“Bobby’s awake,” I hear Robin say from behind. “Kids are asleep. This mom’s going out!”
“You heard the woman,” I say, hitching a thumb. “Party time.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Sophie! Sophie!” Oliver cries as I emerge from my Prius, which is pulled into its usual spot in the far corner of the parking lot at the café. “It’s like old times, isn’t it!” His head is cocked to the side, arms outstretched.
“Hey you!” I sling my handbag over one shoulder. “You beat me to it.”
I lock my car, and we embrace. He plants the usual two Parisienne kisses on my cheeks, then tells me, in his adorable and heavy accent, that he’s only just arrived.
“Not quite the four a.m. call-in at Katie’s, huh?” I say, leading Oliver Maury, baking and wedding cake designer extraordinaire, to the front door of the café.
“My god, Sophie,” Oliver gasps. “Can you believe what’s happening there? Katie has lost her mind!”
I lock the café door behind us and flick on the lights to a dim level so as not to make passersby think we’re open at this early hour.
“So all the rumors are true?” By rote I refresh the water chamber of the espresso machine and click it on.
Evidently Katie, from Katie’s Kitchen, decided twenty-something years in the Seattle catering business was enough. According to Oliver, business had been steadily declining over the year, as were Katie’s hours at the office. She’d started to dump one wedding cake after another into Oliver’s lap (cakes she had originally signed on to design herself), and sometimes with as little as a few day’s notice. She’d begun to seem aloof, started to take a day off here, a day off there; sometimes she’d promise to show up to work first thing in the morning, but then wouldn’t stroll in until noon. She didn’t seem too fazed by the sharp and steady decline in orders, either, and overall gave a vibe that she was completely disinterested in the business she’d worked so hard to build.
Then evidently, with the year coming to a close, Katie worked through the books and came to the conclusion that closing up shop was a more attractive alternative to a continuing loss of profits. Most of her employees have begun to search for new jobs, some up and quitting ASAP, and as of January first the place I’d worked for years, even during college—the place that helped inspire me to get my own café dreams going—would be no more. Oliver is one of Katie’s last few stragglers, coming in spottily for the last of the very few remaining orders.
“I don’t get it,” I say, handing Oliver an early-morning cappuccino. “She didn’t even want to try to turn things around? She just…gave up?”
“Sophie,” Oliver says, shaking about his wavy, dark head of hair. “When women find love…” He pauses, then adds, “Or maybe just hot sex on the beach.” He titters, deepening the light wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth, some of the few things that make youthful-appearing Oliver seem more that forty-something he really is. “When they find love, they do crazy stuff. No sense, you know? Katie had a thriving business, a great opportunity—”
I smile to myself at the way Oliver says opportunity—I adore his French accent. Opp-or-tooon-iteee. It makes me think of Henri, though Oliver’s French accent is much heavier.
“Then she takes a trip to Aruba with some former, wealthy client!” Oliver wheezes with a look of amazement, “Sees stars—and dollars.” He winks. “She’s just thrown away the towel!” He shrugs and takes a small sip of foam.
“Tossed in the towel,” I correct with a smile.
“Tossed it, thrown it, burned the damn thing,” he says with a flick of the wrist. “Honey, she’s in love and nothing else matters. You know how it goes.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t.” I give him a raised-brow look over my shoulder as I begin my way to the kitchen. “That’s neither here nor there, though.”
“You and me both, dear,” he says with a sigh, following closely behind.
“No one special in your life?”
Oliver used to be in a serious relationship with a fellow French food whiz, but after that crashed and burned he apparently hasn’t been any luckier with the dating circuit than I’ve been.
“Sophie, dear.” We pad into the kitchen, ready to attack the day’s menu and some of the peppermint macarons and gingerbread cupcakes that are on the special holiday order list. “Seattle is filled with worthless men.”
“Oh, that’s not entirely true,” I counter. “Surely there are some winners out there.”
“Oh really?” He poises his lips over the rim of his cup, eyes wide. “You found your prince? Or are you wasting your time kissing frogs?”
“Point well taken.”
I pull out the recipe card box, then flip the one functioning oven to three hundred and fifty degrees. I tell Oliver as I clang about, retrieving a variety of aluminium baking sheets and pans, that we’ll have to remain in bright spirits what with only one oven between the both of us.
He tells me “pas de problème,” followed by, “I’m not throw—” He pauses and scratches his dimpled chin. “Tossing! I’m not tossing in the towel. No, no, no, not at all. Don’t get me wrong.”
“Just looking for love, huh? Searching for that keeper?”
“Yes.” Oliver takes one more sip of his cappuccino before flipping through the box of recipes. He pulls a few cards out and says, “And growing impatient by the day.” He giggles and holds out one of the pink cards he’s removed. “Peppermint macarons, right?”
“That’s right!” I toss him an apron and pull one on myself. “And, if you don’t mind, rose, orange, lavender, thyme, strawberry, chocolate-mousse, mocha…”
“Okay, okay. Oui, oui. Everything!” He roots about his oversized lilac-colored canvas tote while I consult the pecan pie recipe that’s been a Wharton family classic since the time of my great grandmother.
“Then let’s get started,” he says enthusiastically. “We may not have lovers, but we have our baking.”
“Are you trying to make me cry or feel better?” I kid.
As I prop the recipe card against the bag of flour, I catch sight of Oliver and smile. “You insist on wearing that here, too, huh?”
“That’s right,” he says, puffing up the pillows of his large chef hat. “Got a problem with it?”
I laugh and tell him not at all. Then I add in, “I owe you one, big time, Oliver. Thanks a million for helping me out.”
***
Before I know it Christmas has come and gone in a total flash. Getting to close up shop and go home for the holidays after a strenuous three days cranking out dozens of bûche de Noël logs, macarons, and other holiday treats with Oliver was a fantastic idea.
A tiny part of me had hoped that once Dad brought me home from the airport I’d cross the foyer and spy not only Mom but John, too, lounging in the front room, sipping egg nog, and sharing all sorts of fabulous London stories (and gifts). Unfortunately, John’s big, important legal case in London won’t finish until January, but we did get to Skype on Christmas Day.
Getting to spend the holidays at home also meant taking the time to talk some shop with two of the biggest The Cup and the Cake investors. Dad, Grandpa, and I took a look at the books and the impressive numbers for the year, and it was crystal clear; I was ready to hire on an additional set of hands, full-time, even in addition to Evelyn going back to full-time come the summer, as she mentioned she’d like to do once school let out. Christmas had definitely come to the Wharton home after all!
Dad and Grandpa even tossed a bit more into the investment pot to make sure I would agree on the expansion, seeing how the whole ‘benefits included’ part scared the daylights out of me. I know I’m a business owner and have been for a year and a half, and don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled at the prospect of hiring on someone full-time, but sometimes I feel like a total fish out of water. Can I, a twenty-eight-year-old History major with a passion for cupcakes and an appreciation for petit fours, make big decisions like hiring full-time employees,
talking benefits, even future growth of the café beyond switching up open/close hours, changing up the menu, or adding an extra table and four chairs to the front room? Sometimes I really have to pinch myself that this is all real.
When Dad asked if I wanted to work on a newspaper ad, or put something up on Craigslist in my search for more help, as Mom suggested, I gave a heavy shake of the head. I knew exactly who I was going to hire!
With perfect timing, I revealed the newest employee right as Grandpa bit into one of the vanilla-raspberry macarons I’d brought home in Christmas tins. I pointed at the treat and told him that if he thought those macarons were to die for, just he wait until I hired on the ideal full-time employee. The Whartons will be having macarons for Christmas, New Year’s, Easter—you name it!
Chapter Thirty
“You said you owed Oliver one, and boy-oh-boy, girl! He’s probably so excited about this!” Emily says from the passenger seat of my car.
I told Em countless times that as welcome as she is, she doesn’t have to feel obligated to help me out at the café. After all, this is her vacation, and as of today Oliver begins full-time work at The Cup and the Cake. Not to mention I still only have one functioning oven, so there really is no need for her to help out. But she insisted. “It’ll be fun,” she’d said. “Like the old days!” I didn’t need any further coaxing.
“Oh, he is definitely excited,” I say to Emily, telling her how perfectly it worked out to have Oliver move from Katie’s and join my team. He’ll be bringing more than just an extra set of helping hands to the table, too.
Oliver’s work is inspired; his years of experience as a pastry chef and top-of-the-line cake designer make him a gem. He’s positively brilliant. And we get along like two peas in a pod. Oliver is easy-going, funny, a positive yet sympathetic energy. He’s basically the male version of Claire. And seeing how both he and Claire share an affinity for small, yapping dogs, a heart-touching Nora Ephron flick, and Hugh Grant in anything that rubs tightly against his ass, I’ve practically got my BFF right back next door.
“So when does he start full-time?” Emily asks as we enter the café.
“Officially? This afternoon,” I say as we make our way through the front of the café and on back to the kitchen.
“Oliver’s finishing tying things up at Katie’s this morning,” I explain. “I’m still in shock over that debacle. Whoa!” I stop dead in my tracks, holding an arm out, causing Emily to halt in her tracks, too.
“What?” she gasps.
“What is that?!” I point ahead. “Wha…” I slowly make my way to the ovens—the new duo set of ovens. “What’s this?”
It takes Emily a second, then she chuckles out, “Someone scored some nice new equipment.”
I run a hand along the shiny stainless steel handlebar of the lower oven. It’s beautiful—a baker’s dream.
I look up at the top one and notice a Tiffany-blueish-colored note taped to its window.
Merry Christmas, Sophie! I begin to read to myself.
“What’s it say?” Emily rushes to my side.
“Merry Christmas, Sophie!” I read aloud. “A class-act baker like you can’t wait around any longer for a damn part. And you SO deserve kickass gear. Enjoy. Love ya! XO, Jackie.”
I look up at Emily, baffled. “She didn’t!”
“She did,” Emily says with another chuckle. She taps the top of the note. “Nice stationery. Personalized Interiors By Jackie notes.” She whistles. “Girl’s owning this redesign business thing.”
“I can’t accept this.” I gawk at the impressive appliances.
“Sophie,” Emily nabs the note from my hand, “Jackie’s loaded, and she’s on a doing-things-for-others kick. I think it’s best for all involved you let her do this for you.” She sets her leather hobo bag on the nearby counter, setting the note down next to it.
“That girl,” I say under my breath, completely beside myself. “I wonder how she did this? Wait, did you know about this? Were you in on it?”
Emily holds up two hands. “Nope, not guilty. I’m not a meddling kind of girl. No hand in this one.”
I scratch my head, then pull my hair out of its ponytail. I begin to wrap it into its usual working-in-the-kitchen-all-day style of a high-set bun.
“I wonder if Evelyn played a part…” I think out loud. “She has a key…”
“Come on,” Emily says, pulling open the refrigerator. “Let’s get these new ovens cranked and cooking. See if they’re as amazing as they look.”
***
“Hey-o, bitches!” Jackie shrieks, materializing in the café’s kitchen later in the afternoon. “How’s it cooking back here?”
“You!” I say, leaning the broom handle against the nearest wall. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to thank you all day!”
Jackie wraps her thin arms around me and flashes her bright, white smile. “Oh, sorry. Piss-poor reception on the water.” She waves her cell phone around. “We just got back.”
“You and Andrew sailing around on your luxurious sailboat, huh?” Emily says in a jesting tone.
“Oh, girls!” Jackie smacks a palm to her forehead. “If you haven’t had sex on the open seas, I highly recommend it.”
I clear my throat and gesture to the dark-haired male across the way.
“We’ve got company?” Jackie swirls on her high heels.
“Oliver,” I say. “You remember Oliver? From Katie’s Kitchen?”
“Oh. Hey!” Jackie waves hello. “Well, he’s going to be around here all the time, right?” I nod. “Then he better get used to this kind of chatter. Oliver?” She trots over to him. “You ever do it on the open seas?” She waves a hand slowly in the air, drawing a rainbow-like shape.
“Jackie,” I groan, wondering why, after ten years, I haven’t come to expect and grow used to her awkward antics.
“Don’t worry about me,” Oliver says. “I’m as up for girl talk as the next man.”
Jackie tosses her head back and laughs, and Oliver, as an addendum, says, “Or something like that.”
“Anyway.” I resume my sweeping. “Thank you so much for the ovens, Jack. That’s more than generous.”
“You deserve it,” she says breezily. “And they work all right?”
“Uh, fabulous!”
“How’d you get in, anyway?” Emily asks.
“Evelyn and Chad,” Jackie replies. “I called up Chad asking if Evelyn could open up the place, then Chad offered to get things hooked up, and…voilà! I even called up the repairman, telling him to cross you off his stupid-busy schedule.” She rolls her eyes as she pokes about a cake stand filled with the day’s leftover Pfeffernüsse cookies.
“Well, thank you,” I say. “I can’t tell you how awesome this gift is.”
“My pleasure.” Jackie takes a small bite out of one of the cookies and returns the remainder to the stand. “Mmm, yummers.” She dusts off her powdered lips. “But thank Chad. If it weren’t for him they wouldn’t be set up straight away.”
“Oh?”
She makes a puckered face. “I don’t know how the fuck to install appliances. I can’t even use an oven. Microwave, okay…”
“That was nice of you guys,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”
“Well, girl, I’ve got to go,” she says. “Just wanted to stop by and see how you liked them.” She runs a hand over one of the oven’s handles. “Andrew and I spent all day on the water today—exhausting but so worth it. We’ve got some work to make up now.”
“I’m impressed,” I say. “Andrew taking a day off of work? The man who eats, sleeps, breathes that office?”
“I know, right?” Jackie looks stunned. “He’s got us-us-us on his brain.” She looks self-satisfied, shrugging her shoulders up high.
“Well, when you offer to rock the boat in the afternoon…” I say.
“Hey, I used to dangle sex like a carrot in front of a rabbit with that man.” She juts out her bottom lip. “Nothin’. Well, sometime
s. But now, since we’ve started our couple’s therapy and are totally back on the Jackie-and-Andrew track,” she sighs in a high-pitched way, “our whole marriage is better. Work-life balance, and, well,” she puckers up and kisses the air, “sex. It’s all great.”
I can see the side of Oliver’s face pull up into a grin as I push the broom about his work station. I don’t know if he’s going to like working here or if he’s worried about what he’s gotten himself into.
“Well, I’m outtie!” Jackie sings. “Loads of work to catch up on!” She hikes her oversized designer bag further up onto her shoulder. “Glad you like the ovens. I’ll talk to you later, ladies. Oh, and nice to see you again, Oliver. Welcome!”
“And that would be Jackie,” Emily says in a sports-announcer kind of way once Jackie disappears.
I look over at Oliver, who’s still wearing a small smile. “Crazy, but we love her,” I say, at a loss for better words.
“She’s got one thing right,” Oliver says, finely grating fresh ginger.
“What’s that?” Emily says.
“Sex on the open seas is fabulous.”
Okay, I think as I happily push the broom across the floorboards of the kitchen, giggling. Oliver will definitely get along just fine here.
Chapter Thirty-One
As with Christmas, New Year’s came and went faster than I’d expected. Some of the girls and I, upon Emily’s insistence, went out to a few bars over in Capitol Hill to ring in the new year. Nothing epic, but a fun time to get to hang out some more with Emily before she heads to the other side of the globe in a few days.
Oliver hasn’t been working long at The Cup and the Cake, but he’s a pro, knocking out all the recipes on the day’s menu, helping take lots of strain from the work day, and he, along with Emily, is a lot of fun to have around.
The new year has started out great, and I’m excited to see where it’ll take me. The first day’s worth of café customers post New Year’s Day have been chart-topping, which is great as I push through the nervous, jittery feeling when I cut Oliver’s first check.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 23
