The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (27 page)

Twenty-five

The bakery’s kitchen is absolute chaos for the next few days. Mom is there to help fulfill regular orders and keep the window stocked at the shop, while I devote myself entirely to perfecting the Mexican mocha cupcake. Joe runs back and forth between the stores, bringing me different blends of coffee, sometimes brewed, sometimes ground, and sometimes whole bean so Holly can make chocolate covered coffee beans, should we choose to use them as toppers.

I start with our basic chocolate cake, throw in fine coffee grounds, and cinnamon, then top with a mocha buttercream, to which Mom says, “Not it.”

I move on to the Devil’s Food cake, using a French Vanilla flavored coffee, more cinnamon and a mocha buttercream made with a heavier dose of coffee this time.

“Still not it,” Mom says. “Try again.”

By the end of the third day, I’ve made ten different batches of Mexican mocha cupcakes, but none of them are
it.
Even I have to agree with Mom. There’s just something missing.

Joe waltzes into the kitchen around six o’clock with a paper bag from the Chinese take-out place up the street, and I beam at him with gratitude.

“All I’ve had today is sugar, sugar and more sugar,” I tell him as we settle in at the table in the office.

“Well, it’s for a good cause, isn’t it?” he says with a smile that turns my insides to mush. “Anything for me to try?”

I take a deep breath and swallow a bite of fried rice. I haven’t let him try any thus far, but I think it’s time to let him in on the process. “You can try them.” I shrug, feeling defeated. “But none of them are quite right. I was hoping I’d nail it and be able to present you with the perfect cupcake, but I just can’t put my finger on what’s missing.”

“Well,” Joe says, popping a piece of sweet and sour chicken into his mouth. “I have a pretty advanced palate, you know?”

“Do you now?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll eat anything.”

We both laugh and then set to the task of polishing off our dinners.

“I hope you saved room for dessert,” I say, realizing I didn’t save room at all.

“Bring it on.”

I arrange the cupcakes before him, and walk him through the ingredients of each one as he tastes them. He moans and groans, praising my baking skills as he goes, which I have to admit, is still kind of hilarious to me. I mean, who would have thought I’d be a baker? Clearly, Madame Antoinette did, but it still blows my mind, even after all this time.

Oh, my God.
I haven’t thought about Madame Antoinette in ages, it seems. But as I sit here, watching Joe eat my cupcakes, I realize I was completely off the mark. My impatience made me jump to the conclusion that Colin was the handsome stranger she talked about. But he wasn’t. It was Joe all along. Joe is my destiny.

Butterflies are fluttering around in my stomach and violin music is playing in my ears, as I repeat that phrase to myself.
Joe is my destiny.

I’m grinning like an idiot when he finally declares, “You’re right. None of these is it.”

My smile disappears as I join him back in the real world. “Any bright ideas?” I plop down on a stool at the metal kitchen table and rub my hands over my face. I’m exhausted, but I’m running out of time.

“Absolutely,” he says. “Follow me.”

I wonder where we could possibly be going as he holds my coat up for me to slip into. Once his coat is on and zipped, he leads me out of the shop, right across the street to A Latte Joe’s.

“I think I’ve had enough coffee for the next five years,” I say as we walk into the shop.

“Have a seat,” Joe says, guiding me gently into a spindly, wooden chair. “I’ll be right with you.”

I’m too tired to reiterate that I don’t want anymore coffee today, so I plop into a seat like he asked and wait. There are a few other people in the shop. A woman is reading in the cushy chair in the corner. There’s a man on his laptop and another woman just staring out the window as she sips her beverage.
La vie en rose
is playing softly over the speaker system while Joe clanks around behind the counter, preparing the cryptic drink for us. It’s the first true moment of peace I’ve had in three days, but I’m not anywhere close to having a cupcake ready for Saturday night. And without the cupcake…

“All righty,” Joe says as he emerges from behind the counter with two steaming java mugs in his hands. “Prepare to be wowed.”

He sets the mugs down and I look into the cup to see a giant marshmallow floating toward the top.

“Hot chocolate?” I ask, confused.

“Not just any hot chocolate,” he clarifies, leaning closer to give me a whiff of his cologne. “Mexican Hot Chocolate. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. Go on. Try it.”

I lift the cup to my lips and take a tentative sip, since it’s still steaming hot. The chocolate hits my tongue first, followed by a burst of flavor and a kick of something spicy at the back.

“Whoa!” I stare at the cup, amazed.

“Right?” Joe is nodding excitedly.

“Absolutely right.” I glance at him, feeling just as excited as he looks. “Can we get these in to-go cups?”

~*~

I seriously have to stop burning the midnight oil or I’m going to be the first American to get that Karoshi disease. But as long as I can make it through this full moon, it’ll totally be worth it.

With our inspiration in hand, Joe and I spent the rest of the evening baking Mexican Hot Chocolate Cupcakes—or, as we aptly named them,
Midnight Magic—
and I have to say, I’m pretty proud of what we created. A chocolate base with buttermilk and cinnamon, topped off with a chocolate-cinnamon buttercream and dusted with cinnamon on top. To say it was heaven in your mouth would have been a huge understatement, and to be honest, it was
really
hard not to lay Joe down on the metal kitchen table. He seemed to feel the same way, but I won’t go into detail about how I knew that. We’ll just say it was pretty obvious.

With that in mind, we decided to avoid each other on Friday and most of Saturday, agreeing to meet at the fountain in the town square at a quarter ‘till midnight on Saturday evening.

So here I am, in my best outfit that fits—a pair of black leggings with knee-high boots and an oversized tunic sweater—freezing my butt off as I stand here with a box of our cupcakes.

I check my phone again. 11:47. My stomach flips. What if he fell asleep? What if he changed his mind? Maybe I should text him.

I set the cupcakes down on the bench and pick my phone up from atop the box. I’m about to text Joe when a text pops up from my sister.

You sure you don’t want us there?

I smile. It’s really good to have Holly in my court again.

I’m fine. Will text you in the morning.

My nerves are on edge as I think about what’s ahead of me. Eating the cupcake under the full moon will be the easy part. The difficult part—the really, truly frightening part—will be testing to see if it actually worked. There’s only one way to find out, and I’m both nervous and excited about it.

11:50.

Am I being stood up?

No immediate reply. My nerves are on edge. What if he doesn’t show? What if all of this was for nothing? I think back to our previous days together. The late-night search of the law firm, the discovery of the code, the plotting of the cupcake. He was so into it. He was so into me. So why isn’t he here?

11:57

Now I’m starting to panic. But we don’t have to eat the cupcake right at midnight, do we? I mean, it says
at its peak,
but does anyone really know when that is anyway? I just assumed midnight, but maybe the peak is at one or two in the morning?

11:59

I’ve almost convinced myself we have plenty of time when I hear tires screeching and a pair of headlights shine at me from up the road. Relief floods through me when I realize it’s him. He’s here, he’s just late.

The car comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the square, heedless of the NO PARKING sign, and Joe jumps out of his car. He runs toward me, apologies tripping off his tongue.

“I am
so
sorry,” he says. He’s a disheveled mess. His dirty blond hair is all akimbo and his buttons are lopsided on his jacket.

I smile in what I hope is a reassuring manner at him. “You made it,” I say. “That’s all that matters.”

He looks down at his phone and pushes the button to illuminate it. “But it’s two minutes past twelve.”

My heart is thumping loudly in my ears, drowning out the babbling of the fountain and the rustling of the trees. “I know.”

“Will it still work?” he asks, as if I know any more than he does.

“I don’t know.”

We stare at one another for a mere second before launching toward the bench where the cupcakes are sitting. I flip open the box and pluck one perfect cupcake from the bunch. My hands are trembling as I attempt to pull the wrapper off and I nearly drop the whole thing to the ground. Which is why I brought an entire half-dozen, just in case.

Thankfully, I save the cupcake and hold it up to the moonlight.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

Joe nods, an anticipatory smile lighting his face. “Are you?”

I nod back. “Let’s do this.”

We recite the poem together.
“I wish I may, I wish I might/Have the love with me tonight/For now and forever, ‘till death do us part/Bind our talents, bind our hearts.”

We let the words hang in the chilly night air for a moment, before we both bite into the cupcake at the same time,
Lady & the Tramp
style. It’s so romantic. Our lips are so close. I want to go further, but I know we can’t. Not out here in the freezing cold.

Simultaneously, we pull away to chew and swallow our bites of the cupcake. It’s really good. Like,
really
good.

“Are we supposed to eat the whole thing?” Joe asks as he wipes frosting from the corner of his mouth. “Or is one bite enough?”

I give him a cockeyed face. “Maybe we should eat it all, just to be on the safe side.” I hold it up again and invite him to take a bite. He gets frosting on the tip of his nose, and when he reaches up to wipe it away, I stop him. “That frosting is mine, Vandermark,” I say in a mock-serious tone, just before I rise up on my tippie toes and lick the spicy buttercream from his nose.

He stands really still for a moment, just staring at me. Smoldering, really. Then he finally says, in a gruff voice, “I’ve gotta be honest. I don’t really care if this works or not.”

“I’m not sure I care either,” I whisper.

“Bakery or coffee shop?” he asks, and it takes me a second to realize what he’s asking.

I giggle as I think of defiling our shops with our lovemaking. “Both,” I say, knowing that once isn’t going to be enough. “Bakery first.”

~*~

As expected, once was definitely
not
enough, but I’ll spare you the tawdry details of our evening. Well, except to tell you that it was
epic!

I’ve just woken up and I have a massive crick in my neck. Probably because of the way I’m nestled against Joe on this teeny-tiny sofa in the back office of the coffee shop. His chest is warm and muscular, which is great to look at but not the most comfortable to sleep on. I’m exhausted and my body is sore all over. But I’ve never been happier in my entire life.

I stare at Joe while he sleeps, his face illuminated by the tiny lamp on the office desk. His eyes are fluttering like he’s in the middle of a dream, and his lips are parted a tiny bit. I want to kiss him, but I’m very aware I might have morning breath, so I refrain and take delight in watching him dream.

After a few minutes, though, I’m bored, so I move around and clear my throat in hopes he’ll wake. I could just get up, but then I wouldn’t get to have that sleepy, romantic morning time with him once he’s awake. I want to bask in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I’ve been waiting years to have that with someone—I’m not missing my chance.

I clear my throat again and finally he opens his eyes. A sleepy smile comes to his face as he pulls me tighter into his embrace.

“Good morning,” he groans and I snuggle willingly against his firm chest. “How long have you been awake?”

“What makes you think I was awake already?” I ask innocently.

“I felt you staring at me.”

I swat at him playfully. “Whatever.”

We lay quietly in each other’s arms for a few minutes before he asks, “Should we test it?”

I don’t need to ask what
it
is. Obviously, it’s the big elephant in the room. Did the spell work or not? Has one, or both of us, lost our powers? Or is it business as usual on this fine Sunday morning?

“Probably. What time is it, anyway?”

There are no windows in the back office, so it’s impossible to tell if the sun has even come up yet. Thankfully, both our shops open later than usual on Sundays, so even if it is past dawn, we’re okay.

He gives me a peck on the lips that turns into a much deeper, much more sensual kiss that
could
lead to something more but probably won’t since both of us are pretty spent from last night. I pull away with a smile and then roll off the tiny couch. The floor is like ice, so I rush to find my socks and slip them over my feet before I start to put actual clothes on.