Sweet Stuff

by Donna Kauffman

  She sighed. Maybe she could just get food poisoning or something and not be able to go. That sounded like more fun.

  “I’ve abandoned the potluck idea after Beryl brought that torte dessert to the Independence Day picnic. Remember, the one with the exotic fruit that turned out to be poisonous?”

  “We remember,” Dre and Riley said in unison.

  “I’m still trying to forget,” Dre added.

  “Aren’t we all, dear. Especially Beryl. So I didn’t want her to be embarrassed in any way. Charlotte and Carlo are officially on board for the catering. Isn’t that fun?” Alva was clearly excited about the plans as she filled her pastry bag with whipped cream-marshmallow fluff filling. “And Franco has agreed to be our server for the evening.”

  Riley smiled at that. “That will get the party started.”

  “The ladies all adore him,” Alva agreed. “It’s the Gallic accent. Gets them every time.” She turned one of her cooled cocoa cupcakes over and punched a hole in the bottom of the paper liner with the tip of her pastry bag, then squeezed a shot of cream-fluff filling into the chocolate cake. “And,” she went on, picking up the next cupcake, poking another hole, “since we’re holding it on private property, the town council and Brodie Banneker can bite my fanny.”

  “And a very nice fanny it is, Miss Alva.” Baxter’s handsome face creased in a wide smile as he entered the kitchen through the back door. He leaned down to buss her flour-coated and pink cheek. “Can I steal one of these?” He plucked the cake she’d just filled from her tiny hand, peeled the wrapper back and took a bite. He immediately closed his eyes. “The town council doesn’t know what they’re missing.”

  “My point exactly.” Alva brushed at her apron and patted her net-covered hair ... all while beaming up at him like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

  In addition to the fact that Baxter Dunne was one of the industry’s top pastry chefs, with a successful New York City patisserie, a best-selling cookbook, and a hit television show under his belt, he was also exceedingly tall and rangy, with a thick thatch of blond hair and sizzling hot electric green eyes. And he packed a lot of charm into that sexy British accent. They all had a little crush on him. Even Dre had stopped spinning sugar to gaze fondly at her idol. It was pretty much the only time Riley ever saw her soften up.

  “Has anyone seen my lovely wife?” Baxter asked, strolling around the room and checking what everyone was working on. “Who is the lucky recipient of this week’s labor?”

  “Charlotte is taking all the cupcakes this week and distributing them to one of the children’s wards at a hospital in Savannah,” Riley told him. “The doctors and nurses will be happy campers, too, I think.”

  “Indeed. Lots of happy faces. That’s good.” He peeked over Riley’s shoulder. “What are you teaching yourself this week?”

  “Nothing yet, just baking the last of the cupcakes. Pumpkin-chocolate.”

  “Great flavor profile.” Baxter nodded to the rack of cakes cooling to her right, and the bowl of chilled frosting. “What’s the topping?”

  “Cream cheese and mascarpone. I’ve never worked with Italian cream cheese, so I wanted to try.” She shot him a dry smile. “This is my second batch.”

  “Let me guess. Overmixed it the first time ’round and the mascarpone curdled.”

  Riley nodded, raising a guilty-as-charged hand.

  “Hey, that’s what experimenting is all about.” He took a small, unused spatula and scooped a dollop of the frosting on it, then scooped off some of that with a finger, which he tasted. “Creamy, well blended, no lumps. Quite good. You should let Lani sample this.”

  Riley laughed. “It’s her recipe.”

  “Ah,” Baxter said, with a chuckle. “Of course.” His eyes warmed, as they always did at the mention of her.

  The fact that he was utterly besotted with his wife made him all the more ridiculously hot, Riley thought with a little sigh. “She and Charlotte are upstairs going over details on a joint catering event they’re doing in Savannah next week.”

  “Right, right. The charity thing. I’d forgotten about that. Delightful as always to see you ladies. Keep up the good baking.” He sketched a quick bow, then ducked his head so he could go through the narrow door leading up the back stairs to the small apartment space on the second floor over the shop. It was partly used for storage, partly as an office, but still had furnishings from when it had been a living space. Dre, Franco, and Charlotte had all crashed there from time to time when their Cupcake Club sessions ran into the wee hours and they hadn’t wanted to make the drive back over the causeway to the mainland.

  Riley had just finished scooping out her last cup of batter when the sound of cheers from the apartment overhead echoed down to the kitchen below.

  “Oh, fudge,” Alva said, dismayed. Startled by the sudden sound, she’d squirted filling clear through her cupcake and shot it out the other side, where it had landed in a haphazard heap all over the rest of the cupcakes on the rack.

  Riley, who had looked up at the sudden sound, glanced over at Alva’s table. “Both a filling and a topping, all in one,” she teased.

  Alva, with a disgusted look at the pastry bag as if it were to blame, set the overfilled cupcake down to inspect the mess on the other cakes. “That will scrape off well enough, I suppose.” She sighed, clearly not enthusiastic about the chore.

  “I say spread out the squirted stuff over the top of each cake as a secret filling layer under the frosting. You can call them Alva’s Surprise Cakes.” This from Dre, who never broke her fierce focus on the crystallized ... whatever it was she was constructing.

  Alva paused in mid scrape to ponder that. “Alva’s Surprise Cakes,” she repeated. “It does have a certain ring.” She didn’t say anything more, but Riley glanced over to spy the sly senior carefully shift her spatula so it smoothed rather than scraped.

  Riley smiled privately as she carried her trays over to the oven. The only question was which new angle Alva would use to convince Lani to include the Alva’s Surprise Cakes on the bake shop menu. Everyone knew Lani’s cakes were Lani’s cakes. She shared her expertise willingly, and even some of her standard recipes, but only her own recipes were used to keep the trays in the shop full. No guest chefs, not even her famous husband.

  But that didn’t stop Alva from trying.

  Riley shot Dre a droll smile, knowing she’d intentionally put the suggestion out there for the pure entertainment value of watching Alva plot and plan. “Nicely done,” Riley murmured as she turned back from closing the oven, her voice low so only Dre could hear.

  Dre merely lifted her hands, palm to the ceiling, and pumped up twice, then went right back to work.

  “Shoulders tight?” Alva asked her, catching the motion.

  Riley swallowed a snort of laughter and purposefully did not look at Dre, who she knew would remain utterly expressionless. Another skill set Riley did not possess.

  “You shouldn’t stay hunched on that stool like that,” Alva advised Dre. “Young people today simply aren’t taught the life benefits of proper posture. Get to be my age, and you’re thankful you can stand upright at all.”

  Riley scooped up her empty batter bowl, dumped the other utensils she’d used in it, and carried it all over to the utility sink. “Wonder what the cheer was all about?” she commented as she washed and rinsed.

  Before anyone could respond, the door to the upper floor opened and Charlotte, Lani, and Baxter poured into the kitchen like a batch of happy, excited children.

  “Awesome announcement!” Lani called out, even though it was only the three of them in the kitchen that evening.

  Alva clasped her hands. “How exciting!”

  Dre actually looked up at that. Of course, Baxter was back in the room.

  Riley dried her hands on the towel tucked over the apron strings wrapped around her waist, and turned to face them. “What’s up?”

  “Great news, and Riley, we’re hoping it’s good news for you, too
.”

  Riley’s eyebrows climbed. “Me? Why?”

  “Well, you know I’m finishing up the second cookbook, and a third was proposed, but we’ve never moved forward on it. With the latest season of Hot Cakes in the can, I’ve finally wrapped up the second book.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Riley said, “Great job!”

  “That’s not the news,” Baxter said, “though thank you. It’s a great relief because just today, my agent received an offer to officially contract for a third book.”

  Lani linked her arm through her husband’s. “We’ve been offered the contract,” she amended.

  “I was getting to that part, luv.” Baxter leaned down and bussed her on the top of the head, then beamed at the group. “This time around, they’d like me to collaborate with my brilliant wife, and put together a book that charts our culinary odyssey from working our first kitchen together in New York, through putting Gateau on the map, to coming to Georgia and starting a whole new chapter in our lives.” He looked down at Lani, who beamed right back up at him.

  Riley’s heart stuttered ... and her thoughts went straight to Quinn. And the way he’d looked at her. And the way she felt when she looked at him. Nowhere did Jeremy, or any part of her past life, enter into the equation. She wanted what Lani and Baxter had. There was no hopscotching over the scary parts to get to that, and no guarantee if she started the journey, she’d reach that desired destination. Riley had been convinced, standing on that beach, feeling overwhelmed by Quinn and all that he was so certain of, that she needed more time by herself. Needed to be more sure of herself.

  As she watched Lani and Baxter, she wondered just how badly she was letting her fears of repeating the past ruin her chances of ever having love again in her future.

  “Congratulations,” Dre said, which, for her, was the equivalent of giving them a standing O.

  Riley jerked her thoughts away from that path and focused on the good news, the celebration at hand. Yes, tuck it away, ignore it, and it will just go away.

  Alva’s eyes twinkled and she raised her clasped hands until they were propped under her chin. “Now then, that’s just wonderful news, isn’t it? And well deserved. Your love story does deserve to be told.”

  “We’ll only be exploring the culinary part, but—”

  “Nonsense,” Alva said, “your culinary journey is your love affair. It’s your passion for food and each other that has made you who you are.”

  There were more googly eyes shared between husband and wife, followed by a surprisingly hot, hard kiss on the mouth.

  “Still in public,” Charlotte reminded them, always the arbiter of decorum.

  “My, my,” Alva added, though she didn’t look particularly disturbed by the display. Possibly quite the opposite.

  Riley’s thoughts precariously teetered once again, which prompted her to say, “Let me add my congratulations to the pile. I think it’s great! And very well-deserved. If you don’t mind my asking, though, what does it have to do with me?”

  Lani pushed at Baxter’s chest, then pushed harder when he leaned down and kissed her again. “All right, all right,” he said, both of them laughing. He looked at Riley, that spark still flashing in his eyes, and she felt a surprisingly sharp jab in the center of her chest.

  “So, here’s the deal,” Lani was saying, but Baxter pulled her into a face-planting hug, muffling her voice against his chest as he grinned at Riley over her head.

  “We’ve seen your amazing work in Foodie,” he told her. “In fact, Lani looked it up right after you arrived. We discussed talking with you about this on the last cookbook, but you were new here, and had just left Chicago behind. We ... didn’t want to intrude. But we had trouble getting the photos for the second cookbook; we struggled a great deal with the team we ended up working with.”

  Lani, laughing and pushing at her husband, managed to squeak free just enough to blurt out, “So we pitched your previous work to Baxter’s editor—who I guess is our editor now,” she amended quite gaily. “We wanted a green light before even talking to you.” She grabbed Baxter’s hand when he laughingly tried to subvert her again. “We want you to be the food stylist for the cookbook!” she said in a rush, then looked smugly up at Baxter, before lifting on tiptoes and kissing his pouting bottom lip.

  Baxter retaliated by pinching her backside, which prompted a wolf whistle from Dre and an eyeroll from Charlotte.

  “I believe there should be a new rule, effectively immediately,” Charlotte said. “No hanky-panky in the kitchen unless we all have equal opportunity hanky with our own personal panky.”

  “Says the only other person in the room who happens to have a panky,” Dre grumbled.

  “What’s a panky?” Alva wanted to know.

  It was all a buzz in Riley’s ears, because she was still trying to digest what Lani had blurted out. Style food again. For a cookbook that was a surefire bestseller even before it was written.

  “Would you be willing to consider it?” Baxter asked.

  “Obviously you’ll have a lot of questions, but ... would you?” Lani lifted up on her toes, clasping her hands together under her chin, much like Alva had earlier, but looking far more winsome. “At least consider it?”

  “Wow,” Riley said on a nervous laugh, skating along the edge of hysterical laughter. Were they kidding? Consider it? “When would we start?

  “Is that a yes?” Lani squealed.

  “We’d get a production meeting set up, then figure out the filming dates,” Baxter said, far more reasonable, but looking nonetheless equally thrilled. “As soon as we can swing it. A month at the most.”

  “Don’t you have to plan it all out, test the recipes, and all of that?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “It will take some time to complete the whole project, but we need to put together a sampler, something for marketing purposes for the publisher, as soon as possible. They have some other events they want to be able to promote up front, so there will be a lot of work to do, straight off.”

  “We know you have other commitments,” Lani added. “But, being as it’s now almost October—and winter is a slow time for you, typically, right?—we were hoping—”

  “I only have one winter under my belt here, but yes, it was slow last season. Given how spotty things have been already coming into this fall, I think it’s a safe bet this season will be the same. I’m sure I can work around my staging jobs.” Riley’s brain was spinning, but she couldn’t catch her breath enough to really let it all sink in.

  “Actually, we’d want to have you on board full-time, for the duration,” Baxter said. “Naturally, you’ll be given prominent credit.”

  Lani elbowed him. “Don’t overwhelm her.” To Riley, she said, “We’ll talk this all over, professionally. Hopefully tomorrow or as soon as you can make time for us. But right now, I say this is cause for a double celebration!”

  The timer for Riley’s cupcakes went off exactly at that moment, and everyone jumped. Their laughter filled the room.

  A bottle of champagne was produced from somewhere in Lani’s office, and Dre retrieved paper coffee cups from the front of the shop. “Franco is not going to be happy he missed this,” she said, coming back into the kitchen.

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. He’s helping Carlo and me with the fall charity ball.” Charlotte smiled her little demure-but-devilish smile as she poured the champagne. “Besides, I don’t think he will be too upset that he’s not here.”

  “Is he entertaining his new young man again?” Alva inquired.

  Charlotte’s hand wobbled the champagne bottle, and Dre ducked her head to keep from being seen with a totally uncool smile, so it was left to Riley to respond. “Yes, Miss Alva, I believe he mentioned something about a dinner.” She shot the other two quelling glares, then smiled back at Alva. “I gave him one of my recipes for pan-seared duck.”

  Alva smiled approvingly. “He’s being a thoughtful host. Setting a good table. Good boy. I do hope they p
ractice safe sex.” She took the coffee cup from Charlotte just then, which was a good thing. Otherwise it might have ended up straight in her lap.

  Riley thanked Char as she took the next cup and hid her smile behind the rim. Alva was such an odd amalgamation. None of them ever knew quite what to expect from her. Just when they thought she couldn’t shock them, she’d say something like that.

  “To Baxter and Lani,” Charlotte said, lifting her glass. They all sipped, then Lani lifted her glass again. “And to Riley, who is going to make our cookbook look like a million bucks!”

  Everyone sipped again and the room devolved into excited chatter as a dozen questions were aimed at Baxter and Lani. Riley took the moment to turn and get her cupcakes out of their pans to finish cooling on the racks. She worked by rote, her mind reeling in so many different directions, no single thought sustained itself for more than a few seconds.

  She didn’t have a single tool of her trade, she’d have to talk to Baxter about meeting with the photographer; she wondered how he’d feel if she suggested they talk to Chuck and Greg. It was vital that the relationship between stylist and photographer be simpatico if they wanted shots worthy of a glossy coffee-table book, no matter the finished scale of the book itself. Richer was always better.

  So lost in her thoughts was she that she jumped slightly when Baxter touched her elbow. “I know this has to seem like an avalanche of information, but Lan and I are so pleased you’re considering it. Please know that, when we get the chance to discuss all the logistics, if it’s not something you want to commit yourself to doing, we’ll understand.” He smiled. “Pout, throw a tantrum or two—”

  Riley laughed. “I do have a lot of questions,” she said, being honest. “I know you’ve done two of these now, so it’s a process you’re familiar with, but I have my own style and process, too. We’ll really need to go over every detail before any of us should commit to doing this together. Friends and business, you know what they say—”