Craving Perfect (3 page)

No man had ever made my heart do that flippy thing, that fluttery feeling in your stomach when an elevator drops too fast—no one except Max Kramer, and he didn’t even know my name.

Swallowing back a sigh, I leaned forwarded and peddled faster. I was going to lose weight before my thirtieth birthday if it killed me. And I had fifteen more minutes to burn a few hundred more calories before I would need to return to the Desert Java. I had promised Kathryn a batch of crumble cake today, especially since our customers begged for it yesterday. I made mine with extra brown sugar, enough so that marble-sized chunks covered each square of light yellow cake. Just like Mom used to make, only then it was called Laura’s Famous Crumble Cake and she would let Kathryn and I pick off the melted brown sugar topping as if it was candy.

Once the bike hit the thirty-minute mark, I wiped it down with my towel, grabbed my bag, and searched inside for my car keys. Quickly, I walked toward the door and pretended to casually look sideways at the mirrors for one last long gape at Max. He was bench-pressing, his back sprawled on a narrow board, his legs opened on either side of it. He grunted with each movement, his biceps bulging like water balloons. I didn’t know which bulge to gawk at most. I tried to drink him all in at once. Jeez, I loved when he bench-pressed. That was probably my favorite part—

And then I stumbled.

“Shit!” My toe caught a dumbbell in the middle of the aerobic room. I fell forward but not before a hand gripped my right arm and pulled me upright. For a moment, a white fuzzy light flashed across my eyes.

“You okay?” he said, still holding on to my arm as I struggled to stand still.

“I can’t freaking believe it,” I stammered. “I can’t believe I almost…” My mouth snapped shut. Then I swallowed and tried to focus.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to do that again.”

I detected a wince in his voice.
Was this guy making fun of me?

“You sure you’re okay? You still seem a little dizzy.”

I inhaled, waited for my breathing to slow, and then said, “Yes, I’m fine. I think I’m fine.” I didn’t sound fine. I sounded like a lunatic.

A tiny smile lifted his lips, melting some of my anxiety. “Good.” Then he released my arm, a little reluctantly.

I tried to match his enthusiasm, but really I was embarrassed all over again. What was my problem? I’d almost fallen. Again. Right in front of Max Kramer. Right in front of all of the annoying mirrors that covered just about every wall. I was beginning to believe that I was cursed.

“My name is Carlos, by the way. Carlos Flores.”

I blinked up at him. His voice was familiar. I’d heard it before, honey-smooth like his brown-black eyes.

Then it registered.

Carlos saw the recognition in my face and he smiled, more broadly this time.

I forced a smile and felt my cheeks burn. “My name is Grace Mills and…thanks, Carlos.” I sighed and then lowered my voice. “Looks like you’ve helped me again. I really owe you.”

His gaze dipped as his hands reached for the front pockets of his baggy pants. “You owe me nothing. It’s no problem, really. Just glad to see you…back at the gym.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, well, I’m back. But as you can see, I still have this problem with gravity. I should be studied by NASA or something.”

He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people I see fall around here.”

“Really?” I wanted desperately to believe. Somehow I doubted he’d ever seen Alexandra Summers fall.

“Really.” He nodded his head, once.

“Well, then. I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad.” I didn’t believe him.

“Don’t.” His confident tone made me regret doubting him, if only for a second.

“Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate it. You’re sweet.” I picked up my golf bag from the floor. It had slipped from my hand, right before I fell, ready to cushion my fall. I suppose I should have been grateful. I straightened and faced Carlos.

“Anytime.” His head tilted.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

He nodded and his brow furrowed again, just a fraction, almost as though he was studying me. I figured he was probably just waiting to see if I could walk three steps without tripping over something.

“Bye, Carlos.” I slipped my gym bag over my shoulder and walked to the front entrance. This time my eyes stayed glued to the floor, mindful of any lone dumbbells, pieces of paper, pebbles—anything that would make me slip or stumble. Because, I swear, if I fell one more time inside Goldie’s Gym I wasn’t sure if I’d ever leave home again.

When I reached the safety of the front door, I stopped, gripping the handle. I turned to scan the gym one last time for a final peek at Max and a quick thought about the raspberry scone that waited for me in my refrigerator.

I drew back a breath.

But instead of Max, my eyes rested on Carlos. He hadn’t moved an inch. He watched me from the front counter, a curious grin lifting one corner of his mouth.

My cheeks turned molten. Oh, god. Had he seen me ogling Max? I spun around with my chin buried close to my neck, leaned hard against the glass door and then hurried across the parking lot.

The brass bell jingled when I entered the Desert Java.

“How was the gym this morning? Was the building still standing?” Kathryn grinned smugly at me. It was impossible to ignore.

Not stopping, I proceeded to the safety of the rear kitchen. It helped that I was already late. “It was fine,” I called out over my shoulder. “No broken bones. Amazing, really.” I returned a forced smile, more for her benefit than mine.

Kathryn’s grin faded. She followed me, her hands stuffed in the front of her apron pockets. “Did you see him?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb.” There was an eye roll in her tone. “You know who.”

I couldn’t admit that I spent my workout gawking at Max Kramer, especially when she already knew. It was pathetic, really. “I saw Carlos Flores, if that’s who you mean. He’s nice. I thanked him for helping me the other day. He seems real sweet.” At least that part was true.

“Well, that was friendly of you,” she said, with the emphasis on
friendly
. “But that’s not who I meant and you know it.” Kathryn leaned against the stainless steel counter next to my largest mixing bowl. Alongside it, I placed a new bag of flour, sugar, and a stick of real butter. I hated margarine and any ingredient that belonged in a science lab instead of food. “What are you baking today?” Kathryn asked.

“We’re out of chocolate chip cookies. Thought I’d make some and add a little peanut butter. What do you think?” I was relieved to be moving away from the topic of my extracurricular stalking activities. I would rather confine Max Kramer to my pathetic daydreams, thank you very much.

“Sounds yummy.” Kathryn leaned away from the counter and crossed her arms. “Now, speaking of yummy, what about Max?” Her eyebrows wiggled. “Out with it.”

“What about him?” I pretended to concentrate on a set of measuring cups, even though I could bake just about anything blind-folded.

“You know, Gracie…did he say anything to you…about the fall, I mean?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

“See?” She smiled triumphantly. “I told you. You worried all this time for nothing.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.”

Kathryn smirked. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. Not to worry. I’ll be fine.” I poured three cups of sugar into the mixing bowl and then began to cream the butter. “Please tell me they delivered the semi-sweet chocolate with our last shipment?”

But Kathryn did not give up easily. She never did. “You know, Gracie…Eddie has a friend at the office who he says is just your type. He’d like you to meet him. His name is Christopher, he’s got blondish-reddish hair, a little on the husky side, but very funny. He just had Lasik surgery and doesn’t even wear glasses anymore. What do you say? Wanna double with us next weekend?” Kathryn’s blue eyes widened with hope. That’s because in her world, she assumed that all of my dating problems would go away if we simply “doubled.” The trouble was she kept forgetting that we’d tried doubling before. And no one but Max Kramer could literally steal the breath from my body with a simple glance in my direction. Nobody.

I turned to my mixing bowl. “Not right now, tempting as that sounds, but thanks. I’m just not in the mood to date at the moment.”
Unless his name begins and ends with Max Kramer.

Kathryn pouted and then sighed when I didn’t warm to her idea. “Why not? He’s real nice. And it’d be fun.”

“I’m not dating again until I lose at least ten more pounds.”

“But you’re perfect the way you are. Why are you putting your life on hold like this?” Her voice grew a little overly anxious, even for Kathryn. “You’re not being fair to yourself, you know.”

Fair.
There was that word. Girls like Kathryn and the Alexandra Summers of the world knew nothing about fair. I wished they all could live in my world for a while, wear my spandex shorts and size eight-wide shoes. Maybe then they’d leave me alone.

“Wanna lick the spoon when I’m done?” My eyebrows wiggled.

Kathryn pursed her lips. “No thanks, but I really wish you’d reconsider. We could have some fun, maybe catch a movie, go dancing at one of the clubs on Mill Avenue. Remember what
fun
used to be? You and I used to go out on Saturday nights all the time. Now we’re lucky if we make it to the mall on a Sunday afternoon for a hot pretzel. We’re shriveling before our time, smack dab in the middle of this café.” Her eyes swept around the kitchen as though she despised the place.

That stung.

It was our home and it had belonged to our parents. It was all that we had left of them. It was as much a part of us as breathing.

Kathryn’s eyes lowered, almost as if she wished she could take the words back. But she didn’t.

I said it for her. “You don’t mean that.”

Her nostrils flared. “Maybe I do. A little.” Her eyes lifted, almost shamefully, to meet mine.

My voice rose an octave. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sighed, heavily. I knew that sigh. It was signal that she had more news to drop into my lap. “You know, Grace, I’ve been thinking…”

I rattled around a drawer for another mixing spoon. “Uh-huh…”

“What would you say about selling this place?”

My hand froze, clutching a spoon. My gaze rose to meet hers. “What?”

Her glance dipped, briefly. “You know. Sell. Do something else?”

“Are you kidding?”

She swallowed. Then she nodded.

“But…this is our home.” The bump on the back of my head began to throb. I reached for it, massaging it. “And Mom and Dad wouldn’t have wanted us to sell.
Ever
.”

Kathryn’s lips pressed together.

“And what would we do with all the pillows?” I smiled at her, hoping she’d see the humor.

But her eyes rolled.

“Jeez, you’ll say anything to get me on a double-date!”

She didn’t answer. And she didn’t laugh like I thought she would. The kitchen turned silent.

Finally, I tossed the spoon in the bowl. “Look, when I want to date, I’ll let you know. I promise. But that shouldn’t stop you from going out, you know. You’ve got Eddie. I’m sure he’d love to take you dancing,
so go
. Right now, though, I’ve got to finish these cookies and get started on a crumble cake or we’re going to be scrambling later.”

“Okay, okay.” Kathryn pushed off the counter in a huff. She headed for the kitchen door. Over her shoulder she called out, “But I’m not giving up, you know.” She raised her tiny nose in the air. “I’m going to get us out of here if it’s the last thing I do.”

Out of here?
Where would we go? But then I reminded myself that Kathryn could get so hyper sometimes, especially when she didn’t get her way. She was obviously in full Drama Queen mode.

Sighing, I reached for the refrigerator door as soon as she left me alone. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I pulled out a raspberry scone carefully wrapped in plastic, hidden way in the back of the lower shelf behind tubs of oatmeal, walnuts and raisins. I turned the radio above the sink to my favorite jazz station. I found a plate and sat at the counter, carefully pulling the plastic from the scone.

I closed my eyes and inhaled raspberries and powdered sugar.

Finally.

I’d waited all morning for this one, special moment. I could officially enjoy my morning treat in peace. I figured I’d earned it.

Sometimes a raspberry scone was even better than dancing—or a date. Or a cranky sister. At least it was more predictable, and it never, ever disappointed me.

Later, after I’d finished enjoying every morsel of my scone, Kathryn called out to me.

“Someone here to see you,” she said from the kitchen doorway. The background noise muffled her voice so she sounded farther away than she was.

“Who is it?” I yelled back, but Kathryn didn’t answer. We were lucky if we could hear ourselves think.

The Desert Java had been packed since ten and we were almost out of the four dozen cookies and the two crumble cakes I’d baked earlier, along with a batch of leftover oatmeal bars from yesterday that, frankly, were a little stale. Still, the cash register rang nonstop, filling the air with the familiar computerized
beep beep
with each sale in between Kathryn’s conversations with everybody. She knew each customer’s name, college major, hometown, and favorite beverage. She was so much better at all the social stuff than I was. I could do it if I had to but it was never as effortless.

I ran my hands under the faucet before leaving the kitchen. The front of my yellow apron was sprinkled with flour, gluten, powdered sugar and just about every kitchen spice, including a few that simply never washed out. I stole a quick look at my reflection in the window over the sink and frowned. A wilted sunflower looked more attractive. I sighed. Then I walked through the kitchen door, wiping my hands against the front of my apron one last time.

I scanned the room for Kathryn but she was planted in front of the cash register. There were still about six people waiting to pay and Kathryn was in an animated conversation with one of them. Something about skim milk versus soy.