The Cupcake Diaries: Sweet On You

by Darlene Panzera

  Andi shot him a second look and gasped, realizing Rachel was right. “Cupcakes R Us.”

  “Ooh!” Rachel pounded the table with her fist. “We can be ‘Cupcake Chicks’ or ‘The Cupcake Crew’ and call the shop Keep ’em Coming Cupcakes.”

  “It’s taking the waitress a long time to come back over here,” Andi said with a frown.

  Kim snapped her fingers. “How about The Perfect Cupcake?”

  “No, not that one,” Andi said, shaking her head. “We aren’t perfect. Better to say we’re creative rather than perfect. Creative is a better reflection of us and our product. Creative Cupcakes.”

  The waitress arrived, apologized for the delay, and set three water glasses on the table.

  Rachel caught her eye. “What do you think about a trio of women with no business experience opening a cupcake shop?”

  The waitress smiled. “The owner of this place didn’t know anything about business when he started. He had friends help out and make sure he did everything right. Must have worked. The Captain’s Port is a success.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Well, if he did it, so can we. This can be our new goal until Andi’s birthday in July. And when we make the shop a success, we’ll buy ourselves a big, fancy, gold-plated cake cutter.”

  “Yeah, a knife as big as a short sword to hang on the wall of the shop for everyone to see,” Andi joked.

  Kim agreed. “We can use it every four months on each of our birthdays to cut the cake.”

  “What’s stopping us?” Rachel asked.

  Andi laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes. “Maybe a heavy dose of reality?”

  “Get ready for this reality,” Rachel warned. “‘Simply Irresistible’ is headed your way.”

  Andi turned her head, and the cupcake guy walked up to their table.

  “So, how was it?” he asked.

  Andi couldn’t stop looking at him. “Thank you, it was . . . good.”

  “Would have been great with milk,” Rachel added.

  “I wish I’d had a fork to pick up every last morsel,” Kim said, failing to keep a straight face.

  The cupcake guy laughed, and Andi laughed with him from sheer giddiness due to his close proximity.

  “Meaning,” he said, giving them each a direct look, “you are trying to be polite, but the cupcake was horribly bland, dry, and crumbly. Hmm. I thought so, too. Thanks, ladies.”

  Andi gushed, “We really did appreciate it, uh—”

  “Jake. Jake Hartman.” He took a business card out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “If you’re ever in dire need of a cupcake again, give me a call.”

  Andi wasn’t sure, but she thought his gaze lingered on her a few seconds longer than on Rachel and Kim. Or maybe it was just her heart beating twice as fast. In the end, it didn’t matter, because he turned without another word and walked out the door.

  “Did you see the way he looked at you?” Rachel crooned.

  Andi grunted. “He must think we’re idiots.”

  “Jake works for the local paper.” Kim picked up his card. “The Astoria Sun. And he left you his phone number.”

  “Yeah,” Andi said, her voice catching in her throat, “but he didn’t ask for mine.”

  Rachel elbowed her. “He gave you his number; maybe he was waiting for you to give him yours.”

  “Do you think?” Hope sprang from the well where it had been hiding, but Andi stuffed the emotion back down where it belonged. “Well, then I just blew it.”

  “You didn’t want a date anyway,” Kim reminded her.

  “Right,” Andi agreed. She looked toward the front door. “All I wanted was the cupcake.”

  WHEN ANDI GOT home at 11:30, her seventeen-year-old babysitter met her at the door.

  “I tried,” Heather insisted, “but Mia wouldn’t go to sleep.”

  “Mommy!” Mia pushed past Heather and ran outside to hug her legs.

  Andi bent to give Mia a hug, then handed Heather a twenty and watched the teenager slip into the house next door.

  The night was dark, and a thick layer of mist had rolled in from the water. A foghorn’s long, drawn out wail sounded in the distance, warning the boats away from the unseen shore. Andi was about to make her way safely back into her own house when a man jumped from the shadows and drew near.

  Her first reaction was to wrap her arms protectively around her daughter. The second was to scream.

  The man, who wore a perfect camouflage of matching gray pants and jacket, asked, “Are you Andrea Leanne Burke?” He held a manila envelope in his hands.

  “Yes,” she answered, taking the envelope from him.

  Could it be some legal document pertaining to her ex-husband’s financial responsibility? Had the PI found him? Would she get money from him to pay her rent?

  The man in gray disappeared as quickly as he’d come, and she tore open the envelope, anxious to see what news awaited her. At the top of the paper inside, written in bold black lettering, was the title EVICTION NOTICE.

  Andi sucked in her breath and her stomach knotted up tight. If she didn’t bring her rent current by the end of the month, they’d have to find a new place to live. She’d suspected this might happen. That’s why she hadn’t invited Kim or Rachel to move in.

  Beside her, Mia’s small voice broke into her thoughts. “What’s that, Mommy?”

  “Nothing.” She crumbled the paper in her hand, ushered Mia into the house, and glanced around at all the items she might not be able to keep. “Let’s get your pajamas on and get ready for bed.”

  “I already have my pajamas on.”

  Andi focused on her daughter’s attire. Mia was wearing her favorite pink bunny print pajamas reminding her that the last day of the month was also Easter, a holiday she usually anticipated with joy.

  “Mommy, will we have to move again?”

  “Move? I hope not,” Andi said, trying to keep her tone light. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Grandpa.” Mia looked up at her with big blue eyes. “He says you have no money, and we’ll have to move in with him and have my birthday party there.”

  Andi stiffened. How dare her father discuss her financial situation with her child! He didn’t know anything about her finances. No, her father made his own assumptions, usually negative, and accepted them as truth.

  Worse, most of the time her father was right.

  She had always wanted a place with a water view and didn’t want to leave, nor did she want to move Mia again. Her daughter had dealt with enough change. They both had. What they needed most was a stable home.

  After her divorce settlement, she’d rented this adorable cottage on the hillside for her and Mia. Andi loved the front porch best because it faced the wide mouth of the Columbia River. She could see the lights on the big cargo ships as they passed by at night, traveling west toward the Pacific Ocean. She could draw the calming, seawater air into her lungs. And she could hear the languid calls of the circling gulls, which eased her stress after a hard day. No wonder Astoria was the oldest American settlement west of the Rockies. Who wouldn’t want to live here?

  Andi swallowed hard. She had thirty days to pay her rent, or she’d have to take Mia and move back in with her condescending father, who had always suggested she couldn’t make it on her own. Not a pleasant thought. Instead she recalled what Rachel and Kim had said at the Captain’s Port, and her brain began to churn with ideas.

  “I’ll get the money,” she vowed. “Because I’m going to open a cupcake shop.” She glanced down at Mia. “You like cupcakes, right?”

  Mia nodded her little blond head.

  “That’s why it will be a success.” Andi hugged her daughter close. “Who doesn’t love cupcakes?”

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  Business Plan: Get loan. Apply for permits. Find storefront shop. Buy equipment. Advertise. Bake. Sell. Pay rent.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Andi met Rachel and Kim in the bank lobby with a note binder and a plate of cho
colate truffle cupcakes topped with ganache and cocoa powder.

  “When did you have time to bake?” Rachel demanded, her eyes wide.

  Andi shrugged. “I stayed up all night.”

  “That would explain the insane phone call I received from you this morning.”

  “This is not insane. We can do this.”

  “I never expected you to take me seriously,” Rachel whispered as they approached the financing desk.

  Andi looked from Rachel to Kim. “Why shouldn’t we open a cupcake company? If no one will hire us, we’ll create our own jobs. We’ll be entrepreneurs. Did you know that the first chocolate cake was baked in the year 1674?”

  “I see you did your research, but we’ll need a shop,” Rachel persisted.

  “Yes, and in the meantime we can rent an approved kitchen and bake our cupcakes there. I downloaded an application for a small business license from the internet and as soon as we get a bank loan for supplies and start taking orders—we’ll be in business. We can also sell cupcakes at fairs, festivals, and the Farmer’s Market.” Andi frowned at her sister. “Kim, you haven’t said a word. What do you think?”

  Kim’s face paled, making her green eyes and dark hair stand out in vivid contrast. “I . . . I don’t know. We’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “I have to do something,” Andi said, pinning each of them with a direct look. “When I got home last night, I was handed an eviction notice.”

  Rachel gasped. “Can you trade your car for cash at one of the local dealers?”

  “I can lend you a couple hundred dollars,” Kim offered.

  “Thanks,” Andi said, “but what about rent the following month? And the month after that? A cupcake shop will allow me to do what I love and support my daughter at the same time.”

  “I’m with you,” Rachel agreed, her voice soft but resolute. “You’re right. We can do this. And it’ll be fun. A fun adventure with my two best friends.”

  Andi looked at Kim. “Are you in?”

  Kim hesitated, then smiled. “Aren’t I always?”

  THE LOAN OFFICER adjusted his thick, black-framed glasses and motioned toward the plate of cupcakes and three-ring binder Andi placed on the desk in front of him. “What’s this?”

  “Our business plan.”

  He flipped open the binder. “It looks like a cookbook.”

  Andi nodded. “It’s meant to be a do-it-yourself cookbook where you add your own recipes to the blank pages. I liked the colorful photos of baked goods on the cover and thought it would be perfect for our new cupcake business. I call it The Cupcake Diary, our record of everything cupcake related.”

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Rachel asked.

  The loan officer frowned. “A better question is if it’s practical.”

  “After calculating how many cupcakes we’ll need to sell each month to cover expenses,” Andi said, pointing to one of her many hand drawn graphs, “I put together a budget that includes the rent at the community kitchen on Shipwreck Avenue. I’ve also researched the cost of equipment for our own shop in the future and ran comparisons between different retailers for supplies.”

  He barely looked at her or the business plan. His gaze rested on Kim. “And what is your role in this venture?”

  Kim’s focus was directed toward the other customers in the bank lobby, and when she didn’t respond, Rachel elbowed her.

  “What?” Kim asked.

  Andi hastily answered for her. “She would help bake and be a cupcake artist.”

  “What exactly does a ‘cupcake artist’ do?”

  “I can paint using food gels,” Kim said, glancing back at him, “create sculptures out of icing, and decorate the cupcakes to be as eye-catching as I can to cultivate more sales.”

  The loan officer nodded. “Any prior experience working in or running a bakery?”

  When Kim shook her head, Andi replied, “No, but I’ve been baking cupcakes for years. We both have. And Rachel knows every program on the computer and how to advertise online.”

  The stiff-necked loan officer narrowed his eyes as he took another look at their loan application. “Andrea Leanne Burke. Aren’t you that girl who nearly burned down—”

  “We can bake,” Andi assured him. “All we need is the start-up money to open our business.”

  OUTSIDE, RACHEL GAVE Andi a swift, compassionate look and said, “I’m sorry, Andi. It was worth a try.”

  “We can’t give up,” Andi insisted, her tone adamant.

  She had to admit she was disappointed when the loan officer listed the reasons for declining a loan. The unpaid bills her deadbeat ex had accrued before the divorce ruined her credit score, Rachel’s credit cards were too high, and Kim had no credit at all since she worked under the table through college.

  “Did you see the tattoo on the arm of that old guy with the white-haired ponytail, black leather pants, and gray T-shirt?” Kim asked. “It was a flying squirrel. I went up to him in the lobby after you two went out the door, and he says he has a shop on Marine Drive.”

  “The tattoo guy can’t help us get a loan,” Rachel complained. “The bank manager was interested in you, and you ignored him. You didn’t even try to flirt.”

  “I’m not going to flirt with the financial manager to get a bank loan. If you like flirting so much, why didn’t you flirt with him?”

  Rachel sniffed. “He wasn’t my type.”

  “He wasn’t Kim’s type either,” Andi said, putting her arm around her sister’s shoulders and giving her a side hug. “You know she hasn’t been interested in anyone since Gavin ditched her and ran off to Europe.”

  “He didn’t ditch me.” Kim spun around, her eyes wide. “He’d always planned to leave after we graduated college. He asked me to go with him, and I declined. End of story.”

  “You haven’t dated anyone since.”

  “That’s my business.”

  Rachel pursed her lips. “Speaking of business, how are we going to get the money we need to open a cupcake shop?”

  Acquiring financial assistance wasn’t as easy as Andi had hoped. They’d have to pursue a more difficult course of action, one that tightened her gut and threatened to squeeze the life right out of her soul. “We’ll ask Dad.”

  Rachel and Kim stared at her for several seconds before Rachel broke the silence. “Is there any hope there?”

  “We won’t know until we try.” Andi stepped off the sidewalk to let a skateboarder pass, and turning her head, she spotted a dented, red Mustang parked in the no parking zone in front of the Zumba Dance Studio. A police officer stood beside the car, an e-citation device in hand. “Rachel, isn’t that—”

  “No!” Rachel squealed, taking off at a run. “I can’t afford a parking ticket!”

  “It might help if you flirt with him,” Kim teased.

  Rachel scowled and waved her hands in an irate fashion that was anything but flirtatious as she tried to persuade the cop to tear the ticket in two.

  Andi smiled. “Do you think he’s her type?”

  “No,” Kim said and laughed. “She only likes guys who are interested in her.”

  “Makes sense. No one wants to waste time with someone who doesn’t show a spark of interest.”

  Andi’s thoughts drifted to Jake Hartman, the fine-looking cupcake man. Did Jake have a certain type of woman he was interested in?

  Could she be his type?

  JAKE WAS A thousand times more pleasant to think about than her upcoming meeting with her father. But as much as she detested having to ask her father for a small business loan, she knew it would be better than having to move in with him.

  Rachel and Kim agreed to accompany her. But when they arrived at the house, her father quickly singled her out and told them to wait in the other room with Mia.

  Andi could smell the negativity in the air the moment she walked in. Her father’s opinion of her bounced off the walls and burrowed deep into her heart. She didn’t think it was from anything she’d done,
but from all the things he thought she should have done and didn’t.

  He’d expected her to grow up and be a triumphant success. Bring praise to the family name like every Burke listed in the ancestry records before her. Instead, well . . . she hadn’t accomplished much.

  Andi hoped she was on the cusp of changing that. Profits from a cupcake shop could pay her rent, bring financial independence for herself and her child, and finally allow her to succeed.

  She sat down in the small, black leather seat opposite his grandiose, winged-back chair with the gulf of his large formidable, dark mahogany desk positioned between them.

  She locked her hands on her knees and prayed for a measure of control over her wavering vocal cords. Then she spilled out her ideas for the cupcake shop, her heart behind each word.

  “I suppose you expect me to hand over the money you need for Mia’s sake, or the sake of your sister?” he asked.

  She’d rehearsed her speech a million times, but none of the words seemed to come out of her mouth the way she’d planned. No, as often occurred on these rare interactions with the man she called Father, her wounded heart regurgitated the past and twisted her tongue.

  “Would it be too much to ask you to approve the loan for my sake? I am your daughter, too.”

  “I know exactly who you are, and you don’t have the commitment it takes to run a small business.”

  “If you loan us the money, I’ll work days, evenings, weekends, whatever it takes. I’ve wanted to open some sort of bakery my whole life.”

  “You don’t know what you want. First you want one thing then another. You can’t seem to make up your mind. And who would trust you as a baker? You burned cupcakes in your tenth-grade home economics class and set the whole school on fire.”

  “That was fifteen years ago,” Andi said, lifting her chin. “And they weren’t cupcakes, they were cinnamon buns.”

  “To this day everybody in Astoria talks about it.”