Recipe for Love

by Darlene Panzera

  “Did you mix up the ingredients?” Andi asked.

  “No.” Rachel shook her head and pointed to the label on the container of salt, which now had an uneven cap. “It wasn’t me. I think it was Gaston. He dumped salt into the batter.”

  Kim came toward them and pointed to her watch. “Do we have time to make another batch?”

  Andi shook her head. “Worse. We’re out of ingredients.”

  Rachel called Mike over to them. “Can you go back to the shop and bring us the extra batter I put in the refrigerator?”

  Mike nodded and dashed off to the Cupcake Mobile.

  Ten minutes later he was back, bowl of batter in hand. Andi, Rachel, and Kim scooped the cream-colored mixture into the last tray and put it in the oven.

  “Five minutes to ice and decorate these,” Andi called when the cupcakes were finished baking.

  Kim nodded. “Ready and waiting.”

  The announcer began counting down the minutes over the microphone, and Rachel held her breath. Her fingers had never worked so fast. She, Andi, and Kim plopped icing onto the last dozen cupcakes, spread the mixture with a knife, and finished placing Kim’s sugar sculptures on the tops just as the final whistle blew.

  Rachel narrowed her gaze at Gaston as the cupcakes were distributed and people placed their votes in the ballot box. He gave her a smug look, then turned to converse with his two helpers.

  Members of the Astoria Fire Department had been chosen to count the votes, and after twenty minutes, the announcer stepped up to the stage and took the microphone in his hand.

  “The winner of the contest is . . . Creative Cupcakes!” he exclaimed.

  Gaston’s face reddened, his forehead creased, and his hands balled into fists of rage. “This cannot be! What do you people know about quality cupcakes? No one can beat Hollande’s French Pastry Parlor! The trophy should be mine.”

  “Sorry,” Rachel told him, holding the trophy up for all to see. “Looks like you may need to move to another town if you want to be number one.”

  Gaston snarled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  Ideas should be clear and chocolate thick.

  —Spanish proverb

  RACHEL LEANED OVER the shop counter and looked at the notes she’d written in the Cupcake Diary. Her handwriting lacked its usual boldness, appropriately enough since Creative Cupcakes lacked its usual sales. The contest at the Sunday Market hadn’t helped. A week had passed, and Rachel was afraid to show Andi and Kim the latest receipts.

  Mike came back from delivering a couple of dozen cupcakes to a birthday party and sat on a stool opposite her.

  “Having a bad day?” he asked.

  Rachel looked up. Never had she met anyone who could pick up on her moods so well. Most people bought the perky smile, laughter, and happy attitude act. Of course, when you spent as much time together as she and Mike had over the last couple months, your inner emotions were bound to show. A simple “I’m fine” wasn’t going to cut it. Mike would know if she wasn’t telling the truth.

  “My grandfather’s taken a turn for the worse,” she said, forcing the words from her mouth. “He didn’t say anything when I brought him his slippers last night, but I didn’t think anything was odd until my mom told me this morning that he hasn’t spoken in three days. There’s an experimental treatment that might help him, but Creative Cupcakes isn’t making enough money for me to help my mom with the finances.”

  “What about a window display to draw more people into the store?” Mike suggested.

  Rachel glanced at the large front window. Sheer pink curtains framed the glass, and dozens of cupcakes in assorted colors sat on multilevel tiers.

  She shrugged. “We have a window display.”

  “I keep imagining a four-foot detailed miniature model of the Astoria−Megler Bridge lined with cupcakes in the shape of cars.”

  “Ooh! That would be perfect! Tourists could look at the real bridge, turn around, and see the model in our window.” Rachel sucked in her breath. “What if we have a sign saying, ‘See more of Mike Palmer’s models inside’? Then people will come through the door and have their noses assaulted by the strong aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and sweet, creamy, melt-in-your mouth cupcakes. They won’t stand a chance. They’ll have to purchase some to take home, and Creative Cupcakes will be a raving success.”

  Mike grinned. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “With your help,” she said, staring at his handsome face.

  She picked up a pen to write the new idea down in the Cupcake Diary, and her hand accidentally brushed the pages backward. The words “Red carpet invites” jumped out at her. Of course! One of their original ideas for a promotion. Andi had been joking at the time, but, hey, why not?

  “When could you have the window display ready?” Rachel asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

  Mike took a moment to consider. “Next weekend?”

  “Perfect,” Rachel said. “I’ll plan a promotion party with ‘red carpet invites’ for people to come see your models, and Creative Cupcakes will be the talk of the town.”

  She could already see the headlines in the Astoria Sun, drawing attention to their success. With Mike’s models and her party planning, how could they lose? For Mike had already had his talents featured in the paper, and if there was one thing she was good at, it was throwing a great party.

  THE ONLY DRAWBACK to Mike’s model-building idea was the fact he’d had to cancel their date that night to start gathering supplies.

  Rachel washed the beaters of the industrial mixer in the sink, wiped her wet hands on a dishtowel, and decided to approach Andi. They’d been so busy the last few months with the cupcake shop, they hadn’t had a chance to hang out like old times.

  “Would you like to go to the mall tonight?” Rachel asked. “We could go window shopping and make a wish list so when we get rich someday we know what to buy.”

  “Sorry,” Andi replied. “Jake and I are taking the girls to see my father’s new house in Warrington.”

  “Oh.” Rachel smiled to mask her disappointment. “I’ll ask Kim.”

  Andi hesitated. “Kim’s going, too. It’s my dad’s birthday. But I’d love to go to the mall with you. Soon?”

  Rachel’s smile faltered when she heard that all-too-familiar word. “Sure,” she said. “Soon.”

  The group of women entering the shop waved to her and asked her to join them: the Saturday Night Cupcake Club, or the Lonely Hearts Cupcake Club, as she, Andi, and Kim referred to them. Pathetic souls. Rachel took a look at their long, drawn faces and felt sorry for them. In fact, she felt so sorry for them, she served them a batch of Andi’s Recipe for Love triple-chocolate cupcakes on the house. It was the least she could do. Some of the stories she overheard wrenched her heart.

  “He said he didn’t know who I was, that I never showed any emotion,” one thirty-year-old woman told the group. “So he gave me a choice: open up to him about my feelings, or he’d go.”

  Rachel gasped. “What did you do?”

  “I came here,” the woman replied. “A chocolate cupcake is better than a smarty-pants old man any day.”

  “Didn’t you love him?” Rachel asked, the question popping from her mouth before she had time to think.

  The woman stared at her for several long seconds, and then her shoulders began to shake. It looked as if she wanted to say something when suddenly she nodded and burst into tears. Rachel joined the others who put their arms around her.

  “We all make mistakes,” Bernice said in a tone meant to soothe.

  Rachel realized she might have made a mistake by misjudging the group. They were all here for each other when they needed support. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

  After the meeting, Bernice drew Rachel aside. “I’ve brought you something,” she said and handed Rachel a tattered black-and-white photo.

  The picture had been taken at the beach with the P
eter Iredale shipwreck in the background, a young couple in front. The man looked familiar.

  “Is that my grandfather?” Rachel asked.

  Bernice nodded. “And me.”

  “Your hair was dark.”

  “Used to be red like yours a long time ago.” She patted her white bun atop her head and smiled. “I was hoping you could show this photo to Lewis to see if he remembers.”

  Rachel took the photograph but didn’t have the heart to tell her that Grandpa Lewy didn’t recognize anyone. Not even his own granddaughter.

  THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY Mike unveiled his exquisite model of the Astoria−Megler Bridge for Creative Cupcakes’ promo party that night. Rachel’s gaze followed the sweeping midair curve of the miniature ramp to the high steel girder, continuous truss, cantilever stretch with its two mint green triangular peaks, then down to the flat, open, low-water section leading across the Columbia River. The model bridge had two lanes, one going in each direction from Astoria to Point Ellice near Megler, Washington.

  On the Oregon side, Mike had constructed a replica of Astoria, with the white Queen of the West paddle wheeler, the waterfront park, piers, the Maritime Museum, the hillside’s famous Astoria Column, and a square brick shop on Marine Drive with a bright red door.

  “Creative Cupcakes!” Rachel said, pointing. “Mike, I had no idea you were so talented.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘magnificent’?” he teased.

  “Yes,” she said, flinging her arms around his neck. “Mike the Magnificent.”

  “Magnificent enough to marry me?”

  “Very funny.” She laughed. “Now, be serious.”

  Mike kissed her and then looked around the interior of the shop and frowned. “What’s all this?”

  Rachel glanced behind her. “Decorations for the party.”

  “They’re . . . fancy.”

  Silver and gold streamers hung from the ceiling. Silver tiered trays held dozens of beautifully decorated cupcakes with gleaming candy pearls. White tablecloths covered every table, and shiny silver ice buckets held bottles of wine and champagne.

  Kim marched toward her. “This isn’t who we are at all. I told you not to go overboard. Andi, tell her.”

  Instead, Andi scowled and held up a handful of flyers. “What’s this?”

  “Release forms,” Rachel replied.

  Andi narrowed her eyes. “Release forms for what?”

  “The party is going to be on YouTube,” Rachel explained. “I thought about Gaston’s reality TV show and figured we could do the same. I’ve arranged for a camera to film short, sporadic segments throughout the night.”

  “Where is it?” Kim asked, looking around.

  “In the corner, hidden behind that fake tree,” Rachel told her.

  Andi and Kim glanced at the tree and then stared at her, as if shocked. Didn’t they realize how much a video of a party like this could boost their shop’s reputation?

  “Why don’t the two of you dress up for the party and wear something a little more stylish,” Rachel suggested.

  Kim glanced down at her black cap-sleeve shirt and jeans and pursed her lips. “You’re the party girl, not me.”

  “I don’t have any elegant dresses to change into,” Andi complained. “And I had no idea you planned to turn the shop into a glitzy Hollywood extravaganza. How could you do this without talking to us about it first?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Kim said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “We’re surprised, all right.”

  Great. Now, Andi and Kim were mad at her.

  Okay, she should have let them in on the plans. But Andi had been busy with Jake, and Kim had kept her nose stuck in her paintings most of the week. They’d left it up to her to make Creative Cupcakes a success. And a success it would be.

  “Here they come,” Rachel said and pasted on a dazzling smile as the guests began to arrive.

  The glassblower, Danielle Quinn, and Mike’s brother, Tristan, headed toward them hand in hand.

  “I won the raffle for two tickets to Hawaii at the Crab Festival,” Danielle announced. “But I can’t use them because my brother is getting married that weekend in Ohio. If you want them, I can sell them to you cheap.”

  “Thanks,” Kim said, “but I’m terrified to fly. Besides, I have my own trip to go on. Not far, but I’m traveling to Portland to display my paintings in my first art gallery show.”

  “I have no money right now,” Rachel told her. “Every penny has to go to help my mom and my grandpa.”

  “I’ll take them,” Andi said in a rush. “Jake and I would love to go on vacation, and I’ve never been to Hawaii.”

  Rachel smiled and congratulated everyone else on getting everything they ever wanted. Danielle had Tristan. Kim had her art gallery show. Andi had her vacation with Jake. Life was wonderful, wasn’t it? Perfect. Just great.

  “The cupcakes are fabulous,” one woman raved, latching on to her arm. “Are you the one who created these exquisite crystallized designs on the tops of each cupcake?”

  “No,” Rachel said, wishing she had. “That was done by Kim. She’s the skinny one with the shoulder-length dark hair.”

  “Looking good, Rachel,” a man she’d met at a friend’s party the previous month called to her.

  She glanced down at her glittery gold dress and then at the young man’s Armani suit. “So are you, Gabe.”

  Rule number one at a party: learn everyone’s names. Rachel smiled at him and turned to the throng of others waiting to speak to her.

  “Lots of gorgeous guys here to help celebrate,” another female acquaintance said, her tone appreciative. “Great going, Rachel. You’ve got it going on, girl.”

  “This place is the ‘cupcake connection,’” Rachel told her. “The perfect place to meet and fall in love.”

  “Is that why we haven’t seen you lately, Rachel?” asked another guy. “Have you fallen in love with someone?”

  “Oh, no. I’m single and loving it,” Rachel replied. Turning her head, she caught Mike’s eye.

  He didn’t blink, didn’t turn away, but looked straight at her. What had he wanted her to say? They’d never discussed the L word.

  Then why did she feel so guilty?

  Maybe because she was single and not loving it.

  She hadn’t been to many parties the past two months. She’d been busy working. But now as everyone flirted with her and she flirted back, the whole popular party girl persona she strived to keep up felt more unnatural than ever before.

  Fixing her attention on the goal of promoting her party, she walked over to Caleb O’Neal. He worked with a local media crew, and they’d met when Jake had him install a security camera in the shop.

  “Are we being recorded right now?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah,” Caleb assured her. “It’s on a timer, and I’ll upload to YouTube as soon as the party’s over.”

  “Make sure you film everyone having a great time,” Rachel told him.

  She walked toward the front window display by the model Astoria−Megler Bridge lined with cupcakes, and Mike joined her.

  “Who was that?” Mike asked, nodding to Caleb.

  Rachel smiled. The young tech guy was only twenty-two but looked much older, old enough to be considered competition. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” she teased.

  Mike grinned. “I can’t ask you to marry me if you’re interested in someone else.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Be careful how you joke with me, Mike Palmer. One of these times when you ask me to marry you, I might be tempted to say yes.”

  “Really?” Mike asked. “Then tell me, who’s the techie?”

  Rachel shrugged. “He’s just a friend.”

  “Like me?”

  “Rachel has lots of friends,” a woman nearby interrupted. “She’s friends with everyone, the friendliest person on earth.”

  “I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Rachel told her.

  “There’s
never too much to drink,” the woman said and asked the crowd around her, “Am I right?”

  “Right!” the people cheered.

  Two months ago Rachel might have cheered with them. Tonight all she wanted was to kick them out of her shop. But she couldn’t. Tonight she was filming the promotion video for Creative Cupcakes, the most hip, perfect party place in town.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Mike said, his face grim. “This isn’t you. This isn’t the Rachel I know.”

  “You’re right. This was a mistake.”

  Mike gave her a solemn look. “The party? Or me?”

  “Definitely not the party,” Gabe said, dancing around with a wineglass in one hand, a rocky road cupcake in the other.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Mike told her and backed away.

  “Mike, wait,” she called, but it was too late.

  Other people were clamoring for her attention.

  Suddenly, a loud shriek shot across the room. Rachel turned her head and saw a woman jump back and bump into the four-foot-high tiered cupcake display. The entire table of iced cupcakes tipped over and crashed on the floor.

  Other people jumped back, and more screams erupted as everyone jostled this way and that, hopping from one foot to the other. Scream after scream pierced the air. Then the crowd parted, and a six-inch hairy gray animal ran straight across the middle of the floor.

  “Rat!” someone cried out.

  Rachel groaned. She’d wanted this Memorial Day weekend party to be memorable in a good way, but everything had turned terribly wrong, and this was the icing on the cake, pun intended.

  She found Andi’s and Kim’s horrified faces in the crowd. Then like magnets they pushed through the screaming customers and drew together.

  “How did a rat get in here?” Andi shouted.

  “Through the front door?” Kim asked.

  Beside them, their skinny, tattooed next-door neighbor began to sway.

  “Have I ever told you I . . . I . . . have an extreme fear of rats?” Guy said, his eyes rolling back.