by Roi, D. S.
21
Asher wrapped the last of the medical tape around his thumb. Dumbass. He set the tape on the bathroom counter, grabbed both sides of the sink and lowered his head. There was still much to do. He and Miguel finished setting up the bar, but the situation with Cyana distracted him, costing a hammer to the thumb which broke the cuticle around his nail. It’d heal well enough by the wedding, he hoped.
The upstairs bath was a spot he never caught his wild-haired beauty in. The one place memory didn’t haunt him. He hadn’t removed Cyana’s towel from the hanger. The cloth held the lingering fragrance of her peppermint shampoo. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself upright from the bathroom sink and entered the bedroom.
He emerged from his room and paused at the banister overlooking the space. The crew was done assembling the tables and chairs downstairs. The dining area was filling out well with the furnishings. There was room for a dance floor. The double doors to the back porch and lawn followed the area before the new bar took over the back wall left of the kitchen entrance.
His gaze trailed to the dining setup. Cyana’s space.
That was the problem. Every time he scanned the house he could see Cyana doing yoga in the spot housing tables and chairs. He paused on his descent and leaned against the railing. This “thing”, as she’d called it, was outta hand. He should focus on being the best man for Josh and filling himself with gratitude the boy he’d raised turned out to be such a fine young man. But, not talking to Cyana left him feeling rough as a cob. He couldn’t concentrate with her around, but at least he got things done.
His chest ached. He longed to hear her voice. Logically, he understood the silent treatment. Sally cut deep, as she always had. She even managed to rattle his cage something fierce. Communication between him and his mother often seemed like watching a title fight of heavy weights. Depending on how much of their first bout Cyana witnessed before he noticed her, she would have gotten an ear full of his shaded past.
“Senor Wilmington, would you like us to arrange them?” Miguel spoke from below, gesturing to the assembled tables and chairs.
“No. I think that will do.” Asher glanced at his phone to peek at the weather warnings. “Why don’t you and the crew get down the road before this storm get’s real bad. Got about an hour to make it home before the flash flood warnings start. Come on up here.” Asher tugged out his wallet and produced a wad of cash. When Miguel made it to him, he handed the money over. “Great work this week.”
“Aye, Gracias Senor.”
“Take tomorrow off. Let some of this water soak in. Thursday is lawn day.”
“Sí, Senor. See you Thursday.” Miguel descended the stairs spitting out a string of Spanish to round up the crew.
When the door closed, Asher was alone. He didn’t move from his spot. The house which once seemed warm and welcoming enough to be his home for the better part of a year was now cold and lonely. There wasn’t a place he could go without a memory to haunt him.
He glanced at his thumb. The thought which made him whack the hell out of it burst back to the front of his mind. Cyana peering up at him with tears brimming didn’t fit in his world on any damned day of the week. Seeing his shy sweet baker emotionally wounded had him in knots. He craved a moment to speak with her about their relationship as much as he desired breath. Her words, “We both know this won’t work. Not in the way you need it.” What in hell does that mean? Why won't she talk to me?
Did she think he wanted to get married to have the money from his trust fund? Did she think he needed it? Hell, the account grew a considerable amount, but he didn’t need it.
Sally ruined all his plans to consult Cyana about what she might have heard. He took his stare off his damaged hand and draped himself on the banister. An itch worked between his shoulders to do something. Anything. So long as it put him and Cyana back to being as right as ham and eggs.
He took a long breath. Sally was going to be a problem, but there wasn’t a way to keep her from the house with their intimate business arrangements. The bed delivery was the last touch needed to ensure Sally would have a place to stay so she could devote all her attention to the wedding details. At least, it was the excuse she’d given him in order to crowd his space.
Getting Cyana over on professional terms would be difficult too. The cake order was in his email. All he had to do was tap send. No need to talk there. He searched to find a way.
Why not call the guy who got you in this pickle to begin with? The thought made him right his stance. He yanked out his phone, found the name he wanted and made the call.
“Hey, Pops,” he said.
“Hey. How’s everything going, Son?”
Asher chuckled at the upbeat tone of the only man he’d ever call a father. “I got myself in a mess here.”
“Really? Don’t tell me the wedding’s off?” Pops asked.
“Oh, no. Thank god, no. Those two lovebirds are all sparkly eyes and smiles. It’s one of the vendors who’s driving me bananas.” Asher scratched his head and started down the stairs. “You know the catering company you set me up with?”
“Huffing Kitchen. I can’t forget their dining experience. Sure wished they’d taken my offer to let me invest in them.”
“They’re a tough crowd of ladies,” Asher said, and started to pace. “They insist on having their own restaurant. I think convincing them to start up here at the Milway will probably go over better.”
“So, they have agreed to cater the wedding?”
“Yes, Sir. Their food and work ethic isn’t an issue at all. You see, they brought in a new member.”
“New? You don’t say?”
“Seems there’s another lady in the Huffing Kitchen who’s a certified pastry chef. Rebecca’s been real good about using the local businesses to help with this event and build up the good neighbor rapport for the Milway. When she heard they had a staff member who did cakes, she cancelled her first cake order and decided to go with the Huffings as well.” He heaved a sigh.
“That doesn’t sound like much trouble at all, Son.”
“Well, normally it wouldn’t be, but,” Asher paused in his stride, “I might have gotten myself in a-whole-heap-a horse shit.”
Cyana fanned at her face with the newspaper she’d picked up in Mama’s mail before leaving the house to do other errands. Her Gremlin was running well after its stay at Matthew’s Auto Shop. The thought of Matthew’s reminded her of Asher’s kindness in paying for all the repairs. But without air conditioning, she regretted not borrowing Iona’s car for a second time.
She’d nearly forgotten about the Georgia humidity making everything sticky and sweaty around her. Tuesday’s rain made Wednesday’s heat terrible. The only happy camper was her hair. The afro seemed to curl a bit deeper and thicken up. She coaxed the mass of coils on top of her head with a satin scarf and tied it down on the sides so it wouldn’t fall on her neck and make her more miserable. She shut the door to the car. The breeze kicked up around her long maxi dress. It was a welcomed event.
She stared at the glass front of the print store set in the corner of the shopping center. Her gaze caught a familiar logo next to the building before the wind whipped up and shoved the scent of fresh cookies her way. The bold “B” with the flame around it was identical to the one stamped on the boxes Sally had brought in attempt to trump out Cyana’s cakes. She worried her bottom lip a moment. I shouldn’t.
With a long inhale she went for the corner depot and picked up three heavy boxes for Huffing Kitchen. She packed them into the back of her car before rummaging in her makeshift purse for her wallet. She fisted out a couple of bucks and put on a brave face before heading to the B Bakery.
The air conditioning hit Cyana like a welcomed wave. Competition or not, she loved the smell of any bakery: chocolate, vanilla and the scent of fresh cookies. Five small steel tables with shining black chairs darted throughout the eating space with a contemporary style. The clerk at the counter gave a friendly greeting. Cyana
continued to take in the naked grey walls.
When she spotted the cupcakes through the glass a smile touched her lips. Every piece of the pastry world made her think of how much love, patience and labor went into each serving. She couldn’t say the B cupcakes looked special. They were just plain old cupcakes with a heap of icing on the top, but she knew baking. Looks could be deceiving.
“So, what favorite flavor will you be trying today?” the clerk asked.
She smiled. “The white cake with the pink icing.”
Cyana buckled her seatbelt and took a moment to look over the design of the plastic container. Clear and conceived especially for cupcakes, it was a winner for functionality. She made a mental note to look into the packaging company before firing up her engine and roaring home.
The scent of honeysuckles and chirp of blue jays surrounded her at Mama’s house. The azalea bushes around the front had produced another round of red-pink fragranced flowers. The floral notes made the moist air seem more bearable. Iona stepped from the side door of the house to help her with the heavy boxes.
“I’ll be back.” The humidity and labor made her voice breathy.
As she came out the side of the house to retrieve the cupcake, a white box truck parked just outside Mama’s gate. She knew those purple and green letters. Her heartbeat drummed with excitement.
The man exited the truck. Cyana nearly stumbled at the sight of tall and tanned, coupled with a handsome smile. Her thoughts went to Asher. Crap. This wasn’t the first time a good looking white boy reminded her of what she decided to avoid. She swallowed the pain worming its way into her excitement and focused on the package in his hand.
“Ms. –”
“Cyana Huffing.” She finished his sentence with a broad smile. “I sure am glad to see you.”
His grin widened as he handed her the box with her name on it. “Sign here, ma’am.”
Ma’am. There it was again. She missed the south, but she sorely yearned for how Asher had called her ma’am from time to time.
She signed, gave a smiling goodbye and headed into the house.
“I got my phone,” she squealed.
“Hal-le-luuu-jaaaah,” Iona said, throwing her hands into the sky while looking up.
Cyana chuckled and set the packages down. Iona approached her with a parcel opener. “Girl, we need to plug it up right now. I can’t wait to send this text out. Eric will be so happy.” Iona stopped. “Ce Ce!” Her voice lit with alarm. “Is that a cupcake from the bakery Sally is trying to sell to Rebecca?”
“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged. “It was right by the print shop.”
“I know it’s right by the print shop. But you shouldn’t go in there.” Iona placed a hand on her hip.
“Mama I,” Mama said. She always called Iona “Mama I” whenever she crossed the line of sister to mother. “Your sista is probably checking out the competition.”
“Mama,” Iona shifted to Mama Huffing who sat in the glider with a sleeping Josiah face down on her lap. “She brought the devil’s cake into this house.”
Cyana chuckled at Iona’s antics. “I thought we should try it.” She maneuvered around her sister to grab some forks. “You want a bite, Mama?”
“No thank you, baby. I already know if it ain’t yours, it ain’t worth it.”
Pride spouted in her chest. “Okay.” She handed a fork to Iona and opened the container.
“Devil’s cake,” Iona grumbled with a sour look.
“Just the icing first, then the cake; then together,” Cyana said.
Iona made eye contact with a look mixed in disapproval and dread. They moved with wordless unity. Cyana grabbed a nearby roll of paper towels to set next to the container. Iona reached for the tiny wastebasket in the cabinet below the island and placed it between them.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” Iona said.
They both took a healthy amount of icing from the top and shoved the bites in simultaneously. Cyana saw dread written all over Iona’s face and ripped off a napkin to hand it to her sister quickly.
“Oh, it’s commercial,” Iona said, after spitting her frosting in the napkin.
Cyana swallowed her nibble while moving for a cup to fill with water. She swished the liquid around inside her mouth before spitting it into the sink. “Not homemade.”
“It’s hydrogenated,” Iona said.
“Probably soy.” Cyana nodded.
“Might as well have swallowed a whole spoonful of estrogen,” Mama said.
“It’s gross. Ain’t a bit of love in that.” Iona pointed to Cyana. “Mama, Cyana’s making me eat estrogen.”
Mama laughed.
“I don’t want to play anymore.” Iona tossed her napkin into the trash.
“We don’t have to eat it. I’ll scrape it off.” Cyana went back to her seat and removed all the icing. “Come on. We need to know if it’s better than mine.”
“Better?” Iona placed a hand on her hip and inserted all her attitude in her words. “They don’t even know how to make butter cream from scratch. Is there a shortage on butter and cream I don’t know about?”
She rolled her eyes with a smile. “Girl, just eat this cake.”
They took a chunk onto their spoons. Cyana knew on the first bite Iona wouldn’t like it.
“Nuh-uh, Girl.” Her brows raised. She shook her head profusely. The napkin rip was quick. Iona’s second bite hit the wastebasket.
“It’s not bad. I mean, it’s grocery store quality,” she shrugged.
“Well, the last time I ate cake from a grocery store you were working there.” Iona moved the cake towards her. “I’m spoiled. You can have it.”
She sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t pass up cake, but I wanted to make a berry cobbler for dessert.”
“Berry cobbler?” Iona’s voice raised an octave. She grabbed the cupcake carton and turned it over in the trash, dumping the entire confection.
Cyana let out a noise of surprise as the uneaten cupcake splattered into the previously dejected icing and smeared down the side of the plastic liner.
“You’ll thank me later.” Iona closed the empty container and looked at the bottom. “This is nice packaging though. You should write down the web address.”
“Iona, my cake?”
“I don’t call that cake, Girl.” Iona said, before shifting away from the island.
Cyana’s phone rang, making her jump in surprise. The Huffing women were at the kitchen island enjoying berry cobbler with a scoop of homemade vanilla and white chocolate chunk ice cream. The device was charging for several hours. She’d activated the phone and texted the new number to her son, but didn’t think Eric would call so soon. She hopped up to retrieve it from its plug in, glancing at the digits she didn’t recognize. It was probably the wrong number. She never minded answering those calls to let them know. She reached her chair.
“Cyana Huffing,” she answered.
“Hey.” The smooth voice carrying over the phone made her heart pitter patter. Surprise urged her a few steps away from the barstool. Her mouth fell open. Her free hand went towards the heat sprouting in her chest.
“I, err.” Her attention darted across the floor as if looking for the tongue she’d suddenly lost.
“Your sister gave me your number.”
She shot Iona a disapproving glare through her mix of elation and dread. “Uh, hello, Asher.”
Iona straightened in her chair; turned away and looked behind her while fiddling with a long earring to feign innocence. When she twirled back, Cyana made a fist; then pointed at her.
“You’re so violent,” Iona mouthed.
Asher continued, “I hope it’s okay. I told her I had someone I wanted you to meet. He’s an entrepreneur with ten successful restaurant launches. When he heard about your business plan, he wanted to take a look at the details.”
Cyana sucked in a breath. She thought Asher’s rich voice over the phone would make her faint. She didn’t like this. The emotion garbled up and swirled arou
nd inside her, making her seem as if she was crazed.
She took choppy steps towards the table set to the left of the baking area and propped herself up before she could slump. In a fit, she grabbed the hand towel Mama draped over one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She folded it into a wad and threw it at Iona, smacking her sister in the face with the cloth and drawing out a noise of surprise.
“Um.” Cyana managed a sound. Relief she found her voice washed through her. Maybe she hadn’t completely lost her mind yet. “Wa-When does he want to meet?”
Iona shot her a questioning glance. Cyana raised her free hand to the sky while shrugging. “Tomorrow at two. With Iona?”
Iona nodded.
“Okay. We’re clear to show up. Who are we meeting? Herman Wright. Okay. Bye.” She hung up and growled. “How did he know he could call me? How did he get my number? Iona!”
Iona raised her eyebrows and slid over to the laptop on the island. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is he’s been blowin’ up my phone.” She typed in a search for Herman Wright as Cyana came behind her.
“You shouldn’t give out my phone number without talking to me first.”
“He’s our employer. He should have it,” Iona said.
“No, he’s your employer. There’s no confirmation for me.”
A message popped up on the screen. “Oh, really?” Iona said, before opening the e-mail with a familiar title. She hit the print button on the attachment. “Looks like you got a cake order,” she sang.
“What?” Cyana’s heart seemed to do a back flip. “Are you serious?”
“Go check the printer,” Iona urged, shooing her away with both hands.
She ran to the printer and snatched the paperwork the moment it dropped into the tray. “Red velvet, chocolate mousse between the layers, cream cheese icing,” she rattled off. Excitement sprouted in her. She clutched the paper to her chest.
“I know this guy.” Iona’s revelation snatched Cyana’s attention. She came back to where her sister stood at the computer. “Mr. Herman Wright, owner and operator of River Rocks Restaurants Incorporated. I’ve seen him before. He’s known for investing in restaurant business startups and mentoring owners around the south. He also shot us a proposal about three years ago.” She shook her head. “We turned him down.” Iona’s brow knit. “What does he want now?”
