Really, Armando? You had to tell them everything?
The whole thing seemed like a fuzzy dream now, a dream that kept growing exponentially as the story was repeatedly told. Of course, most wanted to know the reason for my fainting spell. A couple speculated that I might be pregnant, so I squelched that rumor like a bug. Then I shared my weight-loss story with anyone who would listen. They hung on my every word, especially when I explained how I’d gone without food for so long.
Let this be a lesson unto thee. Eat!
Three nurses, two dietitians, and one doctor chimed in, giving me dieting advice. One woman even tried to sell me some sort of miracle weight-loss product. I declined but took her brochure, then later tossed it in the trash.
Still, the idea of a commonsense plan to lose weight sounded good. I did need to lose a few pounds. Okay, more than a few. But I needed to do it the old-fashioned way—by eating right and exercising. No more crash diets. No more starving myself. No more self-imposed deadlines.
Not that any of the fellas in my life seemed to care about my weight. Sure, Kenny helped me out at the gym, but only because I insisted. And Armando had looked downright confused by my confession that I’d been dieting.
No, I didn’t need to lose weight to impress a guy—any guy. I would do it in sensible fashion for myself. In my own timing too. Even Aunt Willy would be impressed.
Then again, she was already thrilled with my performance on the cake competition. Well, all but the fainting part. Strangely, she had never mentioned that little incident. Every time she spoke of the competition, she bragged about the recipe she’d given me and how it had won the judges’ hearts. Not one word about my time on the floor or the embarrassment it had caused the bakery. Hopefully it would never come up.
Still, when she made her way into my shop on the following Monday morning, I had to wonder why she’d showed up without calling me first. Turned out she just popped in to make sure I had enough supplies and to see how things were going. Go figure. She gave Armando a funny little look when she saw him seated at one of the tables eating a cookie. No point in saying anything to her about his ongoing presence just yet. Likely it would just trigger concerns on her end.
“I read the article in the paper, kiddo.” She offered a genuine smile, and my heart nearly burst into song. “Nicely done.”
I couldn’t be sure if she meant the article was nicely done, or my ability to get publicity was nicely done. Either way, I’d take the compliment and go with it.
Is it possible, Lord? My aunt really loves me? Not just my business . . . but me?
“Have you seen more customers as a result?” she asked. “Thought I’d come down to the island and see for myself.”
Ah. The truth comes out.
I nodded, hoping to keep her enthusiasm level high. “Oh, you have no idea. We’ve sold out of almost everything. I’m baking like crazy. People are buying everything, even those double chocolate chunk cookies.”
“I love ’em.” Armando held one up and then took a bite.
She glanced his way, her eyes narrowing to slits. “As I said, I’ve never seen much value in a cookie.” She paused and looked at the near-empty glass cases. “On the other hand, anything that brings in money is a good thing, I suppose.”
It always worried me when she brought up finances. Was she concerned about her investment, perhaps? I didn’t blame her. She’d opened her wallet pretty wide to make my dream come true.
Our dream come true.
Suddenly I felt like a traitor for the strain I’d always felt in our relationship. She never would have invested in me if she didn’t believe in me. And I’d proven myself to be a goober on more than one occasion, so the poor woman had reason to be concerned about whether or not I’d embarrass her, publicly or otherwise.
I would prove myself worthy. And I would do my best to enter into a relationship with her—not one where I just tolerated our time together but where we genuinely got along. We would be chums. Girlfriends. And I would start now by broaching a topic, one girlfriend to another.
I looked her way, observing as she touched up her hot-pink lipstick with a shaky hand. “Aunt Wilhelmina, can I ask a question?”
“Make it quick, Scarlet. I’m in a hurry.” She snapped the lipstick closed and shoved it into a little Clinique makeup bag, then pressed the bag into her oversized Gucci purse.
“It’s about Uncle Donny.”
I couldn’t help but notice Armando glance my way as I mentioned Donny’s name.
Aunt Willy turned slowly and grimaced, setting her purse on a chair. “What about him?”
“I remember everything you said a few weeks ago—the whole bare-chested, golf-cart-riding story. The good-old-boy story.”
Like I could ever forget that.
“What about it?” She huffed out a breath.
“Obviously, you think he’s like that. And I’m assuming you don’t get along with the man.”
“Who could get along with a man like that?” She dove into a lengthy explanation about how men like him thought they were God’s gift to women. She completely lost me, in part because she’d never confessed a belief in God before.
“Don’t you think he’s nice, though?” I asked. “I mean, if you can get past the smell? And the way he dresses?”
“Nice?” She spoke the word more as a curse than a real possibility. “Certainly not.”
“Oh.”
She mumbled something about needing to talk to Kenny and then headed into the kitchen. I had a feeling she’d had enough of this conversation.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one who picked up on that.
“Methinks she protests too much.” Armando took several steps in my direction and whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my face. “If you ask me, she’s smitten.”
“Smitten?” I’d never heard a guy use that word before and couldn’t help but smile.
“Well, yeah.” Armando grinned. “She’s opposed to everything about him, but that usually means there’s some sort of denial going on.”
Denial.
Yes, I understood denial. Lived in that state much of the time, if I was being honest with myself. I understood it every time I looked into Armando’s handsome face. Understood it when I begged my heart to slow down every time he glanced my way. Totally understood it when I realized that any potential relationship with him—should either of us desire it—would have to wait until I knew for sure where he stood with the Lord. And whether or not his golf cart days were behind him.
Not that I judged him any longer, regardless of what I might’ve heard about him from family members or otherwise. No, the only ideas I had about him were the ones I’d formulated, based on getting to know him personally. And the man I’d gotten to know impressed me on nearly every level.
I understood something else too. No matter how difficult, I must tell Kenny that we could no longer consider our relationship as anything other than friends. He would understand. I hoped. In fact, he had probably figured it out for himself by now.
With Auntie in the back room and Armando staring intently in my eyes, I attempted to focus on the biggest task at hand—Hannah’s wedding. There were recipes to test.
Focus. Focus. On Hannah’s wedding. Not on Armando. Not on those beautiful eyes. Who has eyes like that? And the curve of his smile . . . Oy! And the broad shoulders. My goodness, our children will be gorgeous. A little Italian, a little I Love Lucy . . . but gorgeous. Okay, maybe not, if they end up with my hips, but surely no one will notice the hips if they have their daddy’s eyes. Breathtaking!
“Stop it, Scarlet.”
I didn’t realize I’d spoken the words aloud until Armando’s brow wrinkled. “Stop what?” he asked.
“Oh. Nothing,” I managed.
Kenny came out of the kitchen with Auntie, and they both looked my way. I snapped to attention and offered a weak smile.
“We need to get busy on Hannah’s cake design, Scarlet,” Kenny said.
&nbs
p; “Right, right.” Only, I couldn’t seem to think about anyone—or anything—but Armando right now.
Kenny leaned against the wall and gave me a concerned look.
“I’m fine, Kenny. Really.”
“Sure you are.” His rolled eyes clued me in to his take on all of this. “Fine.”
Armando took a few steps toward the door and said something about how he needed to get back to work. I knew the incoming lunch crowd at Parma John’s would keep him busy, but I could tell he didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want him to either. Even Aunt Willy seemed a little disappointed when he announced his departure. She paused to thank him for his help with the competition, and he smiled in response. Before long he had talked her into stopping next door for a slice of pizza. Go figure.
They walked out together, the bell above the door jingling as they went.
Kenny turned my way. “Well, I’m glad to have you to myself.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He looked around the empty room, then drew near. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
Me too. I’ve been thinking that I need to tell you I can’t marry you. Or date you. Or lead you on one moment longer.
“Kenny, I really think we should—”
“Spend some quality time together.” He stood a little closer. “I’m thinking about the new venue on the seawall. Pleasure Pier.”
Not exactly what I expected him to say. “What about it?”
“Thought it might be a fun place to hang out one afternoon.”
“Ah. As in, me and you?”
“Well, yeah.” He flashed a boyish smile. “And I thought maybe we should take some cake samples up there. Now that everyone knows who you are, it would be fun to do more external promotion.”
“External promotion?” This coming from a guy who enjoyed working in the kitchen, away from the crowd? Clearly someone had gotten to him. And I had an idea who. No wonder that little stinker of an aunt had sneaked into the kitchen to have a one-on-one with him. She’d had ulterior motives.
I did my best not to sigh as I thought about how she’d almost won me over. I moved away from Kenny, understanding the motive behind this little chat. “Did Aunt Willy put you up to this?”
“Well . . .” He glanced at the floor. “She mentioned it in passing.”
“I see.”
“But I like the idea. Besides, after we get rid of the cake samples, we can ride the Ferris wheel and eat some cotton candy.”
“I can’t eat cotton candy, Kenny. You know that.”
“Still . . .”
“Let me think about it. I love the idea of hanging out at Pleasure Pier, but I’m not keen on marketing in this heat. Besides, this is a terrible week to bring it up. We have our first rehearsal for the talent show, and then Hannah’s wedding is just on the heels of that.”
“Speaking of the talent show, did you hear that Devon is talking about dropping out of the trip? He called me last night.”
“No way.” My heart felt like lead at this news. “Why?”
“Not sure. Something to do with his family, maybe? I talked to him for fifteen minutes, but he wouldn’t come clean with me. Just kept dancing around the issue.” Kenny paused. “If you want the truth, I think he’s worried about leaving his mom alone. She’s not doing well. He’s not giving me specifics, but I have a feeling she’s in pretty bad shape and he’s the only one she’s got.”
“Ah.” I didn’t know what to do about that, other than pray. Still, I hated the idea that her issues might cause him to miss the trip. Maybe I could visit with his mom. See if I could encourage her in some way.
Yes, that’s exactly what I’d do. I’d take her some brownies too. In the meantime, I’d agreed to meet Hannah to talk through her wedding plans, and she was partial to pizza. Meeting at Parma John’s made sense on multiple levels, though I wondered how I’d stick to my new healthy eating plan with the smell of pepperoni in the air.
Okay, I really wanted to see Armando again. Wanted to watch how his cockeyed grin lit the room. Wanted to imagine what he’d look like driving a golf cart without a shirt on. I wanted to relive that special moment after the cake challenge when he’d traced my cheek with his finger and gazed into my eyes with so much interest that I thought about marrying him on the spot. I wanted to feel that tingle run down my spine as I heard the sound of his voice and the joy of his boyish laugh. Wanted to feel his kiss on my brow.
Ah, that kiss!
I headed next door at noon, ready to experience all of that once more. Well, all of that, and help my BFF wrap up loose ends for her wedding. Not that Armando would necessarily sweep me into his arms in front of his family members in the middle of the workday . . . but a girl could hope. Right?
Focus, Scarlet. Your best friend needs you. Her wedding is in a few days!
I would be there for her, no matter how much I longed to stare at Armando and dream about his kisses.
I found Parma John’s loaded with customers. More so than usual. Maybe Armando had his own following after his stint on the cake show. That had never occurred to me until now, but a vast number of pretty young things watched him, giggling, as he worked. But he didn’t appear to be paying much attention. No, as he shifted from table to table, taking orders, he was all business.
I watched from a distance as he waited on customers. Observed the way he talked to them—how his smile lit up the room. How he stopped to tease a little boy with a freckled face. How he paused at the table with the Splendora sisters to give them each a hug and a funny story. How he hollered orders back to the kitchen with a lilt in his voice—the kind of lilt that said, “I’m happy to be working here! Look at me—how happy I am!”
I wanted to celebrate that fact. All of his running had landed him right here. Where he belonged. He might argue the fact, but the argument wouldn’t hold water.
From across the room he looked my way, and a smile as bright as sunshine lit his face. He headed my direction. “Scarlet.”
“Armando.” I gestured to the crowd. “You guys are busier than usual today. This is nuts.”
“No kidding. Between the bakery and Parma John’s, everybody and their brother want to be on Galveston Island today.”
I knew I did, and all the more as he gazed into my eyes.
Oh! Kiss me now!
“Not that I’m complaining,” he said. “This is great for business, and I’m ready for them.” Armando slung a cloth napkin over his arm, à la fancy waiter, and grabbed a menu from the counter. “What’s your pleasure, miss? We’ve got a great pizza special going on today. Your aunt even complimented me on it.”
“My aunt?”
He pointed to a table in the corner, and I caught a glimpse of Aunt Willy seated next to D.J.’s uncle Donny, whose laughter rang out across the room.
What?
Convinced my eyes were deceiving me, I took another look. Sure enough, there they sat side by side, eating pizza. I pinched my eyes shut and reopened them, just to make sure it wasn’t a mirage. Nope. No mirage.
Armando leaned close to whisper his thoughts on the duo. “I’m not sure she’s keen on the idea that Uncle Donny showed up, but she’s being gracious. He asked if he could sit with her, and she agreed, but I could tell her heart wasn’t really in it.”
Fascinating. From the looks of things, her heart was in it now. I was pretty sure I even saw her crack a smile. Or two. Or three.
“Gracious. Hmm.”
I took a couple of steps in their direction but then stopped. I did have plans to meet with Hannah, after all.
“So, what kind of pizza do you want?” Armando asked. “I’ll get it started.”
“Can’t have pizza. You know I’m supposed to be dieting, right?”
“Ah.” Armando pulled the napkin off of his arm. He looked pensive as he led me to an empty seat at the counter. “I still have no idea why, but whatever.” He gestured for me to sit, then opened the menu and pointed at a section I’d never seen before. “You’l
l be happy to know that we’ve added a new lighter-fare line.”
“Lighter-fare . . . Italian food?” I chuckled.
“Hey, don’t laugh. It was my idea. After what happened with Uncle Laz . . . well, I just thought it was a good idea. I’ve spent the last few days working on it. Even talked to a dietitian to make sure we’ve got the right balance of calories and carbs.”
“Oh? Wow.” Talk about impressive!
“Yep, look.” He pointed at a new line of salads and sandwich combos, everything under five hundred calories. “I talked to a guy at my gym to get his recommendations for healthy, high-protein foods too. So you can eat at Parma John’s every day and still lose weight.”
The way he said “every day” gave me reason to think he might very well be here every day. Did he plan to stay on the island after Jenna came back to work, perhaps?
That would be a question for another day. Seconds later Hannah arrived in a dither. I could tell from her knotted brow that we needed some privacy, so I led the way to a table near the back of the restaurant, where we could talk through her wedding plans. I couldn’t help but notice that Armando hovered near our table, offering refills on water, soda, salad, bread . . . everything. He even offered me a fresh cloth napkin when mine slid off my lap.
Yep, you’re paying close attention, aren’t you, boy?
Hannah must’ve noticed too. She gave me a “hey, what’s up with you two?” look, not just once, but approximately half a dozen times. I just smiled and kept eating. And talking. The conversation shifted to her wedding cake—Finally! A subject I know well!—and we set the plan in motion. Though we’d talked about it a dozen times before, Hannah just couldn’t make up her mind. She was torn between carrot cake and Italian cream cake.
Leave it to Armando to convince her that Italian cream cake would be the best option. You go, Armando! That new recipe happened to be one of my faves now. Okay, it was heavy on the calories, but I’d probably dance the night away at my BFF’s wedding. I’d burn off those calories yet.
Hmm. As I thought it through, I realized my former dancing partner—Kenny—wasn’t exactly in shape to dance right now. Oh well. The Texas two-step was highly overrated. I could cut back on the Italian cream cake and be a wallflower.
The Icing on the Cake Page 15
