Tasty (22 page)

“Awful.
Boring. All I can think about is you in those red lace panties.”

I
grin, tucking the phone against my ear as I lie back in bed. “They
were black, actually.”

“I’m
imagining them in red. That sweet arse of yours looks great in red. I
need to see you. Friday?”

“That
feels like a lifetime away.”

“Meetings
all week. But I promise you, I’ll make it worth your wait.”

“I
never doubted it.” I pause, my hand trailing down my body. “Are
you hard already? I’m wet. I’m touching myself. I can
feel it.”

There’s
a pause, almost too long for me to bear. When Cal’s voice comes
back, it’s low and rumbly.

“I
am, love. I am.”

I
can see his cock in my mind’s eye. I can see my hand, wrapped
firmly around the shaft, can see my lips circling the head and
working their way down toward his balls. In real life, in bed, my
fingers are deep in my pussy. I’m wet as a Slip’n Slide,
but then, I walk around dripping wet most of the time these days. I’m
always thinking of Cal, his cock, and his love for me.

“I
want you to touch yourself,” I say firmly. Cal lets out a long
moan. My fingers begin slow circles around my clit.

“Are
you doing it?” I ask.

He
says it again: “I am, love. I am.” But this time the
words come between panted breaths. I’m rubbing myself hard, my
knees spread, my back arching against my sheets.

“I
am too,” I say. My whole body tingles. On the other end, I can
hear the rapid rhythm of Cal’s hand against his cock. His
excitement gets me going even more. My ass clenches. My pussy throbs.

“Oh,
Cal, I love you,” I breathe, as pleasure shoots through me in
wild waves. I hear him let out a strangled cry. He’s coming. I
am, too. God, I’ve never experienced anything like this before.
Just the sound of Cal’s breath, hot and heavy, is enough for
me.

Well,
maybe not enough for me, I think, my hand still working slow fingers
over my throbbing clit. Deep down, I know that Friday can’t
come fast enough.

#

The
next day, Summer and I are plotting our triumphant return as the
premiere bakery on Key West. She’s drawn up a ridiculous
“business plan,” complete with stick figures. Mine has
fantastic hair and two round, bubbly circles for tits. Hers wears a
mouth that’s a flat, cynical line just like the real Summer.
But even though her drawing is maybe kindergarten-level in skill, her
plan is anything but a joke.

“We
should treat it like a Grand Re-opening,” she says. “We’ll
act like our lull was intentional, something we planned. Maybe we’ll
redecorate the store. Ditch this retro theme . . . ”

“But
I love the retro theme!” I protest. Summer rolls her eyes.

“The
retro thing sucks. It’s totally ten years ago. Unless you
update it to a retro nineties theme.”

I
grimace. “I lived through the nineties. They weren’t
pretty, and they definitely weren’t delicious.”

“Just
think,” Summer says, as if I haven’t spoken at all, “we
can do neon macarons. Plaid cupcakes. Grunge pies. With, like garbage
in them. Or needles.”

“You’re
ridiculous,” I tell her. She smiles wryly at me.

“Shut
up. I’m awesome. We’ll name them after nineties
musicians. The Tiffany will be a mini cherry pie. Cobain’ll be
angel food with black icing. Because, you know, he’s dead.”

“Summer,
focus.”

“What?
I am.”

I
throw down my pen on the counter. Then I stand there, massaging my
brow. The truth is, even without Summer’s bad pun cake names,
I’m not at all sure that relaunching the store will work. It’s
entirely possible that I’ve missed my moment, that Rock N Roll
Cakes now has a name as good as poison in the public eye. And if
that’s the case, new decor won’t change a thing.

“My
brain is mush,” I tell her. She’s busy drawing flannel
shirts on our stick figures.

“Could
be worse. You could be Courtney Love.”

“I’m
going to take a break. Take a walk. Go visit Cal. Watch the store for
me?”

“Fine,”
Summer says sharply. “But you’d better not get pregnant.”

“Thanks
for the advice,” I tell her as I head for the store. She just
shouts one word at my back as I leave.

“Condoms!”

#

God,
I’m excited to see Cal. I figure it’ll be a palate
cleanser after spending all day wracking my brain over how to save my
store and my butt. I have a diabolical plan to drag him away from
work. Then we can joke, nibble each other’s ears, and eat too
many baked goods. It’ll be a Wednesday afternoon to top all
other Wednesdays. A real hump day, if you know what I’m saying.

When
I get to Mecca Cakes, it’s packed, as usual. But I don’t
spot Cal anywhere, not behind the counter, or mingling with the local
clientele, either. I consider hopping in line to ask one of the
counter girls, who I’m sure are relieved that their tenure as
Cal’s punching bags will soon come to an end. But before I can,
there’s a tap on my shoulder.

I
turn, smiling broadly, fully expecting to see Cal there. But then I
see Angelique instead. She looks even grumpier than normal, her mouth
twisted in disapproval.

“What
are you doing here, Juliette Rockwell? Come for one of your little
dates with Cal? Or are you here to spy on us again?”

I
cross my arms tightly over my chest. “What’s it any of
your business, Angelique? Besides, what’s there to spy about?
The shop will be closed soon. This place will be an empty warehouse
by next week. Wonder what will move in next. Probably another
Starbucks.”

Angelique
stares at me. Blinks. “What are you talking about?”

“You
know, when the pop-up closes. Sure is a shame that you’re going
to have to disappoint all these customers.”

“We’re
not
closing
,”
she says in a pinched voice that has no patience for me. Then her
mouth curls smugly. “Didn’t Cal tell you? The pop-up was
just a market test run. We’re not closing it down. We’re
actually expanding.”

That’s
when I notice something rolled in her hand. It looks like a set of
blueprints. She follows the line of my gaze, and her devil’s
mouth looks even more wicked. Showing her teeth, she hands the plans
over.

“Don’t
believe me? Here, look these over.”

My
stomach sinks. I want her to be lying. The busy sounds of the bakery
seem to fade from my hearing as I snatch up the plans and slowly,
painstakingly unroll them. To be honest, I’m almost afraid at
what I’ll find. If what Angelique says is true, then Cal was
lying to me. Lying about leaving. Lying about my business being safe.
My hands go numb as I look over the blueprints. Sure enough, they’re
plans to expand Mecca Cakes into the next storefront. The name of the
architectural firm on the bottom is
Luke
Porter Homes
.
Luke, that traitor. I knew no one could be that perfect.

Not
Luke. And not Cal, either.

I
know Angelique is watching me. So no matter how badly I want to ball
up the blueprints in my hands, I don’t. Carefully,
deliberately, I roll the plans back up and pass them back to her. I
channel Summer—I try to look like an overgrown bored teenager.
I figure, if it pisses me off when Summer gives me looks like that,
then it’s bound to drive Angelique Sutton downright batty.

“That’s
interesting,” I say, in a flat, dull voice. Sure enough,
Angelique’s pretty, botoxed brow seems to wrinkle just a
millimeter.

“Interesting?
I thought you’d be upset.”

Of
course I’m upset. I’m fucking nauseated. But I’m
not going to show it. Angelique goes on.

“This
will be the end for your quaint little bakeshop. But really, I could
have predicted that for you months ago. Gimmicks like yours never
last. You were dated before you ever opened.”

Anger
flares wildly within me, but I won’t let it show. It was one
thing for Summer to snark on my store’s theme. It’s
another to hear it torn down by someone like Angelique, and so
matter-of-factly, too.

“Excuse
me,” I say politely, “I have some errands to run.”

I
turn and walk serenely from the store, but inside I’m furious.
Cal’s going to murder my shop, and he and Angelique will dance
over the rotting corpse of all of my hopes and dreams. But not only
that. Far worse is the stark truth that’s in front of me,
undeniable and ugly. Cal
lied
to me.

I’m
mad at Angelique. I’m mad at Cal, too. But most of all, I’m
mad at myself. This is what comes from opening your heart to the
possibility of love. This is what comes from dating chefs. I brought
this upon myself. I should have known, should have seen it coming.

Fuck
love. Fuck Cal McKenzie. Fuck
me
.

I
beat myself up all the way back to Rock N Roll Cakes.

The
world is a blur around me as I rush through Key West. When I get back
to the shop, Summer gives me a curious wave through the front window.
I wave grimly back, but don’t go inside. Instead, I hop in my
car and take off, speeding toward Pelican Key Cove. I’m about
halfway there when the tears start, big and drippy down my cheeks.
Damn.
Damn
.
I should have known better than to trust Cal, especially with a bitch
like Angelique by his side. If he didn’t tell me this, who
knows what else he was hiding? Maybe it’s more than business
between the two of them. Maybe history’s repeated itself. Maybe
I was an idiot for thinking anything could possibly go differently
this time.

God,
fuck him. Fuck me.

I
speed all the way to Luke’s house. It’s a wonder that I
don’t get pulled over on the way. When I get there, I stomp up
the front steps and ring the doorbell twice. It feels like it takes a
lifetime for Ginny to come to the door. God knows what she was just
doing—her hair is a mess, and she’s wearing one of Luke’s
robes. After a minute, I see him follow her, wearing only a pair of
boxers, an undershirt, and a discombobulated expression. Oh, so
that’s
what
she was just doing. Or who.

“I’m
sorry,” I say through the screen door, the tears still
streaming down my cheeks. “I should have called first.”

But
Luke only looks concerned, and Ginny throws the screen door open,
ushering me inside.

“Jules,
what happened? Is it your parents? Is everything okay?” It’s
sweet. Ginny’s always worried about my parents. Maybe it’s
because she lost her own when she was a kid.

“My
parents are fine. They’re probably binge-watching
Downton
Abbey
on Netflix as we speak.”

“Oh,
thank god,” Ginny says, letting out a long breath. She holds my
hands in hers. “What’s wrong then?”

I
glance over her shoulder toward Luke, unsure of how much I should say
in front of him. I feel like it might violate some sort of bro code
to let him know what a liar his buddy Cal is. He catches my eye, and
gives his head a nod.

“Got
it. Girl talk,” he says, turning and walking toward the
kitchen. “I’ll make you ladies some tea.”

Ginny
draws me toward the tasteful living room. Once, this place was all
leather and wood, 100 percent man-cave style. But now there are a few
shabby chic touches here and there, totally Ginny’s work. She’s
not living here full-time yet, but will as soon as they’re
hitched, and I can’t see her inhabiting a place that doesn’t
have her personal touch. She’s too type-A, too much of a
planner. I tuck myself in on one of the overstuffed sofas and pull
Ginny’s ancient afghan over myself.

“It’s
Cal,” I say with a sniffle. “He lied to me.”

“Crap,”
says Ginny. “Does he have a girlfriend? A wife? I’ll
murder him, I swear.”

I
sniffle a little. Thank god for friends.

“No.
Not that I know about, anyway. But he probably does, knowing my luck
with men. He’s a god damned liar.”

“What
happened?” She leans forward, her eyes big and soft as I weave
the tale.

“He
told me that Mecca Cakes was a pop-up. You know, one of those
temporary restaurants? He
promised
me
they’d be out of town soon. And thank god, because business has
sucked since he moved int.”

Luke
comes in then carrying a tea tray with a pair of steaming mugs. He
sets it down on the glass coffee table, but then he lingers,
listening to my tale of woe.

“That’s
weird,” he says, “Cal’s been having me design a
house for him right here in Pelican Key Cove. Why would he want a
luxury home if he wasn’t planning on sticking around for at
least part of the year?”

I’m
trying not to look at him. I didn’t want to involve him, any
more than he already is. But the rage and confusion is swirling in
me.

“I
know you’re doing the shop expansion for him, Luke.”

He
lets out a whistle. “That? He said it was all theoretical,
something about his investors. I didn’t think—”

“Luke,”
Ginny says sharply. “Maybe you should give us some space. Girl
talk, you know?”

Luke
actually looks a little grateful. I know I am. He hightails it out of
there. I pick up my tea and stare down bitterly into the steaming
mug.

“Tell
me what happened,” Ginny prods. I let out a slow breath.

“I
went over there today, and his assistant told me that not only is the
shop
not
a pop-up, but they’re actually expanding. He lied to me, Gin.
Flat out lied to my face. I’m such an idiot. But that’s
better than what he is. He’s a liar. A two-faced, no good
liar.”

Hastily,
Ginny leans forward, and puts a hand on my knee.

“There
must be a reasonable explanation, Jules. You should just talk to him
about it.”

“That’s
not really my style,” I say, as I take a sip of burning hot
chamomile. “I’m more a scheming and raging kind of girl.”