When Only Cupcakes Will Do (13 page)

‘Hey, I've had an idea!' she declared, stopping so suddenly that Ed ran into her with the trolley. ‘What do you think about cake pops in the shape of ice lollies? I could mould them into rectangles, dip them in this red candy melt, then in this white one, and sprinkle the top with these hundreds and thousands to look like a Fab! Do you remember those? I could do Rockets and Magnums and Mini Milks and Choc Ices too. Then, there're miniature versions of cakes – like lemon meringue pies, blueberry cheesecakes, cherry scones, carrot cakes…'

Ed laughed at her animation. ‘It's a fabulous idea! Although, to be honest, I don't know what a Fab or a Rocket is. I grew up in Sicily, remember?'

Lucie's eyes met Ed's and it was a struggle to drag them away from the intensity she saw smouldering within their mahogany depths. She was suddenly aware of his raw sexuality and a ripple of desire looped through her veins. She turned her back on him and pretended to be engrossed in selecting a stack of paper doilies. Her emotions confused her.

They made their way to the till and she extracted her purse from her straw shoulder bag to pay the exorbitant bill. Ed helped her store her purchases in the boot of his car and she settled back into the leather-clad passenger seat.

‘I've got lots of ideas, actually. Cupcakes for Valentine's Day topped with cute scarlet hearts, for Easter topped with chicks, for Christmas with snowmen and pine trees and baubles. I agreed with Jess that initially the cupcakes would be plain vanilla sponge but there's nothing to stop me experimenting with chocolate, toffee, almond and even lemon cupcakes for clients to decorate. I'm also planning to offer parties for adults, girls' nights in and hen do's that we can spice up a bit with coconut and rum flavours or blackcurrant and vodka. Jess has suggested a line in raspberry cupcakes with Prosecco-flavoured buttercream. What do you think?'

‘Okay,' laughed Ed. ‘I can see your creative streak is back with a vengeance. I was always impressed with your ingenious ideas in Paris.'

‘You noticed me?' she asked, doubtful.

‘What do you mean? Of course I noticed you. How could I not? You were my fiercest competition.'

‘But you were always so… oh, never mind.'

‘Always so what?'

‘Well, surrounded by your loyal and adoring fan club before rushing off to some bar or other for a night of strenuous partying.'

‘Actually, if you must know, I've left my partying days behind. In fact, I decided last summer to avoid all romantic liaisons. You're not the only one to have felt the sting of rejection. Anyway, you were always invited to come along with the rest of the class, Lucie. If I remember correctly, you never once agreed to join us. I did notice.'

Lucie felt a surge of heat seep into her cheeks. It was true – she hadn't taken up his offer, but that was because she'd assumed he'd slunk off for an intimate tête-à-tête with the next girl on his lengthy list. Had she been wrong? And what did he mean ‘left his partying days behind'? And who had rejected him? It didn't seem possible.

‘Sorry,' she mumbled.

They had arrived back at her mother's house, but there was still no sign of Jess and the boys. Ed helped her carry her bags down the driveway and deposited them on the kitchen table. He dawdled for a moment on the step.

‘Do I take it your contrition extends to taking me up on that drink you promised me yesterday at the local pub to make amends? How about tonight? I could do with an infusion of alcohol after Gabriella has finished mauling me and demanding a bedtime story – in Italian! Rosa will no doubt collapse into bed by nine o'clock. I can see my evening stretching into the distance without a companion to ease the boredom.'

‘Tonight?' blurted Lucie. She wondered what her twenty-one-year-old self would have said if she'd been told that, years from now, Edmundo Cartolli, the Italian Romeo of Le Cordon Bleu, would be asking her – only her, not the whole entourage – out for a drink.

‘Yes, tonight.'

‘Erm…'

‘Great. See you at eight-thirty at the Fox and Hounds then? Ciao.'

Lucie's gaze followed Ed's retreat back down the driveway, her eyes caressing his toned profile, lingering on his broad shoulders beneath the cashmere jumper slung around his neck, but mainly at the taut buttocks encased in his jeans – clearly he hadn't worn his school trousers as requested by Gabriella.

Chapter Fourteen

Should she really be contemplating meeting Ed Cartolli for a drink? Surely she should be getting as far away as possible from the catalyst of her shame. He had seen her wrapped in all her agony and distress – not a pretty sight.

When she had relayed her news to Jess, she had advised her to go for it.

‘It's a great idea! You need to get back in the dating game as soon as you can and Ed Cartolli is risk-free! There's no way you're going to fall for him, right? If there was any chance of that you'd have succumbed to his charms in Paris, wouldn't you? Weren't you the only girl he failed to seduce? He's the perfect rebound date.'

Lucie screwed up her nose at her sister's evaluation. Wasn't her life complicated enough without adding Ed into the mix, even as a potential friend?

‘It's not a date, Jess. It's just a drink.'

Yet, as she sluiced away the day's grime in a hot shower, she reminded herself that he'd spent a whole afternoon helping her and the least she could do was keep him company on his enforced sojourn at his sister's house in Richmond in the absence of his brother-in-law.

Oh, good grief, who was she kidding? Edmundo Cartolli was gorgeous! But it wasn't his physical traits that made her traitorous nerve endings tingle. That was caused by the cadence of his Italian accent, smooth as liquid caramel, soaking down into her ears and her heart.

Oh God, Lucie Bradshaw, get a grip of yourself!

He's probably got a glamorous, mannequin-like girlfriend waiting for him back at his flat while he grabs a quick weekend away to visit his beloved sister and niece for her birthday party. But, no. Hadn't he told her he'd avoided dating since last summer? Anyway, he'd been careful to explain that he was at a loose end that night and didn't want to spend it on the sofa in front of the TV.

Then another thought occurred to her. Had he suggested the Fox and Hounds because he intended to review its culinary offerings? She didn't think she could bear it if one of his pithy reviews brought down her sister's local watering hole.

The constant rotation of nerves and self-doubt was making her feel nauseated. She shoved her misgivings as to his motives to the back of her mind, pulled on one of Jess's Laura Ashley dresses and covered her arms with her white cotton cardigan. A spritz of Estée Lauder's Beautiful and she was ready to go.

It was one drink – what was the worst that could happen?

She trotted down to the end of the street and pushed open the bleached oak front door into the pub. A wave of relief, and another unidentifiable sensation, washed through her as she caught sight of Ed
nursing a brandy glass at a table next to the open fireplace. Unlike Alex, he clearly didn't believe in keeping a girl waiting.

Alex.

Why did she have to think of him now? Apart from the text he had sent her a couple of weeks after her meltdown, politely enquiring as to her well-being, she hadn't heard anything further from him. She resolved again to call Steph to ask if she'd heard whether he'd got his longed-for partnership at Carter & Mayhew. He would definitely have heard by now. If he'd been successful in achieving his professional dream, would that lead him to turn his attention to his personal life? And if it did, how would she feel if he contacted her?

She experienced the familiar jolt of pain shoot into her chest. Why had he turned her down? But immediately afterwards she realised it was simply this unanswered question that caused her such turmoil. She hadn't missed Alex's company at all, nor the life she'd thought she wanted as his wife. Now she had her fledgling business to sink her energies into, Alex had hardly frequented her thoughts. They had never been a couple who enjoyed shared activities like sports or hiking or going to the cinema. She did these things with Hollie, and sometimes with Steph when she could tear herself away from the tethers of the legal profession. In fact, compared to her life now, life with Alex had been quite boring and she couldn't believe she was thinking that.

‘Hi, what can I get you to drink? Sorry to start before you arrived but, to be honest, I'm exhausted. Gabriella is a livewire. I love her to bits but I don't know how Rosa copes. The sooner Paolo gets back from Italy the better.'

Ed stood to face her, his thick dark eyebrows raised in a question. A blast of lemony cologne and soap wafted to her nostrils. He had swapped his pink shirt for a pale-blue one and completed his outfit with figure-hugging black jeans and a black leather belt. Any residual thoughts of Alex seeped from her brain.

‘A glass of white wine would be lovely, thanks.'

‘I'll get us a bottle.'

While Ed waited at the bar to be served, she took the opportunity to study his silhouette, again from the rear, but he turned his head over this shoulder and caught her ogling. He smiled at her and she felt a surge of heat radiating across her cheeks. She fiddled with the string bracelet at her wrist and concentrated her gaze on the bashed copper table until he returned with the ice bucket and glasses. She took a huge gulp of the Pinot Grigio and, as the cool liquid sunshine slipped down her throat, felt the alcohol begin to erase the sharp edges of her anxiety.

‘By the way, I loved the birthday cake you made for Gabriella. We had a slice each with milk for her supper while I read her a story.'

‘I thought my cakes were leaden and claggy?'

Ed sensibly chose to overlook her blatant dig. ‘Well, this one wasn't, it was sensational. And what you're trying to do with the Travelling Cupcake Company is great. I can tell how passionate you are about it in your baking. I'm pleased you're at last taking the reins in your career; not sure what – or who – held you back for so long. And this way you're also providing a public service to the community. More children should have the chance to learn how to cook and bake. It's an essential life skill that's been neglected in British schools for years. No wonder this country has an issue with healthy eating.'

‘Now that's one subject we are totally in agreement on . Food Tech was my favourite subject at school but we only had one lesson every fortnight.'

‘Lucie, I won't write about the Travelling Cupcake Company if you don't want me to, I promise. But I'd love to do a review when you're more established. It's a great concept.'

‘You want to review a fledgling business that caters for children's parties on the famous
Anon. Appetit
blog? Are you kidding me?'

‘I won't unless you give me permission to do so.'

‘Can I think about it?' She took another sip of her wine and met Ed's eyes. ‘I know this might sound crazy, but actually, now I've had time to come to terms with it, I'm grateful for what happened that night in Francesca's. It gave me the kick up the backside I needed to grab my courage and branch out of my comfort zone. I'm not sure I ever would have done it if you hadn't chosen that night to dine at the trattoria.

‘All I want to do now is to cook, to bake, to feel the flour slipping between my fingers, to taste the icing sugar on my lips, to lick the chocolate ganache from the back of the spoon. I intend to bake, bake, bake until all life's troubles fade away into the distance. I'm done with YouTube, vlogs and blogs, no disrespect.'

‘I don't blame you, and it's great to hear your hunger for your love affair with gastronomy has returned. You should have confidence in your talent, Lucie. You are a fabulous chef and I know you'll make a great success of your business. And believe me, I do understand where you're coming from. I know what it's like to lose something that you love so much it's a part of who you are. That without it you're not whole; you've lost a little piece of your soul.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Oh, nothing. Sorry – I didn't want this evening to turn into a “confessions of a culinary catastrophe” contest.'

Lucie noticed the tightening at the corners of his lips and the way he'd averted his eyes and decided to move on.

‘So why don't
you
run your own kitchen any longer? You were
uber
successful! Okay, okay, yes, I admit it – I did follow your progress after Paris. I don't understand how you can walk away from a Michelin star! What happened? Surely you don't prefer to concentrate on trashing other people's attempts at culinary excellence? Sorry, sorry, that was uncalled for. It's just that I think, if you're going to place yourself in a position where you scrutinise any kind of art form, you need to have the appropriate credentials. Otherwise how can your opinion be valid?'

‘I happen to agree with you. I do still cook, you know. I'm Sicilian, for heaven's sake – we love cooking. It's in our blood! My uncle owns a restaurant in Marsala, my cousin has a pizzeria in Messina and my great aunt's family have run a village bakery on the outskirts of Palermo for generations. Even Rosa has been known to strap on an apron, but she prefers to write – she was a food journalist for our local newspaper before she met Paolo, moved to England and had Gabriella all in the space of twelve months. That's how I got into blogging, actually.'

‘So how long have you been dissecting other people's culinary masterpieces?'

‘Just since last summer.' Ed took a sip from his wine glass, avoiding her eyes. ‘I came over to England last July to hang out with Rosa and Paolo and get to know my wonderful niece, and I stayed.'

‘Do you never get an itch to return to the kitchen?' pressed Lucie, unable to fathom how a man who so clearly adored everything about food could bear to give up the knives and the gnocchi. ‘If it's in your blood…'