The Angel Tasted Temptation (20 page)

"We set a date!" The squeal of feminine joy rocked through Gift Baskets to Die For on Friday morning, interrupting the preparation of seven thousand orange marmalade thumbprints for the upcoming Halloween on the Harbor festivities.

In the little shop off Atlantic Avenue, cookies always took a back seat to news involving diamonds and men in tuxedoes.

Amid all that happiness, Meredith stood in the kitchen of the shop, deep in cookie dough, and felt something sharp hit her in the chest. She told herself it was only because she'd left Travis Thursday night without looking back and was now stupidly expecting ...

What? A phone call? A hot pursuit?

That wasn't supposed to be the plan. She had intended to love him and leave him. No pain, no heartache.

And especially none of that high school crush waiting by the phone stuff.

Yet her gaze lingered anyway on the cream-colored phone hanging on the wall. She shook herself, went back to the dough, and returned her attention to Maria. Meredith knew all about Dante Del Rosso, the restaurant owner who had won Maria's heart a few months ago. Candace had told Meredith the whole story over lunch yesterday.

"Congratulations!" Candace said, extending a quick hug before pulling the first batch of cookies from the oven. "When?"

"The third Saturday in June."

Candace slid the cookies onto a cookie sheet. "That's wonderful. I'm so happy for you."

Maria smiled. "Thanks."

"Ditto from me," Meredith added, now finished mixing the cookie dough. She dumped the empty bowl into the sink and washed her hands. "I met Dante yesterday morning when he stopped by to order some chocolates for his restaurant. He's quite the guy."

"He'd have to be, for me to choose him," Maria said, grinning. She turned to Candace, a hand on her hip. "Now that we've got a wedding date nailed down, it's your turn, Miss Procrastinator."

"I'm not procrastinating. Exactly."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Michael proposed over a year ago. He'd marry you tomorrow if you'd just put that dress on and find an aisle. Hell, at this point, I think the man wouldn't care if you walked down an alley and married him in a burlap sack."

Candace laughed. "No, I don't think he would. It's just..." She sighed. "I don't want the circus I had the last time I was engaged."

"Then don't have it." Meredith clamped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Uninvited opinion. I have a habit of doing that."

"Hey, giving your opinion is one of the few benefits around here. It's even better than our health insurance plan." Maria grinned.

"Meredith, what did you mean when you said, don't have it?" Candace said.

"Well... Why not just run off and get married in Vegas or something? Why have the big to-do?"

"Because—"

"Because other people expect it?" Meredith leaned against the sink and dried her hands on a towel. "That's how I used to be. Then I ran away. More or less."

"Well, we're glad you ran here because you make damned good cookies," Maria said, reaching for one of the thumbprint bases cooling on a wire rack. "Orders are up twenty percent for these."

"You know, you're right," Candace said to Meredith, taking a seat in one of the stools. She put her chin in her hands and thought for a second. "I should just do it. I mean, the wedding is really about Michael and me. If my mother and grandma want to attend a big wedding—"

"They can come to mine," Maria piped in. "Mamma's already invited the entire North End. We're going to have to rent out a concert hall for the reception. Or an airplane hanger." She laughed.

"Then that's what I'm going to do." Candace got to her feet, dusted off her hands on her apron and started putting away the containers of flour and sugar. "Soon as I can get a day off."

Meredith understood that craving for spontaneity and decided she'd help Candace, no matter what it took. "Listen, we have things under control here," Meredith said. "Don't we, Maria?"

"Of course we do. No big orders on the books. Halloween orders are just about all done and filled. I say it's time you got on a plane with that hunk of a man and married him."

"Just run off to Vegas and elope, huh?" Candace's eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Meredith had felt that herself, just a few days ago when she'd run away from Heavendale to come to Boston for
more
.

And thus far, all her plans had backfired. She refused to dwell on that. There was time to still make those changes, to shed Meredith Shordon, Farm Girl, and turn her into someone who called her own shots, without interference from mothers, brothers ... or anyone else.

"Hey, there's nothing better to cure perpetual planner syndrome than eloping," Maria said, draping an arm over her friend's shoulder. "Not to mention the awesome sex you'll have from all the excitement of doing this on the spur of the moment."

"Michael does like a surprise ..."

"Then give him one he'll never forget." Maria winked. "But be sure to get a few pictures for those of us left here slaving away in the kitchen."

"I'll do better than that. I'll save you my bouquet."

"Not for me." Maria put up her hands. "I'm practically married already. I think that honor goes to Meredith."

"Whoa. No way. The
last
thing I'm looking for in Boston is a husband."

Maria and Candace exchanged glances. "Funny. That's exactly what we said."

"Where's our spokesmodel?" Larry asked on Friday morning, the minute Travis arrived at work.

Travis poured a cup of coffee from the pot in the break room, taking his time because he had an overwhelming urge to stuff Larry's apricot toupee from last November down his throat and watch him choke on it. "I don't know."

"You can't let her run out on us. We need her for the No-Moo Milk campaign. The president has already approved my ad ideas."

Travis wheeled around. "You ran an ad campaign by him without bringing in Kenny and me?"

Larry shrugged, reaching past Travis to grab two packets of sugar. He tore the tops off and dumped them into his red "Watch Out: Hot Stuff" mug, then stirred his sugar-coffee with a plastic spork. "Couldn't wait around for you two to get on the stick."

"You mean you wanted to get credit before we could get to work today."

Larry took a sip, then gave Travis a little smile. "Early bird gets the worm."

Travis would be willing to bet Larry hadn't been up half the night, unable to sleep because he'd been reliving the afternoon with Meredith and wishing he hadn't had an attack of conscience at the worst possible time. He'd finally fallen asleep sometime after four in the morning, then missed his alarm. Kenny had spent the night at Delia's house and woken Travis when he came by for a shower and a change of clothes before work.

Apparently Delia had forgiven him. Many times over, Kenny was happy to report, which explained the bags under his friend's eyes this morning.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Larry said. "I already got my money shot."

"What do you mean?"

"Hey I didn't get to be a vice president by being an idiot," Larry said, tapping at his peachy wig. "I set up a photographer inside the control room."

The control room sat above everything and oversaw the testing room. It had the one window into the room that wasn't a one-way mirror. "You did what?"

"I took a few photos." Larry leaned forward, his grin now a leer. 'That girl's a looker. Especially when you're looking down at her, if you know what I mean."

"Larry, you're an asshole."

He wagged the spork at him. "Careful, this asshole's your boss."

Travis laid his cup on the counter. "You know, I really don't give a shit. You have stooped to a new low here. I can't believe you'd do this."

"You're just jealous that you didn't think of it."

"I'm not that much of a jerk."

"Oh yeah? I've seen you and Kenny running out of here for the bar of the day and the woman of the night. You guys are the jerks, not me."

Travis looked at Larry, his paunch extending over his black leather belt and his tan permanent press pants. His bare left hand gripped the "Watch Out: Hot Stuff" mug and his right hand clenched in a fist, as if he had to hammer his point home.

Travis knew who was the jealous one in the eight-by-four break room.

He bit his temper back. Larry couldn't do anything with the pictures. "It's against the law to use her image without her permission," Travis said.

Larry draped his right arm over Travis's shoulders. It felt a lot like he imagined an octopus would if it grabbed him in the ocean and tried to drag him to the depths for an appetizer. "That's where you come in. You're going to convince her to sign off on the pictures of her dunking cookies and drinking No-Moo."

"No. I won't do it."

"Oh, you will. Because I have a trump card."

"You have nothing on me."

"Not on you." Larry let the words hang there until Travis connected the dots.

"My brother."

"Who I hear is getting married soon and needs his job." Larry removed his arm and went back to stirring his coffee. "He's applying for a mortgage, did you know that? I'd hate to see him get fired right when he's trying to buy a house for the little lady."

And then there was Kenny, who'd asked Travis not to mess things up at work because he needed the money, too. To pay for a marriage gone bad, instead of one to come.

Two people counting on him. When had this come about? Travis, the man who prided himself on never maintaining a commitment, suddenly had them springing up like weeds.

He looked at Larry, circling that "Watch Out: Hot Stuff" mug with the spork, a contented cat-who-had-the-mouse-in-a-corner grin on his face and decided this wasn't the end of the story. Larry might have the upper hand now, but he wouldn't maintain it.

Travis might suck at commitment but he was damned good at his job. And he had a plan.

Meredith's All-Hell's-Breaking-Loose Lobster Fra Diablo

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 lobster

1/4 teaspoon flour

6 cloves garlic, chopped

14-ounce can plum tomatoes

1/4 cup white wine

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper

1/2 cup fresh basil, chopped

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

8 ounces linguine, cooked and drained

Just when you think you've got things under control, along comes a hearse and a tape measure to tell you that you don't. You have two options: run like hell or have some lobster. Me, I opt for the second one. It's easier to make decisions on a full stomach.

Start by heating the olive oil in a large saucepan. Split the lobster lengthwise, cut off the claws and remove the roe. Dust the lobster meat with flour, then put the claws and lobster, meat side down, into the hot oil. Mmm ... Can you smell the temptation already? Oh yeah, this is the way to solve your problems.

Cook on each side for three minutes or so, then add the garlic and sauté for a minute or two. Keep going, you've got more to put in the mix—the more the merrier, right? At least, that's what your mother thinks.

Next add the tomatoes, wine and red pepper. Let all these simmer, covered, until the flavors are blended and you've managed to bring land and sea together (it's a lot easier than getting your family to agree with you). Add the seasonings, give it a stir, then serve on a bed of linguine, being sure to arrange the lobster nicely.

Because if you can't get a dead lobster to cooperate, how do you expect to take control with those people who keep showing up to ruin your life?

The hearse slowed to a stop in front of Gift Baskets to Die For. It was just after lunch on Friday and Candace had already left, bound for Vegas and wedded bliss, leaving the shop in Maria and Meredith's hands.

Dread sunk to the pit of Meredith's stomach. He was here, like the Grim Reaper himself, to kill any hope she had of a new life.

"Is that—" Maria began to ask.

"Yes," Meredith answered. They were standing in the front part of the shop, cleaning up after a tasting meeting with a potential new client.

Maria leaned forward, shielding her eyes against the bright sun streaming in through the shop's windows. "Who's that with him?"

When the passenger's side door opened, Meredith saw her new life head for the Port-O-Potty in the sky.

Her mother had arrived. Riding shotgun with Meredith's ex-fiancé all the way from Indiana to Massachusetts.

"Hey, it's Momma," Vernon said from the doorway. He and Ray Jr. had taken the T and shown up there shortly before noon, saying they were only there for the cookies and promising not to interfere if Travis came by. Meredith had threatened them with a cold-turkey sugar cutoff if they came near Travis with anything from a hardware store.

She needn't have bothered. Travis still hadn't come by or called. She refused to make the first move— again. She'd debased herself enough by whipping off her shirt and bra and practically prostrating herself at his feet to beg him to make love to her, only to be rebuffed in the end.

That wasn't the behavior of a city girl. Well, it was—but the kind of girl who maintained her office hours on a street corner.

Her entire plan had gone to hell. And now, looking out the window, she saw it was about to get a lot worse.

"Finally, we'll get a decent meal," Ray Jr. said. "I've missed Momma's cooking. 'Specially her pork-n-beans."

"Yeah. Aunt Gloria can't cook nothing." Vernon scowled. "Momma was right. The only thing her sister is the master of is the can opener."

The little bell over the door jingled a warning as the front door opened and Momma entered the shop, wearing a red floral print turtleneck and a long denim jumper—Momma's I-mean-business uniform.

From the neck down at least, the woman entering Gift Baskets looked like Martha Shordon. Above the neckline, she wore a surgical mask a la Michael Jackson.