Recipe for Love

by Darlene Panzera

  Rachel turned around and rested her back on the edge of the ship. “You found it’s easier to hide behind a mask?”

  “We all wear masks, whether we see them or not, don’t we?” His gaze locked on to hers. “But I’ve learned opening up to others and being myself is more fun than magic tricks.”

  Rachel disagreed. She thought his magic tricks were enchanting. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she admitted, “My family . . . isn’t all there either.”

  Mike moved forward, sandwiching her between his husky body and the hull. He brushed a finger along her cheek and gave her a deep, penetrating look.

  “I’ll show you my real face if you show me yours,” he said, his voice barely audible against the churning clap of another wave.

  Rachel shoved the meaning of his words aside. All she wanted to do at that moment was kiss him. As he built a sand castle of the original Peter Iredale showing his expertise in creating precision models for movie sets, all she wanted to do was kiss him. And after they ate a picnic lunch on the sand dunes, all she wanted to do was kiss him.

  But darn it, all Mike did was continue to romance her with his sweet talk, sweeter smile, and sweet yet disturbing way of looking right into her soul. He was so sweet, maybe she’d name a cupcake after him after she tasted his kiss. She only hoped the anticipation wouldn’t be followed by a letdown. She had more than enough of those on her plate.

  THEIR FIRST DATE included a mouth-watering dinner at the new surf-and-turf restaurant located in the old Bumble Bee Hanthorn Cannery on pier 39. Then Mike drove her home, opened the car door for her to get out, and walked her to the front door. He held her hand, and she turned to face him, certain she’d finally get a kiss.

  “Today was fun,” he said. His lips twitched into a half grin as he held her gaze.

  “I had a good time,” Rachel replied and tilted her head ever so slightly upward. Ready. Oh so ready.

  “See you tomorrow?” he asked.

  Rachel hesitated. If she saw him tomorrow, their two-date relationship would be over too soon. “How about next week?”

  A flicker of mixed emotions crossed Mike’s face, but it came and left so fast, she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed, delighted, or undecided. She leaned closer, parted her lips, and squeezed his hand. In return, Mike pulled his fingers from hers and stepped away.

  “Until next week then,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

  Wasn’t he going to kiss her? Why wouldn’t he kiss her? She thought they got along great. Didn’t he feel the same way? Maybe she should have agreed to see him tomorrow. Maybe then he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her.

  Rachel’s stomach tightened. I can’t believe this.

  “I might be free tomorrow,” she said, digging her toes into the tips of her shoes. “Call me.”

  “I will,” Mike promised and turned to leave.

  Ready to burst like a baked potato left in the oven too long, she closed the door and heaved a sigh. Her grandfather and his visiting nurse sat in the living room.

  “By golly, will you look at that red hair!” he exclaimed. “I knew a girl with red hair once. Can’t remember her name.”

  “Rachel?” the nurse prompted.

  “No, not Rachel.” He frowned. “Someone else.”

  The doorbell rang, and Rachel reopened the door, hoping Mike had come back. Maybe he decided he couldn’t leave without giving her a kiss after all.

  But no one was there. She looked around the driveway and neighboring yards. Then she looked down and noticed the basket of pink and white flowers on the front step, the same type of May Day flowers Mike had given her earlier when he told her the legend of . . .

  She gasped, realizing Mike hadn’t kissed her because he wanted to give her a choice. If she wanted a kiss, she’d chase after him. If not, she’d leave the door closed.

  She sprang down the steps and rounded the corner of the house. He wasn’t hard to catch. Mike spun around and laughed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  Her heart pounded. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “See if you can resist this,” he said, and with a grin, he leaned his mouth down to hers.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  Love is always open arms. If you close your arms about love, you will find that you are left holding only yourself.

  —Leo Buscaglia

  LATE THE NEXT day Rachel stood beside Mike on the sidewalk in front of the parked Cupcake Mobile. Kim had finished painting a giant pink frosted chocolate cupcake on the side of the vehicle with three swords and their borrowed Three Musketeers logo, “All for one, one for all!”

  Andi stood opposite them, her hands on her hips. “Rachel, it was your idea to get the truck.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think I’d be the one who would have to drive it.”

  Kim balked. “Don’t look at me; I doubt my feet would even reach the pedals.”

  “Well I’m not the only one who’s going to drive this thing,” Andi argued. “What we need is a delivery boy.”

  Mike grinned. “I could drive.”

  Rachel gave a start and turned her head toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been between jobs the last few months, taking on different paying gigs to float me until the next big paycheck,” Mike told them. “I’d be happy to drive the truck and deliver cupcakes to your clients.”

  “W-work for us?” she stammered.

  Andi clapped. “Oh, Mike, that would be great.”

  “Super great,” Kim echoed and nudged Rachel with her elbow. “Don’t you think so, Rachel?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said, forcing a smile. “Great.”

  Except . . . well, what about her two-date rule?

  Andi and Jake had spent time together before their first official date. She supposed seeing Mike day to day in a nonpersonal capacity wouldn’t count as a date for her either. She could do it. She was strong. Not like those women from the Lonely Hearts Cupcake Club.

  After her second date with Mike this afternoon, she’d restrict their relationship to casual contact, and it would all be okay. Yes, she was sure everything would work out fine. Absolutely 100 percent perfect.

  “Are you ready?” Mike asked, jingling his car keys.

  “Yes,” Rachel said and gave him a smile. “Always.”

  TWO DAYS LATER the Saturday Night Cupcake Club streamed through the front door of Creative Cupcakes and headed toward the party room.

  Rachel eyed each of them, trying to decipher why they’d be rejected from the male population, why they had nothing better to do on a Saturday night than eat cupcakes with other dateless women.

  Maybe because they’d turneddown a date with a handsome man. That possibility had never entered her mind until she’d turned down Mike’s offer to go to the movies minutes before they arrived.

  Guilt shot through her entire body as she recalled the look upon his face. He hadn’t been happy. And now . . . well, neither was she.

  After mixing up a batter of peppermint mocha cupcakes, she drew close to the party room door and listened in on the women’s conversation. One woman cried, saying that her boyfriend had left her. Another woman moaned that she was single and hadn’t found anyone to fall in love with. A third had eaten chocolate to deal with her failing marriage, gained a lot of weight, and now didn’t think anyone else would want her because she was fat.

  Rachel pressed her lips together and shook her head. There was no way she’d ever humiliate herself in front of a bunch of other dateless women and wallow in self-pity. That’s what it was, a big pity party. They each thought they needed a man, or help getting a man, when what they really needed was some mental help. If they really wanted a date, why didn’t they go to a local hangout to meet someone? There were plenty of people over at the Captain’s Port drinking, eating, and singing karaoke.

  Instead, the women dragged their lonely hearts in here, where they devoured Andi’s new Recipe for Love choc
olate cupcakes and distributed Kleenex. Pathetic.

  She spotted a book sticking out of a canvas bag on the floor and leaned her head in further. Was that Gaston’s book, How to Keep Your Bakery from Going Bankrupt? No, but the covers were similar.

  “Yoo-hoo, you there with the red head. Remember me?”

  Rachel lifted her gaze to the woman with white hair beside the book bag who was waving to her. Bernice Richards, the little old lady from the festival bus?

  “Come sit by me,” Bernice called, “and join the group.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got work to do.”

  “I met a very handsome man at the festival last weekend, but he was too young for me and only had eyes for that pretty redhead,” Bernice said, pointing in her direction. “What is your name, Pumpkin?”

  If there was a single name Rachel hated as much as “the Sunkist Monster,” it was “‘Pumpkin.”

  “Rachel,” she corrected, leaning her head into the doorway again. “My name is Rachel.”

  “What is your last name?” Bernice insisted. “A name isn’t complete without both a first and last name.”

  “Donovan,” Rachel answered. “Rachel Donovan.”

  “I knew a Lewis Donovan once.” The old woman’s eyes glistened, and her face took on a rosy glow. “He was very handsome, too. Had the same red hair as Rachel.”

  Rachel left the doorway and walked into the room. “Lewis Donovan is my grandfather.”

  Bernice’s eyes widened, and all the other women, of all different ages, looked at her with interest.

  “He was my beau,” Bernice said softly. “We met right after high school, and he took me on the most glorious picnics by the ocean. We’d talk about sweet nothings and walk for miles along the water. He was my first real love.”

  “What happened?” Rachel asked, sitting down beside her.

  “I wanted to marry him, but his father didn’t think I was good enough to be his wife and sent him off to college.”

  “No!” Rachel exclaimed. How could her great-grandfather have done such a thing? How could anyone do such a thing? Who were they to judge who was good enough? What did “good enough” mean, anyway? Who gave others the right to think they were superior and others inferior? Fury burned through Rachel’s veins, and she took Bernice’s right hand in her own as if she still needed comfort after all this time. “Tell me what happened.”

  “After three years of separation he met someone else and had redheaded babies like you.” Bernice paused, and her eyes filled with concern. “How is he?”

  “My grandfather has Alzheimer’s,” Rachel told her. “He doesn’t remember much.”

  Bernice sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Rachel couldn’t help but wonder what would become of her and Mike. Would they become separated for all time like Bernice and Grandpa Lewy? Would she end up in the Saturday Night Cupcake Club, alone and withered with no one to love?

  Her stomach clenched. She didn’t want to be alone.

  The front door jingled as it opened, and Rachel rose to greet the new customer only to find Mike coming in from his last delivery. His gaze met hers, held, and then he turned away.

  “Mike,” she said, her voice raspy, probably from too much small talk with Bernice.

  He turned back.

  “If you still want to go, I’d love to see a movie with you tonight.”

  NOT ONLY DID she break her two-date rule, but she busted it to pieces by seeing Mike nearly every second of every day over the next full week. Today they’d be working together at the Astoria Sunday Market and compete against Gaston for the title of Best Cupcake Shop.

  Rachel, still in pajamas, entered the kitchen of her family’s house, poured herself a bowl of cereal for breakfast, and noticed her mother getting ready for work.

  “Mom, you can’t work today,” she protested, jumping out of her chair.

  “Rachel, I have to.”

  “But it’s Mother’s Day, a day of rest. No way should you have to work today.”

  “You’ll be so busy with your cupcake contest you won’t even miss me,” her mother replied.

  “That’s not true,” Rachel told her. “I want you to be there.”

  “Andi, Kim, and your new boyfriend, Mike, will be there.” Her mother grabbed her purse off the table and headed toward the door. “You don’t need me.”

  “I do need you, Mom.”

  But her mother didn’t hear. She’d already left.

  THE BRILLIANT BLUE sky sparkled with sunshine, drawing a large crowd to the Sunday Market in the historic downtown district. The tables of vendors selling fresh flowers, honey, oysters, jams, lavender, pottery, chainsaw carvings, and a unique assortment of homemade crafts spanned four blocks from Marine Drive to Exchange Street.

  A teenager sat on the curb strumming his guitar. A hand-printed sign next to his open guitar case said he needed money to buy a car. He already had several donations.

  “I should have brought some of my paintings,” Kim said, scanning the artisans.

  “You’ll be too busy baking to sell your artwork,” Andi told her. “Did you call to put your watercolors in the gallery in Portland?”

  Kim bit her bottom lip. “Not yet.”

  “I’ve printed up a full-color flyer advertising that your paintings are available for purchase,” Rachel confided. “And after we beat Gaston in the cupcake contest, there will be more customers coming into Creative Cupcakes to see them.”

  Kim’s face brightened. “Thanks, Rachel.”

  A band played on the music stage as Jake helped Mike unload the tables and bakery equipment from the back of the Cupcake Mobile. The ovens were already there, supplied by a local used appliance store. When everything was in place, there were two identical makeshift kitchens set up side by side.

  The head of the Sunday Market approached a microphone on the stage. “Welcome to Astoria’s first Sunday Market Cupcake Contest,” he said. “This year we have Creative Cupcakes competing against Hollande’s French Pastry Parlor.”

  Cheers rose as the crowd drew in to watch.

  “Everyone take a slip of paper,” he continued, “and at the end of two hours we will distribute samples from each shop. Vote for your favorite flavor, and the winner of the contest will take home this glorious golden trophy!”

  The trophy had been set up on a pedestal between the two kitchens, and Rachel caught Gaston staring at it.

  Both bakery teams immediately set to work. While pouring ingredients into the large mixing bowls, Andi found herself mesmerized by the sparkle of diamonds.

  “Did you see the ring on that woman’s finger?” Andi drew in her breath. “Three full carats at least.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Rachel said, hustling to mix the next bowl of cupcake batter.

  “How could you not?” Andi continued. “The shine sent a rainbow of color onto our baking table.”

  Rachel took Andi’s left hand, touched the fourth finger, and smirked. “Gee, Andi, something seems to be missing here. What could it be? I’ll have to mention this to Jake.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Andi snatched her hand away and grinned.

  Rachel held up her own bare hand. “I’ll marry someday. I just need to find the right groom.”

  Andi nodded toward Mike as he approached. “Here he comes.”

  Rachel glanced at Mike and couldn’t help but smile.

  “I brought you the extra ingredients you asked for,” Mike told them. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Rachel needs another kiss for good luck,” Andi teased.

  “Fine by me,” Mike said and leaned over to place a quick kiss on Rachel’s lips.

  Beside the baking table, Mia and Taylor giggled and crooned, “Eww!”

  Jake walked over to join them and made the two five-year-olds giggle once again when he kissed Andi.

  “I did some research on Monsieur Hollande,” Jake informed the Creative Cupcakes team. “He lied when he said he won t
he trophy on Extreme Bake-off. He got kicked off in the final week, and according to the press, he was extremely angry.”

  “That’s why he’s obsessed with being number one,” Rachel said, dropping her voice so Gaston wouldn’t hear.

  “He set up a shop in Portland but couldn’t outbake the city’s competition, so he packed up and moved to Astoria,” Jake added. “He thinks Creative Cupcakes and the other bakeries in town are an easy conquest.”

  “We won’t be so easy to beat with these,” Kim said, holding up one of her new crystallized sugar and water floral sculptures decorating the frosted top of a white chocolate−macadamia nut cupcake.

  “It looks like glass,” Rachel exclaimed, leaning in to take a closer look. “Like the blue glass flowers we saw in Danielle’s glass shop.”

  Breaking apart, the group worked to finish baking the required 200 cupcakes by the two-hour deadline.

  “We have only thirty minutes left,” Andi reminded them as the contest drew to a close.

  “Going as fast as I can,” Rachel replied, pulling another batch out of the oven.

  Mia called to Andi across the zoned off bake area, “Taylor said I took her candy, but I didn’t. She took mine.”

  Taylor pulled Jake by the hand and came toward them.

  “Taylor wouldn’t lie,” Jake told Andi.

  Andi stopped icing the cupcakes and looked him in the eye. “Mia wouldn’t lie either.”

  As their voices rose and the squabble continued, Rachel turned her head to find Gaston next to their table, where they had placed a large bowl of cupcake batter. He smiled and turned away.

  Rachel walked toward the bowl and looked inside. Nothing looked wrong, but she figured she’d better be sure. Taking a spoon, she scooped some of the batter and lifted it to her mouth.

  “Ugh!”

  Andi turned toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Salt.” Rachel scrunched her nose and wiped her tongue with a nearby towel, but the sharp taste remained.