“Ha-ha.” I punch him lightly in the arm. “Very funny.”
He turns to look at me, and once again I feel that electric something between us. I look away so that he can’t see me blushing.
When we come into the house, my sister is in the front room watching TV, with Treacle purring on her lap. “Hey, Kels.” I stick my head in the room, straining to make myself heard over the sound of Scooby-Doo. “Do you want to help bake a cake?”
“A cake?” She doesn’t take her eyes off the screen. “Um…”
“Come on, Kelsie,” Nick says.
“Nick!” My sister squeals. She jumps up and rushes over to give him a hug. He picks her up and whirls her around.
“Let’s go,” Nick says, setting her down. “Turn that off, okay?”
“’Course!” Kelsie immediately switches the TV off. I give a little smirk. Whatever my relationship with Nick is or isn’t, no one has a bigger crush on him than my little sister.
“Is Mom home?” I ask her as we’re walking to the kitchen.
“Nope,” she says. “But look what they did.” She points, but it’s not really necessary. Just inside the door to the kitchen, there’s a gaping hole in the wall. The plaster is jagged and rough, the bricks at the edge smashed through. There’s a trail of dust and a dirty wheelbarrow track leading across our kitchen floor and out of the back door.
“Oh right.” I look at Nick. There’s dust all over the kitchen—it doesn’t look like it’s really fit for baking anything. And on the other side of the opening, Rosemary’s kitchen beckons like a magical world through the mist.
“Well, that makes things easier,” Nick says. “Shall we clean up here, or go to Rosemary’s kitchen?”
I smile. “Let’s go through the wall.”
I feel like I’m climbing through the wardrobe to Narnia or something as I follow Kelsie and Nick through the jagged opening.
“Are we going to have two kitchens?” Kelsie asks. I take the icing sugar and flour out of my bag.
“No, I think they’ll make our old kitchen into a dining room or something,” I say.
“So this will be our kitchen.”
“Yeah.”
“Fab,” my sister says.
Nick and I get the ingredients out, and he helps my sister do the measuring. He naturally assumes that we’re using the cake recipe from our special recipe book. It isn’t very complex or different from other cake recipes—it has the same flour, butter, eggs, and sugar as in any other cookbook. But there’s something about the handwritten recipes in the little red-and-green marbled notebook that seem to make everything taste better.
I know the cake will taste amazing—moist, fluffy, never dry or soggy. But right now, in a way, I wish we weren’t using our special recipe. I don’t want Dad to get any funny ideas. I start getting things ready to make the icing and the decorations—we’ll stick to buttercream icing and sprinkles, nothing too fancy.
Kelsie pours the ingredients into the bowl and mixes them with her skinny arm. Nick even lets her break the eggs, which is something I never do. She quickly gets tired of stirring and asks Nick with her big, blue, puppy-dog eyes if he’ll take over.
“Sure.” He flexes his arm muscles and gives her a wink.
Kelsie sits and watches him. “Is Scarlett your girlfriend?” she asks out of the blue.
“Kelsie!” I blurt out. My skin crawls with mortification. “You don’t ask people things like that.”
She turns to look at me. “Why not? I mean, he’s your boyfriend, right?”
Nick laughs awkwardly. I can feel the flush creeping down my neck.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes fixed on the spoon swirling in the bowl. “She is.”
“Oh, I thought so,” Kelsie says. I feel a tremor flowing through my body. Does he mean it, or is he just putting my sister off? I wish she’d go back and watch TV. On second thought…she’d better not leave. “Scarlett’s always talking about you. She goes this funny red color.”
“Does she?” He winks at my sister. “I never noticed that before.”
I force myself to laugh it off too, but I can’t look at him. I can almost feel the spark between us, even though I’m standing a good three feet away from him.
“All mixed, I think,” Nick says. “Scarlett, do you have the pan?”
I have to turn around and face him. Kelsie’s staring at me. “Yeah—here.” I hand him the pan that I’ve greased with butter. I look away quickly, but it’s too late. My cheeks and face are bright red, and this time, I know he’s noticed!
Chapter 11
Secrets and Lies
The room feels very warm as I put the cake pan in the oven and turn the knob to set the timer.
“I’m going to go watch TV,” Kelsie says. “’Kay?”
“You go, girl,” Nick says.
I wipe my hands on my apron as Kelsie goes back though the hole in the wall to “our house.” Maybe I should feel grateful to my sister for breaking the ice, but right now I’m both thankful and furious with her, in equal measure. Above all, I wish she’d stayed. Left alone with Nick, I’m tongue-tied. I go over to the counter and get the butter, icing sugar, vanilla, and milk ready to put in a bowl for the buttercream icing.
“You didn’t have to say that.” I can’t look at him.
“She’s eight,” Nick says. “I had to say something. And besides, I mean, I know we haven’t talked about it, and stuff, but…” I steal a look at him. He’s blushing too.
I don’t know what I was hoping for, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” I say.
“No, that’s not it.” He takes a step toward me. I hold my breath. “It’s just, I like things the way they are. I don’t want to mess them up…” He lifts his shoulders and lets out a breath. “This is…um…awkward.”
I bridge the distance between us. “I don’t want things to be awkward either.” I put my hand on his arm. “So let’s just forget it, okay?”
He shakes his head. “I think the cat’s out of the bag, don’t you?”
He takes my arms and gently pulls me to him, so close that his dark hair tickles my face. I can feel electricity racing up and down my spine, and I’m sure that he must be able to hear the drumming of my heart. OMG, he’s going to kiss me! My knees go wobbly, and at the same time, my body goes rigid. Does my breath smell bad? Why didn’t I brush my teeth when I got—
“Hello? Anybody home?”
I take a giant step back from Nick, smoothing my hands on my apron, trying to breathe and ignore my heart doing jumping jacks in my chest. Nick steps away too, and I can see he’s as embarrassed as I am.
“Anybody—”
“We’re in here,” I say.
Em-K sticks his head through the hole in the wall. “Whew,” he says. “Didn’t your mom ask the workmen to clean up?” He climbs through. “I thought they were putting in a door.”
“I don’t know,” I say in answer to both questions.
He frowns and checks the screen of his phone. “She texted me that she would be here—let’s see—an hour ago. I would have thought she’d be here by now.”
His fingers tap quickly over the screen.
I go over to the table and check my phone. “I got a text from her about fifteen minutes ago,” I say. “Sorry—I didn’t hear it come in. She says she popped out to meet a friend and will be back around eight.”
“Oh.” Em-K’s face falls. “I left early to get here. I guess I’ll go and do some work while I’m waiting.” He sniffs the air. “What’s that you’re making?” he says. “Smells wonderful.”
“It’s a cake,” Nick says.
“It’s…um…Nick’s dad’s birthday tomorrow,” I add quickly. My eyes flick to him and back to Em-K.
“Is it?” He frowns. “I thought you did a cake for him a few months back.”
He shakes his head. “I must be going senile.”
“That was for my brother,” Nick jumps in to the rescue. “It was his birthday.”
“Ah.” Em-K heads back to the hole in the wall. “Maybe that was it.” His dark head disappears back into our section of the house.
As soon as he’s gone, my knees feel weak with relief. “Thanks,” I whisper to Nick.
Nick shakes his head as the oven starts beeping. “Are you sure lying to him is a good idea?”
“What am I supposed to do? Mom’s run off, and I’m here baking a cake for my dad. Do you think I’m happy about it?”
Nick opens the oven door. The steam feels clean and pure against my face. He slides out the rack, and I poke the cake with a sharp knife to see if it’s done in the middle. The knife comes out clean. “Done,” I say.
He takes out the cake and sets the pan on a wire rack to cool.
We stand there staring at each other across the cake. He knows I feel bad and I know he feels bad for me. It’s a long way from where we were only a few minutes ago.
“I should go,” he says, looking at his watch. “I told Mom I’d be home for dinner.”
“Okay.” I’m a little upset and a lot relieved that he’s going. “I’ll put the icing and sprinkles on when it cools.”
We walk together back to the hole in the wall, but he pulls me up short. “Let me know how it goes tomorrow with…the cake.”
“I will. And thanks…” I pause, feeling like I’m drowning in his eyes, “…for everything.”
“My pleasure.” He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, and skillfully avoids any further awkwardness by disappearing back through the hole in the wall.
* * *
I stand there for a long time staring at the hole, listening to the sound of Em-K shuffling papers and typing on his laptop—it’s like he’s a million miles away. Eventually I turn back to the cake cooling on the rack. I release the springs on the cake pan and let the cake cool some more.
By the time the cake is cool and I’m spreading buttercream icing over it, I hear sounds from my own kitchen. Mom’s voice—and Em-K’s. I try not to listen. It’s like they’re talking through water. Mom is pleasant, telling him how she “ran into an old friend” and went for coffee.
Em-K sounds unusually cold and stressed. “You know I’m going to be away for at least a week, Claire. I thought we were supposed to have dinner tonight.”
I think about the lie I told, and whether it will come back to bite me. And I think about Nick—even after every stomach-flipping moment tonight, I’m still not sure if we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. I don’t understand how Violet wants this kind of stress with a boy.
“And this TV thing,” Em-K continues. “I know you really want to do it. But do you think it’s best—for us and the girls? Does Scarlett want to do it?”
“Of course,” Mom snaps. “Why wouldn’t she?”
As I go upstairs, not bothering to listen anymore, I think about how I wish this wedding would hurry up and come soon, so it will be over. Then I can get back to focusing on fixing things with my friends, making delicious food with the Secret Cooking Club, and basically just getting on with normal life.
Whatever that is.
Chapter 12
Bonbons and Boutiques
On Saturday morning, Mom wakes me out of a deep sleep. “Come on, Scarlett,” she says. “We’ve got a big day ahead.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I grumble, wishing I could bury myself under the duvet for a few more minutes—or even hours—or better yet, skip today altogether. But I know that tone in Mom’s voice—half excitement, half stress: total focus. Today’s the day she’s going to find the perfect wedding dress, and nothing—certainly not me—is going to stop her.
Mom goes downstairs to make coffee, and Kelsie comes into my room. “Come on, slowpoke,” my sister says. “Get up.”
I throw my old teddy bear at her and swing out of bed.
“It’s going to be so cool!” she says. “I can’t wait to start trying on dresses! It’s so exciting.”
“That’s one word for it.”
She runs downstairs, and I give in and get dressed. I know that Mom and Kelsie are dying to go wedding shopping. Which is great—for them. But try as I might, I can’t get excited about trying on some itchy, hot dress in a hideous color that I’ll never wear again. I’m doing this for Mom, I remind myself.
To hurry things along, Mom’s made breakfast: a squeezie packet of blueberry and oat purée each, and a rack of burnt toast to share.
“Um, do you want me to make some eggs?” I offer.
“No time,” Mom says, gulping down a cup of coffee. “We’re all due at my hair salon for a cut and style. Then we’re visiting four bridal shops. The first three on our own—just to get the flavor of it—and then the camera crew is meeting us at the last one.”
My stomach twists. “They’re filming us at the fittings?”
“Obviously. That’s what the show is about—preparing for the perfect fairy-tale wedding. Every bride wants to feel like a princess. The viewers will want to see me finding the perfect dress.”
“Right. I…guess I didn’t think of it like that.”
“And of course, they’ll want to film you too. I mean, you and Kelsie are my bridesmaids. We’ll find lovely dresses for you both.” She drinks her cup of black coffee in one gulp.
“And Em-K? Is he getting filmed too?”
“Well, no. It’s about brides—you know, a girly thing.”
“But he’s okay with it?”
She gives me a sharp glance. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Uh…no reason.”
“We agreed last night that the wedding will be in eight weeks,” she says as she searches her bag for her car keys. “That fits in with the filming schedule.”
“Sure, Mom.” I don’t bother to point out that it’s a tad unromantic that Mom’s perfect fairy-tale wedding has to be rushed to fit in with a TV schedule. In fact, I decide it’s safest not to point out anything at all.
* * *
Getting our hair done seems to take forever. Mom chats away to the stylist about the wedding, the blog, her product lines in stores, and her husband-to-be. Kelsie fidgets and cries out when the stylist tries to untangle her unruly blond hair, and I sit there bored out of my skull. By the time we’ve finished, my hair does look better—the split ends have been cut off and it actually has a shape—and more than anything, I wish we could just go home and have a normal Saturday. But of course, that’s not to be. As we leave the hair salon, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach about the rest of the day—the fittings, the filming, and then, like the icing on the cake…dinner with Dad.
It takes us almost forty-five minutes to drive to the first bridal “boutique.” The shop looks tiny—in one window at the side of the door there’s a tacky Cinderella wedding dress with lace and sparkles. “Wow!” Kelsie puts her hand to her mouth. “It’s so beautiful. You have to get that one, Mom.”
Mom laughs and ruffles Kelsie’s hair. “That one is nice, Kels.” She then points to the dress in the other window—a long, elegant silk dress with a neckline of tiny pearls. “But that’s more what I had in mind.”
“It’s pretty, Mom.” My spirits lift. Maybe Mom will choose something tasteful after all.
“Yes, well…” She shakes her head like she’s now decided to reject it. “It probably won’t suit me.”
When we enter the shop, a woman in a black pantsuit comes out from the back. “Welcome to Sophie’s Brides,” she says, sweeping a hand that sparkles with rings. “I’m Sophie. We’re so honored that you’ve chosen us to help make your ‘happily ever after’ come true.” Her glance snags on my sister, who has discovered a crystal dish of bonbons by the counter. The woman frowns briefly as my sister shoves a handful in her mouth.
“T
hanks,” Mom says. “You have a lovely shop.” She goes over to the rack and starts flipping through the dresses, touching the delicate fabrics. Sophie’s frown deepens, like Mom’s doing something wrong. Her perfume wafts as she quickly goes over to Mom. “If you tell me what you have in mind for your dress, perhaps I can select a perfect assortment of dresses for you to try on.”
“Sure.” Mom hangs on to the puffy net skirt she’s holding, running her finger over the tiny gems sewn in. “Maybe I could try this one. Or the Cinderella one in the window.”
So much for good taste.
“Hmm,” the woman says. “I’m not sure that style would suit you.”
“Oh.” Mom’s face reddens. “Of course, you know best.”
“How about this one?” The woman holds out an ivory silk dress similar to the one I liked.
“That is nice,” Mom says. “What’s the price on that one?”
Sophie purses her lips and holds up the tag between two fingers like it’s a dirty tissue.
Mom can’t quite hide a gasp.
“You must remember,” Sophie says, “that your special day is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
“Well, twice, in my case.” Mom laughs awkwardly. “But the first time was a bit of a mess, so maybe it doesn’t count.”
“Of course.” The woman sniffs. This whole thing is clearly not a marriage “made in heaven,” so I wish we could just leave.
Mom flips through a few more dresses, raising her eyebrows at another price tag.
“And remember,” the woman adds, “we cater to a very exclusive clientele. Everything is bespoke. That means it’s custom-made just for you. For most of my customers, the prices are very reasonable.”
Mom turns to her. “Of course,” she says. “I understand completely. And as my fiancé is a congressman, money isn’t an object. I’m really just asking for my followers. I’m doing a post this week on wedding shopping. You’ve might have heard of my blog: Mindfulness for Moms?”
“I’m afraid not.”
I sense that Mom’s about to embarrass herself, trying to somehow impress snooty old Sophie. Before that can happen, I interrupt: “Uh, Mom,” I say, “sorry, but I think we need to get on to our next appointment…”
Cake and Confessions Page 6
