Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)
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âI shouldnât.â
âElizabeth, Iâm pleading with you.â
âOh, all right.â She licked the tip again, inhaled deeply and took a big bite.
Jacques exploded next to her. âWell?â
âIncredible,â she declared. âThis is the single best éclair Iâve had in months.â She glanced at Jacquesâs expression. âYears,â she amended.
âAnd?â
âAnd youâre absolutely right. This new recipe is even better than your last batch. It has to be featured in the book. In fact, Iâm giving you the cover spread for the pastries chapter.â
âYes! Yes!â The portly, thirty-six-year-old French chef did a little jig in the front aisle of Tutti-Frutti, the ice cream parlor and confectionery shop where she and Jacques worked part time. Elizabethâs uncle and his business partner owned the place, and theyâd turned it into âThe Coolest Hotspotâ in Wilmington Bay, Wisconsin.
Elizabeth grinned at her good friendâs jubilance. Jacquesâs enthusiasm was one of the many things she adored about him. Another thing was that, despite the remnants of Jacquesâs French accent, they spoke the same languageâa vernacular inhabited by fillo dough, shaved almond bark and imported spices. As one of the few people she could be herself around, the Frenchman was worth his weight in dutched cocoa.
Jacques pranced around a little more, his receding hairline becoming more prominent when he jumped. âI knew youâd love it, chéri,â he said. âDidnât I tell you youâd love it?â
âYou told me.â
Elizabeth wiped the chocolate frosting and custard splotches off her chin before scribbling a few cursory comments in her notebook. She hadnât exaggerated in her assessment. Every one of Jacquesâs creations was bigger and better than the competition. She needed her first solo dessert cookbookâPerfect Pastries, Pralines and Parfaitsâto do the same.
He gave her a saucy wink. âYou know, I think you need to take my marriage proposal more seriously, ma petite brioche. Just imagine the two of us together. We could bring tasty comfort to millions of people daily. Sweet-toothed folks the world over,â he raised his voice and waved his oven mitt in the air with fervor, âwill flock to Wilmington Bay to see where this wonder all began.â He beamed at her. âJacques and ElizabethâSaviors of the Dessert Deprived.â
âPlease tell me thatâs not going to be our slogan.â
He shrugged. âI will leave the naming up to you, but Iâll be hurt if you donât think it through just a bit. Our possible engagement, I mean.â He couldnât disguise the mischievous glint in his eye. âFriendship is the key to long-lasting love. Iâd be honored to marry such a good friend as you, Elizabeth.â His voice dropped. âIf youâll have me.â
She walked to where he stood behind the counter and threw her arms around him. âYou are an amazing manâ¦and yet, totally, unbelievably insincere on this subject.â She punched him on the shoulder. âBut thanks for trying to cheer me up. I may have given up looking for love, but one of these days youâll find someone worthy of you.â
âNonsense. Youâre just saying ânoâ now because you want the empire all to yourself, you greedy girl!â He dipped her backward, as if in a finale to a dance routine, and planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead. âIn another year or two youâll be ready for me.â
She laughed and they stepped apart. Their conversations were peppered with moments like this: Jacques tossing a half-hearted proposal her way and her waving him off until next time. There was truly no romantic chemistry between them, but loneliness made people play these kinds of games. Theyâd spent hours recounting their relationship woes, alongside their other close friends, Nick and Gretchen. All of them had known too many years of heartbreak.
âSo, itâs a bright and lovely Sunday morning. What else is on your agenda today?â he said as he walked over to the oven and pulled out a steaming batch of fresh cranberry croissants. Elizabeth could feel the butter clogging her arteries from across the room.
âIâve got some rewrites to do on the pecan-praline cookies,â she told him. âI had Nick try out the lead recipe, and he said the tops burned if we left them in at three hundred seventy-five degrees for the whole twelve minutes. Theyâre only supposed to be âgolden brown.ââ
âItâs always something.â
âExactly.â She sighed.
âIâll bring you one of these to taste when Iâm done,â Jacques said, taking the croissant tray into the backroom to decorate the pastries with icing.
Just then, her uncle, Siegfried Finklehooper, burst through the front door. From the look on his face, she knew bad news had crossed his path, and now it was going to cross hers.
âHi, Uncle Siegfried,â she said. âWhatâs wrong?â She brushed a strand of frizzy reddish-brown hair away from her eyes and stared at him. His blue eyes flashed with strange brightness.
âI need your help, Liebling,â her uncle said, using his native German endearment for âdarling,â which wouldâve made her smile at any other time. Heâd called her mother that, too, when she was alive.
âOf course,â she said.
âI must go back to Bavaria.â
âWhen? Why?â Elizabethâs worry gene jumped into gear and her pulse picked up speed. She could only think of one reason heâd have to go to Germany. âIs it Aunt Anita?â
He nodded, and Elizabeth knew heâd be flying out immediately. Heâd promised his late wife, Elizabethâs wonderful Auntie Bette, he would never let her sister Anita die alone. But at age seventy-two, that wouldnât be an easy trip for Uncle Siegfried to make.
âI can come with you,â she blurted. âLet me go home to pack andââ
âNo, no, Liebling. You have a deadline on your cookbook, and I must be gone for several weeks, maybe a month. Either until she recovers or untilâ¦â He let that distressing thought trail off. âPaulyâs going with me.â
âI, umâ¦really?â she said. Pauly Carrera, her uncleâs business partner of forty years, was a full-blooded Italian a few years older than Uncle Siegfried. He was also cantankerous, prickly and on the opposite side of obliging. âBut, whoâs going to run the shop then?â
Pauly chose that moment to make his entrance. âDid you tell her yet?â he said in a gruff voice to her uncle.
Uncle Siegfried shot him an irritated look. âWe leave tonight, Liebling,â he explained to Elizabeth. âAnd we were hoping we could count on you to be in charge while weâre away.â
âMe?â Her pulse halted mid-beat. As it was, she would barely make her deadline on the cookbook but, looking at her uncleâs face, she knew sheâd have to burn a lot of midnight oil this summer because she couldnât say no to him. âOh, sureâifâif thatâs what you think is b-best.â There were also her nerves and her âminorâ public-speaking problem, but sheâd just have to deal with those issues too.
âThank you,â Uncle Siegfried said. âYouâre one of the few people weâd trust with Tutti-Frutti, and you know we could never afford to close the shop for that long.â
âDonât worry,â she said, rubbing gently the paper-thin skin on her uncleâs hand, praying she could handle this task. âIâll take care of everything.â
Pauly coughed and patted his chest with his fist. âWell, itâs not like youâll have to do it all alone.â
âWhy?â Elizabeth couldnât disguise her surprise at this news. âWho else will be here?â
Pauly shot her a curious stare. âDidnât your uncle tell you anything? You know my nephe
w? Roberto Gabinarri?â He rolled his Râs in that deeply Italian way. It sounded beautiful, but all she could think was, Oh, my God. No!
She took three very deep breaths. âY-You mean R-Rob?â
âYeah, yeah, thatâs what he always goes by, I guess,â Pauly said with a shrug. âWell, heâs coming up to help, too. Between the two of you, you shouldnât have any problems keeping the place together for a few weeks.â
This wasnât happening. She wasnât hearing his name again after all of these years. Ten years, for goodness sake. There was absolutely no way she couldâor wouldâwork with him. None. Sheâd never be able to speak a coherent sentence in his presence.
âYouâve already t-t-talked to him?â God help her. If Pauly set things up with Rob, thereâd be no way for her to get out of this without looking even more foolish than she felt.
Pauly nodded vigorously, and Elizabethâs heart sank to her toes. âIn a manner of speaking,â Pauly said.
She opened her mouth to question him but her throat clenched up. It was like high school all over again. Before she could force the words out, Uncle Siegfried interrupted.
âWeâre so grateful to you, Liebling.â Her uncle waved a sheet of paper at her. âI wrote down Anitaâs home phone number and address, in case any questions come up.â
Pauly shot a rare grin in her direction. âBut donât worry. This will be easy for you. And Robertoâheâs a wiz at these things.â
âUm, w-when will he be here?â she managed to ask.
Pauly pulled out his cell phone. âLet me just check on that now.â He rushed out of the room.
Uncle Siegfried gave her a fierce hug and dropped the shopâs keys in her lap.
*
ROB GABINARRI WAS enjoying the sound of his own voice in his latest battle of wits with Miguel, the style consultant for his Chicago restaurant, when the phone rang.
âRob Gabinarri, proprietor. The Playbook,â he said into the receiver, feeling the usual pride at the words. He never got tired of announcing his ownership of this place.
âRoberto!â his Uncle Pauly said.
Rob checked the date. It wasnât his birthday. It wasnât Christmas. It wasnât the NFL Playoffs or anytime close to the Super Bowl. Something must be wrong with somebody.
âUncle Pauly, how are you? Is everything all right in Wilmington Bay?â
âGreat, great.â
âEveryone in the family? Mama and Tony and Maria-Louisa and the kids andââ
âOh, theyâre all fine. Just fine. But I need your help.â
This stopped Rob cold. The last time his independent uncle had asked for anybodyâs help, big hair and legwarmers had still been in fashion. No matter what, there was no way Rob could decline. Family always came first.
âOf course. What do you need?â
âYouâre the boss of that hotshot restaurant, right?â
âRight,â Rob said, his pride wavering a bit as apprehension seeped in.
âYou make the rules and set the schedules, right?â
âRight.â
âSo, what you say is what goes, right?â
The last of his pride was now replaced by full-fledged anxiety. âUh, right.â
âSo, you could take some time off now, couldnât you, Roberto?â
âI, wellâ¦sure. I guess so, butâ¦â Please, please donât tell me I need to leave the safety of downtown Chicago and return to suffocating small-town Wilmington Bay. Please, no.
âI need you to come back to Wilmington Bay for a coupla weeks. Help us out here in the shop.â
Damn! âIâwell, Iâm not so good with sweets, Uncle Pauly. Is there anything I can do for you from here? Anything I could send up? Supplies, maybe? I could hire a person who could step in for a while andââ
âDire sciocchezze. Youâre talking nonsense, boy. Youâre great with sweets, and we need you.â
Rob stifled a heavy sigh. âOkay. When do you need me?â
There was a pause on the line. âIs three hours too soon?â his uncle asked, his brusque voice unusually cheerful. âHow about four?â
*
ELIZABETH RARELY SWORE aloud but, in her mind, she was cursing not just a blue streak, but also a red, orange, yellow and green streak. She was, in fact, well on her way to a complete blasphemous rainbow, and Rob Gabinarri hadnât even arrived yet.
Of all people. She never thought sheâd have to make it through so much as a ten-minute soda pop break with him again. The boy whoâd broken her heart and didnât even know it.
Or maybe he did know it.
She couldnât decide which was the greater tragedy.
A snazzy red Porsche convertible squealed to a stop behind her sensible blue Toyota Camry, and the townâs Golden Boy stepped out of the car and into the empty sweets shop.
âHey, Lizzy. Long time, no see,â he said, glancing around the shop in a frantic kind of way.
âE-Elizabeth,â she corrected automatically.
âOh, all right. Sorry.â
She stared at him, which of course he didnât notice because he was too busy looking at everything else in the place besides her.
He walked into the backroom then out of it again.
He peered into the washrooms.
He opened and shut a few closets.
He paced back and forth, sat down in a booth, got back up and paced some more.
The guy was as tall and muscular and breathtaking as heâd been a decade before when he used to saunter through the unremarkable halls of Wilmington Bay High School, oblivious to anyone and anything beyond the football field and his bevy of admirers. If it were possible, he seemed even more youthful and in command now than he did at age eighteen.
And she felt about as queasy as sheâd felt the last time theyâd been face to face.
Finally, his pacing stopped. âWhere is my uncle?â he asked in a husky whisper, directing the query at a tray of chocolate-dipped sugar cookies. âUncle?â he called out. âUncle Pauly?â
She wanted to tell him, but the words were lodged in her esophagus and, anyway, he wasnât talking to her.
He strode into the backroom again, as if convinced the elderly Italian man could be found hiding behind a jar of candied cherries or a vat of butterscotch syrup. The long black eyelashes blinked in confusion when he emerged into the main shop once again, his gaze and those nutmeg-brown eyes directed at her.
âDonât tell me he left already.â This was more a threat than a question. He shook his head at her as though that gesture alone would discourage an affirmative reply.
She held her breath and nodded.
âWhere is he?â
She pursed her lips, just as sheâd learned in her special speech tutorials so long ago, formed the first letter and tried to push it out of her mouth. But she stuttered anyway.
âL-Lufthansa. F-Fl-Flight four-oh-three.â
He cocked his gorgeous head to one side and stared at her in the way sheâd grown so accustomed to during her miserable school years: Poor Old Lizzy, the look said. What a geeky dweeb.
âWhat time is it scheduled to depart?â he asked her with an affected gentleness that made her want to rip out his vocal cords.
She tapped her watch and gathered her courage for whatever might happen next. âT-Twenty m-m-minutes a-ago.â
âOh, bloody hellfire!â Rob shouted, adding several inventive phrases to his curse before pausing to take a breath.
Elizabeth had managed to squeeze out a few additional syllables of explanation, but Rob was quick to catch on to the full meaning, she noticed, even when words were left unspoken.
âUncle Pauly s
aid heâd be gone only a couple of weeks.â He rubbed his palms against his eyes. âNot a freaking month. And he never mentioned Europe.â He pounded his fist on the ice-cream-window part of the counter three times in rapid succession. âHe said everything would be explained when I got up here.â He turned toward her. âGuess you were elected to supply the details.â
If sheâd been capable of it, she wouldâve laughed. Oh, yeah. Now that was a first. One for the record books. Elizabeth Daniels: Verbal Disseminator of Information. Hee-hee. Ha-ha.
âS-Sorry,â she said.
He paused. âI didnât mean it like that. Iâm justâ¦â But words must have defied him, too because he left the sentence uncompleted.
A jangling of bells broke the silence.
âHowdy, folks,â the chatty old florist from down the block said. âHey, Pauly, Siegfried,â he called. âNeed to get me a double scoop of Cherry-Almond Sââ He stopped mid-speech and surveyed Rob from the top of his dark Italian head right down to his pricey black-and-white Nikes. âHoly Hydrangea. Is that really Roberto Gabinarri standing in front of me?â
Rob grinned but a look of something other than gratification (wariness, perhaps?) slid over his face like a well-formed mask. âGood to see you again, sir. Youâre looking fit as ever.â
The gentleman shook his head as if disbelieving the sight. âBeen blazing a hot trail through Chicago, I hear. But, weâve all missed you in Wilmington Bay, son. Does your uncle know youâre back?â He didnât wait for Rob to answer. âPauly! Siegfried!â He raised his palms. âWhere are they?â
She watched Rob inhale several slow breaths. She could almost see him selecting his words with precision, the way a pastry chef might chose just the right filling for a pie.
âTheyâre taking a much-deserved vacation,â he said, nodding sagely at the older gentleman and motioning him closer as if letting him in on a deep family secret. âAnd we couldnât let them close the shop now, could we? During June?â
The floristâs eyes grew large. âOh, no.â