Sweet Temptations Collection

by Brant, Marilyn

  “I’m in the hospital. I’m very, very sick.”

  Oh, God, please forgive me. She said a short prayer that his condition wasn’t terminal.

  “I have the measles,” he said. “My parents, darlings that they were, were hippies in the seventies who didn’t think you should ever trust the government or the establishment or any other ‘-ment.’ Not a bad philosophy. But they also didn’t believe in vaccinations. I just found out this morning what an unfortunate thing that was for me. I’m in San Diego. I’m highly contagious. I’m under quarantine and not allowed to go anywhere.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Cam…”

  His voice softened. “I am so sorry, honey. I know you were counting on me. I can try to get released in a few days, but there’s no guarantee they’ll let me fly anywhere or that, even if I could, that I’d be able to do everything we need to do in time. I can call your editor and explain and maybe—”

  “No. Look, you just concentrate on getting well. I—I’ll see what I can figure out here. Maybe I can find a local food photographer on short notice.” Well, this was doubtful, but she didn’t want Camden sitting and worrying in his hospital bed. “Otherwise, we can get the deadline extended a week or two. It’s just, I’ve never worked with anyone besides you, so…”

  “Whatever you decide to do, it’s fine with me. If you can get someone else to take the shots, he or she should get the credit in the book. If the editor will let you wait for me, I’ll make sure—no matter what—that I’m there. You just do what you need to do, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, pretty sure the world was on its way to disintegrating before her eyes. She hadn’t told Camden this of course, but her editor had been very firm on this deadline. With the cookbook’s release date being in mid-December, they were cutting it close as it was. If they were late getting the photos in, the book wouldn’t make it to production on time and its release would have to be delayed until another spot opened up.

  Jacques, Gretchen and Nick stared at her in fury, shock and horror respectively. She herself could barely see in color. One of them, she couldn’t tell who, whispered, “What are we going to do? I don’t know any professional photographers?”

  Another one said, “Who does?”

  To which the obvious person popped into her brain. The man who knew everyone and whom everyone knew in turn. The man she’d been avoiding for his own good…and for hers.

  “I’ll call Rob,” Elizabeth said.

  Ten minutes later, after explaining to him the dire predicament Cam and his measles had put them in, Rob was on the job.

  “I have just the photographer you need,” he said. “I’d trust this guy with my life, and I’ve already got him on payroll. Just give me a half hour to make some calls. We’ll get him up here in a few hours so don’t panic. Okay, Lizzy?”

  The way he said her old nickname, all warm and worried for her, made her broken heart pound for wanting him. He’d done almost the impossible and made her love that stupid name when it came flowing off his lips. He’d given her a wealth of new memories to associate with it. For once, she didn’t bother to correct him.

  “Thanks, Rob,” she said quietly.

  “Anything for you, babe,” he whispered before hanging up. “Anything for you.”

  Ah, if only that were true.

  ***

  By two p.m., a sprightly and very sharp-dressed young man came gliding into Jacques’s bakery where they were all gathered. His dark features were Hispanic in origin, but his clothes were pure Armani. Elizabeth heard Nick’s jagged intake of breath next to her.

  Gretchen detached from holding Jacques’s hand long enough to pat Elizabeth’s arm and whisper, “Get a load of that hottie.”

  Jacques scowled and pulled her back.

  Rob came rushing in a few paces behind the dapper dude, and said, “Everyone, this is my good friend Miguel. He’s been managing The Playbook for me while I’ve been up here, but he’s a wiz kid.” He grinned. “His current resume says he’s one of Illinois’s top style consultants, which is true, but I won’t let him work for anybody else. He’s studied business, fashion and, most importantly for us today, photography.”

  Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes. If this Miguel guy had earned Rob’s loyalty and respect, they might just have a chance…not just getting the photos taken, but also getting them taken well.

  Miguel smiled at the group. “Happy to be here.” He waved and smiled politely through the introductions. Then he glanced around the bakery and specifically at Jacques’s perfectly formed éclairs. Immediately Miguel’s demeanor changed.

  “Boss Man,” he commanded of Rob, “we need to get the equipment from the car. Now. There’s lots of work to do.” And he began rustling around the room, giving orders, inspecting pastries, flicking on the special spotlights he brought, setting up his camera on the tripod.

  “I need a helper. Fast,” Miguel demanded and, before anyone else could so much as unbend a finger, Nick had pounced into position by his side.

  Miguel’s eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch as he got his first really good look at Nick. Elizabeth could feel the pheromones flying.

  Pretty soon photographs of the various desserts were being snapped faster than any of them could say “Tutti-Frutti,” which—incidentally—was closed midday, in honor of these special circumstances.

  Elizabeth saw Rob tap his buddy on the shoulder during a short break in the shooting. “Nice work, Miguel,” he said, edging out Nick for a moment, who was hanging on every word they said two yards away.

  Miguel huffed. “I don’t do nice work. I’m a perfectionist. I do exceptional work.”

  Rob laughed and caught Elizabeth’s eye for a moment before responding to him. “Okay, then. Exceptional work, Miguel.”

  “Oh, I know. I just gave myself another raise and trust me, Boss Man, I’m still a bargain.”

  The two men looked at each other affectionately for a second then Rob slapped him on the back and strode away. Nick pranced over to Miguel again where they resumed a discussion of either clothing or sports—Elizabeth kept losing track. But one thing she knew for certain: Nick wouldn’t be lamenting the loss of ex-lovers a moment longer.

  She wished she could say her love life looked remotely as promising.

  This past week had been the kind of torture she wouldn’t have cursed an enemy with (well, maybe Tara Welles), but she knew she couldn’t take back her words to Rob. Watching him stomp around the room now, so strong, so masculine, so confident…she realized he’d given her an extraordinary gift. Some of his freedom of speech had rubbed off on her, even if it had been only a tiny bit. She found she was finally able to say what she meant. That she could, at last, speak up for herself.

  And she desperately hoped something good of hers had rubbed off on him, if only so he wouldn’t forget her too quickly.

  ***

  The next few days passed in a blur of activity. Rob returned to handling the ice cream parlor. Nick, Gretchen and Jacques took turns having their specialties featured. Other local cooks that Elizabeth had contacted, gladly provided delectable-looking samples of their creations to accompany the recipes selected to be in the book. She herself made several batches of sweets, including her mother’s cherry cheesecake from scratch, and had them photographed by Miguel.

  By the fifth and final day of the project, Nick and Miguel were an inseparable pair with plans to take their relationship to the next level.

  “Wisconsin has the Brewers, the Badgers, the Bucks, the Green Bay Packers—” Nick began in his plea to get Miguel to consider a relocation to the Dairy State.

  “But Illinois has the Bears, the Sox, the Cubs, the Blackhawks and the Bulls,” Miguel said over him.

  “We used to have Brett Favre,” Nick said.

  “And we used to have Michael Jordan,” Miguel shot back, his tone taunting and more than a hint sarcastic.

  Nick squinted at him. “Chicago is a serious two-and-a-half hour drive away, Miguel. F
or me, it’s doable but, man, my family would kill me for ditching them.”

  “I’ve got Blackhawks season tickets,” Miguel said simply, no doubt having already heard Nick’s fantasies about hockey players. “Section 113. Against the glass.”

  Nick’s eyes grew wide. The clock ticked for three seconds. “I’m so there.”

  And with that Elizabeth realized how quickly and easily other people could solve their long-distance relationship problems if they were motivated to do so. Maybe songwriters through the ages had gotten it right:

  Love is all you need.

  Love will keep us together.

  Love will find away.

  Love is the answer.

  And, so, since nothing remotely that simple applied to her relationship with Rob, perhaps she’d overestimated the strength of not just his emotions, but also her own.

  Well, no. She was pretty darn sure she loved him. But sometimes, well, sometimes…Love just ain’t enough.

  While Nick was packing the following day and Miguel was gathering up the last of his equipment, Elizabeth snuck into the backdoor of Tutti-Frutti to grab some more order forms. They’d been so busy with the photo shoot that she hadn’t restocked in a week, and they should never be allowed to run low on Mocha Madness.

  Plus, she needed an ice cream treat herself. Today was August first and she’d just e-mailed her editor the text of her cookbook with the jpegs of the photos. And, for good measure, a hardcopy of everything was set to arrive in New York City via express mail the next morning, too.

  She snitched an ice cream sandwich and was just about to be her stealthiest and leave unnoticed when she heard a familiar female voice.

  “Hi, Rob. How are you, handsome?”

  “Tara. Hi. Nice to see you as always.”

  Blah!

  “I heard through the grapevine that you finally ditched Frizzy Lizzy and you’re a free man again. That’s true, right?”

  Elizabeth couldn’t see her, but she could almost hear Tara’s incredibly high-wattage smile beaming rays of intense desire at him. She felt nauseated.

  Rob, however, was probably staring lustfully back at Tara, so he didn’t answer her question.

  “Rob, honey, why don’t you come with me to the Beer-N-Brat Fest in Milwaukee this weekend? We’d have so much fun together. It’d be just like old times when we—”

  “Why don’t you take Lance to it, Tara?” Rob said.

  “Lance? What does Lance have to do with any—”

  “The guy’s crazy about you,” he replied. “He goes insane with jealousy whenever any other man so much as looks your way. I know you’ve been more casual about dating him than the other way around, but think about it. Think about the attention he pays to you. You’re his kind of woman. You always were. Even in high school. And, unless you don’t feel anything toward him at all, he’s the man who should get the honor of spending time with you now.”

  Elizabeth listened to this statement without taking a breath. Wow. He pushed Tara away, too. He must really be set on heading back to Chicago soon. Tara must also have realized this because she didn’t speak for a full fifteen seconds. Then she said, “But what about you and me?”

  “There’s no you and me,” Rob said simply. “Here, have an ice cream cone on the house. And have fun in Milwaukee at the Beer-N-Brat Fest. With Lance.”

  Elizabeth heard a pause and some rustling of paper napkins or other such things.

  “Well, um. Bye, Rob. Good luck with everything,” Tara murmured. Footsteps clicked toward the door and the bells jangled as she left the shop.

  After a lengthy moment of silence, Elizabeth heard Rob mutter, “So long, Tara-rantula.”

  In spite of herself, she almost laughed. Tara-rantula? And all this time she’d thought Frizzy Lizzy was a bad nickname. Nothing like perspective.

  Elizabeth knew she needed to get out of the shop before Rob discovered her back there, eavesdropping and guiltily holding a frozen novelty. Still, it was hard for her to creep out the backdoor—which she did very, very quietly—and head toward her car after overhearing what she did. Rob didn’t sound like himself. He was breaking away from everyone. Not only her, but the Wilmington Bay townspeople, too. He wasn’t the gabby Gabinarri who’d strode so confidently into the shop in June. She felt sad for him. And for herself.

  Outside, she took a big bite of her ice cream sandwich. Creamy. Sweet. But not nearly as good as one of Rob’s kisses. Sometimes in life you had to settle, huh? At least he was still here with her for a little while longer. At least she got to look at him and admire him and remember everything they shared together, which was helpful when her days seemed bleak.

  But the thought of their lost relationship gave her knots in her stomach again and, suddenly, the dessert didn’t taste so good after all. She was about to toss it in the trash when she heard a chuckle followed by a distinctive “Liebling!”

  Startled, she accidentally dropped the ice cream sandwich on the ground and a curious squirrel nabbed it. “Uncle Siegfried. You—you’re back.”

  ***

  “Roberto! There you are.”

  Rob almost stopped breathing. “Uncle Pauly? When did you get home?”

  “Just a coupla hours ago.” He marched up to where Rob was standing at the counter and threw his hefty arms around him. “The place looks great.”

  The last time Uncle Pauly had hugged him that enthusiastically, Rob had been under five feet tall. He shot his mother’s big brother a suspicious glance. “Uh, thanks. How was the trip?”

  “Oh, great, great. Anita’s feeling real healthy now. She invited us back sometime soon. Maybe we’ll take your Mama along with us next time. She’d love it.”

  “I’m sure she would,” Rob said, feeling the oddest combination of emotions. If Uncle Pauly went back to Europe—and Siegfried and Mama went with him—he and Elizabeth would have to run the shop again. He’d be stuck returning to Wilmington Bay, which hadn’t turned out to be so bad after all, and he’d get to be with Elizabeth for another few months, which had turned out to be damn terrific. Until very recently.

  So maybe all they needed was a little more forced time and then…and then what? He wasn’t sure how much she really wanted a guy like him in her life, but more time to figure out the truth couldn’t hurt, right?

  “When are you thinking of doing that, Uncle Pauly? The fall, maybe?”

  His uncle shrugged. “Eh, I dunno. Maybe next summer. Maybe not.”

  “Oh.” And Rob had to face the fact that there was only one feeling he was experiencing now: Disappointment. He didn’t want to wait until next summer, or whenever it was convenient for everyone else, to be with Elizabeth again. He didn’t want to leave her. Period.

  “So, Siegfried and I are going to sleep off our jetlag and then we’ll take over tomorrow. You can go home to Chicago and not worry about us old men up here. You left everything in very good shape, Roberto. Grazie.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said automatically, but he felt dismissed. He wasn’t needed anymore. He could go. And no one would miss him.

  The bells jingled.

  “Hi, Rob,” Elizabeth said, looking strangely pale and walking in the shadow cast by her own smiling uncle. She greeted Uncle Pauly and Rob said hi to Siegfried. “It’s great to have them both back, isn’t it?” she asked him.

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Hell, no.

  “Uncle Siegfried just told me that we should close the shop early today.” She glanced at her uncle and he nodded earnestly.

  “You two have done so much work for us,” Siegfried declared. “Why don’t Pauly and I help you wrap things up for the day, then we can all relax. I know Pauly and I need some sleep. Liebling, you must have some writing business to finish up and, Rob, you’ll probably want to start packing.”

  Rob clenched his jaw. Everyone was trying to get rid of him. “That’s…thoughtful,” he managed.

  “Great.” Siegfried turned the sign on the door to “Closed” and began washing the me
tal cookie sheets and ice cream scoops. Pauly grabbed a broom and did a quick sweep of the floor.

  Rob and Elizabeth looked at each other. Their Tutti-Frutti rein was officially over but, somehow, despite weeks of anticipation and waiting for this moment to arrive, he got the distinct sense that she was feeling the same reluctance to end it as he was.

  The tiny bit of hope that lived inside him, the part that remembered the ecstasy of their lovemaking and the thrill of her saying she loved him, began to grow bigger. Maybe it all just came down to believing it could be done. Maybe when a choice was made in favor of intimacy, barriers bowed down to a superior power. Maybe he had to really look…and to really listen to what she was saying.

  He decided to take a chance and see if his theory proved true. “I’ll head back to Chicago in the morning,” he told Elizabeth and watched for clues.

  She shuttered her eyes and tightened her lips before nodding slowly. “I-I understand,” she said.

  But she didn’t.

  There was a tremor in her voice that had nothing to do with stuttering, and a tiny, almost imperceptible catch in her breath. There was a rigidity in her posture that suggested she was working extra-hard to keep her shoulders from drooping.

  Rob felt a couple of obstacles shattering in front of his eyes. She knew him well enough by now to know what she was getting into with him. He was loud. He was talkative. He was into sports. He wasn’t as smart as she was by a long shot.

  Yet every nerve fiber told him she didn’t want him to leave. And, hey, he was catching up in the brilliance department. When given a chance and a little time to think, he could make good choices. He was going to try his damnedest to make an excellent one now.

  He pulled her into the backroom, away from the prying eyes of their uncles. “Are you doing anything this Friday night?” he asked and, again, scanned her face and her body for any signs that might give away what was really going on in that whirling mind of hers.