by Amie Denman
He would see her today. Probably every day. Starlight Point was big, but not that big.
The weather report jerked his attention back to the television. “The storm is moving off across the lake and the weather should clear by midmorning. Great news for folks headed to the Point.”
Jack took his coffee to the table on his covered deck. From there, he looked over Starlight Point. He wore only loose pajama bottoms, and the cool morning breeze raised gooseflesh on his bare chest. But the air was fresh. The rainstorm had washed the air, leaving a new spring smell in its wake. New beginnings, he thought, watching the seagulls flock in groups in the empty parking lot. A fresh start. If only it were that easy.
* * *
GUS MOVED SEVERAL containers of cookies from the back of the shop to the front counter while her summer employee Liz waited on customers. It would have been easier to carry the boxes without the cell phone crammed between her shoulder and ear, but Aunt Augusta was in a jam.
“I don’t see it,” the older lady said in Gus’s ear. “I looked all over your desk.”
“It’s a black daily planner. Should be in the top drawer.”
“Oh. You didn’t say it was in a drawer.”
Gus sighed, walked out the back door and sat on an old picnic table shaded by the building. The employee break area was concealed from guests and hemmed in by food and game stands all around. She could still hear the carousel music from the midway even though her aunt was making a racket ransacking the desk in her office at the Downtown Bakery. Gus propped an elbow on the table, leaned her head on her hand and closed her eyes.
“Find it?” she asked.
On the other end of the line, Aunt Augusta hooted triumphantly.
“Good. Now flip to November. I know I have several weddings penciled in already, but I can’t remember the dates.”
Gus listened to her aunt flipping pages. It was midafternoon on opening day and she was already wondering why on earth she’d thought she could run four bakeshops at the same time. She felt like a swimmer desperately treading water and longing for the shore. For most of her life, Gus had searched for solid ground. Moving as much as her family had, there was only one place she ever thought of as home. And she was there right now.
Aunt Augusta’s home in Bayside was the one place of permanence in her life, and by moving here, Gus had finally found where she belonged. She hoped. Keeping it all afloat didn’t look possible right now, but failure was not an option. There was no place else for her to go. Her aunt had assured her that, although pushing sixty years old, she was up to the challenge of managing daily operations at the Bayside shop. Right now, it didn’t sound that way.
“Okay. I’m on the November page. Let me get my glasses.” There was a long pause and some crackling sounds as her aunt put down the phone and then picked it up again. “You wrote in the first two Saturdays and the number of servings. Two hundred fifty and five hundred.”
“That second wedding is a big one.” She felt the table jiggle with the weight of someone sitting across from her, but she didn’t look. Her eyes needed a longer break and she wanted to focus on her conversation.
“Tell you what, Aunt Augusta, have the bride look through the photo album of my past cakes—it should be on top of my desk.”
“Got it,” her aunt said.
“And try to get some idea what she wants. General idea of color, theme, flowers if you can. And get a rough guest count.”
“Okay.”
“Since the wedding’s not until the end of November, I can meet with her later this fall to hammer out details. That gives her time to choose bridesmaid dresses and nail down exact colors, and I’ll have lots more time when Starlight Point closes for the season.”
“How’s it going over there? You tear out your hair yet?”
Gus grinned to herself. Her aunt already knew the answer to that question. “It’s only opening day, so I still have all my hair. But I must’ve lost my mind to think I could do this.”
“Busy?”
“Insanity.”
They said goodbye and disconnected. Gus opened her eyes. When she saw the man sitting on the other side of her picnic table, she sucked in a deep, steadying breath.
“Insanity?” Jack Hamilton asked.
“It’s not polite to listen to private conversations,” Gus said.
“But I was sitting right here. Hard to miss.”
Gus sat up, took off her hat and pulled out the rubber band holding her ponytail. She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging the stress out of her scalp.
“Running three bakeries is tough,” Gus admitted.
“I know what you mean,” Jack muttered. He swung his long legs up on the seat beside him. “My feet are killing me. Wrecked my favorite shoes last night, and these are the backups.”
He loosened his tie and played with it. Gus flashed to last night’s embrace. She’d been thinking about his arms around her and his comment about saving Starlight Point. Did it need to be saved? She took a stab in the dark.
“Sounds like we have some of the same problems.”
Jack met her eyes. “What keeps you up at night?”
“Debt,” she said, more honestly than she’d intended. “Terrifying, head-over-heels, five-minutes-from-bankruptcy debt. All balancing on the hope that it’ll pay off. Somehow.”
Jack dropped his eyes and flushed deep red. He undid the top button on his white dress shirt.
It was hot. Even in the shady break area. There was no one around, everyone too busy to stop working. Gus untied her apron and pulled it over her head. Cool relief hit her throat and chest.
“Are you—I mean, is Aunt Augusta’s Bakery—deep in debt?” Jack asked.
Gus smiled at him, enjoying the fact that she was making him nervous. She wasn’t usually given to wicked delight in dangling people over the flames, but Jack had a way of activating her fight-or-flight instinct.
He took off his jacket and laid it on the table on top of her apron.
“Are you—I mean, is Starlight Point—deep in debt?” she asked.
Jack unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said.
“You’ll have to ask me a different one.”
Jack glanced around the break area. “Okay. How about my mother’s plans for the STRIPE this year?”
Gus grinned. This was too much fun. If she made him any more uncomfortable, he’d be down to his underwear in ten minutes.
“Kissing lessons,” she said matter-of-factly. “Your mother thinks all employees should be excellent and proficient—” she met his eyes “—kissers.”
Jack kicked off his loafers, exposing his neat navy blue socks. “Very funny.”
“I thought so,” Gus said.
He exhaled loudly through his nose, sounding like a frustrated animal. His relaxed posture and half-undone clothing contrasted with tired eyes and a tight jaw. It was hard to tell when Jack was relaxed and when he was about to take off like a roller coaster.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked.
Gus knew she must have slept at least some, although she didn’t feel like it. The memory of a vivid dream in which she and Jack rode endlessly on the Silver Streak, laughing uproariously as the wind whipped her hair... Well, she must have been asleep a little while to have dreamed that.
Before she could put together an answer, Jack’s cell phone rang. He reached for his waist clip. It wasn’t there. He dug in his pants pockets. The ringing continued. Gus reached in the pocket of his jacket and handed him the phone.
“Thanks,” he said quickly, looking at the caller ID and opening the phone.
“Jack Hamilton.”
He listened to a loud and excited voice for a moment and said, �
�I’ll be right there.”
“Crisis in Kiddieland?” Gus asked.
“Chaos at the Sea Devil. I swear we put in miles of queue lines, but it’s not enough. People are lined up on the midway, causing a major traffic jam and at least one fight.”
Jack searched under the bench for his shoes and slid into them. He stood, pulling on his suit jacket and tucking the phone back in his pocket. He towered over Augusta, tense but not moving. She held her breath for a second. Two seconds.
He sighed and turned to leave.
“Jack. Wait.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned. Gus got up and stood within inches of him. She buttoned his top button and snugged up his tie. Patting his shoulder, she said, “Good luck with the sea monster.”
“Devil,” he muttered as he walked away.
CHAPTER TEN
EARLY IN THE MORNING, almost two full weeks after opening day, silence dominated the empty queue lines. No carousel music played, no vendors rolled up their awnings, no park employees shuffled past. Gus, alone in the Midway Bakery, heard quiet footsteps at the back door. Jack Hamilton. She’d been waiting for him, knowing it was only a matter of time until their paths crossed and knowing, too, that he had the upper hand. He owned the place and he knew where to find her if he wanted to see her.
They hadn’t spoken since opening day. She and Jack had exchanged only a few glances, each of them too busy or too unsure what to say. Or both.
One evening the previous week, she watched from her loft window downtown as a lone kayaker splashed soundlessly across the bay. She guessed it was him even before he reached the dock and climbed out of the boat, stretching and staring across the water at Starlight Point. He stood below her on the docks for almost ten minutes then looked up at her window, but the sunset turned the whole building orange and pink on that side. She knew from experience he would only see the reflecting sunset, not her standing alone at her window.
Now he stood just inside her bakery. He wore his summer uniform—suit, white shirt, tie, name tag simply saying Jack. But his expression was that of a man who didn’t want to tell someone he’d accidentally backed into their car. Or needed to borrow their car.
“I have to ask a favor,” he said. No good-morning, no small talk. Gus shrugged it off. He was busy, with a company to run. And so was she.
“Happy birthday, Jack.”
“Thanks.” He took off his jacket and hung it on a wall hook. “I’d ask how you knew, but I think everybody knows everything around here.”
Gus adjusted the digital controls on the doughnut fryer. Jack took an apron from the hook next to his jacket and pulled it on. She watched him, wondering when he was going to pick up a pastry bag and ask for a job.
“Your mother told me,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. “About your birthday.” She wanted to ask him what the heck he was doing, but waited for him to explain. He looked as if he might grab his coat and run out the door at any minute. “Your sister asked for the morning off to pick up your other sister at the airport.”
“Of course. I’m sure my mother will ride along, too.”
“But not you?”
“I would be the luggage boy and couldn’t get a word in all the way home. I’ll see them later.”
“Do you plan to wear that?” Gus asked. She pointed at her company apron, which was so short, it made him look like a giant.
Jack moved closer. “For a little while, I thought you might have been serious about the STRIPE plan.”
“I am. I’m the sergeant this year.”
“But it’s not a kissing lesson.”
“Got me. It’s birthday cakes.”
“I know. I came in early today to see if I can get a private lesson.”
Gus wouldn’t mind giving Jack a few lessons. Perhaps one in contract negotiation. Or maybe she’d stick with kissing. It seemed to have more possibilities.
“Today is my mother’s birthday, too. I thought it would be nice to make her a cake.”
His expression was pure vulnerability. He was so handsome in the white shirt and apron. And he needed her help. She was tempted to charge him ten grand and ten percent more than she’d charge anyone else for a cake, but she couldn’t give him a hard time. It was his birthday and he wanted to bake a cake for his mother, despite everything else he probably had to do. Darn. That’s cute.
Gus crossed the back room and stood behind Jack. She grabbed the strings of his apron and pulled them tight, tying them securely. She didn’t want to look him in the eye right now, afraid she would reveal too much. Like the fact that she’d had to work very hard not to think about him lately.
“I’m the only one here this morning, so no one can testify that you actually made the cake yourself.”
“I think my mother will be happy anyway when I show up to dinner tonight with a cake for her. Dad always ordered a special one from a bakery.”
Gus pulled open the door of a large freezer and looked inside.
“It’s her first birthday without Dad.” Jack’s voice almost wavered.
“Yours, too.”
He cleared his throat and fiddled with the switch on the power mixer. “So I want it to be special for her.”
“I’m going to take it easy on you,” Gus said, keeping her back to him so she wouldn’t get all soft just seeing his face, “since it’s your birthday and all. I’m going to let you use one of my frozen cakes, so all you have to do is frost and decorate it.”
“I have the feeling you’re making a pretty generous offer,” Jack said.
“Going to save you at least an hour—by the time you mix it, bake it and let it cool, the park will be open and you might have to run off to resolve some serious crisis. I don’t want you tied to the kitchen when the curtain falls down at the Midway Theater or things get ugly at the bumper cars.”
“Thanks.”
“Chocolate or white?”
“Chocolate or white?” Jack looked down, tugging at his apron straps. He took off his watch and put it in his pocket. “Which one do you think my mother would like better?”
“You don’t know?”
“Hey, I remembered her birthday. I can’t remember everything.”
“Very funny. I think you should go with chocolate.”
“Why?”
Gus couldn’t tell him that his mother had already baked a white cake for him. Virginia had met her at her downtown bakery last evening and together they’d decorated a respectable birthday cake.
She shrugged. “Women prefer chocolate.”
“Is that a scientific study you’ve conducted at your bakery?”
“Nope. I made it up. Now, do you want my help or not?”
“Desperately.”
“Wash your hands.”
Gus felt Jack’s eyes on her as she laid out pastry bags, silver tips, plastic couplers to hold the tips and spatulas. She set out several clean, damp washcloths. If he wanted to stare at her, she wondered, why had he made no attempt to come near her since opening day? Not that she’d been particularly nice to him that afternoon. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the heat he stirred in her nerves whenever he was close enough to touch.
And he was close enough now. In the back room of the Midway Bakery, there was just enough space for two people to work without bumping into each other. If they were careful. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to be careful or not.
“Not sure where to start,” Jack said as Gus plunked two partially thawed chocolate cakes in front of him. “I’m at your mercy.”
“I know. I’m enjoying that while I decide whether to make you mix your own icing.”
“Could I use the power tools?”
“Industrial mixer.”
“Sounds great. I always like using Mel’s tools when we’re ou
t working on the rides.”
“You work on rides?”
“Usually only in the off-season because I’m too busy during the summer. I like getting my hands dirty.”
“No dirt here, but you might get very sticky.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” he said.
Jack stood very close. She forced herself to remember this was business. She was a vendor. He was the owner. Who hadn’t crossed her threshold in two weeks. And he was only here today because he needed her. And he knew she believed in the power of birthday cakes. He was taking advantage of her.
She had baking and icing to do in the hours before Starlight Point opened. Did he think she got here this early for fun? Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to him that the early morning was the busiest time for a bakery. He was being selfish, nearsighted, clueless. And standing very close.
She turned and pulled a plastic container of premade icing off the shelf.
“You might like using tools, but I don’t have all day. I’ve got doughnuts and fresh pastries to make before the crowds roll in. I’m letting you slide on some of the details—not because you deserve it, but because I’m busy. And it’s your mother’s birthday. And your birthday.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
Gus pulled the lid off and handed him a large pastry bag and a steel spatula. “Turn down the top of that bag to make a cuff, fill it halfway, twist it closed. I’ll get some colored icing in a bag for the decorations. What color?”
“Color?”
“Your mother’s favorite color. What is it?”
Jack frowned, awkwardly cuffing the pastry bag and trying to get icing to stay on the spatula long enough to make it into the bag. “Tough one. My mother likes lots of colors.”
“In that case, I’d go with purple. Always a classic. I’m a big fan of pink—”
“I know. I’ve seen your van.” He grinned at her, the smile deepening into a dimple on one side. That dimple was irresistible. Business, she thought, keep this relationship business only or it’ll be messier than a pie fight.
