I had a dream life mapped out in my head.  By the time I was thirty I was going to be living on a tropical island with water lapping at my feet and a little B & B nestled in the palm trees behind.  I was going to be my own boss.  Of course, no one I told believed I’d ever do it.  I think most people thought I was the type of girl who wandered through life looking for something she’d never find.  Little did they know.

Having skirted my way around a minefield of professions - PR Girl, Personal Assistant and Tupperware Lady, to name a few, I’d come to the conclusion that what I really needed was for my life to be pared back.  Simple.  Uncomplicated.  And thus the dream was born.  The small inheritance I’d received shortly after making the decision merely cemented the idea.  To achieve my goal, and supplement the pathetic wage I currently earned as a nanny, I worked part time at the local German beer house. Two nights a week, and sometimes on Saturdays, I could be found wearing a natty frilled apron and a red checked frock. Though this was not my number one choice for a career path but rather a means to an end, everything was going the way I’d planned.

Until the day I met Sam Brockton.

It was a typical Thursday evening at the pub.  The dining room was teeming with people. The regular crowd of businessmen were at their table in the corner partaking in after work drinks.  A party of girls filled a table in the centre of the room. Bridal veils, L plates and trays of cupcakes in the shape of penises were the order of the day.  Three bikies sat at the bar swilling schooners of lager and Dianne, the bar manager, was polishing glasses while chatting to them. I was in the servery on the opposite side of the room and Bob, the owner of this classy establishment, was helping me to prepare garlic bread for a group near the window. Bob had a habit of popping up during busy periods on the pretext of lending a hand.  I didn’t mind.  I knew he was keeping an eye on me because he thought I was hopeless. You see, though my job was easy, I had a habit of becoming distracted by little things around me and this often led to another annoying trait of mine: destruction. I was public enemy number one to all manner of breakable things and a few that were once considered imperishable.

We were packed to the rafters and there was Bob, guarding the microwave.  He was still perplexed as to how, on a previous shift, I’d managed to jam my fingers in the door of said machine and not realise I was nuking them.  He said it wasn’t that he didn’t trust me with it anymore but rather didn’t want to have to explain my lack of digits to the customers.  I knew he was trying to spare my feelings.  Deep down, he loved me.

“Wait till you see the bloke just started working in the front bar, Millie,” he said over his shoulder, as he unwrapped the steaming loaves and put them into little wicker baskets. “His name’s Sam.  You two’ll get on like a house on fire.”

He stopped and winked at me and I wondered what it could be that would make him think such a thing.  I was not your typical waitress.  I was a university graduate. Did I look like I had ‘shag me’ tattooed on my forehead?  I wandered off in the direction of table six to deliver the bread, considering Bob’s words.  That comment had been way off base and, well, frankly, a little hurtful. I hadn’t had a boyfriend in months.  Another couple of weeks and I would have been officially declared a natural disaster, a woman in the depths of a man drought.

Turning back to the servery, I stopped, just in time to see the double doors at the end of the dining room fling open like a scene from an old fashioned western movie.  A masculine form filled the space.  It was tall.  It had shoulders the size of a small European country and for reasons even Helen Keller could see, I knew what Bob meant.  I’d definitely shag that given half a chance.  The figure paused inside the doorframe and perused the scene before him, a boyish grin tempting every woman in the room. A dimple grew in his cheek and his oceanic eyes twinkled.  It had to be Sam.  Nobody else who worked at The Lederhosen looked like that.  In fact, the majority of men I worked with were the product of one too many German sausages with extra sauerkraut. Though I tried not to, I fully checked him out as I walked back to my station, a doleful sigh escaping my lips.

The man was sex on legs.  So much so, that I lurched full frontal into one of the dining room pillars that had been strategically placed for such a moment. My pile of dishes fell with a clatter to their death, and I tumbled to the carpet, landing on top of them.  Beneath the silence of the girls at the table beside me, I wiped the splodges of tomato sauce from my bum and rolled to my knees. Tears of mortification stung my eyes. The whole dining room had seen me fall and not one of them offered assistance.  They merely sat with their mouths open. Well, except for the new guy, Sam.  He was laughing fit to kill himself.

“That’ll come out of your pay, Millie,” Bob grumbled, as he handed me a dustpan.  “I can’t afford for you to keep doing this. You’re a one woman demolition team.”

“Sorry Bob.”  I didn’t bother to add anything further, there was no point; his face was that frightening shade of puce that could not be put right with words.  Besides, it was all Sam’s fault.  A girl needed protective glasses to look at him.

*****

A few nights later, keeping my nose to the grindstone and out of Bob’s way, I was polishing forks when Sam came in.  As if it happened every day, he ignored the crowd that parted before him like The Red Sea and made his way across the room. Determined, I held my breath and kept my eyes on my work.  I was not going to be led astray by his shoulders again.  I had to keep my job.

“Here he comes,” whispered Alexandra, my co-worker. “Oh my... he’s way hotter than Chantelle said.”  She flicked her blackened locks over her shoulder and pushed out her ample Greek bosom.

“Humph,” I snorted in reply.

Sam waltzed up to where we were standing, looking like a walking shagfest.  His mohair jumper, just a tad too fitted for fashionable, showed off his body a treat and his sooty hair, sexily unkempt, added to his bad boy persona.  Even the stubble was sprinkled to perfection across his jawline.  Mesmerised, Alex let out an audible whimper.  I slunk into my tea towel and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.  His presence made me dizzy.  I couldn’t acknowledge him.  It would be so weak; perving like everyone else.  It would go against everything I’d ever said about looks not being everything, the person inside being the most important and all that.

Sam rested his large, smooth hands on the counter. A little tuft of mohair wafted from his jumper and landed on Alex’s cleavage.  “Has my dinner arrived yet? I’ve only got a fifteen minute break.”

“Um...er, yeah,” I swallowed, pulling his snapper from the dumb waiter and handing it to him.  Our fingertips collided on the edge of the plate and I pulled my hand away, curling and uncurling it behind my back. Lightning bolts surged up my arm and my brain registered signals it hadn’t felt in quite some time. Flustered, I gave him a hint of a smile.  Surely, he’d sensed it too?

“Thanks,” Sam said, as he whisked the cutlery from the counter. With a wink at Alex, he disappeared to the front bar.

I was bewildered.  He had winked at Alex. Where was my flash of smile? Who did he think he was?  He hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself.  Not that he needed to.  We all knew who he was.  Even after a week on the job, the gossip was rife.

We watched him leave and I prised Alexandra’s fingers from my arm. I handed her an order book.  There was no point in drooling. He had no interest in us. We were waitresses.

“It’s not just me, is it?” she asked, as I propelled her out into the sea of beer steins and schnitzels, “He is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, isn’t he?”

“He’s cute but he seems a bit smug.  You know, up himself. He didn’t even talk to us.”

And that was my defence, feeble as it was.  I ask you…what hope did I have?

Chapter 2

For the next couple of weeks I watched Sam with the eyes of a hawk, while pretending to do my work.  I was mystified by the assumption everyone had that he was irresistible.  Yes, he was hot and his charisma was enormous but from what I’d witnessed, so was his ego. He swanned around the place, flirting with customers and staff alike, basking in his own magnetism. He didn’t do one scrap of work.  Yet, in the eyes of my colleagues, he could do no wrong.

During this time, I discovered two very important things.  Firstly, and most distressingly, I was attracted to Sam’s cockiness.  He was the exact opposite to the professional types I favoured under normal circumstances.  He wasn’t stressed, depressed or overworked.  In fact, he seemed excited about life.  He was always smiling.  He was also funny in a rude, sarcastic sort of way that showed his intelligence. And, despite the fact that he took the piss out of us on a daily basis, everyone still liked him.  Secondly, in the space of three short weeks, Sam had transformed The Lederhosen into a cesspit of lust and desire.  Women from all over the city had descended upon us just to have him pour them a beer. The cleavage I saw every shift was enough to fill a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and I appeared to be the only one who realised this.  The revelation was no help at all.