Going, Going, Ganache

by Jenn McKinlay

  Before Mel could protest, she was zonked out in dreamland.

  Mel awoke hours later. Her skin felt tight and her chest was still sore, but her head had stopped pounding and was now a tolerable ache. She wondered if that was the pain meds or if she was just feeling better.

  She glanced around her room, surprised to find it was still dark outside. A snore brought her attention around to the chair by the window. Joe was asleep in a hunched-up position, being too tall for the chair. The sight of him made her heart flutter, just like always. She should have known he’d be here. That was so Joe.

  The curtain that closed off her half of the room was pulled aside and to her surprise Martinez hobbled in on a pair of crutches. He looked as bad as she felt, and she gave him a wan smile.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m better now that I know you’re all right,” he said.

  “You saved my life—” Mel paused and then smiled as she added, “Manolo.”

  Martinez gave her a full on grin. “You figured it out. How?”

  “I badgered the nurse until she found out how Detective Martinez was doing,” she said. “And she reported back that Detective Manolo Martinez was going to be just fine.”

  “Nice detective work,” he said.

  “Just lucky,” she said with a shrug.

  “Everyone calls me Manny,” he said.

  “Manny,” she repeated. “The name suits you.”

  “I like hearing you say it,” he said.

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Mel got the feeling they had a lot to talk about, but Manny glanced at Joe asleep in his chair. It seemed to change his mind.

  “So, do your lungs feel like they’ve been scraped with a cheese grater?” he asked as he looked back at her.

  His voice was gravelly like hers, and Mel nodded, refusing to laugh for fear of another coughing fit. The doc could say it was good for her to cough it up, but it hurt like hell, and she was reluctant to feel that searing pain again.

  “Yes. How about burns?” she asked. “I got a nice one on my leg that almost looks like a cupcake.”

  It was Manny’s turn to squash a laugh. “I have a few,” he said. “Not nearly as artsy as that, more like Rorschach splotches of pain, and I got a nice sprain trying to outrun the flames, thus the crutches.”

  A grunt from the chair made them both turn to look at Joe. He was sitting up and blinking. When he saw them looking at him, he shook his head as if to clear it and stood up. He crossed the room to the side of the bed and studied Mel with a worried look.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine, thanks to Detective Martinez.”

  If Manny noticed that she’d reverted back to his professional name, he didn’t show it.

  “Stan told me what you did,” Joe addressed Manny. “About how you went into the fire and got Mel out. I can’t ever thank you enough.”

  He held out his hand, and Manny leaned on his crutch and shook it.

  “No problem. It’s all in a day’s work.” He looked back at Mel. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and then quickly added, “I really appreciate what you did, Manny.”

  Their eyes met for a moment, and he nodded and then turned and left. Mel couldn’t help but feel there was much left unsaid between them.

  Joe sighed and sat on the edge of Mel’s bed very carefully, as if afraid any movement might cause her pain.

  “How are you feeling really?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she said, which of course was a lie. “Do you know what happened to the others?”

  “Ian Hannigan and Brigit MacLeod are both in critical,” Joe said. “Sylvia Lucci did not fare as well. She died on the way to the hospital from smoke inhalation.”

  “She killed Sam,” Mel said.

  Joe nodded.

  “She wanted to kill Brigit, too, for ruining her brother.” Mel’s voice was shaky, and Joe scooted up next to her and put an arm around her. Mel turned into him and let the tears fall down her face onto his chest.

  “When I think that I could have lost you,” he said. His voice was a low whisper. “I can’t bear it.”

  “You didn’t lose me,” Mel said, leaning away from him and wiping the tears off of her cheeks. “I’m still here.”

  But she knew what he meant. The terror that had filled her in those few moments when she’d thought she and Hannigan were going to die. She never wanted to feel that desolate again. It had been the same feeling she’d felt when she lost her father.

  It was then that Mel understood why she didn’t want to marry Joe. Tate had been right. The reason she didn’t want to get married was because she feared death. Not hers, but the death of the person she loved. If she married Joe, then one day she might lose him like her mother had lost her father, and Mel didn’t think she would survive it. No, she didn’t want to go through that ever again.

  She realized Joe was talking, and she turned to face him.

  “As soon as you get out of here,” Joe said, “we’re going to get you a ring and sit down with a calendar and pick a date. I don’t ever want to feel like I did when Stan called to tell me you were missing in a fire. I want you to be my wife, Mel. I want to keep you safe.”

  “I’m sorry Joe,” she said. “I just can’t. I can’t marry you.”

  Thirty-three

  Mel sat in her office, happy to have her space back. Brigit had sent an assistant over to clear out her things, and now that it wasn’t being shared by the editor in chief of a major magazine, the small closet seemed almost roomy.

  Brigit had recovered from the fire, as had Hannigan. Mel could tell from the way Brigit said his name when they talked that something was happening there that was more than professional. But maybe that was the result of surviving a life-threatening situation—it either brought people together or shoved them apart.

  Mel hadn’t spoken to Joe since her overnight in the hospital a week ago. She hadn’t told anyone of their new status, mostly because she didn’t really know what it was or wasn’t. It seemed as if they were at a stalemate. Joe wanted marriage more than ever, but the very idea terrified her, and so they had retreated to their separate corners, at least for now.

  She hadn’t told her mother about “dear Joe” because she hated to disappointment her. And she didn’t tell Uncle Stan, because she didn’t want him to tell Manny and open herself up for something she wasn’t ready to consider.

  As for herself, she missed Joe. She dreamt about him and thought about him pretty much every second of every day. She supposed she could have choked down her fears, said yes, and married him, but—

  The door to Mel’s office burst open, and Marty dashed in as if his backside were on fire.

  “I figured it out!” he cried. “I know who the spy is. I know who’s been blabbing to Olivia!”

  Mel’s jaw dropped. “Who?”

  “Me!” he cried, and clapped his hands onto his bald head as if trying to keep it attached to his body.

  “No!” Mel cried.

  “Yes!”

  “What’s going on in here?” Tate, Angie, and Oz all peeked around the door.

  “Benedict Arnold here just confessed to being our spy,” Mel said. She rose from behind her desk and shooed everyone out into the kitchen, where there was more space.

  “Marty, how could you?” Angie cried.

  “Dude,” Oz said with a shake of his shaggy head.

  “I know, I know,” Marty said. “I was so stupid.”

  “Wait, back up. Let’s hear the whole story,” Tate said. “Hang on. I may need a cupcake to process this.”

  Tate disappeared into the walk-in cooler and came out with a tray full of cupcakes. He plopped it down on the table and everyone sat on a stool and chose the flavor that would help each of them swallow Marty’s news.

  “Okay, it’s like this,” Marty said. He paused and took a bite of his Tinkerbell, a lemon cupcake with raspberry buttercream, and o
nce he’d swallowed, he continued.

  “I’ve been trying to catch up to this millennium, you know, snorkel the ’net, twit on Tweeter, love on BF.”

  Oz choked on his organic vanilla cupcake, and Mel could tell he was trying not to laugh as he said, “You mean, surf the ’net, tweet on Twitter, and like on FB.”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Marty said.

  Angie nibbled her Death by Chocolate, and said, “Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

  “Thanks,” Marty said.

  “So, I’m not making the Olivia connection,” Tate said. “Did you link up with her online or something?

  “No, I’m not stupid,” Marty protested. “Okay, maybe I am a little slow on the whole cyber thing. But a few months ago, I decided I wanted to have a blog.”

  Mel lowered the Moonlight Madness cupcake she’d been about to devour. Given that it was chocolate with coconut, her absolute favorite, this said something about her state of alarm.

  “What do you mean a blog?” she asked. “How do you even know what a blog is?”

  “I sort of fell into one,” Marty said. “And I liked it.”

  “Oh, my god,” Angie groaned and put her head down. “Marty fell into a blog hole.”

  Tate had given up trying not to laugh and was doubled up, causing Oz to give up, too. Angie started to giggle, but Mel was too horrified to find anything funny about the situation.

  “Marty, what did you blog about?” she asked.

  “Stuff,” he said.

  “Stuff?” she repeated. “Define stuff!”

  “Just, life, stuff,” he said. Then he lowered his head, and his voice and added, “And you know, stories about the bakery.”

  “Ah!” Mel gasped. “You did not give out any of my recipes.”

  “No!” Marty protested. “I would never, but I may have blogged about an upcoming photo shoot, unintentionally giving certain people that information.”

  “What people?” Mel asked. “I want names.”

  The others, hearing the seriousness in her tone, stopped laughing, and all eyes focused on Marty, whose head had begun to glow red like an off-shore beacon.

  “Well, her handle is Domicaketrix,” Marty said.

  Angie began to choke and splutter, and Tate thumped her on the back, and Oz just shook his head.

  “Marty, how could you?” Mel asked.

  “I was intrigued,” he said, looking pained. “I’m only human, you know.”

  “You mean you’re only a man,” Angie retorted. “Please leave my gender out of it.”

  “Well, I didn’t know it was her!” he argued. “I mean, who expected her to write such . . .”

  His voice trailed off, and Mel crossed her arms over her chest and glowered.

  “Write such what?” she asked.

  “Hot stuff,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, man, it just keeps getting worse,” Oz said. “Have a little dignity and try to save yourself.”

  “I can’t,” Marty said. “We’re supposed to have a date and, well, she’s here!”

  “What?” Mel jumped up from her stool and hustled through the swinging doors into the bakery. She felt everyone follow behind her, and she snapped, “Stay here. I’ll take care of this!”

  She heard someone gulp behind her and figured it was Marty. The front door of the bakery was locked, but she twisted the dead bolt, shoved the door open, and stepped out onto the patio.

  “You!” she cried. “Stay away from my staff.”

  Olivia was seated at one of the patio tables. She stood when Mel slammed out the door, and Mel stumbled. She had never seen Olivia in anything other than her bright blue chef coat with her gray corkscrew hair fastened in a ponytail on the crown of her head. That was not the Olivia who stood before her now.

  “I can’t stay away,” Olivia said. “I have a date. Do we need to talk about this?”

  Mel studied her. Olivia’s hair was brushed out and flowed in gentle gray waves to her shoulders. She wore just a trace of makeup, which accented her eyes and lips becomingly. Her sturdy frame was dressed in a muted print, georgette dress with a pleated skirt that stopped just above her knees. Her shoes were beige high heels. She looked lovely.

  “Yes,” Mel said. “I think we do.”

  Olivia gestured for Mel to sit at one of their iron patio tables. Mel did, and Olivia took the seat across from her, all very civilized.

  “I started following Martin’s blog—”

  Olivia paused and glanced at the bakery window, where Tate, Angie, Oz, and Marty all had their faces pressed to the glass to see if Mel had put a smack-down on Olivia, no doubt. Olivia smiled and gave Marty a finger wave with her pretty pink nails. He grinned and waved back, causing Angie to cuff him upside the head.

  “You were saying,” Mel said.

  “Oh, yes,” Olivia said as she glanced back. “I started following Martin’s blog to spy on you. I admit it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mel said.

  “But who knew ButterMeUp would turn out to be such a hottie?” Olivia sighed.

  Mel frowned.

  “ButterMeUp is Martin’s online name,” Olivia said.

  “I got that,” Mel said. “I’m trying not to gag.”

  “Look, I know you’re struggling in the romantic sense right now,” Olivia said.

  “He told you that?” Mel felt a pressure building behind her eye sockets that she feared was going to send her eyeballs popping out any second, the only upside being that they might hit Olivia.

  “Well, he didn’t know I was me,” she said.

  “You know, it’s going to be really hard for you to have a date with a dead body,” Mel said. She turned and glared at the window, and Marty jumped back as if her look had burnt him.

  “Listen,” Olivia said, “I don’t get asked out on a lot of dates, and Martin, well, he’s a real gentleman, you know?”

  Mel sighed. “I know.”

  “Running a business is a twenty-four/seven operation, as you know,” Olivia said. “I’ve been alone for a long time.”

  “Your point?” Mel asked.

  “I’m lonely, and I’m asking you to let Martin take me out without firing him or docking his pay or anything like that,” Olivia said.

  It sounded like every word had cost Olivia a pint of blood, and Mel had to respect her for that.

  She met Olivia’s gaze, and they sized each other up. Mel arched an eyebrow, and Olivia mirrored her. They were still enemies—of that there was no doubt—but she couldn’t deny Marty and Olivia the right to date without reprisals from her.

  “Fine, but if I find out that you’re after any of my recipes, I’m coming after you,” Mel said. She hoped she’d channeled enough Jack Nicholson from The Shining to scare Olivia straight.

  Olivia beamed at her, and Mel blinked. She would never have expected that Olivia could look so pretty.

  “Marty, your date is waiting!” Mel called. She glanced at the window and saw them all looking at her in something akin to shock.

  “Mel, can I offer you a bit of advice?” Olivia asked.

  “Really?” Mel asked. “You’re going to advise me now?”

  “We’re a lot alike,” Olivia said.

  “No, we’re not,” Mel argued. “You’re crazy, for one thing.”

  “Don’t you have to be to be a baker?” Olivia asked. “Listen, it’s easy to be afraid of getting involved.”

  “I’m not—” Mel began to protest, but Olivia cut her off.

  “Yes, you are. Marty told me that you used to be heavy and that your self-esteem isn’t what it should be, considering what a lovely woman you’ve become.”

  “That’s it!” Mel yelled, jumping up from her seat. “He’s dead man walking!”

  Mel was horrified that Olivia of all people knew of the most humiliating period of her life.

  “Hey, I’m trying to help you out here,” Olivia snapped, also rising to her feet. “Don’t be threatening my date!”

  “I don’t need your help.”
/>   “Yes, you do,” Olivia said. “Now shut up and listen. People don’t love you back like your business does. They’re unpredictable and demanding. Owning your own business is a beautiful thing, but it’s not a life. Try to figure out how to have both before you’re too old, like me.”

  Mel and Olivia stood a foot apart, both breathing heavy and looking like they wanted to take a swing at each other.

  The door to the bakery opened, and Marty stepped out. Olivia stepped back from Mel and began to smooth her hair. Mel glanced between them. There was no denying it: when Marty and Olivia looked at each other, the air positively zapped with electricity. Wow!

  “Do not talk about me,” Mel said to Marty through gritted teeth. “Or the business or anyone else from the bakery. Clear?”

  Marty nodded, but he only had eyes for Olivia.

  “Come here, you saucy minx,” he said.

  ButterMeUp held out his arm, and Domicaketrix giggled when she took it. Mel watched them walk away, bemused by this sudden turn of events.

  Oz, Tate, and Angie all came out of the bakery and stood on the front patio with her.

  “I so did not see that coming,” Oz said.

  “Me, neither,” Tate agreed.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Angie asked.

  “No,” Mel said. “But what could I say? It looks like they’re smitten.”

  As they walked away, Marty put his arm around Olivia’s waist and pulled her close. Their heads were pressed together as they shared a whispered conversation.

  Mel felt a sharp stab of envy pierce her heart.

  Was Olivia right? Was Mel doomed to wind up old and alone because she was too afraid of losing a man to let herself love him?

  “I’m going to go do some paperwork,” she said.

  She closed the office door behind her and took a deep, steadying breath. Then she pulled out her phone and dialed.

  “Hello,” he answered on the second ring.

  “So, I was wondering,” Mel said. “Are you busy tonight?”