The Marriage Recipe (10 page)

“Speaking of going, I should probably be leaving,” Rachel said. The clock on Heather's oven had just flipped to 9:00 p.m.

“So soon?” Heather asked.

“I've got to get up early tomorrow. My grandma has to meet a vendor, so I told her I'd be at the diner at eight. I'll be doing a twelve-hour day. My Friday-night fun will be cooking at Kim's.”

“If you want, I can always help you take cookies. My mother-in-law would be more than happy to babysit Erin two nights in a row. She's already spoiled my daughter silly. It can't get worse and Erin loves her.”

“I may take you up on that, but for now, go attack your husband and make him a happy man,” Rachel said, rising to her feet.

“I always do,” Heather said, standing, as well.

“Gosh, it's been great seeing you,” Rachel said suddenly, awed by the intensity of her feelings. She'd missed Heather. Rachel had had a few friends in New York, but she'd never been this close to any of them. “I don't have anyone like you in New York.”

“That's because I'm so original, which is just one more reason for you not to be such a stranger,” Heather said, embarrassed, yet pleased. “And I definitely expect to hear more about a certain guy, especially if the situation calls for it.”

“Ha,” Rachel said. “Our kiss was probably just an aberration, something not to be repeated in this lifetime.”

“Yeah, right. Keep lying to yourself, because I don't believe it. Keith, Rachel's leaving,” Heather called.

Keith got up and ambled over. He gave Rachel a quick hug, then returned to watch the final moments of the basketball game.

“Let me walk you to the door,” Heather said. She led the way to the tiny foyer. “I'm serious about you not being a stranger. Let's see each other more often now that you're back, get into those mundane activities you claim to despise so much. You remember Kristin, Colin's sister? Well, she's having one of those jewelry parties Tuesday night. Let me know if you want to go.”

The offer was both sweet and petrifying. Home parties were things married women did, right? Shopping for jewelry was to be done at places like Tiffany or Cartier or one of those exclusive designer shops. Then again, Rachel had left that lifestyle behind. Maybe she should try to fit in here. Doing so would allow her to spend more time with Heather. “If I'm not swamped baking Easter cakes, I'll try to make it. I'll call you,” Rachel said, giving Heather a hug.

Friday and Saturday were both busy, and Rachel exhaled a sigh of relief as she shut down the oven Sunday evening. With Palm Sunday and St. Patrick's Day on top of each other, she'd taken on way too many orders. But she'd accepted them all, knowing that after Easter the frantic pace would end. April would be pretty slow, maybe just the occasional birthday or anniversary cake. At this moment, getting as much cash as possible into her pocket was the priority.

Rachel finished her cleanup and finally locked the doors more than fourteen hours after she'd first started working. Kim's Diner never closed except on Christmas and Easter, but her mother had taken the entire day off to attend Palm Sunday services and visit with her sister, Rachel's aunt, in nearby Columbus. Rachel had clocked in at 8:00 a.m.

As if not wanting to move, Rachel's little compact coughed as she turned the ignition and pressed the gas pedal. As always, no lights were on in the family home when she arrived. Her grandmother and mother had already retired for the night. They'd be up early, getting ready for the St. Patrick's Day feast. The diner had smelled of corned beef all day in preparation.

Rachel parked her car off to the side so she wouldn't be blocking anyone tomorrow morning. She removed her keys from the ignition, opened the driver's door and stepped out—

And froze when a big bulky figure pounded through an opening in the bushes.

“Rachel! Thank God it's finally you. I've been waiting forever for you to get home! I need your help.”

Colin's surprise arrival had her quaking in her tennis shoes. She attempted to calm her rapid heartbeat, chiding herself that she was in Morrisville, safest place on the planet, and not New York, where any stranger could be dangerous and you always had to be on your guard.

She took a deep breath. What in the world did Colin require at this late hour? “You need my help?”

“Yes. I need cupcakes. I told Libby—she's my niece. Have you met Libby?”

“The twins.”

He nodded. “Yes. I said that I'd bring the cupcakes for her school's St. Patrick's Day luncheon tomorrow. She's responsible for a class set and her mother—my sister Kristin—has had her hands full this weekend. She hosted her husband's family for dinner tonight. So I volunteered for the job.”

“Okay. You've lost me. You couldn't just drive into Greensburg for some cupcakes? Wal-Mart's open twenty-four hours. They always have a great selection. Probably have plenty with plastic shamrock rings for garnish. Kids Libby's age love those.”

Colin winced. “I found out a few hours ago that Libby sort of bragged to her classmates that she's bringing your cupcakes. Kristin called me as soon as she learned about it. I told her I hadn't gotten anything and that I'd ask you. I don't think children realize what ‘last minute' means. Kristin was extremely apologetic, if that helps. She's speaking to Libby about this, but still, I'm Libby's guest of honor at her school lunch tomorrow.”

Rachel sighed. “And you couldn't have called me earlier? You've been waiting at your parents' house, stalking me?”

“Guilty. I drove by the diner, but I was more worried you'd panic if I banged on the door. And I've been trying all night to phone you. I left you three voice mails on your cell and the diner phone is on automatic answering machine after three.”

“We set that to a standard message. It doesn't even ring.”

“I know how much this puts you out. Really I do. You'll earn my and Kristin's undying gratitude. I mean, I guess I could go to Wal-Mart and pass their cupcakes off as yours.”

“Absolutely not.” Rachel dug into her purse, noting that her phone had shut itself off, which meant any calls would automatically route to voice mail. She grimaced. “My battery is probably dead. I forgot to charge my phone last night.”

He appeared so earnest, standing there in jeans and crew sweater.

“My mom said you could use her kitchen, if that helps any.”

Rachel shook her head. “All my St. Patrick's Day stuff is at the diner. It took me forever, but I finished the Knights of Columbus cookies yesterday with an hour to spare.”

“They were really good, too,” Colin complimented her. “The hit of the party. Everyone raved about how delicious they were.”

Rachel doubted that but warmed to his flattery. “Wait. You were there?”

“I dropped by for a little while. An hour or so earlier in the evening. Saw your friend Heather and her husband, Keith. She said you had dinner with them Thursday night and that you were probably home resting from your cookiefest.”

Could Morrisville get any smaller? Rachel turned her phone on, noting she had five voice mails and an empty battery. One message had to be from Heather, calling about running into Colin. “I was. Baking and frosting those consumed a lot more time than I expected. Get in,” she told him.

Even after his earnest declaration, he still seemed surprised by her action. “You'll help me?”

“What type of friend would I be if I didn't? And I'm certainly not going to break some little girl's heart or let you pass off some other company's baked goods as mine. As if.”

She opened the driver's door to her sedan and Colin climbed into the other side. Unlike his newer car, hers was eight years old and showed some real wear and tear. He didn't appear to notice. “I owe you one.”

“Take it off my bill,” she quipped.

“Speaking of your legal matters, I got a reply from Marco's attorney. It's nothing, just a standard acknowledgment that they received my letter and will be getting back to me after consulting with their client. The dance has started.”

“I'll be glad when the dance is over,” Rachel replied, driving the short distance back to the diner. She pulled into the parking spot, unlocked the diner door and deactivated the alarm she'd programmed less than twenty minutes ago. Because Morrisville was so safe, her grandmother hadn't really seen the need for a burglar alarm, but the system had come paired with the monitored smoke alarms Kim had installed during the rebuild after the fire.

Rachel flipped a switch and light flooded the kitchen. “Since some kids are allergic to chocolate, the quickest thing will be for me to whip together a yellow cake batter and frost the cupcakes with a buttercream icing that I'll color green and top with green and white sprinkles. They won't be anything fancy, but they'll be from Sweet Sensations.”

“Sweet Sensations?”

She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a hook. “I've decided that's the name of my baking company. I'm still in the planning stages, but I figured a name would probably be step one.”

“Sweet Sensations. I like it,” Colin said. “When you get ready for step two, let me know. I've helped quite a few start-ups write their business plans.”

“I'm already overwhelmed trying to figure everything out. I have no idea how to run, much less start, a business. I've been watching my grandmother all week and still don't know how she manages everything—payroll, budget and the like. My mom's been working with me on ordering so that I always have just the right quantities on hand. Waste costs money. I did learn some of this in New York, but my job was mostly food preparation. Someone else handled the stocking details. I still have a lot to learn. I'm lucky to be able to cut my teeth here before I head back into the cutthroat world of New York City.”

Rachel removed the smock hanging on a peg. She put the red broadcloth on and then found a plain white apron for Colin. “Get dressed.”

He stared at the garment for a moment and then obliged. “I guess even Wolfgang Puck wears one of these.”

“Yep, and he's famous,” Rachel said. She reached for a wooden recipe holder and removed a card protected in a plastic sleeve. “How many cupcakes do we need?”

Colin shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. Enough for everyone in the class.”

Rachel's decision was instantaneous. “We'll make thirty. Most elementary classes aren't that large—at least, I hope not. There were only about twenty people in mine.”

She set the recipe in a slanted holder. “We won't have time to let the butter soften naturally, so I'm going to cheat and use the microwave.”

“I doubt anyone will notice,” Colin said. “They'd be happy with a box mix.”

She shot Colin a disgusted look as she took a moment to wash her hands. “Yes, but
I'll
know. I refuse to have anything I bake taste plain or ordinary. A sweet should melt in your mouth, give you a rush of decadent flavor, or it's simply not worth eating. I make every calorie worth it. Can you separate eggs?”

He stared at her blankly and gave her a sheepish smile.

“Didn't think so,” Rachel said with a little chuckle, her tiredness ebbing as the adrenaline of a work deadline began to flow.

“Hey, it's not my fault,” Colin protested. “My mother won't let anyone in her coveted space. You must be special if she offered to let you use it tonight.”

“Kitchens are sanctums. You can sift the flour,” Rachel pulled out a large stainless-steel container, measured an amount into a glass bowl and then set another same-size bowl beside it. “Wash your hands first at that sink over there. Then sift the flour in that bowl into this one.” Rachel moved quickly as she put a sifter next to Colin. She added some of the flour. “Once you've poured it into the sifter, like this, then you hold it over this bowl and squeeze this handle, and the sifted flour falls in.”

“Gotcha. I can do that.” Colin went to wash his hands.

“Good. I didn't think you were hopeless.” Rachel began to gather the other ingredients.

“I'm not. Okay, maybe a little. So you really have to sift flour? Even if it says presifted on the bag? That's the kind I buy. I keep it in the refrigerator.”

“Which is smart. It'll last longer, especially if you don't use it often.” She had everything out on the counter and gestured to the recipe. “Sifting makes a difference in fancier baked goods,” she said, “when you're really concerned with texture and density. These cupcakes will have a texture like white cake.”

“Cakes have textures?” he asked, surprised.

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

“No clue what you mean, but here goes,” Colin said, and began sifting the flour. Rachel felt his gaze on her as she stuck some butter in the microwave and set the program to thirty seconds at half power. When the butter was softened, she took the dish out and placed it on the stainless-steel countertop. Next she used one hand to crack six eggs, then expertly separated the whites from the yolks.

“I've never seen you at work,” Colin remarked.

“Few have,” she said, her hands moving like lightning as she used a wire whisk to combine the egg yolks, a cup of milk and some vanilla. She set that aside and mixed together in a large bowl the flour he'd sifted, some sugar, baking powder and salt. Next she added the melted butter and put the bowl in the mixer.

“This aerates the batter and develops the cake's structure,” she told him as the mixer beat the ingredients. “Now I'll add the egg mixture.”

The entire process took less than ten minutes, and soon Rachel was spooning the batter into cupcake pans. The oven behind her beeped, indicating the temperature had reached 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

“I never knew baking could be so involved,” Colin commented. “I'm impressed. So, do we have a break while everything bakes?”

She shook her head. “Hardly. We have to make the crème anglaise and the Italian meringue for the buttercream icing I'm going to frost with. Stand back and let the master work. Oh, do me a favor. See that metal bowl there? Fill it halfway with ice cubes from the freezer. Thanks.”

 

A
S
R
ACHEL CONTINUED
to work, Colin simply did as he was told. His cooking consisted of microwaving, reheating and opening cans. His mother had trained the girls, but she'd been sexist in keeping the boys out of her…sanctum, as Rachel had called the kitchen.

So Colin, never one to turn down a learning opportunity, observed Rachel work, her movements fluid and graceful. Whatever crème anglaise was, it involved cooking milk and vanilla in one pan, then adding this to a sugar-and-egg-yolk mixture cooking in another pan.

Rachel stirred constantly, measuring the concoction's temperature with a thin silver thermometer. Once heated, she strained the mixture into a small bowl, which she placed inside the bowl filled with ice. “This will help the crème anglaise cool faster while I make the meringue.”

Soon Rachel was also setting the stiffened egg whites off to one side.

“Now, before the cupcakes come out and while this stuff cools, I'll beat this butter.” Rachel used the microwave to soften a few more sticks. “After that, all that's left is to add the crème anglaise and meringue to the butter and we have our frosting.”

“Ah.” He stood there, his arms at his sides. Guilt plagued him. “I really didn't mean to have you do this much work.”

“It's nothing,” she said. “I do this routinely. I love it. I'm tired from being on my feet all day, but I'm pretending tonight is practice for one of those cooking competitions where they give you a certain time limit to create your masterpiece.”

He winced and stepped toward her. “It wasn't my intention to put you under any pressure. I thought you came in late today—not that that's an excuse or rationalization.”

“My mom went to church this morning. I didn't help open since Gail filled in. I got here at eight. Hey, I have a few of those cookies left from last night. Rejects that didn't make the quality cut. Want one?”

Rachel went over to a small storage container and pulled off the lid. She tilted the plastic, revealing five cookies. “I promise you they're still good. I just messed up on the frosting on this one. See?”

Colin couldn't tell what was wrong with the cookie. Was she talking about the little wiggle in the middle of the straight line of piped icing? He could hardly tell the cookie wasn't perfect. He grabbed a shamrock and bit off the stem. “Delicious.”

She smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. “Thanks. I usually don't eat what I bake, but I need a little sugar in my bloodstream.” Rachel bit into her own cookie and momentarily closed her eyes as she savored the flavor. “I always liked this recipe.”

Colin's mouth dried as he watched Rachel swallow. He set his cookie on the counter. “Mind if I grab a cola?”

“Help yourself. Bring me one, too, will you?” Rachel took another bite and Colin escaped by going out into the main restaurant area. She had no idea what a temptress she was. He was finding impartiality hard to maintain, especially after their kiss. He brought back two full glasses. “Here you go.”