“No, I think we’re good,” she said. “I’m going to grab a shower. Give me fifteen, and we can get started.”
“You got it,” Angie said. “You do realize, though, that the overstuffed cupcake has issued a challenge that can’t be ignored.”
“Don’t you worry,” Mel said. “It won’t be. I promise.”
Two
Mel pulled her pink bib apron over her head. Fairy Tale Cupcakes was scrawled in glittery script over the top, while the bottom half sported three roomy pockets. Angie wore a matching one. The aprons were as close to a uniform as they ventured.
The mint chocolate chip cupcakes had been baked and cooled, and it was now time for the icing. Mel had mixed two batches of peppermint icing, one white and one red. She and Angie then worked in tandem, icing the tops of the cupcakes to look like round peppermint candies.
Angie went first with the white icing. Using medium pressure on the frosting bag, she started in the center and moved the tip out to the edge of the cupcake, allowing the stripe to get wider as she veered to the right, giving it a small curve. Mel followed her lead, filling in the bare spots with red stripes. Mel had thought this would be a good project for their couples, as they would have to work together.
When they finished the last of the twenty-four cupcakes, Angie went back and plopped a shiny silver Hershey’s Kiss in the middle of each one.
“Ta da,” she said. “Kiss Me Cupcakes. Hey, if the Bickersons start fighting tonight, we can always rename these Kill Me Cupcakes.”
“Funny,” Mel said with a smile.
Angie hefted the tray of finished cupcakes onto her shoulder while Mel opened the door to the walk-in cooler for her. She then started to clean out her mixers. She had an industrial Hobart and a smaller pink KitchenAid, both of which she would run back to save if the building ever caught fire. Yes, they were covered by insurance, but they were also her babies.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur of buttercream. Three special orders were picked up, one for a mah-jongg club, one for a Girl Scout Daisy troop, and one for the knitting club that met at the yarn shop down the street. Mat Matazzoni, a favorite customer, stopped by to pick up a dozen Calamity Creams, leaving their display case looking empty, which they didn’t mind a bit. Between the regulars and the steady stream of foot traffic from tourists visiting Old Town Scottsdale, Mel and Angie rarely had a chance to sit down, catch their breath, or even take a potty break. It appeared that despite Olivia’s attempt to steal their customers, Fairy Tale Cupcakes was doing just fine, thank you very much.
“So, have you thought of how we’re going to put a crimp in Olivia’s cupcake?” Angie asked as she joined Mel in the kitchen to prep for their class.
“Funny you should ask,” Mel said. “I did have an idea.”
“Let ’er rip, former marketing genius,” Angie said.
She was referring to the years before Mel was a pastry chef. As a freshly minted alum from UCLA, Mel had jumped onto the fast track at a marketing firm in Los Angeles. She was a natural, thinking up new and creative ways to move products, and her clients loved her. Too bad she had loathed all things corporate and lived only for her daily sweets fix at her local bakery, which became the catalyst she needed to ditch the job and pursue opening her own bakery. Still, she had skills.
“All I ask is that you keep an open mind,” Mel said. She circled the steel worktable, putting out the mixing bowls that their couples would be using.
“Uh-oh.” Angie looked concerned as she placed different-size cups with the ingredients already measured in them next to the bowls.
“What?”
“The last time you asked me to have an open mind, you set me up on a blind date with a guy who smelled like onions,” Angie said.
“Barry is nice,” Mel said.
“He’s our accountant,” Angie argued. “He’s logic and numbers and eau de stinky.”
“I was just trying to help,” Mel said. “Besides, you set me up with the wandering eyeball.”
“Clint is a good guy,” Angie protested. “He just has a lazy eye.”
“Really? Because the way it followed every pair of tatas that entered the room, it seemed to be getting quite the workout to me.”
Angie let out a put-upon sigh.
“Change of subject, I get it,” Mel said. “Now why did we name our shop Fairy Tale Cupcakes?”
“Because a yummy cupcake is our idea of living happily ever after,” Angie said.
“Correct,” said Mel. She put a wire whisk and rubber spatula beside each bowl. “Now, who always guarantees a happy ending in a fairy tale?”
“The handsome albeit devoid-of-personality prince?” Angie guessed.
“No.”
“Well, it’s not the evil stepmother,” Angie said. “And the mother is usually dead, so that leaves the furry wood-land creatures?”
“No.” Mel shook her head. “Come on, think.”
“Who’s left? The fairy godmother?”
“That’s it!”
Angie glanced around the room. “And this works for us how?”
“We’ll raffle ourselves off as the lucky winner’s fairy godmothers for one day, and we’ll call it the Fairy Tale Cupcake Contest.”
“Our oven is electric,” Angie said. “So you’re not suffering brain damage from a gas leak.”
“Oh, come on, it’s a good idea,” Mel said.
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “I’m not really the fairy godmother type. I’m more the surly dragon who flames people.”
“No flaming,” Mel said. “I figure we can launch the idea on our website and in a print ad in the Phoenix New Times. I’m thinking for every four-pack of cupcakes purchased, the customer can fill out a slip and enter the drawing.”
“So, what exactly will we be doing as fairy godmothers?” Angie asked.
“The same thing fairy godmothers always do,” Mel said. “Make sure our winner and their date have a fabulous night on the town.”
“So, we’re talking dinner and transportation?” Angie asked.
“And cupcakes,” Mel added.
“How are you planning to pull this off?”
“Simple,” she said. “Tate’s company has a car service. I’m sure he’ll let us use it for one night. And you’ve heard of the chef Chris Carlisle?”
“The Iron Chef guy over at the Orangewood Resort in Paradise Valley?”
“That’s him. Well, he can’t make a pie crust to save his life,” Mel said. “He would have flunked cooking school if it wasn’t for me. He owes me, and I think a romantic dinner for two may pay his bill.”
There was a beat of silence while Angie considered her with an expression that was equal parts dismay and admiration.
“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
Mel paused to consider and then said, “No.”
“Fine,” Angie said. “I’ll check my closet at home and see if I have a pair of fairy wings hanging in there.”
“That’s my girl.” Mel grinned.
The bells on the front door sounded, and they both glanced at the wall clock. Seven o’clock. Time for class.
The Bakersons, Irene and Dan, were the first couple to come in. Mel guessed them to be somewhere in their sixties. Irene wore her gray hair in fat curls all over her head. She was short and sturdy; in fact, she and Dan had similar builds, but where he carried his extra weight hanging low over the front of his belt, Irene carried hers more in the caboose.
What was left of Dan’s hair was combed over the large bald spot on the top of his head, fooling no one except himself into thinking he had anything close to a full head of hair. They both wore glasses and track suits, making them look like a matched set. You’d think a couple who chose to spend so much time together would get along better, but no, not these two. They both seemed to have a permanent cantankerous expression etched onto their faces, but only when dealing with one another. Mel could not understand what had possessed them to take her cla
ss, but she was too much of a coward to ask.
“You could have had the spot right in front of the shop, but that would have been too convenient. So now we have to walk a block and a half back to the car, because Mr. Impatient just couldn’t wait for anyone to pull out,” Irene griped as they entered the kitchen.
Dan looked at his wife, his gaze lingering on her pear shape, and said, “The walk will do you good.”
Irene let out a huffy breath, plopped onto a stool, and promptly ignored him.
Three more couples, the Felixes, an elderly pair who lived in town, and the Koslowskis and the Dunns, two senior couples wintering in Scottsdale, arrived, breaking the awkward silence from the Bakersons.
As they filled in the stools around the table, the kitchen door swung wide and the last couple, Jay and Poppy Gatwick, entered. As always, they looked as if they had just walked off the cover of Vanity Fair.
Jay had ruddy, masculine good looks and dressed in a Ralph Lauren-at-play style that gave him a grown-up, all-American-boy appeal. Poppy was his perfect complement. She dressed her slender figure in St. John and wore oodles of expensive jewelry, but not the flashy kind. For her it was all black pearls and delicate gold with pavé diamonds, which she slipped off her manicured fingers and tucked into Jay’s pocket at the beginning of every class.
The five couples pulled on their student aprons. For the women, it was a paler pink version of the one that Mel and Angie wore, and for the men, it was a nice, macho navy blue. That is, if a bib apron without barbeque tongs attached can be considered macho, Mel thought.
Angie disappeared into the walk-in cooler to bring out the tray of cupcakes they’d made earlier. As she set them down in the center of the steel worktable, Mel’s students leaned in to study them.
“These are called Kiss Me Cupcakes,” Mel said.
“They look yummy,” Poppy said. “Don’t you think so, Jay?”
“They do, but not nearly as yummy as you.” He winked at her. She playfully swatted him, and he grinned.
“How come you never say nice things like that to me?” Irene glared at Dan.
“Maybe if you looked like her I would,” he said.
Irene huffed, and Mel pressed on before it got ugly.
“These are mint chocolate chip cupcakes with peppermint buttercream and a Hershey’s Kiss on top.”
“Oh, I love mint chocolate chip,” Candace Dunn said.
“We both do,” said her husband. “I bet these don’t survive the ride home.”
They laughed, and the others joined in. Mel was pleased that she’d picked a winner.
“Let’s begin, shall we?”
Mel and Angie circled the tables, instructing the couples and jumping in to help when they needed it. First, they used a whisk to cream together the butter and sugar.
As she watched the couples, Mel saw Mrs. Felix rub the knuckles of her right hand. Mr. Felix patted her shoulder and took over the whisking. Judging by the size of Mrs. Felix’s large knuckles, she was suffering from arthritis. Mel knew the Felixes had been married for almost sixty years, and she marveled at the silent communication between them; they really were two halves who made a whole.
“Give me that,” Irene snapped at Dan. “You’re doing it all wrong.”
“I am not!” he protested.
They each had a hand on the handle of their whisk, which was poised to fling butter and sugar all over the room.
“Drop it!” Angie ordered. It was her former elementary school teacher voice, which had been known to bring twenty-five wild second graders to a screeching halt. It worked on adults, too, as was evidenced when both Dan and Irene dropped the whisk and backed away.
Mel retrieved their bowl and tilted it so she could cream together the ingredients and scrape the sides.
“Dan, why don’t you finish this?” Mel handed him the bowl. “Just like I was doing. And Irene, why don’t you prepare to add the eggs?”
Across the table, she saw Jay with his arms around Poppy as they whisked the batter together. Okay, they were one of those couples who made a person feel queasy with their obvious adoration of one another. But Mel had to admit that mingled in with her gag reflex was a bit of envy. What would it be like to have a man look at her as if she were the center of his universe, the Juliet to his Romeo, like Jay looked at Poppy?
An abrupt banging on the back door drew Mel away from her class. Standing outside the kitchen was her mother, Joyce. Mel crossed the room and unlocked the door.
“Mom, what’s up?”
“The ceiling,” Joyce quipped.
“Hilarious,” Mel said. “Seriously, I’m in the middle of a class. Is everything all right?”
Joyce peeked over Mel’s shoulder and finger-waved at the class. They gave amused and confused waves back.
Mel looked closely at her mother. Joyce Cooper never left the house looking less than her best. She was always perfectly made-up and coiffed. She lived by the principle that you never knew what might happen, so you should always look your best, taking the always-wear-clean-underwear thing to a whole new level.
Looking at her now, Mel felt a knot of worry tie up her insides. Joyce’s blonde bob was windblown, she had no makeup on, and under her long jacket Mel glimpsed pink thermal pajamas and fuzzy blue slippers.
“Mom, are you ill?” Mel reached up to feel her forehead. It was cool but not clammy.
Angie came scooting over, wearing the same look of concern. “Joyce, are you okay? Should I call urgent care?”
Joyce busted out with a laugh. “I’m fine. Better than fine. I have a date!”
Three
“What?” Mel staggered backwards until her butt hit a stool and she sat.
“I know, isn’t it amazing?” Joyce asked. “But you inspired me. Once you started dating dear Joe, I knew I had to get back out there.”
Her mother always called Joe “dear Joe” as if that were his full name. Needless to say, she adored him.
“Mom, this is the first date you’ve had since . . .”
“I dated your father thirty-five years ago,” Joyce finished the sentence. “It’s been ten years since he passed. I think it’s time. And Baxter—his name is Baxter Malloy—is such a charming man. I just couldn’t refuse him.”
Mel had often thought her mother should start dating again, but as the years had rolled on and her mother hadn’t, Mel had gotten used to the idea that her mom would stay as she was. There was a certain comfort in knowing that she and her brother, Charlie, were her mother’s main preoccupations. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being usurped.
“Good for you, Joyce,” Angie said and stepped around Mel and her stool to give her a hug. Then she elbowed Mel out of her stupor with a whispered “It’s just a date—relax.”
Angie returned to the students to get them back on task, and Mel shook her head. Angie was right. It was just a date—no biggie. She hopped off of her stool and gave her mother a smile and a hug. “Yeah, good for you, Mom.”
Joyce flashed brighter than a motel sign reading VACANCY. Oh, dear.
“I’m so glad you think so,” she said. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your class.”
“But Mom, where did you meet him?” Mel asked. She didn’t want to sound suspicious, but a little more information would not have been out of order.
“It was fate,” she said. “You know my friend Ginny?”
“The crazy rich one?” Mel asked.
“Yes, and she’s not crazy, she’s just impetuous,” Joyce said.
“Mom, she thinks she’s the secret love child of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley,” Mel said. “She’s crackers and not too tightly wrapped.”
“Scoff all you want. You never know, she could be,” Joyce said. “There is a rumor that they had a secret night together in 1956 and Ginny was born in 1957.”
“Moving on,” Mel said. She and Joyce had had this debate about Ginny before. Mel liked Ginny, but there was no question she was nuts.
“Well, Ginny
invited me out to the Barrett Jackson car auction last week because she wanted to surprise her husband, Monty, with a new car for his birthday.”
Mel rolled her hands to signal her mother to speed up the story.
“Well, when it came time to bid, Ginny had to go to the bathroom, so she asked me to do it for her. Well, there were several of us bidding, and then the price got so high that everyone except me and a very distinguished-looking gentleman dropped out. Well, you know Ginny, she never gives in, so I didn’t either. I outbid him, and when it was over he came over and kissed my hand and asked for my phone number.”
“And you gave it to him?” Mel asked.
“I did!” Joyce said and clapped a hand over her mouth as if she had surprised herself.
“Let go!” a shrill voice demanded.
Mel glanced over her shoulder. Dan and Irene were arm wrestling over the ice cream scoop they used to fill the cupcake liners with batter. Angie was trying to mediate the situation. The rest of the couples were working together happily. Then her gaze caught Jay Gatwick’s. He was frowning at her mother. She supposed Joyce’s bedraggled appearance offended his highbrow sensibilities.
Mel turned and walked her mother to the door. “I’d better get back. We’ll talk more later. Call me.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Joyce said. “My date is Friday night. That only gives me two days to shop. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for lunch and we’ll do some shopping. It’ll be fun.”
They hugged, and Mel watched her mother cross the alley to the parking lot. She waited until Joyce was in her car before she closed and locked the door. When she turned back to the group, Jay was still watching her and looking concerned. Mel gave him a forced smile, and he turned back to his wife.
She supposed in his world of wealth and position, having someone turn up at your workplace in their pajamas to announce that they had a date was simply not done, which was exactly why she’d left the corporate rat race behind and opened a bakery. She liked keeping the lines between her personal and her professional life blurry.
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