Cabana Boy

by Jenny Gardiner

  Chapter Two

  Cricket Ferguson finished mucking the stalls in the barn and decided to take a few minutes to enjoy the late-day sun as it cast its melon-hued light across the fields. Today was one of those days that reminded her why she wanted to spend the rest of her life in this amazing little hamlet she called home.

  First she’d risen well before dawn, roused her Australian cattle dog, Dingo, for a four-mile run, a practice that cleared her mind and helped her plan her day. After returning home for a quick shower, she slipped down a flight of stairs to the pâtisserie she’d opened a year ago and got to work on the array of pastries and café food she’d planned to offer the good folks of Bristol today.

  She and her close friend and assistant, Darby Cunningham had such fun working side by side it was a wonder that what she did was considered a job. After a couple of years of working for a succession of imperious pastry chefs, it took coming home and opening Pâtisserie Cricket to realize she was doing what she was always meant to do. Yeah, yeah, Pâtisserie Cricket was hardly the most French of names. But she needed to name her shop something as no-nonsense and basic as she was. Besides, this was Montana: not like anyone out here would be flocking to a shop with some hoity-toity French name. Here in Montana, folks wanted things to be simpler, and she was happy to offer that.

  After spending the day creating and baking, she’d headed back to her parents’ ranch and took a late-afternoon ride with her horse, a paint named Bunny, with Dingo running loops around them as they rode out past the hayfields and meadows and into the lush forest surrounding the farm. Riding in the woods during these autumn afternoons took her breath away, with the sumptuous palette of colors Mother Nature showed off, as leaves prepared to fall in anticipation of the first snowfall. This was God’s country, so beautiful it almost hurt, and she loved every moment she could take in the splendor of it all. Despite her time in the cosmopolitan city of Paris while she trained, and then briefly along the East Coast afterward to get experience under her belt, this was the place that called to her. Sure, she’d needed to get away for a while after Fletch bailed on her. But now she’d wrestled with those demons, carved out a new life, and at last, everything was falling into place.

  While she leaned against the split rail fence, her cowboy hat cocked on her head over her long, streaky blond hair, gnawing on a piece of straw and gazing out on the horizon, her phone dinged. She pulled it out to find a most unexpected email. It was from a big LA production company wanting to place an order for an obscene amount of food for a film premiere they were holding right here in little ole Bristol—a fantastic boon for her business. She’d talk to Darby first thing in the morning to plot out a strategy for handling the order before she replied to it in detail. While her business had been doing quite well, catering such an event could put her on the map—not that she was looking to be put on a map. But still, anything like this could get word of mouth about her baking skills going beyond the borders of Bristol, and you never knew how that could benefit her fledgling pâtisserie.

  After returning to Bristol last year, Cricket had been stuck for a while living at home, far past the point at which she’d hoped to be under her parents’ roof. Finally this past summer, she and her dad had taken a sledgehammer to the room above the pastry shop and got to work creating a cozy apartment she could call her own. Each night when she went upstairs to her very own space, her heart sang. It was all she needed in life and she was, at last, content. This was no small feat after Fletcher Campbell crushed her hopes and dreams by blowing out of Bristol in pursuit of some pie-in-the-sky dreams of Hollywood fame and fortune. For the life of her, she didn’t understand it, but she also couldn’t stop it. Even though they’d talked for years about their future together—they’d even named their kids!—all of a sudden, poof, he was gone, leaving not a trace behind.

  It had hurt at the time and was part of the reason she took off for Paris to learn to bake, but she also learned the hard way that with pain comes growth. There was little doubt she was almost over him and had practically grown ten feet tall in the process. And now she was perfectly content not to have any man getting in the way of her happiness. She had her shop, her apartment, and Dingo. Her life was full, and there wasn’t room for another man in it even if she wanted one, which, after Fletcher, she decidedly didn’t.

  As Cricket read the email, she wondered for a moment if she was picking up some snark in between the lines.

  “Cricket,” it said. “What a charming name. One of those names the boys probably love to bits.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. What a weird comment for someone to make in a professional context.

  “But I bet you don’t even think about that, what with your fiancé and all. I’ll look forward to sitting down with you and finding out everything about you.”

  Cricket squinted. Fiancé? Huh? And why would she have any reason to find anything out about her? Maybe she was talking about her menu options? Or how she planned to serve it all at the film opening?

  She shook her head. If there was one thing she’d learned since leaving Bristol for a while, it was that people were strange. Plenty were nice and normal and all that, but there were some weirdos out there, and she would chalk the comments up to that. After all, those rich Hollywood types were no doubt more likely to be a little more eccentric than your average Bristoller. Or was it Bristollian? She never did get that right.

  Cricket thought about her name, which she always kind of liked, even though she never wanted to think about the genesis of it. The story was that she was conceived in a hayfield, with crickets trumpeting their horny mating call to the accompaniment of her folks doing the same damned thing—a fact that always made her roll her eyes. It’s one thing if you’re the one doing it in the hayfield, but your parents? Puh-lease. That’s something you share on a need-to-know basis and she didn’t need to know it. Nevertheless, she always thought the name Cricket had a nice ring to it.

  Well, she’d dismiss the weird line of questioning about her name. And the fiancé reference. That woman—Cricket glanced down at her phone to see: Justine Gaynor—well, then, Justine Gaynor must have had that information flat-out wrong. She wondered why she surmised that, but figured it wasn’t relevant. As long as she got this kick-ass order in and could fulfill it, the woman could call her the Queen of England.

  She gave a whistle for Dingo and hopped into her truck, securing the dog into a doggy seatbelt before fastening her own. With a small laugh, she mused she had a huge event to plan for and wanted to get home to her mystery fiancé and get started on it.

  Chapter Three

  Fletch never thought of himself as a buttoned-up, suit-and-tie type of guy, but after showing up at yet another poolside meeting as ordered in his swim trunks—this time the Cockatoodletoos (perhaps not the wisest ones to wear in Justine’s presence, what with the suggestive title)—to find they were the only two meeting, he thought perhaps even a snowsuit might be in order. Better yet hazmat gear.

  Yesterday Justine had tried to engage in a rousing round of find the salami, so Fletch was starting to have panic attacks every time he knew he would be alone with her, desperate to devise ways to stop her aggressive efforts to land him. Which was easier said than done with your boss’s hand slipping beneath the thigh edge of your swim trunks as if it was a perfectly normal thing for an employer to do while discussing details of the press conference for the upcoming movie premiere. After all, who wouldn’t grab for his dick under the circumstances? Said no one ever.

  He looked forward to this premiere simply as a great excuse to get back home, take a bit of a breather from his libidinous boss, and ingest the fresh mountain air he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. He wondered if it would be possible to steer clear of Cricket while there. Part of him wanted to see her—it had been a long time, and he was curious how she was doing now. He’d heard from his mom that her pastry shop was the hit of the town. She always did love to bake back in the day. Oh well, no way would he ste
p foot in there—she’d probably hit him with a rolling pin or something.

  “I’ve had a few exchanges with your betrothed,” Justine said as she absentmindedly scrolled through a text message on her phone. “Just finalizing the food for the event.”

  Fletcher turned his head quickly. “My betrothed? Finalizing food?”

  Justine reached out a free hand and swirled the tip of her fingernail through the hair on Fletcher’s inner thigh. The good news was there was no way he was going to get a hard-on under the circumstances. The bad news was his boss was fondling him, yet again. The worse news was she’d evidently gone behind his back to get hold of Cricket, and God only knew what that meant. He more than likely had already been busted in a huge lie he’d had to concoct to keep the woman at bay. So now what?

  “What’s her name again?” She lifted her hand in the air and snapped her fingers as if trying to recall. “Some sort of invertebrate, wasn’t it?” She held up a finger. “Oh, yes, I remember. Crick-et.” She enunciated the syllables as if trying to remove a bad taste from her tongue.

  Fletch blanched. “How did you—”

  “A few strategically placed calls to the chamber of commerce and I was able to find your ‘fiancée’ with little effort.” She made air quotes with the word “fiancée.”

  “About that—” Shit. This was the day he would be fired, right in time to skulk back home with no money and no job prospects. The good people of Bristol could laugh at his failed lofty ambitions. And he’d have to live in Bristol with Cricket, the successful businesswoman who hated the ground he walked on and would likely never speak to him even on his deathbed, which could be upon him, depending on how furious Justine was about his dishonesty.

  She stroked a finger over his lips and let out a shushing sound. “Nothing need be said. I can tell you two are keeping a tight lid on your betrothal. In fact, she barely responded when I mentioned her fiancé.”

  Fletcher had to think quickly on his feet. “It’s complicated,” he said. “There were things—”

  “We can square away details later,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “But for now, well, you’re here, and I’m here, and you’re a virile young man and I’m a woman in her sexual prime with certain needs—”

  “About that.” He took a few steps back, away from her octopus reach. “I think you’ll understand that Cricket wouldn’t be happy about this.” He pointed back and forth between them. He wasn’t sure what else to call it but for “this.” Maybe sexual harassment? Assault with a deadly manicure? Better yet death by Horny Nana? He didn’t doubt she was deadly—in a black widow kind of way. Didn’t those venomous arachnids kill the male after mating? He shuddered—he could never consider sex with Justine mating. That would imply something copacetic about it.

  Fletch decided to pull the oldest trick in the book and reached for his phone, pretending someone had been calling while his ringer was silenced.

  “Hello?” He tucked his head down, then lifted his eyes toward Justine to see how closely she was watching. Luckily she’d taken this minute to reach for her champagne flute, an ever-present prop in her life. “Oh, hey babe. We were just talking about you.” He glanced over to see that comment elicited a cocked eyebrow from the jezebel in the thong. “I’m so excited you’ll be catering our event. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yep. Oh, crap. You need me to do that right now?” He nodded, engaged in a faux conversation that he prayed would help him get the hell out of here before he found himself pinned beneath the sharp hipbones of his predatory boss. He glanced at his watch. “Okay, well, I’m at work now, but I’m sure Justine will understand if I need to do that now. Love you, Boo Bear.” He winked at Justine for good measure and made kissy noises into the phone, then made a point of pretending to hit the off button on the call.

  “Sorry, Justine. Looks like I have to race over to the jewelers. The ring was being sized and Cricket wants me to bring it along when I head up there tomorrow.” How the hell he was going to get Cricket to put on a ring from him was anybody’s guess at this point. The whole thing was going to so blow up in his face and he hadn’t a clue how to stop this train from careening into the station.

  While he searched his brain for other excuses to get out of there, one of her staff approached and offered her a charcuterie plate.

  “I’m famished, Paco,” she said to him as she patted the empty seat next to her. “Why don’t you join me and satisfy my hunger?”

  Fletcher rolled his eyes and took advantage of the free moment to grab his keys from the table and make his way out of the lion’s den. Looked like Paco was now at Justine’s mercy, poor fellow.

  “See you in a few days in Bristol?” he said as he picked up the pace and scurried away like a scared rabbit. Hell, he’d be in Bristol tomorrow. With a fake fiancée and a ring he needed to go find somewhere for cheap. What could possibly go wrong with such an ill-conceived plan?

  Chapter Four

  Cricket was still trying to understand what it meant for Fletcher’s boss to pretty much become her boss, what with this fat catering contract she couldn’t turn down despite the weird conflict of interest. One thing she knew for sure: whatever that woman was saying about an engagement and that fiancé nonsense was gibberish. But if Fletcher was telling her tall tales to make himself look good or like a wholesome “family man”—no doubt something his boss valued in an employee—she wasn’t going to contradict his words. At least not to her. Now if she got her hands on him in person, she’d likely go for full-on gullet throttle until she could find out what the hell had gotten into him. How dare he entangle her into his maddening web of deceit? Bad enough he left her to pursue his Cricketless Hollywood dreams, but then to make her part of his fake reality, well, that was so not cool.

  Either which way, she was going to make a crapton of money on this gig and it was going to be pretty simple to execute. Plus, there was the cachet of catering a big Hollywood premiere—hard to put a price tag on that. Besides, Cricket was fairly certain she’d put enough emotional distance between Fletcher and her and she could do this without reopening painful wounds. No doubt it would be a real test of her mettle, but it would be good for her to know that she’d put her past behind her anyhow: an exercise in strength and restraint. Restraint from what—wanting to kiss him? Or hurt him the way he’d hurt her? She wasn’t quite sure of the answer.

  But then again... What if she had to deal with him? What if that Justine woman showed up and expected her and Fletcher to be all lovey-dovey? Could she do that to advance her business? Would she do that to help Fletcher further his career? The answer to number two was decidedly no. She had no interest in being some sort of savior to the guy. If it worked to her benefit, she’d play along. But as soon as it became something to save his sorry ass, she’d bail.

  “Do you think I’m a complete schmuck for doing this?” Cricket looked over at Darby while piping crème pâtissière onto a layer of sponge cake for the Frasier cake she was constructing.

  Darby, busy piping buttercream icing onto raspberry and cream cupcakes, thrust out her chin. “Well, it depends on your definition of schmuck.” She paused to fill the icing bag as she glanced over at her friend with a broad smile.

  “Ha ha. Very funny. I mean it. Maybe I should tell this Justine woman thanks but no thanks and get on with things. Keep it all clean and Fletcher-free for my own sanity.”

  She piped carefully between each of the strawberries that were propped side by side and upright on the inside edge of the springform pan, being sure to fill all the gaps. When this cake was finished, it would be a beautiful showpiece birthday cake for one of her favorite customers. She placed more sliced berries atop the swirl of pastry crème, then piped one more layer of crème, smoothing it evenly before settling the second half of the sponge cake atop it. Gently she pressed on it to nestle the entire creation within the walls of the cake pan, then topped it with a thin disk of marzipan. She carried the cake to the walk-in fridge to allow it to set, grabbed the pastry dough that had be
en chilling, and started to roll it out for lemon curd tarts, her special of the day.

  “If you want to know what I think, and I know you do because I’m your best friend and my opinion rates”—she winked—“I say you take Fletcher out of the equation altogether. He’s over and done with. Why let his existence even matter? So you get this once-in-a-lifetime client who will pay you lots of money. You’ll let your skills shine, make lots of money, and maybe land some other big clients afterward. Ultimately I think you’ll be ‘Fletcher who?’ It’s been a long time, Crick. You outgrew him anyhow and you don’t need him. To be honest, it sounds like he needs you and that’s a fun position to be in. You can thumb your nose at him—or flip your finger, whichever you’d rather—and he simply doesn’t matter!”

  Cricket reached for a spoon, scooping it into the waiting bowl of lemon curd then popping it into her mouth. “I guess it’s a bit like this curd: the lemon on its own is sour and almost inedible,” she said, licking her lips as she savored one of her favorite tastes. “But combined with the right ingredients, it’s a winning proposition. Amiright?”

  Darby grabbed another spoon and dipped it in for a sample. “That’s the spirit, Cricket. You can get through this and be a better woman for it.”

  Cricket wanted badly to believe her friend was right. But it had been a long damned time since she’d been in Fletcher’s presence, and she worried she’d feel that old magnetic pull that had made them such a dynamic couple in the first place. Like it or not, she was about to find out. The chances of her avoiding him were pretty much nil.

  Chapter Five