Pen walked up behind her. “It’s all practice and taking your time. Don’t rush it. And if you don’t manage it nicely tonight, just go home, bake up a batch of cupcakes and make a bowl of icing, and your family will love you.”
Michael joined her and she looked up at him. He was smiling down at her with admiration.
“You’re doing well. I almost feel like signing up to your class myself.”
“Oh, do,” one of the twins gushed, and promptly blushed.
One of the participants cussed as she crushed her cake, and another one suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, that’s my butter icing. Use your own.”
“On second thought,” Michael said, “this looks like it could get violent.”
“We’ve never had an incident yet,” Pen said lightly, “but it is early days. Anyway.” She beckoned over to the shelf. “I’ll run through the contract later and get it back to you.”
“It’s pretty straightforward. But I’m pleased you’re not just signing it without reading it through.”
“I like to know what I’m getting myself into. Even though I trust you and Carl.”
One of the twins suddenly called out, “Is he your boyfriend, Penelope?”
The class suddenly went silent.
Slowly, Michael looked over at the girl. He gave her a grin. “We’re old friends.”
“My sister wants to know if you’re married?” she called out.
The other twin promptly went red and elbowed her violently.
Pen stared at them both. “Seriously,” she said. “How old are you girls?”
They both looked away and Michael turned back to Pen. He pulled his car keys from his jacket pocket. “My cue to go I think.”
She handed him a cake. “I’d hate for you to leave empty handed. You can ask Meghan for a bag on the way out if you like.”
He grinned, and beckoned to the class. “And best of luck with that lot. Though I don’t think you’ll need it.”
“I hope I don’t. Ten women and cake is a heady combination.”
“So I’ve heard,” he murmured.
“And thanks for bringing over the contract.”
“It was a good decision, Pen. It’ll be a great night, I’m sure of it.”
She breathed in deep. She knew it was a great decision and she was going to knock his – and Carl’s – socks off.
She watched as he stopped by the counter to get a bag from Meghan, and chatted to her briefly.
He was about to turn away when he glanced back and saw her watching.
She hesitated, then waved her hand. He held up the bag, grinned, then left.
When he was out of sight, she shut her eyes a moment. Had he really just come over to give her the contract when he could have emailed it to her? Was this sudden interest all part of this whole Greg thing?
Because there were times when it felt anything like brotherly. Like just now. Like right now.
She opened her eyes to find the entire class looking at her. The older women watched her with knowing looks in their eyes.
She straightened. “Okay, let’s crack in to it.” She avoided their gazes as she pushed her shoulders back, took a deep, calming breath and said, “It’s time to do the really fun bit. Piping the rosettes.”
SEVENTY TWO hours later, Penny touched her throat and wondered if that scratchy feeling was anything to worry about. Or just her imagination.
Imagination, she decided. She was paranoid because Brett had been off work. The Portmans didn’t get colds and flus and viruses.
Her mother had phoned last night and she sounded better. Much better. She sounded more like the old Jackie, and that wasn’t something she could fake if she was still depressed. They were heading down to Melbourne for the weekend and then back up to North Queensland.
Just what Dad would say, about her taking the cupcake classes, she had no idea. But then, he wasn’t on home soil to disapprove, and she’d already had five people sign up for her next class.
She finished unloading the dishwasher, and went out to check the food cabinets. There were a couple of mums with babies in buggies, a businessman checking his tablet, and some older couples. One couple had bought two muffins, and had cut them in half with half each on their plates. The husband lifted the pot to top up the tea but only a dribble came out. Penny quickly fixed a fresh pot for them, and took it over.
“On the house,” she said as she swapped the teapots. “But you’ll need to wait a few minutes for it to steep.”
She shook away their thanks, said goodbye to the businessman, and was debating whether to go and check that Meghan was managing in the plant shop, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
She turned around and her gaze settled on Jerome McGuinn.
He was smiling at her.
There was something about Jerome that made her want to smile back. He was charming, yes, but there was so much more to him. She liked him. She trusted him. He’d shown her compassion at the barbeque and she appreciated that.
“How are you, Penny?” he asked, looking curiously around the café.
“I’m great, and it’s nice to see you here, Mr McGuinn.”
“It’s Jerome. And I’m escaping university. It’s hectic and time’s running out before Eugenie and I leave, but I wanted to come by and say hello. And check out this café you were telling me so much about.”
“This is it. Though nowhere near as exciting as the cafes in Europe.”
“Have you been there?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t been anywhere. Not even across the Tasman, to see her aunt.
The McGuinns though. They travelled extensively and even Michael as a child had spent New Zealand summers in England and Germany and the USA. Had Laura Taverner been part of those holidays?
Jerome was looking at her strangely and she snapped out of it.
“Would you like coffee?” she asked. “Something to eat?” She gestured to the cabinets. “I’ve actually got some tartlets cooling. You McGuinns have got impeccable timing if you fancy one.”
His eyebrows rose. “My son is around?”
“No. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he walked in that door, if he knew these were on offer.”
“I won’t say no and coffee would be welcome.”
She gestured to a table. “Have a seat and I’ll be back in a moment. Long black like Michael?”
“Perfect,” he smiled.
Out the back, Penny put some cooled tarts on a plate, added one of her chocolate slices, and when she’d made the coffee, she took it out.
Jerome was leaning back, reading one of the magazines he’d taken from the table on the side.
He put the magazine down. “You’ve got a lot of food magazines there. More so than the gardening ones.”
“Snapped. It’s my addiction.”
He gestured to the chair opposite. “Have you got time for a break? I’d love to have you join me.”
She took the seat, delighted he’d asked, and explained, “I take out subscriptions to the local foodie magazines, two from Australia, and one English mag I love. Which,” she acknowledged, “is crazy because the produce is different. Still, they’re inspiring and I can’t throw them out. I have a library of them at home.”
“It sounds like a vice,” he said. “But a good one.” He took a bite of the tartlet. “These are delicious.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I also enjoyed those chocolates you gave to Eugenie. They were as good as anything I’d have bought in Europe. You’ve got a real talent.” He picked up his coffee and watched her thoughtfully. “I realise it must be hard for you at the moment. You’ve had to cope with so much. Your parents, I understand, are still away.”
She shrugged. “I feel better knowing that while Mum and Dad are away, this place is in safe hands. And I like it here. I prefer to leave the plant side of it to Brett or Meghan to be honest, but it’s a good place to work. And,” she said, gesturing to the tarts, “I get to do what I like.”
&nbs
p; He said, “What will you do when your parents get back? Stay here, or look for something else?” He sipped his coffee. “Have you given that much thought?”
She gave a half-nod. “I have been thinking about a few things. Options. Things like that.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “What are they, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Funnily, she didn’t mind telling Jerome but she said, “Michael doesn’t know. It’s not something I’ve discussed with him and I’d rather, he didn’t.”
Jerome raised his eyebrows curiously, then nodded. “Absolutely.”
Penny cleared her throat. “I’d like to have my own place and specialise in cakes and cupcakes. I’d sell them in a shop and have a café, but also bake to order and offer a delivery service.”
“Are you including those tarts in there?”
“Of course, I am.” She smiled. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’ve been looking at premises but…” She shrugged. “There’s just nothing around I can afford to lease.”
“Do you have much in the way of start-up finance?”
She pressed her lips together, and thought of Michael. “I have access to some and I’ve been working over several business plans. Though the way things are, I’m not sure a bank would even lend me the cash, but I guess I won’t know until I try.”
“Does this place do well?” He glanced around.
“It does okay but Mum and Dad don’t push it. They’ve been around here long enough they have regular customers, and of course they’ve got the plant shop. There’s something about gardening and coffee, apparently.”
He laughed. “I can’t see it myself, either. So would you do catering as well?”
“I would. I doubt I’d make enough to start with just a shop but you never know.”
“It sounds like you’ve given it due consideration,” he said.
“At this stage, it’s more a dream,” she said reflectively. “Anyhow, it’s on hold while I manage this place.”
He took the last bite of tart. “What is this? I can’t quite pick the flavour.”
“It’s blueberry with a mild almond flavour. I’ve got in to the habit of doing a different thing each day. Mini quiches, cupcakes, fruit tartlets. Today, I got a little crazy and did three.”
Today she’d been unable to get Michael out of her mind. And now she was entertaining his father, and liking it. She must be a Freudian dream case.
He took a sip of his coffee and said, “I hope I’m not keeping you.”
Another couple stepped through the door and she hadn’t cleared that last table yet.
She hesitated.
“Go.” He waved her away and picked up one of the food magazines. “I’m quite happy here until I need to head off. You go and do your work.”
“Thanks.” She was about to get to her feet when she stopped.
“Jerome, you’re probably wondering why I don’t want Michael to know about the shop. It’s hard to explain. But at this point, I’d just like to have a better plan before I discuss it with him.”
And she would need to discuss it with him, because he was the one holding the purse strings.
“Of course.” Jerome watched her curiously. “I understand that, Pen, and it’s a promise. I won’t say a thing.”
She stood up, felt a little woozy, but luckily he was taking a fascinated swipe at the white chocolate ganache on the slice, and she left him to it.
She put her hand to her head as she went out the back. She’d felt a little funny all day, and had put it down the niggling anxieties chipping away at her. She was waking up every night worrying about her parents, worrying how her dream was getting further and further away from her. Further by the day, it seemed to her.
As she served a customer, and hoped like heck there were plenty of painkillers in the first aid kit, she wondered if good old fashioned anxiety was all it was after all.
If someone else asked her one more time about that new strand of rose that radio host had raved about on the gardening show last week, Penny was going to scream.
She smiled at the customer who’d asked after it, told her to keep an eye on the advertising board out on the footpath, because as soon as the stock came in, they’d advertise the fact, but maybe she should try one of the bigger garden centres instead.
She felt like a traitor saying it, but she was doing the customer a favour, she told herself as she handed her the till receipt for the dahlias she’d bought.
Brett had arrived just before lunch and Penny was grateful to bow out of the plant shop.
Meghan was looking after the café, and there was paperwork out the back Pen needed to look after. She pulled out a chair and sank down on to it.
Do not tell me, she thought on a groan, as she booted up the computer, that I really am coming down with something.
She looked up to see Meghan in the doorway, staring at her. “Sheesh, look at you.”
“Oh, don’t.” Pen inhaled slowly, felt a twinge in her chest. “I think I’m feeling a bit woozy.”
“You think?” Meghan shook her head “A bit? You should go home.”
“I can’t. There’s so much to do. I’ll stay away from the food and the customers.”
“You’re not superwoman, Penny. Look, I manage the place when you’re off so there isn’t a thing I can’t handle.”
The idea of it alone was enough to soothe her. Her own bed. Curtains pulled. Peace and quiet.
She sighed.
No plants.
No café.
She really was ill.
She glanced up. Meghan had taken Pen’s bag and her jacket from the coat stand, and she held them out.
“Go,” she ordered. “Before you kill your staff and your clientele.”
Penny wondered if she was imagining that her neck hurt. She nodded, and it ached.
“Thanks, Meghan.” Her throat hurt, too. Surely nothing could come over this fast. “I think I will.”
Chapter Six
There was a voice, thick and far away and completely incoherent, and Penny dragged open her eyes. She was at the shop. Lying down? Where was she lying down? On the floor out the back?
No.
She was at her parent’s home. So it must be night time then?
No. It wasn’t dark. There was sunlight - somewhere.
Her head ached, her throat hurt, her neck hurt, and she stretched her body and now that hurt. Her hot, sticky body.
She opened one eye slowly, then the other. Michelle was standing over her, looking intently at her.
“Jeez.” Michelle reached over and touched her forehead. “Jeez,” she said again.
Penny opened her mouth but it was dry. She closed it. She closed her eyes, too. That felt better. So much better.
“I’ve got you some supplies,” Michelle said.
Penny dragged her eyes open again. Michelle set down a sipper bottle of water, a carton of orange juice, a packet of painkillers, and a box of tissues.
“The tissues are man-sized and they’ve got eucalyptus in them, but I don’t think you’ve got a cold.”
“Thanks, Mitch,” Penny said.
Michelle hesitated. “The thing is-“ She sat on the side of the bed. “I promised Adam I’d go and help him pack up his flat. He’s moving to a new place in the weekend.” She put her hand over Penny’s forehead again and winced. “But looking at you, maybe I shouldn’t go after all. You look really crook.”
“No.” Penny’s voice was a croak. “Help Adam. You go.”
“Oh hell, you’ve got laryngitis.”
“No, I haven’t.” Penny cleared her throat but it hurt. Or maybe she had? She was no doctor. She never got sick.
Maybe this was it.
She managed to reach for the sipper bottle, drank some down, and said, “No, I’m fine. I’m okay here. I’m just going to sleep. You go.”
“I can’t leave you like this. You look like death. Maybe I should call the doctor.”
Pen shook her head. “I
t’s some stupid virus, that’s all, so you’re just wasting money. Just stay away from me so you don’t get it.”
Michelle’s eyes flew open and she moved hastily off the bed. “It’s probably too late anyway. It’s probably incubating as we speak. Are you sure you’ll be okay? I could ring somebody.” She bit her fingernails, straightened.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ll cancel out on Adam. He’s a boy, he can do it all on his own. I was only planning to open bottles of beer for him anyway. Stuff any heavy lifting.”
“No, you weren’t. And I’m fine.” There was no one she could call anyway, Penny realised, as she closed her eyes and let her head fall on to the pillow. There was no Greg. No mum and dad. It was just her. She was all alone.
All alone and getting maudlin in her near death state.
“You go,” she whispered, and Michelle patted her shoulder tentatively, and then, Penny knew nothing.
She woke with a start, and a voice remarked, “You’re awake.”
A male voice.
Michael’s voice.
She managed to focus. Michael was there, sitting in a chair, leaning forward to look at her. Pen’s head was pounding and her body was so sore, and her lungs felt heavy and uncomfortable.
“Here.” Michael stood up and crossed the room to her. “Can you sit up? You probably need some painkillers.”
Penny struggled up, and as the duvet shifted, she glanced down. She wore an old pyjama top and under the covers, equally as old and decrepit pyjama shorts. She couldn’t even remember putting them on but clearly going to bed close to death was a far cry from considering what to wear while entertaining.
He handed her the bottle of water and two painkillers and she swallowed them down and said throatily, slowly, “What’s going on?”
”Don’t talk. I’ve googled this virus. It’s attacking your chest and throat and head. You’ve been making a heck of a racket in your sleep. At least it tells me you’re still breathing.”
Pen’s throat felt sore and raw, and the rest of her felt like she’d done a few rounds in a boxing ring.
Michael said, “You just need to sleep it off. Take painkillers every four hours, drink lots of water and orange juice. Let nature take its course.”
Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances Page 88
