by S. E. Law
“Well, I thought we needed a focus group, so I told everyone that works in the building that they could be taste testers if they wanted to. And I invited George and Sarah, too. Sarah was crazy about the birthday cake I made her, and when George took me home to get more clothes, he said she was complaining about being bored, so I invited her. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. A focus group is a fabulous idea. I feel like you know the building staff better than I do and I’ve lived here for five years.”
She giggles.
“It’s never too late to get to know the staff, Peter.”
I kiss her cheek.
“Yeah, but they’d never adore me the way they adore you.” After all, Whitney is so magnetic and she reminds me not to take anyone for granted. Then she gets down to business.
“So I want to start with the unusual flavors such that the more common ones don’t overwhelm them. Are you ready?”
“Absolutely, what will we start with?”
“Hibiscus, strawberry, dragonfruit and lavender white chocolate cheesecake.”
She has expertly prepped everything and apparently made an egg-free cheesecake batter and a complete cheesecake so we can compare the smooth versus the chunky. I take a bite.
“These are epic, Whit. Wow. Are we bringing all this downstairs?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention? I told them they could come up here if they weren’t too worried about social distancing. I mean seriously, this place is big enough that they can stay six feet apart. Most of them said they were already working together in the same space, so they really didn’t see how this would be different, except that they would be getting milkshakes. Only one guy declined to come upstairs because his wife has a compromised immune system. He’s going to watch the front desk and Sarah agreed to wear a mask and gloves to take him the samples.”
The elevator dings and eight people pour out of it. I get a lot of thank-you-for-inviting-me’s and Sarah is by Whitney’s side, hugging her and offering to help. Whitney’s like an older sister to Sarah, and I find myself wondering if Whitney wants kids. She would clearly make a fantastic mother with her kindness and ability to instantly connect with others.
“Are we going to get into trouble for all being together?” Sarah asks. She’s not a rule breaker according to her dad.
I want to allay her unease so I make a show of counting heads.
“Sarah, the guideline is no gatherings of more than ten people and we only have ten, so we’re good.”
Whitney smiles and nods at her and gives her shoulder a comforting pat.
“Want to pass these out for me?” Whitney asks the awkward teenager, extending a tray of paper cups filled with pastel pink and purple dairy treats.
The tasting begins, and it seems Whitney has also created a rating sheet for each person. Sarah’s delighted to report the first two confections get 10/10 all across the board.
“What flavor is next, Miss Whitney?” the eager young girl asks, taking my place as chef’s assistant. I readily concede my duties and join George and the others. George is just beaming at the two young women in the kitchen. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he sees Whitney as an excellent role model and maternal figure, just like I do.
Samples flow out two by two: nutty Irish cream and peanut butter and jelly followed by pomegranate blueberry and peach raspberry. I haven’t decided how many new flavors to accommodate, but the choice is going to be tough because everyone seems to love each one.
But the gathering gets me to thinking. I see these people and greet them by name on a daily basis, but I know so little about them. I feel somewhat embarrassed to just find out that Robert, one of the front desk attendants, used to work at Shake Place. He’s nice and says I couldn’t possibly know everyone that works for me, which is true, but I should have taken the time to get to know these people I see every day a little bit better. I make my way back to the kitchen to check on my girl. Sarah has taken samples downstairs to our social distancing desk clerk.
“Whitney, I just found out Robert used to work for Shake Place. I had no idea.”
“Oh yeah, in Syracuse. He worked there his senior year in high school and all through community college. He moved to New York to start his Broadway career. He has a wonderful singing voice, and just needs to catch a break.”
My mouth is agape.
“How do you know all this?”
She shrugs.
“I don’t know. I guess bringing baked goods makes you seem trustworthy, so people talk. I’m not good at initiating conversations in a bar or on the subway, but I love talking to customers at SugarTime. I’m in my comfort zone surrounded by cakes and cookies; otherwise, I’m just awkward.”
I shake my head.
“That’s not true. I don’t see you as awkward at all. You are graceful, elegant, and sophisticated, sweetheart.”
She smiles ruefully.
“No one has ever seen me the way you do. I feel like I could conquer the world when I’m with you because I’d definitely succeed.”
I lean in to kiss her because I know my girl is special. Whitney could absolutely conquer the world, one cupcake at a time.
“Hey, none of that, don’t make me cover my eyes!” Sarah chides, having returned from the lobby. “Nelson says the Pineapple Dreamsicle is his favorite, but wants to know if he will be able to add chocolate to the Nutty Irish Cream for his wife once the new menu comes out?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her. “We’re very accommodating at Shake Place.” She takes out her phone and presumably shoots him a text with the answer. Then, Whitney adds her two cents.
“You know, Peter, you could totally do an all-chocolate based seasonal selection. Maybe around Valentine’s Day? We could come up with flavors based on traditional boxed chocolates. Ooh, you could even do a little sampler box available only on February 14th. It could be in a heart shaped box and have two ounces of each flavor. It would be something special for couples who can’t afford fancy restaurants. What do you think?”
I nod approvingly.
“Your creativity is astonishing, sweetheart. I’m going to have to put you on salary for all these good ideas you come up with.”
Our gathering of ten is breaking up and everyone is saying their thank you’s and good bye’s. I’ve convinced nearly all of them to call me Peter, instead of Mr. Coleman, and I assure Robert that I’ll make a few calls for him once Broadway opens back up. He departs, beaming.
George and Sarah are the last to leave. Sarah is showing Whitney how many likes she got on Instagram when she posted her birthday cake. George is glassy-eyed as he comes to stand beside me.
“Mr. Coleman,” he begins. “I sure hope you plan to keep that lady around. I haven’t seen Sarah connect with a woman that way since we lost her mom. I would have to hate to quit working for you if you dumped her,” he finishes with a chuckle.
I look at Whitney’s bowed head, her brown curls tumbling as she giggles with Sarah.
“George, I have every intention of keeping her around. She’s brought me something I didn’t even realize I was missing,” I muse.
George claps me on the shoulder.
“I knew you were a smart man, boss. Come on Sarah, it’s time to go, sweetheart.”
The teenager’s head pops up with excitement.
“Miss Whitney says I can come help out at SugarTime when they open back up. Maybe work the register or learn to bake the sugar cookies to start? She says it’s a secret recipe and I can’t even tell you.”
Her dad chuckles.
“All right then. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your top secret security clearance,” he jokes, smiling at his daughter and putting his arm around her shoulders to lead her to the elevator. Once the door whooshes shut, I turn to my beautiful girl.
“Well, it seems our first focus group was a success,” I say. We stroll back to the kitchen companionably as she loads up the dishwasher and tidies the kitchen.
“That was so much
fun, Peter. What are your thoughts, by the way? Did you like one flavor more than the others? Which ones are you going to put on the menu?”
I pause for dramatic effect.
“All of them.”
Her head turns swiftly from the dishwasher.
“Really? Ten new flavors?”
“Yep. And I’ve decided to call them the SugarTime Shake Selections. I’ll link your bakery’s website to mine so people know where these fabulous flavors came from. I’m not going to take credit for your creativity, sweetheart.”
Whitney’s eyes go wide and she gasps.
“Thank you, Peter. That’s incredible. It’s going to drive so much traffic to SugarTime and really get our name out there. Come to think of it, I don’t know if my website can handle all that extra traffic. I set it up myself. I did a decent job but I’m not that tech savvy.”
I grin.
“We have some time, don’t worry. It takes a little while to prepare for a launch. I’ll have to find a resource to mass produce some of these syrups and other ingredients for us. I’ll want to use your recipes of course, so I’m not just going find a supplier with their own lavender and hibiscus syrups. There’s a lot of work that goes into these things, trust me, sweetheart. I have a team that usually does supply chain, but since these ideas came from you, I want you to be involved in the process. Is that ok?”
She nods furiously, her brown curls bobbling.
“Yeah, that would be awesome. I love the idea of getting so much say when it comes to sourcing ingredients. That’s not a luxury I’ve had up until now.”
I grin and smooth circles over her back.
“I’ll get my digital team to help you revamp your website, too. It’ll give us another project to work on together. Both of our businesses are going to come out of this better than they were before, just you wait.”
She looks at me happily.
“Wow, it seems like you have big plans for us.”
“I always have big plans Whitney. Why, are you worried?”
She shakes her head, looking a bit dazed.
“I don’t know, everything is moving so fast. It’s all wonderful and amazing, but I feel like I just got off of one of those tilt-a-whirl rides at a carnival; I’m actually on solid ground but my head is still spinning.”
Just then her phone rings. She checks it and says, “Oh sorry. It’s my mom, I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
She always takes calls from her parents upstairs in what we are calling ‘her’ room. I understand why she hasn’t told them about me. After all, she used to be a cam girl, and I was her client. But surely, we’ve gotten past that phase, right? She could tell them any number of things, including that we met because we’re both in the food and beverage industry. Well, everything in good time. I’d love to meet her parents sometime, and I’ll ask her about it when she comes back a few minutes later.
Sure enough, she comes tripping down in a few minutes.
“Whit, why do you always take your parents’ phone calls upstairs?”
She looks a little uncomfortable but answers while biting her lip.
“Maeve and Donald are very old-fashioned and I don’t think they would like that I’m having all these overnight visits with a man they’ve never met. I don’t even know what to tell them about us, especially now. I’ve just been taking our relationship one day at a time, and I’m good with that. But now, I don’t know.”
I tilt my head.
“What do you mean?”
She twists a strand of hair around her finger.
“Well, you’re talking all these long-term plans for our businesses that intertwine our personal and professional lives. I don’t know exactly how to handle that. What if you get sick of me personally? How will that affect our business relationship? I guess I just don’t want to tell my parents too much if everything goes kersplat.”
I laugh.
“Kersplat? Heck, sweetheart, that’s hilarious. But baby, I think you’re stressing too much. I don’t foresee getting tired of you but even if things don’t work out personally, I would never let that damage SugarTime. Business is business, after all.”
She nods.
“I know that, and I’m not doubting you. I’m simply struggling with parental issues. Their approval is extremely important to me, and they’ve raised me a certain way. Plus, Maeve and Donald have always been my rock. They’ve always had my back a hundred percent, and I don’t want to let them down.”
I nod.
“I get it. The people who raised us are never far from our minds. I love that you have a strong family connection, but what do you say we go upstairs and watch a sexy movie?”
She giggles.
“Sounds good, as long as it isn’t Pretty Woman. I relate a little too much to Julia Roberts’ character Vivian Ward in that movie.”
“Hmm, I guess that would make me Richard Gere, then? I like it,” I say while wiggling my eyebrows. “Although I have black hair, not silver.”
Whitney laughs too, but when she comes close, her eyes are filled with adoration.
“No, you’re way hotter than Richard Gere,” she says pulling me close for a hungry kiss. “And much, much better in every way.”
With her words, my heart does a flip and a tumble, and I’m a goner.
18
Whitney
I swing by my apartment after taking Apollo for an emergency veterinarian visit. He and Demeter have been getting along fabulously, but while chasing her through the house this morning, he ran across a box cutter Peter was using to open the packages of syrups that just arrived for us to sample. The silly cat just got four stitches.
The weather is getting warmer, so I need some spring clothes anyways. This is the perfect time to grab some sundresses, and to bring them back to Peter’s. I haven’t spent a single night back in this apartment since that first time I took Apollo over to the penthouse. Somehow, I ended up staying at Peter’s place and it’s felt right actually. I sleep in his arms every night, and we make love a lot. It has me heady, and many times, I can’t believe this is my life. But waking up every morning cuddled next to his huge form reminds me that yes, even normal girls like me get lucky sometimes.
But now, I’m digging in my minuscule closet for a duffle bag I know I used to have when my buzzer rings. Drat. George isn’t supposed to return to pick me up for several more hours so I have no idea who it could be.
“Hello?”
“Whitney, it’s Mom and Dad. We’re downstairs.”
I jolt upright. Why would they be downstairs?
“What? What are you guys doing here? You shouldn’t be in New York with the pandemic. It’s too dangerous.”
My mom’s voice remains flat.
“Are you going to let us in?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Of course.”
I have a sense of foreboding as they slowly trudge up the five flights of stairs. I can’t imagine why they would cross over into the city from Jersey. They have to know this is an epicenter for the virus.
The knock comes and when I open the door, Maeve and Donald look very somber.
“Mom, Dad, come in. What’s wrong? Is someone sick? Is it Uncle Earl?” I ask.
They are both out of breath, huffing and puffing after the climb. Mom’s gray hair is coiled into a neat bun and Dad is in desperate need of a haircut because his white fringe now covers the tops of his ears
“No, no one is sick, Whitney. We need to talk,” my mom says.
Apollo limps up to my mother, meowing his greeting.
“What happened to him?” she asks, reaching down to stroke his head.
“Oh, uh…” I scramble to make up another lie. “There was a jagged piece of metal poking out from the radiator, next to the window where he likes to sit. He must have caught his paw on it.”
“Let me take a look at that for you,” my dad offers, heading towards Apollo’s favorite perch.
“It’s ok, Dad. I had maintenance fix it.”
He eye
s the radiator and the window. Oh shit. The radiator isn’t even very close to the window. They’re five feet apart, but I merely smile helplessly and shrug.
I realize I have nothing in the house to offer them to eat or drink because I haven’t been staying here. This has never happened before, and I hope they don’t notice. My heart is racing with anxiety and I have a bad feeling about this surprise visit.
“What’s going on, guys? I’ve missed you both so much but you really shouldn’t have come all this way and put yourselves at risk.”
Maeve and Donald share a look.
“Well, sweetheart,” my dad begins, “your mom came to me with some concerns. She says you’ve been a little strange on the phone lately. She says your phone camera is broken so she hasn’t been able to do the video talking thing with you, and then when she calls, you never really have much to say and you rush to get off the phone.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy with takeout and delivery,” I say quickly. “You know that SugarTime is struggling to survive right now.”
“And then there’s that,” my mother speaks now, much more firmly than my father. There is no endearment attached, and her tone is clipped and abrupt.
“Whitney, where have you been getting the money you’ve been sending us? Your website says you’re closed and that you’re not doing take-out or delivery. But now you say that you are. Why are you lying to us?”
My palms are sweaty. I don’t know what to do.
“No, no, the website’s wrong. I am doing delivery. I’m just bad at updating my page, that’s all.”
My parents stare suspiciously at me, and I even throw in my original GoFundMe lie.
“I set up a GoFundMe for my employees and I’ve just been sending you some of that money. They all know, and they don’t mind. You shouldn’t have to go to the food bank. It’s not right. You guys have worked hard your entire lives, and that’s not necessary.”
Maeve and Donald share another look.
“When did my child start lying to me so easily?” my mother asks, and I feel hot tears stinging my eyes. “Why is this happening?”
