Sugar and Gold

by Brea Viragh

“From Duncan, maybe, not from you.”

  After Leda more or less sloughed me into the prep area, I retrieved an apron from the peg and looped the slender ribbons around my waist. Barrettes and hair ties kept my mop fastened tight and stragglers away from the cake batters. With the finishing touches in place, I turned toward the kitchen—

  Right into Isaac.

  “Easy there.”

  My hands curled into fists when I heard his voice, heart threatening to break my ribs. Again, I blamed the accident. Instead of looking at him, I kept my gaze trained at the ceiling for ten seconds, twenty. By the time I finally faced him without gritted teeth, a full minute had passed.

  “Jesus Christ, man, you can’t scare a girl like that. Especially one with a mild case of whiplash. Why don’t you just get a gun and shoot me?”

  He smirked and took a step back, hands held in front of him to ward off the savage monster. He looked good, I’d give him that. Confident and easy on the eyes in a loose shirt and tight jeans.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you. I had a feeling you’d be here and I wanted to tell you no.”

  “No? No what?”

  “You shouldn’t be at work. Go home and sleep it off.”

  “I told her the same thing,” Leda commented, slipping between the two of us and holding out her hand. Eyes hard. “Leda Cox–Whitacker. I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”

  Isaac offered her a smile. “Isaac Howard. Nice to meet you.”

  “I hear you just got out of jail.”

  “Leda!” I exclaimed.

  “What? He deserves to know I’m watching out for you. For your safety.” She stared him up and down, from the tips of his ears to the soles of his shoes. I knew what she was thinking. Sizing him up. I read it in the defensive set of her shoulders, at the way she widened her stance and remained between us. A single doubting eyebrow rose, as if she was considering the possibility that he’d slammed my car into a ditch on purpose.

  I swatted her arm. “I can’t believe you.” Despite the admonishment, it felt good knowing she was looking out for me, and affection swelled in my chest.

  Isaac didn’t seem fazed. “I have been in jail, ma’am, yes. I can assure you I mean this lady no harm. It’s appreciated, knowing she has friends around like you.”

  Leda took another moment to come to a conclusion before nodding, her gaze unreadable. “I’ll be in the freezer if you need me. Give you two some time to talk.”

  I watched her walk away. “Tell me you didn’t come to check on me. I told you, I’m fine.”

  Isaac bit his lip through a grin. “No harm, sugar. Nice to know you have another strong woman looking out for you.”

  “Yes, it is nice to know. You aren’t supposed to be in the prep area. Get out.” My frown sent him scurrying through the swinging doors and around the display case before I rounded on him. I held my ground, despite all the things I was itching to tell him. We need to talk. There’s still the matter of your temper. You smell great.

  Ugh, I needed to get a grip.

  “I wanted to see how you were doing. See what the police had to say about the accident,” Isaac told me. “You should be at home. Especially with your mild case of whiplash.”

  How odd, I almost thought I misunderstood him. There wasn’t a hint of an insult anywhere in his statement. “Don’t pretend to have real concern. You’ve made your opinion of me clear.”

  “I do have real concern,” Isaac insisted. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

  “Some ulterior motive,” I answered quickly. The goose egg above my ear began to throb. “I know you. You’re being too nice.”

  “Keep up with this interrogation and you’re going to piss me off.”

  “The only one who’s going to be pissed off is me if you don’t cut to the chase.” Grateful as I may be for his help last night, the only thing he was doing for me today was exacerbating my headache.

  This time he couldn’t help the smirk. He gave a half-shrug in agreement. “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re at work. I wanted to talk to you. I have a party I want you to cater and I’m checking on the details. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “You’ve been back less than a week and you’re having a party?” I glanced at the order for the kid’s birthday and began arranging a platter with pink and purple tissue paper, slapping sheets down in alternate layers.

  “I have a party and need cupcakes,” he repeated slowly, in response to my budding bad mood. “You’re the only game in town.” Isaac ran two fingers through his goatee, pleased with himself.

  “I’m sorry, we’re all booked up.” I smiled sweetly and gestured toward the platter. “You should have called ahead of time. We have limited staff and can’t accommodate large spur of the moment orders.”

  Isaac leaned in close enough that I felt the heat of his skin. He was like boiling water from a tea kettle, rushing over me in a sinful wave. Slipping through the cracks and making my hair stand on end. Were my ears steaming?

  He took great pleasure in bending down to tell me, “Too bad. I already placed the order.”

  I leaned in equally close, hands palm down on the glass. “Impossible. I would have known. How many people?”

  “Forty or fifty.”

  “And what was the order?”

  “Three hundred cupcakes. Vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet.”

  I shook my head with identical smugness. “I’ve never seen the order, and right now, we cannot accommodate your needs. You’re going to have to go somewhere else and try to intimidate them.”

  “I didn’t realize you were in the business of turning away paying customers.”

  “Ordinarily, no. For you? I’ll make an exception.”

  Leda, no doubt eavesdropping at the door, swirled into the main part of the bakery like a brisk blonde wind, another sheet of paper in her hand.

  “Miss Townsend,” she began, “the order came in two nights ago and I printed it out. It must have slipped between our budget sheets and I, uh, didn’t remember. Here are the details for the event.” She held it out to me and bent to my ear to whisper, “I’m sorry!” When she straightened, her face was business stern.

  I, on the other hand, was like a halibut dying on land, mouth flopped open. My lips worked back and forth as I glanced to the paper, then to Leda, then the paper. Then Isaac. Acid reflux burned my throat, words catching and dissolving in the bile.

  I burped, covering my mouth with a fist. “Ah, yes.” It killed me to admit it. “We did receive your order. Three–three—” I coughed to clear my throat. “—three hundred cupcakes. In addition to the birthday party and bridal shower. And all for tonight.” My eyes zeroed in on the deadline, narrowing to a single point until I wavered on my feet, feeling faint.

  I was going to die. Right here, right now.

  “Yes, tonight.” Isaac confirmed the date, his large palm smack dab in the middle of my back to catch me when I threatened to go down. “I can’t wait to get my mouth around your...sweets, sugar.”

  The double entendre went right over my head. No doubt, on any other day, with any other man, I would have swooned for different reasons. Or indulged in a satisfying slap instead of the second burp I swallowed.

  Do not let him see you cry.

  “You do realize that’s in seven hours,” I answered.

  “Seven hours until my welcome home party.” Isaac rubbed his hands together and grinned. “I get to see all my friends and family in one place, gathered around these cupcakes, laughing and talking and acting like no time has passed...”

  And forcing my hand. I recognized the ploy. What a jerk. There went the warm and fuzzy feelings from last night.

  “I’d invite you too, however it seems like you’re going to be busy,” he finished.

  “It’s fine, Mr. Howard. You’ll have your cupcakes on time. And they’ll be the best goddamned sweets of your life. We guarantee perfection here at Essie’s Confections.” I was going to be insanely pleasant, I decided. Plea
sant and flexible. Until I had a free moment to strangle the life out of him. Our important talk would have to wait.

  “Is that a fact?” he responded.

  “It is today.”

  “Then I can’t imagine how goddamned perfect they’ll be.”

  “Exactly.” My lips drew back in my signature smile but with a touch of venom at the edges.

  Isaac opened his mouth for a quip and stopped, snapping his jaw shut again. What was he trying to contain? “I’ll be waiting,” he said at last.

  I watched his hands dive into his pockets once more. He strode toward the door and my eyes zeroed in on the sway of his hips at every stride, the way the fabric moved with him, shaping those buns in a fabulous way. Fresh-baked and begging for a squeeze. There was a slight hitch in his step when he turned, shooting a brief glance over his shoulder at me. Then he winked and walked out with a whistle on his lips, the bell tinkling behind him.

  “Arggh!” Fists balled, I stared at the ceiling until the red haze of rage passed. He was doing this to me on purpose. I could tell. It wasn’t the order, it was the way he spoke. Why? After all the progress I thought we’d made.

  The moment the door snapped shut, Leda was at my side. “I am so sorry, Essie! I saw the order come in and I confirmed with his mom and then I totally forgot—”

  I cut off her babble with a curt nod. “It’s fine. We are not only going to generate these orders in record time, we’re going to rock them all. Understood?”

  Her normally tanned skin blanched. “How are we going to do it all ourselves?”

  “We’ll manage.” I spoke more to convince myself than her. “We’ll make the most fabulous cakes of his life. Guaranteed.” I used my hand to draw a line under my words, to emphasize their meaning. An odd feeling began in the pit of my stomach that made me want to slide to the floor and cry for my momma. Instead I straightened my back and got to work.

  “I should call in the reinforcements. We’re overworked as it is and you’re not yourself. I’d hate to keep you here until midnight.”

  With the order tucked away in my mental files, I formulated a plan of attack, armed with nothing but eggs, flour, sugar, and determination. “We don’t need reinforcements, and we won’t be here until midnight. I promise.”

  “If you want to kick my ass, you can,” Leda offered, pouring two cups of coffee for us and slicing an éclair in half. We’d need the sugar boost.

  I shot her an incredulous look, helped along by the curdling in my stomach. There was no way I felt like eating now. “Why would I kick your ass? You forgot about the order. It happens. Besides, I would rather kick Isaac’s ass for rubbing it in my face.”

  Leda shrugged. “Sounds like fun. He deserves it for harassing you after your accident.” Nose scrunched, she stared out the door at his rapidly retreating figure as he crossed the street. “I should have given him a harder time.”

  “Ass kicking isn’t necessary.” I took a demure bite of my half of the éclair, though it was forced. “Unless you’re dealing with Isaac Howard. Then the answer is always violence.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Six hours and forty-five minutes later...

  It sounded like a bad opening to a daytime soap opera. The voice in my mind spoke with a French accent as I calculated the amount of time it had taken to shoulder through the day.

  Thus, the story of my life. I helped Leda pack the rest of the orders into the trunk of her new sedan. The sun was still high in the sky, casting a warm glow on the landscape. A cool afternoon breeze blew the sweat-slicked locks of hair away from my forehead and brought my attention back to the headache. Brewing below the surface, it migrated from nuisance to mature to I-need-a-case-of-aspirin migraine. The perfect cap to the shit day. I’d had my fill of being cooperative and flexible. Now I needed to go back to anal-retentive, tight-fisted control freak.

  Thank God customers had been in and out sporadically and we’d gotten everything—including the cupcakes—finished in time.

  “Be happy,” Leda said by way of a goodbye. “You earned it. You rocked, and only tried to bite my head off twice. It’s a new record for you.”

  Yes, and darn proud of my restraint. “We both rocked. Are you sure you’re fine handling the delivery on your own?”

  She waved me off. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Go home and take a nice long soak in the bathtub before you fall over. I’ll see you later.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that just walking to the car forced the air from my lungs. That the last three hours had been accomplished with a Titanic-sized cup of Joe and sheer willpower. My body needed a week to recover from today.

  I sent Leda on her way with a wave and watched her merge into late-afternoon traffic. She could deal with Isaac and his party by herself. Leda had more guts and attitude than a teenage mean-girl. If anyone would pull off the delivery with a smile...it wasn’t me.

  Cleanup left me tottering on my feet and yearning for the siren song of my bed. I would have gladly hurled myself onto rocks for even a minute with the downy temptress. There was still prep to do before we opened tomorrow. I was accustomed to working twelve to thirteen-hour days. Today would be no exception.

  I tried to picture myself in a week, a month, living without a care in the world and happy to go about my life. Chat with customers, organize parties, cater cookouts. Tend my yard. Pick out the perfect outfit to wear for book club. It would all have to wait until I dealt with Isaac. Until I dealt with the unstable element he’d brought into my life. What kind of woman was I, thinking about a man in terms of his rating on the nuisance scale?

  I’d rather he leave and let me get back to myself and my cozy routine, where my tummy didn’t cramp from the stress and refuse to hold my three square meals.

  Still, it made for a sweet fantasy, if brief. And a good way to pass the time before I was ready to go home. I spent a few more minutes cleaning before calling my mother, otherwise known as interim taxi service. It smarted, waiting for her on the curbside. The sooner those vultures at the insurance company okayed me for a rental car, the better.

  Deciding to wait outside instead of scrub the last pan, I locked the back door and slung my purse over my shoulder. Trees swayed and I glanced up, watched them move, and wondered about Isaac. His party. What had he said when Leda pulled up instead of me? Had he looked for me? Kept an eye out in the midst of his friends and family?

  I shook my head to banish those treacherous thoughts. Shook my head hard enough to see a galaxy’s worth of stars behind my closed lids. It didn’t matter what Isaac may or may not think of me. What mattered was getting my world in order. And getting home before the roosters started crowing. Where the hell was my mom?

  I wanted nothing more than to prune away my sorrows. A soaker tub filled with water and Epsom salts designed to loosen those tightly wrung muscles. No more tension, no more strain.

  No more thinking about Isaac and his tense, straining biceps.

  A noise from the alley caught my attention. I swiveled to peer around the corner, the height of the building casting deep shadows on the brick. Seeing nothing, I returned my gaze to the street.

  The sound came again, a rattle of metal on metal. A screech designed to catch my attention.

  The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Is anyone there?”

  Heightened senses told me to keep on my toes when I rounded the corner, moving closer to the twin pair of garbage cans near the curb. The faint rattling continued though the bins remained steady, and suspicion prickled my skin. I wondered at the source.

  The streetlights were dimmer here. The shadows sucked into the brick until there was nothing but dim gray. Even the moonlight disappeared in the mire.

  “Hello?” I called out. Was it someone playing a prank, or was it rodents? I wasn’t sure which one was worse. A warning skittered up my spine a split second before the blow.

  A beefy arm came into view, rocketing toward my face. The fist at the end of said arm slammed into my skull with e
nough force to send me flying toward the garbage cans. I made contact in the least graceful manner possible—face first.

  I GUESS SOMEWHERE ALONG the line I realized that, when I woke up, it was gonna hurt. Not just my head. Everywhere in between. The sliver of adrenaline from before turned in my veins, the world finally coming into view. A pretty blurry view.

  I heard the buzz of vehicle engines. The twang of country music coming from someone’s open car window. A strangled moan escaped as I slapped a palm to the ground and struggled to draw air. The world spun. My head throbbed. And my body did not appreciate the constant battery. Not one bit.

  Feeling slowly crept into my limbs. I was alive. I was awake. I felt like I’d been beaten to a bloody pulp and left to rot. Arms refused to budge and I was chilled to the point where each joint screamed in protest. Wedged between two cars parallel-parked at the curb, I used the bumper to hoist myself up, tottering on unsteady feet.

  I’d left myself wide open. Alone, at night, in a dark alley. How much more clichéd could I get? Practically begging for a mugging.

  Except my purse was still here.

  Dragging out my cell, it took more times than Edison had needed to perfect the light bulb before I speed-dialed Shari. Longer for her to make out the garbled syllables I managed to get across. An eternity until she showed up at my side.

  “Whoa there! Oh. Em. Gee. Es, is that blood?” Her steady voice cut in a moment before I froze into an Essie-sicle. The sound was muffled, though I recognized the tone. The command in each syllable.

  Fingers probed my hairline and came away smeared in crimson. Yup, face first. My eyes crossed staring at the ribbon of red.

  “Please tell me this isn’t blood,” Shari begged, keeping her hands on me.

  I let my weight sag against her comforting bosom. “It hurts,” I answered, vowels slurring. The throbbing in my head ratcheted up a notch.

  “I’m sure sitting in garbage isn’t helping matters.”

  I tried hard to pull through the fog. My vision simply wouldn’t clear. “Someone attacked me.”