by Lacey Baker
“Oh joy, we’re back together again.” That was a snide retort, but she had somewhere to be. She didn’t have time to chat with Bradford.
But he apparently had more to say. “So…I hear you and I are going head-to-head, or should I say gingerbread-to-gingerbread.”
Now that, Josephine hadn’t told her.
“So you’re doing the competition too?”
Because that would only be fair to make this promotion even harder for her to obtain. Bradford was a great architect, which was why Crestford had been so eager to steal him away.
“Yeah, what is it about Crestford and Ogilvy? They’re always so competitive.”
His tone was joking, but Taylor wasn’t really feeling the laughter at the moment. “I don’t know. Try asking your Crestford colleagues since they stole you away.”
“Well, in one sense you already won this one. Snagging Annabelle Renard, I hear, as your partner. That was a lucky grab. You beat me to it.”
Great—point one to Ogilvy. “Thanks. Well, I’m actually late meeting her now. So I’ll see you around.”
“See you on the battlefield,” he called after her.
Taylor walked out of the building feeling slightly less excited than she had when she walked in, but even more determined to once again do a great job.
LeCristal was a fine French restaurant on a corner in Rittenhouse Square. The outside of the building featured exposed brick and windows which were historic and created a unique feel. But the instant she stepped inside her mind soared back seven years to a sunny day in a Paris bistro.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
Shock from hearing the most clichéd break-up line ever had been the only thing that kept her from tossing her drink in Randall Kirby’s face. That, and the fact she’d been dating him for the last nine months of her senior year. She’d thought at the time, This has to be a mistake.
“What?”
“I got that job with the start-up company I told you about. You know, the one in Alaska. I accepted it.”
Was that all? “Okay, well, I’m the queen of traveling. The only reason I’ve stayed put this long was because of school. You know I can live anywhere.”
“But after you spent the summer working at Ogilvy they offered you a permanent position upon graduation. All you have to do is call them and you’re off to Philadelphia.”
He was right, and taking a paying position as an architect was the culmination of everything she’d worked for in college.
“I can’t take your dream from you, and I don’t want a long-distance relationship.”
He’d said the words matter-of-factly. On the outside, Taylor had given the impression that she’d taken them the same way, but on the inside, a part of her had collapsed with sadness and disappointment. Her first long-term relationship—the one she’d thought, perhaps a bit naively, would lead to marriage—was over. But she’d been taught to always look on the bright side, and so she did. She was still in Paris, and her first job as an architect would be waiting when she returned to the States in a month.
She should’ve known it would turn out this way. That childish dream of home and family was no more. All that she had was her career, and she planned to make the best of that in every way possible.
“Can I help you?”
The server’s deep voice interrupted her trip down memory lane.
“Ah, no. I actually think I see who I’m meeting with over there.”
When he left she walked further into the dining area of the restaurant. The memory left her feeling a little lightheaded—and even more determined to do a good job in this competition.
Soft instrumental music played in the background while servers dressed in black moved to ensure each table was perfectly set with shiny silverware and pristine white napkins. Gold sconces hung on dark cherry wood walls and bathed the space in a soft golden light. White twinkle lights were neatly and strategically placed so as to provide a festive ambience without overwhelming the guests with the holiday, or taking attention away from their spectacular menu.
It felt just like Paris, which was why the memory had come so fast and fierce the moment Taylor walked in. If she believed in fate, this would definitely be it.
It was just about noon, which meant she was on time, and she walked on legs that were a little wobbly from the slap of nostalgia—not to mention her nervousness about the competition.
“Please, marzipan first, and then the piping.” A woman dressed in black pants and a white chef’s jacket was speaking to a man wearing the same ensemble.
The man was icing a Yule log cake to make it look as if it were surrounded by snow. “Get me the meringue from the kitchen,” the woman directed him.
Earlier, Taylor had Googled the pastry chef. This woman with the air of authority was Annabelle Renard, the baker who was going to help her win this competition.
Taylor’s steps grew a little more confident as she approached the table. “Excuse me, Annabelle?”
The woman looked up at Taylor, her gaze both assessing and questioning.
“Taylor Scott,” she introduced herself and stopped directly across from where Annabelle stood.
Knowledge—at least of her name—registered on Annabelle’s face. “Nice to meet you.” The woman spoke with a frosty French accent.
“Wow, that looks amazing.” She pointed to the items on the table: a Yule log, several smaller cakes, and one deliciously tempting cheesecake. The table was decorated to look like a winter wonderland, and the white frosting on each cake matched the tablecloth. A cute set-up that was definitely making her hungry.
“This?” Annabelle pointed down at the table before coming around to stand in front of Taylor. “No. This is a disaster, but I’ll fix it. So tell me about this gingerbread competition.”
They were going to get right down to business. That was fine—Taylor could definitely do that. “Oh, I would be honored to work on it with you,” she began.
“Yes. Well, I do owe Linda a favor. But how much experience do you have in a kitchen?”
“Um, actually none.” Honesty was her policy in life, including in business. “In fact, I’m pretty helpless except for microwave meals and simple things like cereal or boiled eggs.” All of which were generally enough to survive on for long periods of time. Cooking was overrated, and while her mother had done a little more than Taylor could do, it was nothing she’d ever aspired to learning more about.
“Ah,” Annabelle replied with a look that said she was definitely not impressed.
“But I have designed condos in Hong Kong and recreational parks in Seattle. I’ve lead teams of draftspeople and engineers. So don’t worry, I know how to take charge. Every ship needs a captain and I am ready to lead.”
Reciting the highlights of her resume in under a minute felt like a live Twitter pitch.
Annabelle folded her arms and pointed to Taylor. “So you would be in charge, huh?”
“Oh. Absolutely. I have been spearheading projects on my own for the last three years with Ogilvy. And while I’ve never participated in a giant gingerbread contest before, I’m certain I can design something that will produce a win for the company. I can do whatever I set my mind to.” Her confidence was back. She could definitely do this job, and she would. She just needed Annabelle to join in by doing her part—the baking.
“Well, I see. Very impressive. But I just need to get in touch with Linda first.” Annabelle looked away from her and then gave her attention to a man who appeared with a bowl of something white and frothy.
Was the meeting over? Weren’t they going to talk about preliminary plans or something like that? Obviously not, since Annabelle was definitely engrossed in doing something else. It almost appeared as if she would’ve rather been doing anything else, which didn’t make sense if Linda had already spoken to her about the project.
&nbs
p; But what else was Taylor supposed to say—or do, for that matter? The woman was clearly finished talking about it for the moment. And Taylor was definitely hungry now.
“Okay. Merci.” Her business smile was in place as she waited to see if she were at least going to get one last eye contact with Annabelle. Something to give some indication that the woman even knew she was still standing there.
“Merci,” Annabelle said with absolutely zero enthusiasm.
She hadn’t gotten the wrong vibe—Annabelle was just busy right now. Taylor could see that as she left the restaurant. All was well. She had her baker on board, and now all she needed to do was get some sketches together. Ideally, she would’ve liked more time to prepare, especially since it was so out of the norm from what she usually did, but it was fine. She could do this.
If she wanted that promotion, she didn’t have much choice.
Chapter Three
Adam Dale was a perfectionist when it came to his baking. He’d spent hours making the fondant ornaments for the Christmas tree cake he’d been commissioned to create. The cake was a seven-tier masterpiece with several layers of his favorite vanilla cake and freshly made strawberry icing, all covered in Christmas-tree green.
He just had a few more ornaments to add and the gingerbread star to place on top, and he’d be finished. Unfortunately, that was ten minutes past the time that Ray DeLuth, his boss and the owner of Ray’s Bakery, wanted him to be ready. But Adam refused to rush. Adrenaline pumped quickly in his veins yet his hands remained steady over the piping bag while he made the fondant ornament look like the real thing. He didn’t get to work on cakes like this often, so when he did, he wanted to make sure to give it his very best.
One of his favorite memories as a child was watching his mother bake, and when he was tall enough to see over the countertop, Gloria Dale had allowed her son to assist with whatever she was doing in the kitchen. From the biscuits they often had for Sunday dinner after church, to specialty breads she made for the women on her various committees to school bake sales, Gloria was an expert at anything made in the kitchen. Her smile had been warm and validating when Adam had announced that he wanted to be a baker.
Unfortunately, Will Dale had a totally different idea for his son’s future. In fact, Will was insistent that each of his four children get college degrees and secure themselves in a traditional, lasting career…in an office. Adam could accept that because his father had been raised by a single mother who’d worked three jobs just to keep food on their table. He’d stayed in Philadelphia after high school and gone to college, majoring in business management.
Culinary school had come later—after his marriage to Cheryl and Brooke’s birth. His wife had encouraged him since day one to follow his heart. When that finally led him to register for part-time classes at the culinary school while Cheryl ran her in-home daycare and took care of Brooke, he’d finally started to feel like he was doing what he was meant to do.
That all ended three years ago with a car accident and Cheryl’s death.
Adam had been devastated. And with only one income and a then-seven-year-old daughter to take care of, culinary school had no longer been a possibility. But Adam had never let go of the dream, and eventually he’d found a job that paid well and allowed him do what he enjoyed.
“Loading the other items in the truck, Adam,” Ray bellowed.
Ray was a sixty-something year old man who’d spent his life building the reputation of his bakery. His scraggly beard and slow gait endeared him to customers, while his easy command of the bakery had taught Adam a lot about the business.
The final ornament was in place. It looked exactly like the vintage glass ornaments that always hung on his family’s Christmas tree. They were brightly colored, with swirls, leaves, or pretty little snowflakes, like the one he’d just completed.
Now for the topper—the most important part of a tree. It was made of gingerbread, his mother’s recipe with lots of molasses, and decorated with green, red and white piped icing.
“Perfect!”
Pride eased his lips into a huge grin and he pulled his phone out of his back pocket to snap pictures of the tree cake from all angles. It would go into his portfolio, just like the one he’d showed to the investors at the Brexley Group five months ago. They’d still decided not to back his bakery because he hadn’t completed culinary school.
“You still back there playing with that cake? I’m starting the engine and pulling off in five seconds. You be there or be square!”
Nobody but Ray said that anymore. Adam shook his head and closed the box of red velvet cupcakes decorated in Santa hats and boots—his precocious and beautiful ten-year-old daughter’s idea. Regardless how old the saying was, Ray wasn’t known to kid around, especially about work. He would definitely leave without him.
Adam carefully loaded cupcakes and the Christmas tree cake into the back of the truck and, out of extreme precaution, sat in the back to make sure the cake didn’t shift or fall during the drive. Ray chatted all the way from the bakery to downtown where they had a few orders of bagels and donuts to deliver as well.
An hour later, Ray was watching the clock again. “Adam, let’s hurry. We have three more orders to drop off.”
They were parked in the loading area behind a tall office building. Adam climbed out of the truck and focused on removing the Christmas tree cake as slowly as possible. It was a chilly day, but Adam had foregone the heavy coat, opting to wrap a festive red scarf around his neck instead. A red scarf that was threatening to slip off and onto the cake.
He frowned at the scarf and Ray’s hoovering commands.
“You can’t rush art, Ray.”
The sound of Ray’s raspy laughter echoed from the driver’s seat. “Just move it along, Rembrandt!”
While beautiful and definitely tasty, this cake weighed a ton. He maneuvered it as best he could on the service elevator. Because of its height, the cake could not be packed in a traditional box; the best he could do was settle it into the bottom half of a large cake box and carry it that way. He’d memorized the floor number scribbled on the order form in his apron pocket, and he stepped off the elevator when it dinged at his location.
The place was a maze of cubicles with a surprising lack of people occupying them. Laughter and chatter came from a conference room at the end of the floor. He started in that direction but stopped when his phone chimed with Brooke’s special ringtone from his pocket.
Adam took a few steps away from the entrance to the conference room and set the cake on a nearby desk so he could press the button on his Bluetooth to answer.
“Hi, honey.” The only thing other than baking that could make Adam smile on command was hearing his daughter’s voice. “Just a few more deliveries and Daddy’ll be home.”
That wasn’t exactly what Brooke wanted to hear.
“Aunt Jenny’s cooking my favorite—mac ‘n cheese! You can’t miss that.” Brooke was crazy about mac ‘n cheese and ice skating. Everything else in her young life came in a dismal second place.
“I won’t miss the mac ‘n cheese.”
“And then we’re decorating the tree.”
“Yes.” Nodding was his way of reminding himself of what he’d forgotten during his busy day at work. “We’re gonna decorate the tree right after dinner. So be sure to get all your homework done before I get there.”
Adam was so lucky that his sister Jenny had also decided to stay in Philly for college. He’d promised his parents that he would keep an eye on Jenny while she was here, but after Cheryl’s death, Jenny ended up being his lifesaver.
“I will. Now hurry up and make those deliveries!”
Brooke could also be a taskmaster. He blamed that on the time she spent at the bakery watching Ray.
Grinning and shaking his head, Adam ended the call and hefted the cake into his hands once more. He headed for the c
onference room and walked inside, stopping at the first edge of a table he could see around the cake.
“Ogilvy Associates?” Adam asked the moment he set the cake down.
“Ooh, yes!”
“Oh no!”
Two women spoke simultaneously, and he peered around the cake just in time to see one of them pulling at some papers that were on the table. Her actions made the cake wobble and Adam grabbed the base to keep it from toppling over.
“You’re getting icing all over my plans!”
Alarm was clear in her voice. She had glossy black hair that fell past her shoulders, and she looked festive, wearing a Christmas tree pin and pretty skirt. But her frown was what concerned him.
“Sorry about that.” He wasn’t sure where the icing had come from. Possibly, some had been on the floor in the truck and had gotten onto the box.
Digging into his pocket, he found an old piece of tissue, which he used to wipe the icing away from the plans. She gasped at the larger smudge of green his efforts caused.
“It’s ruined.” She reached for his wrist, stopping him from wiping anymore.
He saw the mess his efforts were making and planned to stop before she touched him. It was too late: her hand was warm against his skin and a sweet aroma wafted through the air. The cake, no doubt. But no—there was something else, like flowers or sugar candy. Whatever it was it came from her; she was standing very close to him. And he liked it. Until she pulled her hand away and stepped back.
“But this must be the cake for our Christmas party. It’s so beautiful.”
The other woman said this—the one wearing holiday earrings. Up to this point, he hadn’t paid that much attention to her because for some reason the sweet-smelling woman with the cognac brown eyes had kept him engaged.
“Thanks,” he said, yanking his mind back to the moment. It was always good to hear that someone appreciated his efforts even before the cake had been tasted.
