Easy Bake Lovin'

by Maggie Wells

  His step hitched slightly, but she pretended she didn’t notice. She was changing the terms of their arrangement. Giving him a second to adjust wasn’t asking too much. She planted one boot-clad foot on the bottom step, but drew up short when he came to a complete stop.

  “You mean, like a date?”

  Georgie’s heart leapt into her throat, but she did her best to keep her expression neutral as she confronted him. “We could call it a date. If you don’t like date, we could always call it Eugene.”

  “Eugene?”

  Taking in his befuddled expression, she decided to have mercy on him. “A joke. Yes, I was referring to the social interaction commonly referred to as a date, and never, ever called Eugene.”

  He squinted at her in the dim light cast from a single dingy ceiling fixture. “Sometimes I suspect you’re making fun of me.”

  “Most of the time I am,” she assured him. “I’m not particularly subtle.”

  His fingers tightened on hers, then grew lax as he tried to withdraw. She didn’t let him.

  “Georgie, dating is hard for me,” he said, a note of caution creeping into his voice.

  “Dating is hard for everyone.” Her reply was mild, but a weird itchy sensation prickled her nape once more. “The small talk alone is enough to make a person consider self-mutilation, but if you can get through the entrée, there’s usually some kind of shared dessert in the offing.”

  “I mean, with the kids.” He waved a vague but somehow all-encompassing hand. “My life is complicated.”

  The itch morphed into a full-on prickle. She began to wonder if the man standing in front of her wasn’t the bumbling single dad she believed him to be, and simply a prick. “I realize paying some teenager a few bucks for babysitting is more complicated than, say…a quick afternoon fuck—”

  To his credit, he did attempt to head her off at the pass. “Georgie.”

  But he was too slow. She brushed past him, possibly throwing an elbow, as she stormed into the storefront. There, she snatched the remaining bakery box from the counter and shoved the reinforced corner into his gut. “Here. Snickerdoodles.”

  “Georgie, please,” he said plaintively. “Give me a second.”

  “To what? Decide whether you care to be seen with me socially?” She scoffed and plucked at the Nirvana shirt. “Don’t sprain your brain, Mike.”

  “It’s not a matter of—” He cut the thought off. Clever lad. Nothing would play well. Not now.

  Not when she was already so ticked off she could hardly breathe. The familiar burn of humiliated tears seared her throat. She clamped her lips together, absolutely refusing to let even one escape. Over the years, she’d shed too many tears for unworthy people. She was tapped out.

  “Sorry, I’m sure you were hoping to get some nookie today, but I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for cookies.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t want to see you—”

  But she wasn’t biting. Her whole life she’d been subjected to spin. But not here. Not in her place. This was her domain. She called the shots here. And now, she was kicking him out. She didn’t want to say or do something they’d both regret.

  Chapter 6

  Georgie regretted her fit of temper about fifteen minutes after she closed the door behind Mike. She had a track record of popping off. Her mother always chided her about her short fuse. She liked to issue dire warnings of woes and regrets, which Georgie used to cut off by slamming her bedroom door.

  As much as admitting her mother was right about anything galled her, she was feeling every ounce of those woes and regrets sitting heavily on her chest. She kept her phone within grabbing distance all evening long. By the time the dinner hour passed, she was ready to call Mike and apologize for being hypersensitive. The problem was, she didn’t feel like she was overreacting. She thought maybe, just maybe, he was reluctant to take their relationship out into the world because he wasn’t quite comfortable with her style. And his wariness bothered her.

  Okay, so they’d sort of tumbled into bed without any…preliminaries. And yes, he did have kids, and children put a new wrinkle in her usual dating tactics.

  When she’d asked about the kids’ mom, his answers had been short and blunt to the point of discouraging further discussion. The lowdown was, his ex, Laurel, had needed the better part of a decade and two stints in labor and delivery to determine she wasn’t cut out to be a wife and mother.

  Georgie didn’t judge her for her life choice so much as her completely faulty timing. As far as she was concerned, those were the kinds of questions one asked before making commitments and tossing the contraceptives. But she’d never met the woman, couldn’t guess what her life with Mike might have been like, or what might tempt her to throw everything away.

  Flopping on her sofa, Georgie stared blankly at the television. The sound was hummed low. Some schmuck wearing a tool belt over his designer jeans was gesticulating wildly at what was clearly a load-bearing wall. She hadn’t had dinner. Hadn’t made her supply list. Couldn’t even be bothered to change out of the slightly crusty clothes Mike disapproved of her wearing, even though her apartment wasn’t nearly as toasty as the commercial kitchen two floors below.

  Groaning, she pulled a nubby chenille throw from the back of the couch. Her legs felt heavy and unwieldy as she kicked the folds of the fabric open. With the blanket spread haphazardly over her bare legs, she pulled it tight around her arms and burrowed in until her nose was buried in the soft fringe.

  Her stomach twisted into a tight knot as she had locked the door behind him, but pride provided adequate jet propulsion to get her through the last steps of her closing routine. By the time she stomped up the stairs, her anger was beginning to wane. One glance at the empty bed in the corner alcove, and Georgie wanted to kick herself for pressuring him.

  Mike was carrying a burden she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Hell, the other day, he mentioned something about spending the evening making construction paper pilgrim hats for some production the kids were having at their daycare. He was everything. Mommy and daddy all rolled into one harried package. He was the cook, laundry service, and chauffeur. And so much more.

  She sniffled and frowned, her eyes locked on the screen, though she was barely aware of the action there. Clearly, she was an idiot. The man had kids to think about. He couldn’t simply make plans on a whim. She’d put him on the spot, then lambasted him for not jumping for joy when she tried to shake things up. He couldn’t commit to even the most amorphous plan without consulting calendars and giving childcare options some heavy-duty consideration.

  Closing her eyes, Georgie racked her brain for the tidbits of information he’d let slip here and there. His ex-wife lived in Boston, so no quick swap of custodial favors possible there. He’d mentioned his mother and father, but only to deride their fondness for gin. She vaguely recalled something about his sister and one of the other guys from Trident but could tell from the edge in his voice the sibling relationship was strained.

  Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her contemplation. Checking the display, she saw an incoming text from her mother. She scanned the notification but didn’t bother opening the full message. Georgie learned long ago missives from her mother beginning with the words, “I hope I don’t have to tell you,” usually contained things she didn’t want to be told. They were by far the easiest messages to ignore.

  Sure the text was another reminder to remove her piercings and make certain her dress or hair covered the ink on her neck, she ignored it. Heaven forbid she offend some deep-pockets vendor with her candy-colored cupcake. Meredith had come unglued when she saw the script tat inside Georgie’s wrist. The following day, she presented her daughter with a Cartier watch. Georgie only wore parent-approved clothing and jewelry for what she termed the public performances, but she could admit the watch was a gorgeous piece. She admired the intricate enamelwork bangle each time
she opened her jewelry box, and thought about how much the bauble was worth every time she tested the limits of her trust fund.

  She needed to endure three more months or be willing to sacrifice herself on the altar of marriage to get her hands on the next principal outlay. Thankfully, she managed to muddle through the crushing first year. Her initial business plan hadn’t even alluded to novelty baked goods. They’d been a desperation ploy. A gamble she took after watching a group of wasted bachelorettes spill out of the bar across the street with pink balloons shaped into penises scrunched onto their heads.

  The cake pops had become a thing. Another baking trend Georgie had disdained, at first, but found herself bending to popular demand. The next day, she baked her first batch of Bachelorette Balls. A friend snapped a few decently lit photos of the indecent treats and helped Georgie create a clever banner ad on her computer. She posted her creation and a few other explicit ideas to some of the more heavily trafficked bridal forums, and voilà! She’d found her niche.

  And filling this particular corner of the world felt good. This building felt like home in a way the family manse on Astor Street never had.

  “No, Mother, you don’t have to tell me,” she murmured, tossing the phone onto the cushion once more.

  She took a steadying breath. Here, in this space, baking these crazy concoctions, she felt at home. Not only because she was successful. She believed status was easy to achieve if one worked hard enough at their craft. She’d made her mark early, and in Michelin-starred kitchens. But she never felt confident in her choices until she cleared the end of her second year in business in the black.

  Getta Piece was all hers. In a way, the bakery was her. Shocking for those who couldn’t get past the initial jolt. Delightful to those who reveled in ribald fun. And, underneath the shock value, she’d created a top-shelf establishment offering infectiously subversive confections designed to elicit fun and pleasure. Oddly enough, the snobbiest of her foodie friends understood. She found her own mother’s shortsightedness sad.

  The phone buzzed, signaling another message. Georgie expelled a sigh forceful enough to ruffle her hair. “Oh, for God’s sake. I never crashed the family Christmas party wearing fishnets and a lampshade,” she said to the television. “I know how to dress, Mother.”

  Grabbing the phone, she swiped the screen to life, her thumb poised to fire off some pithy comeback to her mother’s unnecessary admonishments. But the message wasn’t from dear old Mom. She saw Mike’s name listed at the top of her texts.

  The message read simply, I’m sorry.

  Her mouth set, she tapped the screen to place the call. When he answered, she muted the television completely. If this was going to be a real apology, she didn’t want to miss a word.

  “Sorry for what, exactly?” she asked without preamble.

  His low chuckle tickled her ear and sent a ripple down her spine. “For being a jerk?”

  Unwilling to be put off with any half-assed expressions of regret, she pressed him. “Question or a statement?”

  “A statement,” he said with enough conviction to convince her. “I shouldn’t have hesitated. I’d tell you it’s me and not you, but I get the feeling the old lines won’t wash.”

  Rolling over, she toyed with a hunk of her hair as she stared at the ceiling. “Why did you hesitate?”

  Mike was quiet for a minute, but his silence didn’t bother her. Georgie liked the way he thought about what he wanted to say and didn’t blurt out every passing thought. Her short-tempered ejection seemed even more unreasonable, on reconsideration. Proof the things make someone attractive can also drive a person crazy.

  “Lots of reasons,” he said at last.

  Georgie bit her lip and gripped the phone even tighter. So not the answer she wanted, or even expected, but she gave him credit for honesty. Still, she needed more clarity. “Like?”

  “Like I haven’t actually dated-dated in almost a decade,” he said with a bitter laugh. “And you are a client.” He paused as if gathering a few more thoughts. “I’m watching Colm navigate this whole thing with Monica, and frankly, sometimes it’s like watching those pilots who do tricks in fighter jets. You know the ones I mean?”

  “I love the Air and Water Show.”

  “Right. So, half the time, I’m watching them flying straight at each other, and I’m always sure one of them won’t pull up in time, or will forget which way to cut their wings. But they fall into line again, and… I want to do that. I want to fly really high, really fast, and feel sure the person next to me is on the same page with what the next move should be.”

  As far as analogies went, aeronautic acrobats were a highly questionable one to apply to a relationship, but she got where he was heading. Who didn’t want the thrill of falling in love faster than the speed of sound? And who wasn’t afraid they’d crash and burn if they chose the wrong person to love?

  “Everyone wants that,” she said softly.

  “But I tried before and my copilot hit the ejection button, and a part of me is still in a spin,” he said. “I like you, Georgie. A lot. More than I probably should. But I’m not sure about making anything more out of this.”

  His voice cracked with so much sincerity, she couldn’t even hate him for his reluctance to jump in. He had every reason in the world to be wary, but difficult not to take his misgivings personally.

  “Okay. Fine,” she said, her voice clipped. Even if he were the most obtuse man on earth, he would get the message.

  “I hold my breath each time I call you.”

  His confession caught her off guard.

  “What?”

  “I want you so much, but at the same time…I don’t.” He sighed. “I sound totally nuts, but true. I think about you all the time. Oddly enough, I like thinking about you.” He laughed softly. “A nice change from obsessing about my kids all the time.”

  “Your kids are worth obsessing over. They’re adorable.”

  “Which brings up another thing. My kids talk about you so much I’m scared. I mean, they met you for thirty minutes, but to hear them, you’d think you were a fixture around here.” He hesitated. “They talk about you too much.”

  “I make the cookies,” she said with a chuckle.

  “They talk about those, too, but mostly about you.”

  “Yeah, but to them I bet the cookies and I are one and the same,” she rushed to reassure him. “All part of my evil plan. I’ve been sending cookies home with you because I figured out the fastest way to your heart.”

  “Through my stomach?”

  “Through your kids,” she corrected gently. “I figured if I could get in good with them, I’d be golden.”

  Mike’s voice dropped. “See, but the thing about kids is, unless you are truly evil, you’re generally in until you opt out. Their mother has already disappeared on them. I have to be careful about letting people into their lives.”

  A sharp, piercing pain shot through her chest. “You think I’d hurt them?”

  “Not on purpose, but what if we do start seeing more of each other? What if they get attached to you and things don’t work out? You are a sexy, beautiful woman with no encumbrances. I come with so much baggage I can barely juggle it all.” A beat passed. “To be honest, I don’t get why you’d want to. I’m not sure I’d be willing to date a single parent. How much of a hypocrite does am I?”

  Georgie was so surprised by the confession she forgot to sugarcoat her response. “A pretty big one.”

  She heard a rustle and imagined him running his hand over his face in she was coming to recognize as a stalling tactic. “Yeah, I figured.”

  Gnawing on her bottom lip, Georgie fixated on a crack in the ceiling’s plasterwork. She knew what she needed to say next, but wished with all her heart she didn’t have to. “So you’re saying this might be a good point for us to take a step back.”

 
“I don’t want to,” he said with gratifying swiftness.

  “But we should.”

  Pursing her lips, she gathered her thoughts. If they were going to do some pondering over the possibilities, she wanted to get her say in as well.

  “So, here’s my pitch,” she began, enunciating each word carefully. “I’m a good person, Mike, even if I churn out dicks by the dozens. I’m smart, driven, and willing to take you at your word that I’m sexy and beautiful because I choose to believe you.”

  He gave a huff of a laugh, but she didn’t allow him space to break in.

  “I like kids. I liked your kids when I met them, but I also like kids in general. Most of the time, kids like me, too. And not only because I have cookies, though I will admit the cookies help.”

  “And not only with kids.”

  “Right.” Fixing her gaze on the crack in the plaster, she set her jaw and took the plunge. “So ponder the possibilities for a few days. If you decide I’m worth the risk, give me a call. I have a party to go to next Friday, and I’d like to take you as my date.”

  A low groan traveled through the line. “I will ponder, and I will call you, but I have to tell you I can’t make Friday night. I have a work thing, and we’re going all hands on deck.”

  “Oh. Well, poop.”

  Her heartfelt response earned her a full-out laugh. “My thoughts exactly.” He sobered quickly enough, though. “Give me a few days to wrap my head around some things, okay? There’s a lot of balls in the air right now, and I don’t want to blow things with you because I’m a shitty juggler.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I am sorry about Friday night. I have to pay some teenaged extortionists in blood for babysitting. I’d sure rather be going to a party with you than schmoozing a client and his bigwig friends.”