Tasty (19 page)

Me:

They have, a bit. But damn, I’ve an
appointment with my loan officer at First Atlantic today and I have no idea
what to tell him. You can’t squeeze blood from a stone.

Her:

Wait, loan officer?

Me:

Yeah,
profits were low last year. I had to take out a loan. This was before
you were back in town.

Her:

Oh.
You know, interest rates are pretty bad right now. Have you thought
about downsizing? Maybe if you cut back on Summer’s hours you
won’t to take out any more loan money.

I
purse my lips. Damn, this wasn’t what I expected from Ginny. If
I wanted unsolicited advice, I’d call up my dad and tell him my
car engine is making noise. What I wanted from Ginny was for her to
listen and empathize. She’s a small business owner. She should
understand.

Me:

Summer needs this job. She supports her mom.

Her:

Oh. I had no idea.

Me:

Yeah,
she’s sweet. I treasure that kid, snark and all.

I
bite my lip, staring down at my phone. Ginny has no idea how the
bakeshop business works, or how common these loans are for restaurant
owners. We can’t all be Callum McKenzie, celebrity chef. Hell,
we can’t all be Ginny Austen, co-star of
Park
Avenue Princess: Beach Wedding Edition
,
either.

Her:

Sorry,
I didn’t realize. Look, I have to run. Luke and I want to scope
out a venue. I think this might be the one!! But let’s talk
soon, okay? Luke’s been asking about getting you and Cal
together for a double date. And I want to hear how it goes with the
loan officer.

I
stare down at my phone for a good minute and a half before I’m
chill enough to type out a response. I know Ginny’s psyched
about her wedding. I can’t blame her. I’d be too, in her
position. But things look different from my side of the world. Sure,
things might be promising with Cal. He makes me feel like no guy ever
has, old boss included. But it’s not like we’re committed
or anything. In a few weeks, his shop will be closing up, and he’ll
go back to New York for good. My stomach clenches a little at the
thought. I haven’t really admitted to myself how much the idea
of losing Cal scares me. I mean, it feels like it took a lifetime for
us to find each other.

But
then I think about how Gin must feel. She lost Luke once before, at
the end of high school. She wasn’t ready to settle down yet. He
was happy living in Pelican Key Cove forever. They lost an entire
decade. Now, things are finally stable with the two of them.
Committed. Of course she’s distracted. Luke’s a damn fine
catch, and she’s finally netted him.

Me:

Good luck, Gin! I hope the place is gorgeous.

I
mean what I say, but the whole interaction’s still got me
rattled. I don’t even notice that I’m cleaning until
Summer looks at me, wide-eyed.

“Shit,”
she says. “Did someone insult your grandmother or something?”

“No,
why?”

“Because
you’re doing your thing. You know, the stompy slammy cleaning
scrubbing
thing
.”

I
look down. I’ve got a cleaning rag in one hand and I’m
rubbing the counter so hard that I might just wear a hole into it. I
sigh, and throw it down.

“Sorry,
I’m fine. I’ve just gotta talk to my loan officer today.
I can’t make the payment. What if he throws me in debtors’
prison?”

She
looks at me. Blinks. “Okay, for one, that doesn’t exist.
This isn’t
Great
Expectations
,
and I’m not Miss Havisham. Though I can ruin your life if you
want.”

“You
can ruin my life any day, Summer,” I say, smiling a little
despite myself.

“Okay.
Good. Noted. For two, it’s no big deal. With the loan officer,
I mean. It’s just like dealing with a cop. Whenever I get
pulled over, I figure I have two options. I can flash him my tits.”

I
picture my loan officer, and wrinkle my nose.

“What’s
my other option?”

“You
bribe him. Silly.”

“Oh,”
I say, my voice laden with sarcasm, throwing my hands in the air.
“Bribery. Of course. What was I thinking?”

“Seriously,
it’s like you’ve never been a supervillainess before,”
Summer says.

I
arch an eyebrow. “And you have?”

“I’ll
never tell. Just don’t ask what happened to the Hapsburg
Diamond.”

“My
lips are sealed,” I assure her, heaping cupcakes into a box.

#

A
half hour later, I’m biking to First Atlantic with a box of
Pink Surprises strapped to the back of the Rock N Roll Cakes bicycle.
I’m nervous. I’ve never missed a payment on
anything
before, and I hate to start now. But I don’t have much of a
choice. For all her sarcasm, Summer’s given me some pretty good
advice. I’ve put on a nice, if slightly boring suit, tied my
hair back into a smart bun, and put on tasteful nude make-up. It
feels a little strange to bike in this get-up, but I’m not
going to waste money on gas, not with the way money is right now.
Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to stop by Cal’s store
to say hello.

But
when I get to Mecca Cakes, they’re slammed. Customers
everywhere, bikers and beach bums and tourists in Hawaiian shirts.
It’s like something out of a movie or TV commercial. Cal’s
business is doing better than I thought. No wonder we’re still
dead.

I
go to the counter and ask for him, but the counter girl, who is perky
and polite in every way that Summer isn’t, brings me Angelique
Sutton instead. I see her eyes move up and down over me, taking in
every thread of my suit.

“Jules
Rockwell,” she says. “You’re going off brand.”

Her
voice is dripping with disdain. More than a little jealousy, too.
It’s like she didn’t think I was capable of cleaning up
nice. Well, eat this, Angelique. I flash my most photogenic smile,
the one I used to practice for school pictures, the one I still use
when I know my mug might end up on Facebook, preserved for all
eternity.

“I
have a business meeting,” I tell her smoothly. Then I reach in
the box and take out a cupcake. “But I wanted to give Cal
this.”

I
offer it to her. She looks at it, curling her lip slightly. It’s
like she thinks I’ve taken an icing injector tool and shot the
thing full of poison. I wonder what he’s told her about us, if
he’s told her anything. It’s possible she doesn’t
know a thing. He doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell,
after all. For all she knows, I’m still the deranged cake lady
next door.

“Charming,”
she says, pulling a napkin from a nearby dispenser and delicately
taking the cupcake. “He’s in a meeting as well. But I’ll
give it to him as soon as I see him.”

“Thank
you!” I say, with all the sunshine that I can muster. “I’ll
see you soon, Angelique. Maybe before my date with Cal tomorrow.”

If
I could preserve an image for all eternity, it would be Angelique’s
face, right now. I turn on my heels and leave, and somehow, it seems
like the crowd just falls away around me. I’m on cloud nine.
Because I’ve just shown Angelique Sutton who the
real
Cake
Master is.

I
know, as I stride out the door, taking wide, confident steps, that
I’m going to nail this meeting.

#

And
I do. Sitting across that big mahogany bank desk, I’m charming
and professional and reserved and polite and everything a loan
officer would want to see in a responsible small business owner.
Funny thing is, I’ve known Mr. Honeycutt, the portly banker who
oversees all the loan accounts at First Atlantic, since I first
opened up the store. But he’s never seen this side of me. Of
course, I’ve never seen this side of me, either.

“So
you see, Mr. Honeycutt, I won’t be able to provide the funds to
pay this month’s loan payment. But as you know, I’ve made
the last nine payments on time. I’m sure something can be
arranged, can’t it?”

I
slide the box of white Oreo fudge cupcakes across the counter and pop
the top. My hands are shaking just a little. I’m scared he
won’t want them. But then his eyes go big and watery at the
sight.

“Yes,
hm,” he says. I swear to god, he’s sweating. But that’s
nothing new. Men always love my cupcakes. “I’m sure we
can defer one month’s payments.”

He
reaches out to lift up one of the cupcakes with his chubby fingers.
But then he hesitates. “But Ms. Rockwell, I’m curious.
What caused you to miss this payment? Was there a family emergency?
Hopefully everyone is alright at the Rockwell home.”

“We’re
fine,” I tell him quickly. “It’s just that I have a
new competitor in town until the middle of next month. But they’re
only a pop-up. Soon, our usual customer base will be restored.”

“A
new competitor?” he asks, taking big, sloppy licks of icing.
It’s pretty gross to watch, actually. But I just let my smile
burn steadily anyway.

“Mecca
Cakes, owned by Callum McKenzie. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?
He’s on television.”

“Callum—the
Cake Master? Oh, I love him!” Mr. Honeycutt’s hand
flashes through the air. I suppress a laugh. I have a feeling that
Mr. Honeycutt is as hot for Cal as I am.

“The
one and only.”

“I’ll
have to check out his store.”

I
do my best not to wince at that. Everyone’s such a sucker for a
celebrity chef. Even if they’re sitting there, licking your own
icing off their hand. But I guess I’m no better than the rest
of them. I’m a pretty big sucker for Cal, myself.

“Let
me know if he looks as good as he does on TV,” I say quickly.
He doesn’t need to know about my complicated romantic
entanglement with my competition. Then I look at my wrist. I’m
not wearing a watch, but hopefully Mr. Honeycutt won’t notice.
“I have to be off. Racquetball on a friend’s yacht. Have
a good afternoon Mr. Honeycutt.”

“Goodbye,
Jules.”

As
soon as I get outside his office and step into the warm Key West air,
I let out a long breath. I did it! Somehow I did it. But the victory
feels hollow, in a way. I peel off my suit jacket, and stuff it into
the bicycle basket. Then I start down the street. The truth is,
putting off my bank loan doesn’t make much of a difference. The
money will be due, anyway, before I know it. I think of Cal’s
store, teeming with people. I think of Mr. Honeycutt’s
excitement. Worst of all, I think of Gin’s words. Because this
isn’t sustainable, not long term. As a business owner, I can’t
wait until Cal closes up shop in Key West. But as soon as Mecca Cakes
is out of the picture, Cal is, too.

And
I don’t want to lose him, not yet. I’m not ready to be by
myself again.

I
walk my bike all the way home, thinking of my business, and thinking
of Cal, and thinking, most of all, about how bad I wish I could have
both.

The
next day, Cal’s late for our date. He texted about picking me
up for our dinner reservations, but I haven’t heard a word
since. What’s worse, business is still pitiful. I send Summer
home just a few minutes early. Then I start emptying out the cake
case, pulling crumbs out of the crevices. It’s been a
frustrating day. Not just the slow business. Other things, too. Well,
one thing, really.

Ginny.

I
texted her after my meeting last night, but she never replied. So
today, when things were slow, I called her. I filled her in on my
meeting with Mr. Honeycutt—and my run-in with Angelique before
that—but her voice at the other end was distracted. She kept
asking me to repeat myself. I could hear her clattering on her laptop
keys in the background, and then, before I could ask her what she was
working on, or ask her about that double date she promised me, she
said she had another call and had to go.

I’m
not used to her being so distracted.

Honestly,
I’m not used to having a best friend at all. Sure, I’ve
had
friends
.
There’s Evie, who I met at a local small business meet-up four
years ago. We became fast friends after that, though she doesn’t
know my history like Ginny does. And Summer, I guess, though I’m
not sure if it counts if you’re paying someone to be there for
you. But I haven’t had a true blue, borrow-your-favorite-bra,
egg-a-guy’s-house-for-you, real live best friend since Ginny
walked out of my life ten years ago. Part of me thought we’d
fall right back into our old rhythm when she returned. But it feels
wrong. I always seem to want more than she can give, and then, when
she gives it to me, it’s all wrong. Like a cupcake frosted with
mashed potatoes or something.

The
bell jingles while I’m still bent over the cake case. Before I
can even turn, I’m startled by a firm, sharp slap on my rear.

“Oh
god!” I shout, jumping. But when I turn around, I see it’s
only Cal. Damn, he looks good, in his casually ruffled clothes, his
eyes sleepy and bright all at once. He slips his hands around my
waist and draws me into a kiss.

“Didn’t
know you were religious,” he says with a smirk. I smile wryly
back.

“Only
when I’m startled, during sex, or during football season when I
need my fantasy football team to win.”

“You
pray for those big bucks?” he says.

“Mama
needs a new pair of shoes,” I agree, but this money talk hits
just a little too close to home. I slip away from his touch and
finish trashing today’s leftovers. Which is pretty much
everything.

He
must see my concern. He indicates the whole little storefront with a
sweeping glance. “Your store is great. It’s a Key West
institution. Do you know how often people come in asking for Pink
Surprises?”