The Icing on the Cake (Otter Bluff)

by Linda Seed

  She launched into a tirade about her dealer—the woman was spending too much time promoting another artist over Lisa—and Brian found himself hoping that he’d get off easy. Maybe if he just let her complain while he made soothing sounds, the phone call might be relatively painless.

  But then she got to the real purpose of her call.

  “I’ve got an empty weekend, dear, so I’ll be coming to Otter Bluff on Friday afternoon.”

  “You … what?” Brian tried to convince himself he’d misheard.

  “I said, I’ll be arriving at Otter Bluff on Friday.”

  Had he issued an invitation he didn’t remember? If he had, it would surely be some indication of a serious condition that had impaired his mental function. That would be the only possible explanation.

  “But … Mom, I’ve got a lot of stuff going on this weekend, and I don’t think—”

  “Brian Julian Cavanaugh, I can’t seem to get you to visit me in Los Angeles for any reason short of my imminent death. So, I’ll simply have to visit you. I hope you’re not saying I can’t do that. I hope you’re not suggesting that I can’t visit my own property, which I’ve been so kind as to let you use while you’re having housing issues.”

  He fell silent until the silence itself became at least as oppressive as his mother was.

  “No. I’m not suggesting that.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you on Friday afternoon.”

  Unless he could find a plausible excuse to move to Thailand by then.

  Cassie had baked the layers of her sample cake at Brian’s place the day before. Today, she was planning to go over there to start decorating it.

  But first, she had to finish all of the various tasks Elliot had scheduled for her.

  “The renters at Cabin in the Pines just checked out, and I’m afraid they left it in quite a state. I’m counting on you to get it back in shape.” Elliot peered at her over his glasses as she came in that morning.

  “What does ‘quite a state’ involve?”

  He sighed. “It means that, by all appearances, they are not members of Mensa. I’ve withheld their security deposit, of course, but it’s going to take a little extra effort on your part.”

  Oh, crap.

  “How much extra effort are we looking at?”

  He grinned slightly, and she couldn’t help thinking of the grin as sadistic and self-satisfied.

  “You’ll need some rubber boots and a Shop-Vac.”

  Cassie would have thought that by now, everyone in the United States of America knew it was a bad idea to put regular dishwashing detergent in a dishwasher.

  She’d have been wrong.

  When she opened the front door of Cabin in the Pines, she didn’t notice anything amiss. The place looked reasonably tidy, in fact, as though the renters had made some effort to clean things up before they left.

  Had Elliot been joking about the boots and the Shop-Vac?

  Then she turned a corner into the kitchen and gasped.

  Before her on the kitchen floor were enough white, fluffy suds to accommodate dozens of bubble baths. And the dishwasher was still running, churning out more.

  “Oh … God.”

  Fortunately, she’d worn the boots. She sloshed across the kitchen to the dishwasher and turned it off. On the kitchen counter, she found a note.

  We ran out of Cascade, so we used Dawn. Didn’t know you weren’t supposed to do that, ha ha! The rental agreement said to leave the dishwasher running when we left, so that’s what we did. Sorry for the mess!

  Cassie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to control her exasperation. Not Mensa members, indeed.

  Her cell phone pinged in her pocket, and she took it out. A text message: Elliot.

  How bad is it?

  At least the renters had told Elliot what they’d done—if they hadn’t, the water might have been here for hours, causing unknown damage, until Cassie got here later in the day.

  She snapped a picture of the suds on the floor and sent it to Elliot with a message.

  The rental agreement said they were supposed to leave the dishwasher running when they left. So they did. Apparently it never occurred to them to turn it off when bubbles started pouring out of it.

  In a moment Elliot messaged back.

  Oh, dear.

  No doubt, Elliot was even now adding a line to the rental agreement specifying that dishwashing liquid was not to be used in automatic dishwashers. People always thought the Central Coast Escapes rental agreement included ridiculous and oddly specific clauses, such as the one prohibiting the use of a blow dryer while sleeping and the one strictly forbidding the use of a barbecue grill indoors.

  In fact, those weird, obvious clauses were the result of somebody actually using a blow dryer while sleeping (Dolphin Dreams, 2019) and firing up a barbecue grill in the living room (Seaside Stunner, 2005). At least the Dawn debacle now spreading out in front of Cassie hadn’t put lives at risk the way the other two incidents had.

  Cassie opened the dishwasher, causing more soap suds to pour onto the kitchen floor, and carefully made her way through the bubbles to remove the dishes from the inside of the appliance. Then she plugged in the Shop-Vac and went to work.

  “I swear to God, Elliot. You need to give people some kind of test of their common sense before you let them rent.” Cassie had spent all morning on the mess at Cabin in the Pines, and she was just dragging herself into the office after stowing the boots and the Shop-Vac in a storage shed behind the building.

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it.” Elliot was sitting behind his desk, his reading glasses low on his nose as he pecked at his computer keyboard with his index fingers. “Any damage?”

  “It looked okay.” Cassie sank into the chair behind her own desk. “I disconnected the dishwasher and pulled it out so I could dry the floor underneath. It’s a good thing the owner had laminate flooring put in last year, because if it had been wood …” She left the thought out there. Wood floors and standing water did not mix.

  “All right.”

  She waited for Elliot to thank her for her hard work, but she’d be waiting forever. Once, when renters had let their dog pee and crap all over the house, leaving Cassie to clean it up, she’d reminded Elliot to thank her. She still remembered his response: Oh. Apparently, you’re not sufficiently rewarded by a job well done.

  Cassie sighed and turned on her computer.

  “Oh. Are you planning to work like …” He gestured vaguely toward her. “Like that?”

  She looked down at herself. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

  “Cassie, mirrors are your friends.”

  She got up, went into the bathroom, and looked at herself in the mirror over the sink.

  Good God. Her hair was askew and partly wet from the dishwasher mess, she had splotches of water on her shirt, and her makeup was smudged from the moisture she’d been immersed in.

  She went back out into the office. “I see what you mean. I’ll just run home and clean up a little.”

  “Of course. We’ll just take it out of your lunch hour.”

  “But Elliot, I need my lunch hour so I can eat lunch.”

  “Be that as it may.” He waved vaguely, as though shooing her away.

  Chapter 12

  Brian didn’t know what Cassie was so pissed off about when she arrived at Otter Bluff that afternoon to continue working on her cake. He only knew that she was damned cute when she was mad.

  “Shit. Shit!” she muttered as he let her in.

  “Hello to you, too.”

  She looked at him as though she wanted to punch him. Or punch something, at any rate. Thor took the opportunity to sniff Cassie’s shoes, wagging his tail in a wide arc.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed two fingers to her forehead. Then she looked at him and started again. “Okay. You’re right. That was rude of me. How was your day?”

  “Well, I—”

  “That’s nice. You want to know how mi
ne was?” She dropped her bag onto the floor and jammed her hands onto her hips, spinning to face him. “I spent all morning vacuuming up soap suds, then mopping floors, then rerunning a damned dishwasher over and over again until the foam was gone, then hand-washing the dishes that should have been in the damned dishwasher. Then, when I got to the office, Elliot—who sent me to clean up the mess in the first place—got into a snit about how I looked. And I did look like crap, so, yes, I can admit that—but then I had to spend my entire lunch hour changing my clothes and drying my hair and reapplying my makeup, so I haven’t eaten anything but a granola bar since eight a.m.” She blew out some air that caused her bangs to flip up. “I really need a new job.”

  “Okay.” Brian nodded a few times. “I can’t do anything about the job, but I have food.”

  Cassie winced in guilt. “Ah, jeez. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you had to feed me. I’ll just go out and—”

  Ignoring her protests, he went to the refrigerator and peered in. “Leftover pizza okay? Plus, I have beer.”

  She tilted her head to the side, and he might have seen the slightest whisper of a smile. “Leftover pizza and beer sounds perfect.”

  “Great.” He pulled the pizza and the beer out of the refrigerator. He opened a bottle and handed it to her, then grabbed a plate for the pizza.

  As a couple of slices were heating in the microwave, she took a long drink from the beer—something from a local craft brewery—took a moment to rub Thor, then grinned at Brian.

  “You know, you really are a lifesaver. First, letting me use your kitchen. Now this.”

  “Hold that thought while I tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “My mother’s coming.”

  Cassie’s eyebrows rose. “Coming here?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  He checked the clock on the top of the stove. “Oh … maybe an hour. Maybe less. Depends on how many times she stopped on the way for espresso.”

  Cassie’s mouth opened, then closed. “Should I leave? Is this awkward? I mean, I’m using her kitchen without her permission, so …”

  “No, no. You’ve got my permission, so it’s fine. Really. It’s fine.”

  For some reason, Cassie thought the second it’s fine indicated that it wasn’t actually fine. Generally speaking, when a person said that phrase one time, it tended to be true. When they said it a second time, they were trying to convince themselves as much as whoever they were telling it to.

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s the story? You can tell me while I’m eating my pizza.”

  “Why does there have to be a story?” Brian was standing in the kitchen with his hands shoved into his pockets, trying to look convincing.

  He was failing.

  “I guess I can just ask her when she gets here.” Cassie was playing with him, trying to tease it out of him.

  “Oh, God no.”

  “Why? Does she have secrets?”

  “No. Exactly the opposite. She has no secrets and no filter.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Cassie said. “Oh, good. The pizza’s ready.”

  Half an hour later, as Cassie was beating a bowl of buttercream frosting in the kitchen, Thor standing by in case she dropped anything edible, Brian considered his conflicting emotions about his mother’s impending arrival.

  The fact that she would be meeting Cassie could be either a good thing or a bad thing.

  On one hand, it would distract his mother from all of Brian’s various failings, one of which, horrifyingly, was her belief that he wasn’t having enough adventurous sex. If his mother thought he and Cassie were a couple, that might make her ease up on him.

  On the other hand, it would be awkward for Cassie, who was just trying to get her cake finished and who wasn’t having any kind of sex—adventurous or otherwise—with Brian. Also, his mother was … a lot. If Cassie thought she was entirely too much, and if she assumed Brian got the bulk of Lisa’s genes, it would hamper Brian’s ambitions to get Cassie to go out with him on a real date. One that didn’t involve her thanking him for use of his double oven.

  Honestly, it could go either way.

  Cassie was just about finished with the buttercream when the front door opened.

  Here we go.

  Cassie didn’t know what she’d expected from Brian’s mother. She’d dealt with the woman on the phone a few times in relation to Otter Bluff, but they’d never met.

  Whatever she’d expected, the reality of Lisa Barlow was nothing she’d been prepared for.

  “Hello!” Lisa came into the room carrying two bags—one in each hand. She set them down just inside the front door and put her arms out to Brian. “Sweetheart. For God’s sake, get over here and hug me. I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “It’s been four months,” Brian said.

  “Well, it feels like years.”

  Lisa’s tall, slim body was clothed in a long, flowing wrap skirt in moss green and a close-fitting white sleeveless top with a plunging neckline. The top showed an inch of tight, fit midriff above the waistband of the skirt. A chunky silver and turquoise necklace hung just below her collarbone, and stacks of silver bracelets jangled on her wrists. Her hair, which had gone gray, was in a short buzz cut—as though she were maybe a week past having shaved it entirely. A tattoo of some flowering vine crept down her left shoulder, the vine reaching down her arm and toward her hand.

  “And who’s this?” Lisa released Brian and turned her attention toward Cassie.

  “I’m Cassie Jordan, Mrs. Barlow. From Central Coast Escapes. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times.” Cassie wiped powdered sugar off her hands with a dish towel and offered a hand to Lisa, who took it in both of hers.

  “My dear, it’s not Mrs. and it hasn’t been for a long time. I’d prefer that you call me Lisa.”

  “All right. Lisa, then.”

  Lisa’s delicate brows rose as she regarded Cassie. “I seem to have interrupted you in the middle of some kind of food preparation, so I assume you’re not here on Central Coast Escapes business.”

  “Ah … no.”

  “Cassie’s a baker,” Brian cut in. “She needs to decorate a wedding cake—a sample of a wedding cake, really—and she doesn’t have an adequate kitchen, so …”

  “I can go,” Cassie said. “I can … You know, I really should. This is your house, and I’m intruding, so …”

  “Darling, don’t even think of it. My son doesn’t cook, and the last time I tried to use a kitchen I set the drapes on fire. No one but you will be using that particular room, I assure you. And cake decorating? I’m fascinated.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” Cassie smiled in what she hoped was a winning way.

  “I’m always sure.”

  “That’s no joke. She is,” Brian said.

  Cassie did a quick series of calculations. On the fly, she had to balance Brian’s obvious discomfort against Lisa’s lack of it, multiplied by Cassie’s lack of a kitchen and her need to get this cake sample done.

  There was an additional factor, as well: Cassie’s curiosity about Brian’s family dynamic.

  This woman with her high cheekbones and her innate, quirky elegance contrasted so sharply with Brian’s man-child persona that Cassie had to wonder whether Brian was adopted—or if he was maybe playing some kind of trick on her in claiming Lisa was his mother.

  “Okay. I’m just gonna work on this, if that’s all right.” Cassie gestured toward her bowl of frosting. She’d come straight from work, so she was dressed respectably, but Lisa’s presence made her feel as though she were hopelessly lacking in style.

  “Of course. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do.” Lisa smiled warmly, her lips done in a bronze color Cassie had never seen before—at least, not on lips. Thor came up to Lisa, wagging his tail and pressing his wet nose against her hand. She patted his head a few times in acknowledgment.

  Cassie noticed that Brian had said very little since his mother’s arrival. Lis
a had apparently taken over as head of the household, as she was the one making the call on whether Cassie would stay or go. She sneaked a look at Brian, and his sheepish, forlorn expression gave her the sense that he’d looked exactly this way as a child.

  What was going on here, exactly? Was it simply a power imbalance between parent and child? Or was there more at play than the obvious?

  Cassie whipped her frosting and thought, Interesting.

  Chapter 13

  “So … what’s happening with this?” Lisa gestured vaguely toward the kitchen where Cassie was working. She and Brian were standing on the back patio, where Lisa had brought him on the pretense of taking in the view. Thor, who’d spotted a rabbit, was growling and whining at the bush where the rabbit had taken shelter.

  “By this, do you mean Cassie?”

  “Well, of course I do. I show up to find a woman—a girl, really—in your kitchen and you expect me not to ask about her?”

  Brian let out a sigh. “She’s a woman, not a girl. And there’s nothing happening except that I offered her the kitchen to bake her cake.”

  Lisa’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not sleeping with her, then? That’s a pity.”

  “Mom—”

  “What? A young man has to have his needs met.” She turned to face the ocean and the limitless horizon. “Does that mean the two of you are not even seeing each other?”

  “Well … I don’t know,” he admitted. “We went to a wedding together, which I suppose was a date. And … I might ask her out again. If I do, it’ll be because I want to get to know her, not because I want my ‘needs met’. Thor, leave that rabbit alone.” He retrieved Thor, led him to the sliding glass door, and put him inside the house.

  “Hmm.” Lisa looked out at the waves crashing against the bluffs instead of looking at her son.

  “Does that sound mean you wouldn’t approve if we … you know. Became a thing? A thing that was more than just sex?”