Just Desserts (Main Street Merchants Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “And that’s the most important thing,” Quinn said. She grabbed a notepad and jotted down the addition to his order. “We’ll have this ready for you, and let me just say, you won’t be disappointed. I wish we had some chocolates here for you to try—maybe we should keep samples on hand all the time.” That would be difficult, but it might be worth the effort.

  Alex shrugged. “No worries. If they’re anything like the desserts I tried when I was here before, I know everything will be amazing.”

  They chatted for another minute before Alex had to leave, and Quinn returned to the kitchen to stare at the cake. Finally she picked up the phone, unwilling to admit defeat, but ready to ask for a little bit of help.

  “Hey, Maggie,” she said when Mrs. D picked up the phone. “Can you handle an order of three hundred chocolates for an event next month?”

  “Three hundred? That’s certainly a nice order. Sure, I’ll bring a helper and we’ll make a party of it. Just e-mail me over the order and the date, all right?”

  “Will do.” Quinn smiled. Maggie was one of the most tech-savvy little old ladies she’d ever met. “And listen—I hate to do it, but could you possibly bring Mr. D back down? I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, but I’ve got a cake that just won’t cooperate.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you at all. You’re a wizard with cake.”

  “No, I’m just the apprentice. Mr. D’s the real wizard.”

  Maggie didn’t reply for a moment. “When is the cake due?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Can you give us an hour before we come down? Marco’s . . . well, he’s having a hard time right now.”

  There was so much meaning behind that simple sentence. “Of course,” Quinn said, feeling guilty for asking. “Maybe I’ll figure out my problem before then and I won’t need you to come down at all.”

  “I’m sure I can get him settled. He’s just a little agitated right now—nothing critical.”

  “Hang in there, Maggie.”

  “Oh, I will. He may be the head of this household, but I’m the neck, and we all know that the neck turns the head.”

  Quinn laughed, as she knew she was supposed to, but inside, her heart was breaking. Maggie only used that expression when she was having a particularly hard day with Mr. D and needed to rally herself. Thank goodness she was still in good health, but Quinn had no idea how long that would last, with all the pressure she was under.

  After another minute of studying the situation, Quinn decided she’d just have to let the cake take that round. Mr. D would walk in, see the problem immediately, and have eight different fabulous ways to fix it. She moved it to the cooler for the time being and helped Kenny finish up the bread.

  When Maggie and Mr. D walked into the bakery an hour later, Maggie’s stress was palpable. Quinn could feel it in the air even before she could hear the words that were being spoken.

  “I’m a very responsible driver, Maggie. Why can’t I drive my car? It’s my car, bought and paid for. I should get to drive it.”

  “You don’t have your driver’s license anymore, dear,” Maggie told him. She glanced at Quinn. Evidently, this conversation had been going on for quite some time. “The people at the DMV decided it was time.”

  “My hands are as steady as a rock.” He held them up in proof, and sure enough, there wasn’t so much as a tremble. If only that were the only problem. “They have no right—oh, my. Oh, dear. What happened here?”

  Quinn had brought the cake back out a few minutes before, and his eyes now rested on it, a furrow between his brows. “I got stuck.”

  “Well, I can definitely see that. Let’s fix it, shall we?”

  Maggie let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she whispered to Quinn as Mr. D tied on his apron. “This is actually the perfect distraction.”

  “Maybe my mental block will be used for good, then,” Quinn whispered back.

  “Quinn, come over here and let’s work on this together,” Mr. D said. “Can I see the order form?”

  She grabbed the slip of paper off the corkboard and handed it to him.

  “Well, you made a chocolate cake, all right.” He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Now we need to make it look like a wedding cake.”

  They each grabbed an icing bag and began piping. Working alongside Mr. D, Quinn felt herself getting back into her groove, and it was mere minutes before she was feeling much better.

  “Have you taken a lunch break yet, Quinn?” Maggie asked from a stool in the corner.

  “No, I haven’t. And not much for breakfast. Maybe that’s the problem.” Quinn mentally kicked herself in the pants. She should have figured that out for herself. She had to taste the batter and dough for each item, and it was important that she balance all those sugars with some protein so she wouldn’t go too wiggy.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Mr. D said as he placed a rose on the bottom layer on top of a perfect leaf. “I think she needs to be kissed.”

  “What?” Quinn was totally aghast. She stopped moving with her hand halfway to the cake.

  “It’s true. The surest way to get yourself out of any funk is to have a nice, romantic kiss.” He winked at her. “I’d say it’s time you found yourself a nice prospect.”

  Quinn was positive her face was bright red, but this turn of the conversation had distracted Mr. D from being upset about his driver’s license, so she supposed it was a worthwhile sacrifice. She went back to her roses, trying to put kisses and prospects and all those types of things far, far from her mind.

  Chapter Four

  With the wedding cake in the fridge, Quinn felt like she could take a deep breath for the first time all day. She gave Mr. D a kiss on the cheek, which made him grin—although he did point out that wasn’t the kind of kissing he meant—and then he went out to wait in the car while Maggie checked their inventory for a few of the specialty items she’d need for the art gallery order. Two of the girls who worked at the bookstore, Regan and Leslie, were seated in front of the large picture window, eating cake and talking about the latest releases in women’s fiction. Everything was under control, so Quinn asked Becky to restock the display case and she went into the kitchen to start a batch of shortbread.

  She had just grabbed the vanilla when she heard a huge crash and screams from the front. She ran into the other room to see the nose of the D’Angelos’ huge 1970 Cadillac halfway through the picture window, glass everywhere, Mr. D slumped behind the wheel. Regan and Leslie had been sitting right in front of that window not a moment before, but now they were off to the side, arms around each other’s shoulders, shaking. Becky had flattened herself against the wall behind the cash register.

  “What . . . what happened?” Quinn asked even as she ran toward the front door. Becky was right behind her.

  “We were just . . . I was putting out the brownies, and everything was fine, and then Mr. D just drove through the window. Regan and Leslie must have seen him coming—they both leaped out of the way like a superhero movie or something right before the car hit them.”

  Quinn yanked open the driver’s side door. Mr. D was unconscious, with a gash on his forehead. “Mr. D, can you hear me? Mr. D?” No response. She spoke over her shoulder. “Becky, call 911.”

  The girl nodded once and disappeared.

  Quinn felt Mr. D’s pulse, just to be on the safe side. She could tell that he was breathing, but she had to do something to feel like she was helping him. What on earth had happened?

  “Marco!” Maggie came running up, and Quinn stepped to the side.

  “I wouldn’t try to move him at all,” she cautioned. “Becky’s calling an ambulance. They may want to put a neck collar on him.”

  Maggie nodded to show that she understood, but she patted Mr. D’s shoulder, looking scared and helpless. “How did this happen?”

  “Becky said she looked up just as the car came through the window. I don’t think we know much more than that.”

  “I
bet he was trying to drive,” Maggie said. “He was so upset about it earlier—he probably wanted to prove that he could still do it.”

  “I thought he was feeling better about things.”

  “So did I.” Maggie pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, Marco. Quinn, I wish you could have known him years ago. He was an amazing man. He’d work hard in the bakery all day, and then he’d take me out dancing at night. There really was no one else like him.”

  “He still is an amazing man,” Quinn told her. “Things have changed, but the person he is will never go away.” She peered through the glass again. The blood on Mr. D’s forehead seemed to be clotting—a good sign. Just then, she heard the sirens from a few streets over. “And here comes help.”

  By now, the sidewalk was littered with onlookers, and the police had to honk the horn on their cruiser a few times to get everyone to clear out of the way. The paramedics took over and got Mr. D onto a stretcher, and Quinn stepped back, her knees suddenly feeling like jelly. An arm came around her shoulders, and she turned to see Millie from the bridal shop across the street.

  “Come back in and sit down,” Millie said. “We’ll leave all this hard stuff to the professionals.”

  Quinn let Millie lead her inside. Laurie stood talking with Regan and Leslie, both girls holding mugs of coffee in their hands. “I’m so, so sorry,” Quinn said. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just rattled,” Leslie said. “Thanks to Regan’s quick reflexes here, we got out of the way just in time.”

  “I think I bruised her pretty good, though,” Regan said, nodding down to Leslie’s arm, which had purple finger marks on it.

  “She did sort of grab me and yank me out of the way, but I’m not complaining.” Leslie grinned. “Besides, these are awesome bruises, and I have an exciting story to go along with them.”

  “Thanks for having such a great attitude,” Quinn said. “I don’t know if I’d be this cheerful if I were you.”

  “It was just an accident, and we’re glad we’re all right,” Regan said. “Being upset won’t change anything, so why waste the energy? We’re just worried about Mr. D. How is he?”

  “Unconscious right now.” Quinn nodded toward the window, where they could see the paramedics lifting the man out of the car. “Hopefully they’ll have something to tell us soon. And the two of you say you’re fine, but I think the paramedics should check you out anyway.”

  Regan grumbled, but Leslie seemed to like that idea. “Come on. We can check them out while they’re checking us out.”

  Millie pressed a mug of coffee into Quinn’s hands and nudged her into a chair, and after a few sips, Quinn was able to look around and focus on what was going on. Hailey from the clothing store was there, running the coffee machine, and Tyler from the photography studio was taking pictures from every angle.

  “For your insurance,” he said when he caught Quinn’s eye.

  Insurance. She should call the insurance. She watched the paramedics load Mr. D onto the ambulance and help Maggie climb up beside them, and then they pulled away. The police stepped into the bakery and began asking Regan and Leslie some questions.

  “Need a refill?” Hailey asked, appearing at Quinn’s side with the coffee pot.

  “Yes, please. And thank you—you didn’t have to do this.”

  “Oh, come on. I look outside and you’ve got a car hanging out the front of your building? Of course I’m going to come see what I can do.” She gave Quinn a wink before heading over to refill for the others.

  Just then, Alex and Jonah burst through the door. Alex came to Quinn’s side immediately, and Jonah moved over to the window.

  “Quinn, what on earth? We heard the sirens over the sound of our power saws—what’s going on?” Alex took the chair across from Quinn, worry etched on his face.

  She gave him a quick rundown—not that there was really a long version of the story.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t even think about what needs to be done. Tyler said I should call the insurance.”

  “Yes, call them immediately,” Jonah said, walking up to the table. “I was just talking to Tyler. Nice guy. He’s taken a bunch of pictures and will go make you the prints, but of course the insurance adjuster will want to send their own team. You should ask them for permission to tack up some tarps or something—you can’t leave the front exposed like this. See if they’ll let you put up some wood in place of the glass. Find out when you can move the car.”

  Quinn fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone, then remembered that she wouldn’t have the insurance company’s number programmed in there. She’d have to get the number from the office. She stood, but her knees immediately buckled, and Jonah caught her elbow. He smelled like wood shavings. Cedar. It was nice, and she took a deep breath.

  “Thanks. Did I pull you away from work?”

  “I was down at the art gallery, so not far.”

  Alex stood and took her other elbow. “Where are you trying to go?”

  “To the office. It’s where all the phone numbers and policies and stuff are.”

  Alex nodded. “I’ll help you. Jonah, why don’t you see if we have any extra tarp at the gallery—might speed things up here.”

  Jonah looked hesitant to leave, glancing back and forth between Alex and Quinn as though he wanted to stay, but then he too nodded and stepped out the door. Quinn wondered at Alex’s attitude—he seemed kind of territorial all of a sudden—but Jonah was his employee, and maybe he thought this was part of the job description.

  Alex supported Quinn as she walked back to the office. She felt stupid—she wasn’t hurt in any way, so why was she suddenly so weak? Then she remembered that she still hadn’t eaten much that day. After she took a seat in the desk chair, she said, “Alex, I hate to bother you, but would you run over to the diner and grab me a sandwich? And please see if anyone else needs one.” She took a credit card from the small wallet in her pocket and handed it to him.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I will be after I’ve eaten.”

  “Okay.” The worried look on his face was quite adorable. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Quinn pulled out the bakery’s address book and found the information for the insurance company. They told her they’d send out someone as soon as they could, considering that the front of the business was open to the elements and that the glass was a danger, but they asked her to leave things as they were for the time being.

  “Tell me what you mean by you’re sending someone as soon as you can,” Quinn said. “Do you mean, in an hour or two, a day or two—do I need to have someone sleep here tonight to watch the place—what?”

  “Someone will be there in about two hours,” the man on the other end of the phone promised. “See what you can do about maintaining the integrity of the accident site in the meantime.”

  Quinn promised she’d do her best, then hung up and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Poor Mr. D. Poor Maggie.

  The ambulance hadn’t been gone very long, so she doubted the hospital would have any updates. But she dialed Maggie’s cell phone anyway—she could at least see how people were holding up, even if they didn’t have answers as of yet. Maggie answered on the first ring.

  “How are you doing?” Quinn asked.

  “He’s being examined right now. He’s awake and complaining of a headache, but we won’t know anything for a little bit, probably.”

  “I figured as much. But how are you doing?”

  Maggie sighed. “I’m all right. I just wish I knew how to keep him safe. Here he was doing so much better this afternoon—decorating that cake really seemed to center him—and then this. I don’t know how to help him.”

  “Maybe the doctors will have some suggestions.” Quinn wished she had anything to offer, but she felt nearly as helpless as Maggie did.

  “I hope so.”

  Quinn updated Magg
ie on the condition of the shop and the call placed to the insurance company, promising to stay in touch once she knew more. Then she hung up and took a deep breath. There was so much to be done out front. She walked out into the disaster area and found Regan and Leslie waiting for her.

  “Any word on Mr. D?” Regan asked.

  “Still being examined, but Maggie promised she’d call.” Quinn shook her head again at the sight of the car sitting in the bakery. “Listen, both of you get free dessert here for life in addition to any medical bills, okay?”

  “We were checked out by the EMTs—who are very hunky, by the way—and we’re fine,” Leslie assured her.

  “We won’t turn down the dessert, though,” Regan added.

  The two police officers who had been interviewing all the witnesses stepped back into the shop. Apparently, the onlookers outside had kept them quite busy. “You didn’t see the accident. Is that correct?” the taller one asked Quinn.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t. I was in the kitchen.”

  “I believe we’ve gathered enough evidence to rule this an accident rather than an act of vandalism, and we’ll make our report available to your insurance agency,” the other officer said. “Mr. D’Angelo’s medical evaluation will be very interesting to us, however.”

  “Will charges be pressed? He crashed his own car into his own window,” Quinn pointed out.

  “The two customers who were sitting in front of the window have stated that they have no desire to press charges, and so we’re not looking in that direction. But we’re worried about Mr. D’Angelo’s behavior in the future. This is a definite safety violation, to say the least.”

  Quinn nodded. “I understand.”

  The police said they’d be in touch, and then they told everyone they could go. The crowd on the sidewalk dispersed, Regan and Leslie left, and Millie and Laurie each gave Quinn a hug before returning to the bridal shop. Becky slumped down in a chair, exhaling loudly, and Quinn joined her.