Taste of Romance (5 page)

“I’m right behind you!” Jake shouted. “Careful, Andi.”

Nathaniel tucked several paintings under each arm. “Where do you want them?”

Kim nodded toward the exit. “In the Cupcake Mobile out front.”

While Nathaniel ran the artwork to safety, Kim jumped back to avoid the onslaught
of “help” from their new recruits.

“What do we do?” Theresa squealed, spraying water from the small hand-washing sink
into the air.

“I’ve got it,” Eric announced, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the side cabinet.
With a blast of roaring foam, he ran around spraying everything in the shop, including
Andi when she reemerged from the kitchen.

“What, are you crazy?” Meredith yelled at them. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kim took her armload of paintings out to the truck, and when she ran back inside,
she found Nathaniel had removed the rest.

“That’s everything?”

“
Ja,
I’m quite sure.”

“Please evacuate the building,” a firefighter shouted, pulling her arm.

Kim crossed the street toward Andi, who stood in a huddle with Mia, Taylor, Jake,
and the last person they needed to witness this debacle—their father.

“Remember the fire you set during your high school cooking class?” he demanded. “I
told you opening your own bake shop was a bad idea. Everyone in Astoria is going to
think you’re a pyromaniac.”

“I didn’t set this one,” Andi argued.

“Does it matter?” he taunted. “It’s still your business.”

“And Rachel’s, Kim’s, and Jake’s,” Andi reminded him.

“Kim would never set a fire,” he retorted.

“Dad,” Kim protested. “Please don’t—”

“Stay out of this,” her father warned. “You don’t want your sister’s troubles to rub
off on you.”

Andi gasped and walked away. Kim did the same. No amount of reasoning would make him
listen. Ever. Maybe he was too afraid of what they had to say now that their mother
was no longer with them to keep the peace.

Mike’s car squealed to a stop across the street and Kim watched him jump out and hurry
toward her. “I got a text from Rachel. Where is she?”

“Grandpa?” Rachel shouted, running through the crowd. “Has anyone seen my grandfather?”

Mike grabbed Rachel’s shoulders and spun her around. “He’s right there.”

A firefighter had Grandpa Lewy by the arm and was escorting him from the smoking structure.

“Grandpa, where were you?” Rachel scolded.

“In the bathroom,” he replied, clutching his memory box to his chest.

“I thought maybe the Cupcake Bandit had stolen you, too.”

“I didn’t see any bandit,” Grandpa Lewy told her. “All I saw was the mailman.”

“The mailman?” Kim asked, noting Nathaniel was once again by her side. “He’s been
in the shop every time we’ve had a box of cupcakes go missing and has a bag big enough
to hide them in.”

Rachel gasped. “Are you suggesting that a United States Postal Service worker is our
cupcake thief?”

Kim pointed. “See? There he is, watching us as we speak.”

Everyone turned their heads, and the mail carrier darted for his truck.

“He
is
acting suspicious,” Rachel agreed.

“We need to go after him,” Kim said, her voice rising. “We can’t let him get away.”

“I can’t leave Grandpa Lewy,” Rachel said, taking her grandfather’s arm.

“Don’t worry; I’ll go,” Mike assured them. “I’ll catch him in the Cupcake Mobile.”

“No!” Kim shook her head. “I put all of my paintings in the truck, and if you drive,
they’ll scrape together.”

“I can drive you,” Nathaniel offered.

“You can do it,” Rachel encouraged.

Kim did a double take. “You want
me
to chase after the cupcake thief?”

When she’d said “we need to go after him,” she hadn’t meant to include herself. Confrontations
weren’t her forte. She never knew what to say or how to react.

“It was your idea,” Mike reminded her.

Kim nodded, followed Nathaniel to his vehicle, and cast him a nervous glance. “A motorcycle?”

Nathaniel grinned and handed her a helmet. “Ever ridden one?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Now or never,” he urged.

Strapping on the helmet, she climbed on the back of the bike and held on to him for
dear life as he sped down the road toward the mail truck.

The driver parked in front of a house around the corner, got out, and stepped on to
the sidewalk.

“Stop!” Kim hopped off the motorcycle and ran toward him. “Let me see your bag.”

The mail carrier pulled the blue-gray bag tight against his side with one hand and
pulled out a can of pepper spray with his other.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned. “Stealing mail is a federal offense.”

“We mean you no harm, nor your mail,” Nathaniel said, using a good-natured tone. “We’re
only looking for the cupcakes that were stolen.”

“Cupcakes?” The mailman looked perplexed. “You think this bag carries stolen cupcakes?”

Kim narrowed her eyes, and the mailman laughed.

“Why would I steal cupcakes?”

Kim lifted her chin. “Because everyone knows Creative Cupcakes are the best.”

“They
are
the best,” he admitted.

“Or maybe you overheard that we must buy the building, and for some insidious reason
you don’t want us to succeed.”

“I cannot allow you near the contents of this bag,” he said, his face serious. “Move
out of my way, or I’ll call the cops.”

“Look. Here comes a cop now,” Kim said, pointing over his shoulder.

The mail carrier swung around, and as he did, the bag slipped off his shoulder and
spilled out onto the ground. He stooped to gather the contents, and to Kim’s disappointment,
it truly was only mail.

“Happy now?” he demanded.

Kim squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second and nodded. “Sorry for the false accusation.
Next time you come by Creative Cupcakes, I’ll give you a free order.”

“Not the burnt ones you baked today, I hope.”

“Of course not,” Kim assured him.

“Creative Cupcakes has been cleared, and the fire department is allowing people back
in,” Officer Lockwell said as he approached. “Seems there wasn’t much evidence of
a fire after all, only smoke.”

Just like her Cupcake Bandit theory.

W
HEN
N
ATHANIEL BROUGHT
her back to Creative Cupcakes, Guy was in the process of locking his ten-speed bicycle
to a chain-link fence.

“Heard about all the excitement,” he said. “You girls sure like to start early. It’s
not even noon.”

“Not even noon, and we’ll be shut down the rest of the day,” Kim added. “The loss
of sales will hurt.”

She handed her helmet back to Nathaniel, and the tattoo artist glanced at the blue
body of the shiny Honda Shadow with its chrome finish and black leather seat.

“Yeah,” Guy said, standing in front of his ten-speed and puffing out his chest as
he gave Nathaniel an acknowledging nod. “My other bike is a Harley.”

Kim laughed, but then her mood sobered when she turned toward Nathaniel. “Sorry about
everything that happened today. Not what you expected when you arrived, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” he said with a grin. “A fire, a cupcake bandit, and a high-speed
chase all in less than an hour. Is your life always this exciting?”

“No.” Kim replied. “This isn’t my idea of fun.”

“What is?”

“Travel. I wish I could travel the world.”

“Astoria is hosting the Scandinavian Festival next weekend. It doesn’t require travel,
but if you come with me, I could at least introduce you to a different culture.”

A date! He asked her on a date!
But Creative Cupcakes would need her now more than ever. They’d have to clean the
kitchen to remove the heavy black soot the smoke left behind and work hard to recoup
the financial loss from shutting down on Father’s Day.

“I’m working the festival in the afternoons,” Kim told him.

“So am I,” he said, and an excited shine entered his eyes. “But there’s the Troll
Run in the morning, bright and early.”

Kim wavered with indecision, the golden wings in her pocket warring with the protective
Band-Aid over her heart. The Troll Run, a several-mile informal foot race through
the Olney Countryside just outside of Astoria, had been on her local to-do list for
years. Right above “ride a motorcycle.” But was she really ready to start a new relationship?
Was he?

She thought of her sister’s reprimand: “Take time. Go on an adventure.” And the wings
won.

“Yes, I’d love to accompany you on the Troll Run,” Kim said, and as their eyes locked,
she believed she saw a lot of excitement in her future.

But for now, Nathaniel rode off to return to the nursery, and Kim returned to the
blackened interior of the cupcake shop.

“Watch where you step,” Andi warned.

Kim looked down at the floor, which was splattered with the dropped remains of cinnamon-apple
cupcakes with maple syrup−cream cheese icing.

“Did you catch the mailman?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, but he isn’t our thief,” Kim informed her.

Andi scowled. “I wish I could find who it is. Not only was Officer Lockwell’s order
taken, but also the box of prepacked mixes I was going to deliver to some local stores.”

“Did you check the security camera footage?” Kim suggested.

“Yes, Jake took a look at it while you were gone. All the camera caught was part of
a bare arm—an elbow, to be exact, and a glimpse of pale hair. Not enough to identify
a suspect. It could have been anyone. And the lighting of the camera seemed to be
off. The hair color could have been white, blond, or even light brown.”

“Mike is a pro at how to make things disappear from his years of performing magic
tricks,” Rachel added. “And he says whoever is taking our cupcakes is very quick.”

“Have you talked to Mia and Taylor?” Kim asked. “Kids can be quick. They could be
taking cupcakes without realizing those orders are for other people.”

Andi shook her head. “The girls wouldn’t take cupcakes without asking, and they know
we’re looking for a thief. Right now the theft is a minor annoyance, but if this keeps
up, the Cupcake Bandit may put us out of business.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried,” Rachel reminded her. “Remember the
Zumba lady and her troupe of health-conscious dancers? And what about Gaston, the
French baker who claimed there can be only one cupcake shop in Astoria?”

“We should keep a list of how many batches of cupcakes we make and where we place
the orders,” Kim said, taking out the Cupcake Diary and making a few notes. “We should
also keep a list of the disappearances—what time they occurred, what was taken, which
flavors of cupcakes . . .”

Rachel laughed. “You think the Cupcake Bandit might have a favorite flavor?”

“Who knows?” Kim said and frowned as she flipped to the next page in the diary. “What’s
this?”

Andi’s small, neat, typewriter-like handwriting read:

Tall, blond, foreign accent, nature lover (obvious because he gardens), rides cool
motorcycle (implies adventure), perfect for Kim.

Rachel’s signature bold block lettering added:

Three months, three girls . . . think she’ll get engaged, too?

Kim looked at the smiles on Andi’s and Rachel’s faces and sputtered, “Nathaniel and
I haven’t even had a first date.”

“But he did ask you to go on one, didn’t he?” Rachel prodded.

“We’re entering the Troll Run on Saturday,” she admitted. “I had to say yes. He helped
save my paintings.”

Rachel gave her a teasing grin. “Of course.”

Andi pulled a yellow bucket and a mop out of the corner closet. “By Saturday Creative
Cupcakes should be bouncing back toward success. But right now, we have a lot of cleaning
up to do.”

Kim stared at the new employees, who had cost them twice their salary, lined up behind
her sister, waiting for instruction. “Aren’t you going to fire them? For setting the
fire?”

“It wasn’t me who left the cupcakes in the oven too long,” Meredith protested.

“It wasn’t me either,” Eric said. “I was just the one who found them.”

“Today was their first day,” Andi told her. “We should have been watching them closer.
Now, let’s dish out some clean-up assignments. Eric, you take the mop.”

“Wait,” Eric said, glancing around at the others. “We get paid overtime for this,
right?”

F
INALLY FINISHED AT
the end of the day, Kim went with Andi and Rachel to visit with Rachel’s grandfather
and take him the Father’s Day cupcake he never had a chance to share with them.

“Grandpa Lewy’s girlfriend, Bernice, will also be there,” Rachel told them. “And she’s
rich
.”

“Would she finance a loan or buy the building so we can keep Creative Cupcakes?” Kim
asked.

Rachel smiled. “It’s worth a try.”

“Oh, I hope she says yes,” Andi said, crossing her fingers. “Jake put everything he
could into the shop to get it started and has no more. Another investor would be a
great idea.”

The assisted living senior center that Rachel’s grandfather had moved into a few weeks
earlier resided around the block, between the new community park and Sjölander’s Garden
Nursery, close enough to walk. The receptionist at the front desk had them sign in,
then directed them to the elevator, which they took up to his quarters.

Rachel knocked on the door, and when Grandpa Lewy let them in, they found Bernice
hadn’t arrived yet.

“Mom had to work today,” Rachel told him. “She says she’ll bring you to the house
tomorrow for a home-cooked meal.”

Kim watched the white-haired man sit back in his recliner, a dazed look upon his face.
Some moments he was sharper than the fine point of her paintbrush, but other moments
. . . nothing. After he’d reunited with Bernice last month after more than fifty years
apart, much of his memory had returned, making the doctors think perhaps part of his
problem was depression.