Recipe for Love (8 page)

“Yes,” Rachel said, forcing a smile. “Great.”

Except . . . well, what about her two-date rule?

Andi and Jake had spent time together before their first official date. She supposed
seeing Mike day to day in a nonpersonal capacity wouldn’t count as a date for her
either. She could do it. She was strong. Not like those women from the Lonely Hearts
Cupcake Club.

After her second date with Mike this afternoon, she’d restrict their relationship
to casual contact, and it would all be okay. Yes, she was sure everything would work
out fine. Absolutely 100 percent perfect.

“Are you ready?” Mike asked, jingling his car keys.

“Yes,” Rachel said and gave him a smile. “Always.”

T
WO DAYS LATER
the Saturday Night Cupcake Club streamed through the front door of Creative Cupcakes
and headed toward the party room.

Rachel eyed each of them, trying to decipher why they’d be rejected from the male
population, why they had nothing better to do on a Saturday night than eat cupcakes
with other dateless women.

Maybe because they’d
turned
down
a date with a handsome man. That possibility had never entered her mind until she’d
turned down Mike’s offer to go to the movies minutes before they arrived.

Guilt shot through her entire body as she recalled the look upon his face. He hadn’t
been happy. And now . . . well, neither was she.

After mixing up a batter of peppermint mocha cupcakes, she drew close to the party
room door and listened in on the women’s conversation. One woman cried, saying that
her boyfriend had left her. Another woman moaned that she was single and hadn’t found
anyone to fall in love with. A third had eaten chocolate to deal with her failing
marriage, gained a lot of weight, and now didn’t think anyone else would want her
because she was fat.

Rachel pressed her lips together and shook her head. There was no way she’d ever humiliate
herself in front of a bunch of other dateless women and wallow in self-pity. That’s
what it was, a big pity party. They each thought they needed a man, or help getting
a man, when what they really needed was some mental help. If they really wanted a
date, why didn’t they go to a local hangout to meet someone? There were plenty of
people over at the Captain’s Port drinking, eating, and singing karaoke.

Instead, the women dragged their lonely hearts in here, where they devoured Andi’s
new Recipe for Love chocolate cupcakes and distributed Kleenex.
Pathetic.

She spotted a book sticking out of a canvas bag on the floor and leaned her head in
further. Was that Gaston’s book,
How to Keep Your Bakery from Going Bankrupt
? No, but the covers were similar.

“Yoo-hoo, you there with the red head. Remember me?”

Rachel lifted her gaze to the woman with white hair beside the book bag who was waving
to her. Bernice Richards, the little old lady from the festival bus?

“Come sit by me,” Bernice called, “and join the group.”

Rachel shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got work to do.”

“I met a very handsome man at the festival last weekend, but he was too young for
me and only had eyes for that pretty redhead,” Bernice said, pointing in her direction.
“What is your name, Pumpkin?”

If there was a single name Rachel hated as much as “the Sunkist Monster,” it was “‘Pumpkin.”

“Rachel,” she corrected, leaning her head into the doorway again. “My name is Rachel.”

“What is your last name?” Bernice insisted. “A name isn’t complete without both a
first and last name.”

“Donovan,” Rachel answered. “Rachel Donovan.”

“I knew a Lewis Donovan once.” The old woman’s eyes glistened, and her face took on
a rosy glow. “He was very handsome, too. Had the same red hair as Rachel.”

Rachel left the doorway and walked into the room. “Lewis Donovan is my grandfather.”

Bernice’s eyes widened, and all the other women, of all different ages, looked at
her with interest.

“He was my beau,” Bernice said softly. “We met right after high school, and he took
me on the most glorious picnics by the ocean. We’d talk about sweet nothings and walk
for miles along the water. He was my first real love.”

“What happened?” Rachel asked, sitting down beside her.

“I wanted to marry him, but his father didn’t think I was good enough to be his wife
and sent him off to college.”

“No!” Rachel exclaimed. How could her great-grandfather have done such a thing? How
could
anyone
do such a thing? Who were they to judge who was good enough? What did “good enough”
mean, anyway? Who gave others the right to think they were superior and others inferior?
Fury burned through Rachel’s veins, and she took Bernice’s right hand in her own as
if she still needed comfort after all this time. “Tell me what happened.”

“After three years of separation he met someone else and had redheaded babies like
you.” Bernice paused, and her eyes filled with concern. “How is he?”

“My grandfather has Alzheimer’s,” Rachel told her. “He doesn’t remember much.”

Bernice sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Rachel couldn’t help but wonder what would become of her and Mike. Would they become
separated for all time like Bernice and Grandpa Lewy? Would she end up in the Saturday
Night Cupcake Club, alone and withered with no one to love?

Her stomach clenched. She didn’t want to be alone.

The front door jingled as it opened, and Rachel rose to greet the new customer only
to find Mike coming in from his last delivery. His gaze met hers, held, and then he
turned away.

“Mike,” she said, her voice raspy, probably from too much small talk with Bernice.

He turned back.

“If you still want to go, I’d love to see a movie with you tonight.”

N
OT ONLY DID
she break her two-date rule, but she busted it to pieces by seeing Mike nearly every
second of every day over the next full week. Today they’d be working together at the
Astoria Sunday Market and compete against Gaston for the title of Best Cupcake Shop.

Rachel, still in pajamas, entered the kitchen of her family’s house, poured herself
a bowl of cereal for breakfast, and noticed her mother getting ready for work.

“Mom, you can’t work today,” she protested, jumping out of her chair.

“Rachel, I have to.”

“But it’s Mother’s Day, a day of rest. No way should you have to work today.”

“You’ll be so busy with your cupcake contest you won’t even miss me,” her mother replied.

“That’s not true,” Rachel told her. “I want you to be there.”

“Andi, Kim, and your new boyfriend, Mike, will be there.” Her mother grabbed her purse
off the table and headed toward the door. “You don’t need me.”

“I
do
need you, Mom.”

But her mother didn’t hear. She’d already left.

T
HE BRILLIANT BLUE
sky sparkled with sunshine, drawing a large crowd to the Sunday Market in the historic
downtown district. The tables of vendors selling fresh flowers, honey, oysters, jams,
lavender, pottery, chainsaw carvings, and a unique assortment of homemade crafts spanned
four blocks from Marine Drive to Exchange Street.

A teenager sat on the curb strumming his guitar. A hand-printed sign next to his open
guitar case said he needed money to buy a car. He already had several donations.

“I should have brought some of my paintings,” Kim said, scanning the artisans.

“You’ll be too busy baking to sell your artwork,” Andi told her. “Did you call to
put your watercolors in the gallery in Portland?”

Kim bit her bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“I’ve printed up a full-color flyer advertising that your paintings are available
for purchase,” Rachel confided. “And after we beat Gaston in the cupcake contest,
there will be more customers coming into Creative Cupcakes to see them.”

Kim’s face brightened. “Thanks, Rachel.”

A band played on the music stage as Jake helped Mike unload the tables and bakery
equipment from the back of the Cupcake Mobile. The ovens were already there, supplied
by a local used appliance store. When everything was in place, there were two identical
makeshift kitchens set up side by side.

The head of the Sunday Market approached a microphone on the stage. “Welcome to Astoria’s
first Sunday Market Cupcake Contest,” he said. “This year we have Creative Cupcakes
competing against Hollande’s French Pastry Parlor.”

Cheers rose as the crowd drew in to watch.

“Everyone take a slip of paper,” he continued, “and at the end of two hours we will
distribute samples from each shop. Vote for your favorite flavor, and the winner of
the contest will take home this glorious golden trophy!”

The trophy had been set up on a pedestal between the two kitchens, and Rachel caught
Gaston staring at it.

Both bakery teams immediately set to work. While pouring ingredients into the large
mixing bowls, Andi found herself mesmerized by the sparkle of diamonds.

“Did you see the ring on that woman’s finger?” Andi drew in her breath. “Three full
carats at least.”

“I didn’t notice,” Rachel said, hustling to mix the next bowl of cupcake batter.

“How could you not?” Andi continued. “The shine sent a rainbow of color onto our baking
table.”

Rachel took Andi’s left hand, touched the fourth finger, and smirked. “Gee, Andi,
something seems to be missing here. What could it be? I’ll have to mention this to
Jake.”

“Don’t you dare!” Andi snatched her hand away and grinned.

Rachel held up her own bare hand. “I’ll marry someday. I just need to find the right
groom.”

Andi nodded toward Mike as he approached. “Here he comes.”

Rachel glanced at Mike and couldn’t help but smile.

“I brought you the extra ingredients you asked for,” Mike told them. “Is there anything
else you need?”

“Rachel needs another kiss for good luck,” Andi teased.

“Fine by me,” Mike said and leaned over to place a quick kiss on Rachel’s lips.

Beside the baking table, Mia and Taylor giggled and crooned, “Eww!”

Jake walked over to join them and made the two five-year-olds giggle once again when
he kissed Andi.

“I did some research on Monsieur Hollande,” Jake informed the Creative Cupcakes team.
“He lied when he said he won the trophy on
Extreme Bake-off.
He got kicked off in the final week, and according to the press, he was
extremely
angry.”

“That’s why he’s obsessed with being number one,” Rachel said, dropping her voice
so Gaston wouldn’t hear.

“He set up a shop in Portland but couldn’t outbake the city’s competition, so he packed
up and moved to Astoria,” Jake added. “He thinks Creative Cupcakes and the other bakeries
in town are an easy conquest.”

“We won’t be so easy to beat with these,” Kim said, holding up one of her new crystallized
sugar and water floral sculptures decorating the frosted top of a white chocolate−macadamia
nut cupcake.

“It looks like glass,” Rachel exclaimed, leaning in to take a closer look. “Like the
blue glass flowers we saw in Danielle’s glass shop.”

Breaking apart, the group worked to finish baking the required 200 cupcakes by the
two-hour deadline.

“We have only thirty minutes left,” Andi reminded them as the contest drew to a close.

“Going as fast as I can,” Rachel replied, pulling another batch out of the oven.

Mia called to Andi across the zoned off bake area, “Taylor said I took her candy,
but I didn’t. She took mine.”

Taylor pulled Jake by the hand and came toward them.

“Taylor wouldn’t lie,” Jake told Andi.

Andi stopped icing the cupcakes and looked him in the eye. “Mia wouldn’t lie either.”

As their voices rose and the squabble continued, Rachel turned her head to find Gaston
next to their table, where they had placed a large bowl of cupcake batter. He smiled
and turned away.

Rachel walked toward the bowl and looked inside. Nothing looked wrong, but she figured
she’d better be sure. Taking a spoon, she scooped some of the batter and lifted it
to her mouth.

“Ugh!”

Andi turned toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Salt.” Rachel scrunched her nose and wiped her tongue with a nearby towel, but the
sharp taste remained.

“Did you mix up the ingredients?” Andi asked.

“No.” Rachel shook her head and pointed to the label on the container of salt, which
now had an uneven cap. “It wasn’t me. I think it was Gaston. He dumped salt into the
batter.”

Kim came toward them and pointed to her watch. “Do we have time to make another batch?”

Andi shook her head. “Worse. We’re out of ingredients.”

Rachel called Mike over to them. “Can you go back to the shop and bring us the extra
batter I put in the refrigerator?”

Mike nodded and dashed off to the Cupcake Mobile.

Ten minutes later he was back, bowl of batter in hand. Andi, Rachel, and Kim scooped
the cream-colored mixture into the last tray and put it in the oven.

“Five minutes to ice and decorate these,” Andi called when the cupcakes were finished
baking.

Kim nodded. “Ready and waiting.”

The announcer began counting down the minutes over the microphone, and Rachel held
her breath. Her fingers had never worked so fast. She, Andi, and Kim plopped icing
onto the last dozen cupcakes, spread the mixture with a knife, and finished placing
Kim’s sugar sculptures on the tops just as the final whistle blew.

Rachel narrowed her gaze at Gaston as the cupcakes were distributed and people placed
their votes in the ballot box. He gave her a smug look, then turned to converse with
his two helpers.

Members of the Astoria Fire Department had been chosen to count the votes, and after
twenty minutes, the announcer stepped up to the stage and took the microphone in his
hand.

“The winner of the contest is . . . Creative Cupcakes!” he exclaimed.