Promises: Star's Bakery (The Baker Girl Book 2)

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Flying non-stop, flying from night to day, was the only way she could justify being away from the bakery with the orders piling up for the holidays. Tyler had suggested she eat something on the plane even if she wasn’t hungry so she would have strength for the meeting with Roth and the pressure of a screen test. He was driving her to the meeting at Roth’s studio and would wait for her at a coffee shop nearby. Tyler didn’t want to take any chances on making her nervous. Roth had booked her a room in a hotel, at her request, not far from Tyler’s one-bedroom apartment.

  Tyler was taking the two days off, the only days he hadn’t worked since leaving Florida two months ago. They would relax, see the sights, and talk, talk, talk.

  These thoughts swarmed through her head as her eyes sought Tyler out through the crowd.

  He spotted her first, waved, called to her, opening his arms as she rushed forward. Lifting her in the air she dropped the handle of her carryon, laughing. Setting her on her feet, he grasped the handle of her suitcase, pulling it and her close. Their embrace didn’t last long with the other passengers bumping around them to retrieve their bags circling on the track of the luggage carousel.

  Releasing her, a final peck on her luscious lips, an arm around her shoulders, he nodded to the passing luggage. “Did you check a suitcase?”

  “Nope. This is it.”

  “Okay, let’s get of here.” Leading her to the parking garage exit, he stopped for a quick kiss … smiling, continued walking. “How was your flight?”

  “Not bad, but this is better.”

  • • •

  WHIZZING OUT OF THE AIRPORT, Tyler deftly navigated the highway, the streets, and before she could think Tyler had escorted her to Roth’s building, his lobby. Identifying herself to the receptionist, and her appointment with Mr. Roth, she looked over her shoulder at Ty. He flashed her a thumbs up.

  The receptionist escorted Star to a small conference room. The side table was set with a carafe of coffee and several blueberry muffins. Roth followed her into the room, pumping her hand in greeting.

  “Miss Bloom, thank you for coming so quickly. How was your flight?”

  Star was relieved to see that Roth was an older gentleman, about the age of her father—fifty-five. His dark brown hair was streaked with gray, held back in a short ponytail. His manner was friendly, and he seemed genuinely glad to see her. All plusses. As far as Star was concerned it didn’t matter what happened with Roth because his call resulted in a free trip to California to see Tyler.

  “Smooth, thank you, sir.”

  Roth chuckled. “Cup of coffee? And please, call me Vincent. May I call you Star?”

  “Of course … Vincent. And, I’ll pass on the coffee.” She was afraid that another jolt of caffeine would give her the jitters, and she didn’t want to excuse herself to run to the restroom.

  Roth helped himself to coffee and then the two of them sat across from each other at the golden oak conference table.

  “You mentioned on the phone that you were trying to find Jim Whisk and his co-producer. Any chance I’ll be given the prize money, the fifty thousand?” Star asked.

  “Nothing yet. I learned he picked up the wire-transfer within minutes of our bank sending it. I’m sorry, Star, I wish I could come up with another fifty grand, but I can’t. I will let you know the minute we track him, or her down.” Roth paused, took a sip of coffee, a smile spreading across his face. “Let’s talk about you today. I just finished viewing, again, the bakeoff episode where you were sitting on the floor watching your oven. It was hilarious, but I’m sure you didn’t see it that way at the time. It was the pie episode I believe. I’ll never look at a pie with a crust without wondering if I’ll find a soggy bottom.”

  Star laughed with him. “You’re right. It was not funny at the time.”

  “Why don’t we film your screen test, get that out of the way, and then we can chat. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yes, I’d prefer that, although my dress might be a little wrinkled. I didn’t have time to freshen up, or change.”

  “Not a problem. I thought about a five-minute clip on making taffy. Since taffy gave you your big win in the competition, I was sure you could describe—”

  “Taffy will be a perfect subject. Do you have a kitchen?”

  Roth chuckled again. “No, not a kitchen—a table in the center of a room with cabinets against the wall behind. I’ll sit in the back so you can pretend you’re making the taffy for me, make believe you have whatever you are talking about on the table in front of you.”

  Star thought about the sacks of sugar and flour that Ty set up on a chair as stand-ins for Benny and the Butterworth sisters.

  “The purpose is to see how you come across on the screen, how you project … your voice. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s fine,” she said smiling.

  Roth escorted her into a small studio, introduced her to a cameraman, and then set the stage—where she should stand, where he would be. It was a little like Tyler’s kitchen at home when he filmed her for the video, required to enter the bakeoff competition, except now the equipment was imaginary. No problem. She’d been making taffy in her dreams for years. She also decided to think of Roth as Benny to complete her personal stage.

  Five minutes turned into ten. Roth called, “cut” to the cameraman ending the session. He motioned for her to come around to the other side of the camera, stand with him for a few minutes to see the results of the test. What did she think of it? Was she satisfied?

  She nodded. Nothing seemed amiss and she doubted she could drum up the adrenalin to shoot it again. Roth seemed to agree, escorting her back to the conference room. This time she accepted his offer of coffee.

  “Star, the reality show will fit nicely into one of the affiliate’s holiday programming schedule, and if it doesn’t air then it will run in January or February. I can’t promise anything after the airing of the bakeoff competition. Some depends on how the ratings build from the first episode to the finale. But some of the other shows my company is planning to pitch would include contracting you to a spring lineup, a series of baking shows. That would mean filming in February, so we have time to cut the show to fit in a time slot. This could spawn guest appearances with some local television networks, and hopefully an interview or two as a guest on a major news show like Good Morning America. If the Bakeoff series is a success, many spots featuring you will pop up.”

  “Mr. Roth, where would all of this take place, provided the Bakeoff is some kind of a hit?”

  “Here, in Los Angeles. The guest interviews could be anywhere—here or even New York City. If we do a pilot of your own show … that would be here, of course.”

  “I don’t know how all this works, but would you be asking me to move here? My bakery—”

  “Not necessarily, but it is a long commute from Florida.” Roth chuckled. “We would try to group the filming—could be in two-week chunks. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. One thing I can tell you is that if we are going to make you an offer, it will be by the first week in the new year.”

  Chapter 21

  TYLER PACED THE LOBBY waiting for Star. His heart, his nerves whipping up bats in his stomach—everything inside his body jogging, bumping around. Seeing her walk off the plane, holding her in his arms, no matter how brief, was unbelievably wonderful and terrifying at once. He thought he saw it in her eyes, felt the slight quiver in her body when he hugged her.

  Now what?

  He was sure she would be at least an hour with Mr. Roth, what with a screen test and all. He’d learned a lot in the three months he’d been in California rubbing elbows with wannabe actors and actresses and the myriad of wannabe graphic artists and cartoon illustrators. He wondered what Star would think of the glitz, the pace, but more important how did she feel about him? Did he have a chance with her?

  God, she was beautiful, cute, soft, warm—all in one package. He would do anything for her as he had the moment she first entered the diner e
ight months ago. Seeing her walk up to him at the airport he knew he loved her more than life itself. He had to be careful not to come on too strong, not to spook her if she wasn’t ready to spend time, to spend a lifetime with him.

  Glancing at his watch, he decided he had a few minutes to get some air, better to pace on the sidewalk. The receptionist was watching him. He didn’t like that. His face, his body displaying a lovesick man reduced to jelly when he kissed Star on the cheek, before she turned, followed a woman sent out to escort her to meet with Mr. Roth.

  • • •

  TYLER STARED OUT the lobby’s plate-glass window, arms crossed over his chest, commanding his feet not to take another step. He saw his reflection—khaki trousers, white golf shirt. He swiped at the lock of brown hair perpetually falling over his forehead.

  He knew she was there before he heard her soft voice saying thank you to her escort.

  Turning, she was stepping quickly to him. The screen test must have gone well, there was a big smile under her sparkling sky-blue eyes, or maybe her sparkling eyes were for him.

  They both glanced at the receptionist, smiled, nodded, and walked out into the warm LA sun laughing over their private joke of leaving Miss Reception in the dust.

  Taking her hand, Tyler guided her up the sidewalk.

  “Where are we going? I have so much to tell you,” she said, swinging in front of him, stepping back to his side.

  “You must be hungry—”

  “Starved. I had to force a muffin down on the plane.”

  Raising her hand to his lips, he planted a quick kiss on her knuckles. “How’s this for a plan? It’s less than fifteen minutes to Burbank. Drive by where I work … I don’t want to go in … not sharing a minute of you with anyone else. Stop at my apartment. Then I thought we’d drive to Santa Monica—the ocean. Then back to your hotel in LA, or—”

  “Isn’t your car parked in the other direction?”

  “Oh, yeah … or you can check in to your hotel now—”

  “I like your plan A with one exception.”

  “That is?”

  “Can we stop for lunch in Burbank then go to the ocean?”

  Tyler glanced down, his eyes travelling over her face—blue eyes to pouty lips. He traced her pink lipstick with his finger, then his lips softly touched hers. Looking up with a nervous, self-conscious chuckle, “Lunch it is, Miss Bloom.”

  Drawing up to his apartment building he glanced at Star out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t get enough of her. She was pretty before, but today, a white halter dress, she was more beautiful than any picture of Marilyn Monroe. She explained to Ty on the drive to Burbank that she chose white hoping to look like a baker for the screen test. She didn’t know if Roth would ask her to wear something else, so she decided white was safe.

  Tyler swallowed. She looked nothing like a baker.

  Walking up the flight of stairs to his apartment neither spoke, images spinning in their minds of the hours they spent together in his studio over his parent’s garage working on her video for the competition. He opened the door nodding for her to enter. A quick glance and she laughed. “Not quite like mom and dad’s is it. A futon?” She glanced back at Ty. “As you know I have a futon but I don’t think I told you, with money so tight, prohibiting Gran and I to move to an apartment with walls, as she likes to say, Gran bought a set of bunk beds from the consignment shop down the street. I sleep on the top bunk. I see you have your computer set up same as at home.”

  “The bathroom is behind that door if you want to freshen up. Clean towels are on the bar.”

  “Thanks. I’ll just be a minute and then can we get some lunch?” she called out turning the water on in the sink.

  “How about a milkshake from the deli next door to stave off the hunger pangs? Then we’ll go on to Santa Monica, less than thirty minutes. I have a place in mind for lunch that I think you’ll enjoy, on the water, like the Crab Shack in Daytona Beach … but different. There’s even a Ferris wheel … and a rollercoaster.”

  “There, I feel tons better with a clean face,” Star said stepping out of the bathroom. “I’m ready for whatever is pinging around in that head of yours, Mr. Jackman. No make that Superman,” she said softly rising up on tiptoe to receive his kiss.

  Chapter 22

  Santa Monica, California

  STAR COULDN’T HAVE ASKED for a more perfect day—bright sun sparking off ocean waves, new sights, but best of all she was with Tyler. Walking down the Santa Monica pier, she grabbed Ty’s hand for fear she’d bump into someone as she gaped at all the attractions, the shops and specialty restaurants. Leading her back to the entrance of the pier, he opened the door to The Lobster. Out of the several dining rooms, he chose the bar with windows spanning two walls—a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean from one, and from the other the amusement rides including a roller coaster and Ferris wheel.

  “Now, Miss Bloom, relax and enjoy the view of the ocean on the west coast. Eat hearty because we’ll have a late dinner.”

  “My stomach is a bit jumpy, maybe a salad … order for me, please.”

  “How about blackened salmon over a Greek Salad? It’s going on four o’clock … are you faint? I’m sorry, the milkshake wasn’t enough. We should have stopped in LA after your screen test—”

  “No, no. It hit the spot.” Her fingers sought his hand across the table, grounding her, same as when they walked down the pier fearing she’d lose him.

  Smiling, Ty squeezed her hand, giving their order to the waitress.

  Both were caught in the moment—they were together, the miles between no longer an obstacle. It was nice to share small talk—Star pointing out the window, chattering, asking questions about what came into view, Tyler answering, drinking in her presence.

  Hungrier than they thought, it wasn’t long before their salads were finished.

  Drinking the last drop of her ice tea, Star glanced again at the beach, the surf. “This is breathtaking. Do you come here often?”

  “Only once. It was a Sunday. A group of us had been working long hours—stopping around one in the morning, back by sunrise. The big boss ordered us to take some hours off. There are a couple of other graphic cartoonists who joined the company at the same time as I did … on this big project. So, one of the natives said we had to visit Santa Monica. I thought you’d like it. Kinda like Daytona Beach, but bigger.”

  “I’ll say bigger. That rollercoaster is a monster.”

  “We’ll take a ride if you like. I thought the beach, after the sun goes down, after dinner, look at the stars.”

  “It’s wonderful … everything you said.”

  Tyler reached across the table for her hand. He had to touch her. “Let’s walk shall we? I can’t sit still—there’s so much I want to show you, ask you …

  “Can we go down by the rides? You said there was a carousel, then maybe the beach?”

  “Sure, come on. The carousel it is. It’s in the Hippodrome.”

  Mixing with a small crowd of children tugging the hands of their parents to hurry, Star looked up at the large tan building—eves, rounded palladium windows and doors outlined with dark blue paint. They were next in line as the carousel’s horses, two sleighs, along with a goat and rabbit, slowed to a stop. Calliope organ music played, Somewhere My Love, as families, kids of all ages, climbed aboard.

  Ty helped Star up on a big white horse, his wood saddle carved over a blanket painted blue, the bridle in gold leaf. Tyler stood, his hands on the horse’s gleaming white neck, stood looking up at Star as the carousel came to life. Round and round they went, organ music filling the vast interior of the Hippodrome.

  The carousel slowed, Tyler gave her a hand down, held her in his arms, a soft kiss on the lips she offered to him.

  • • •

  THEY RODE THE FERRIS WHEEL, screamed on the roller coaster careening down the track, clung to the crash bar rounding the bends.

  They laughed at the clowns, snapped selfies with Tyler’s ph
one, another with her phone. They browsed, stopped in the shops.

  He chose an intimate restaurant for dinner, but still one with a view of the ocean. Over a chilled glass of white wine and coconut batter shrimp, the pair talked, sharing their feelings, exchanging pent-up thoughts since they parted last.

  Finishing their shrimp, a second glass of wine, Ty laid his hand over hers.

  He sighed, “Okay, Miss Bloom. The sun is setting. Perfect evening for the beach. I saw a shop with towels for sale. Let’s pick up a couple, go down to the beach and lie on the sand, watch the stars pop out in the sky. See if they are as bright as the ones we saw that night lying on the sand in Daytona Beach.”

  Within fifteen minutes they were lying side by side on colorful Santa Monica emblazoned beach towels, looking up at the blanket of stars in the night sky. They didn’t speak, luxuriating on the warmth of the sand, the sound of the surf.

  Tyler fished for her hand. “How is everything going … back home?”

  “Ty, you go first. Do you like the project, the people? I bet you’re the best.”

  “It’s fun, stimulating. I’m learning so much. At first I felt I was way over my head, but then I realized we were all on about the same level. What’s interesting is how one says something, an idea on how to make the characters more lifelike. Then another one of us adds to what the first said and so on. But you know what I like the best?” Tyler leaned up on his elbow, his fingers tracing down her arm.

  “What?” Shivers shot up her arm at his touch.

  “The Little Baker Girl. I’ve added to it and … guess what?” He laid his head back on the towel.

  “What?” she asked giggling.

  “There’s more interest. Another producer is looking at it. Maybe releasing it on New Year’s Day, or some Sunday, as a short film leading to the main show. You know, parents looking for something special in the theaters instead of football on television. Especially nice for kids … all ages.”