Just One Kiss (20 page)

Bonnie frowned, pressing her lips together. “Have you tasted the pastry this niece makes?”

“No.” She brightened. That could help.

“We’re going.” Bonnie pointed to Angela’s kitchen. “Tell Scott to mind the store. We’ll ingest some serious calories, and see what the fuss is about. Maybe that will give you some answers.”

Ten minutes later, they’d climbed into Bonnie’s Ford Fiesta and were on their way to Nell’s bakery on 4th Avenue, a few blocks from the water, Angela nervous as hell. She couldn’t help feeling as if coming face-to-face with this woman’s pastries would be a self-defining moment.

If only she could get rid of the certainty she’d end up having to define herself as a failure.

Nell’s was located on the ground floor of the Greymont Hotel, a white stone building flying colorful flags. The bakery storefront was mostly glass, its beautiful logo centered in gold on either side of the door. Inside, white round tables with black iron chairs set a continental look. Behind, gleaming cases of glass and gold held row upon row of colorful, perfect pastries, cakes, rolls, cookies and breads, each neatly lined, each with a silver holder and laminated tag naming and describing the item. Triangular lemon mousse cakes decorated with tiny matching macaroons, pistachio
bûches de Noël
, glistening with chocolate, growing perfect marzipan mushrooms dusted with cocoa powder. Napoleons, croissants, brioche with shining topknots, all presented in a variety of flavors. Petits fours topped with delicate chocolate cutouts, fruit tarts shining with jelly glaze, éclairs in a variety of sizes, some with what looked like gold dust scattered over the chocolate topping.

Truly extravagant. Truly special.

The two women behind the counter, one blond, one brunette, were smiling and friendly, and so exotically beautiful, with such poise, they could have been actresses or models. Their elegant presence lent the shop an even more exclusive atmosphere.

Exactly the type of bakery Angela had always wanted.

She and Bonnie waited in line, Angela getting more and more miserable as customers exclaimed over their purchases and sighed wistfully over choices they were forced to make, leaving other dainties untasted.

“Can I help you?” The dark woman, smiling at Bonnie, had a throaty French accent. Of course.

“She’s buying.” Bonnie gestured to Angela. “She has her own bakery, A Taste for All Pleasures. We’re here to check out the competition.”

Angel groaned.
Bonnie
…

The woman’s face lit up. “Yes, I know where you are. My sister has found your place. She says your cinnamon rolls changed her life.”

“Thank you.” Angela forced a smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

“What can I get you today, ladies?”

“I’ll have a chocolate-raspberry croissant,” Bonnie announced. “Angela?”

“An apricot hazelnut napoleon.” Apricots. Hazelnuts. Brilliant.

“Certainly.” The woman rang up the pastries with graceful efficiency and wished them a warm
bon appetit
.

While she poured wonderful-smelling coffee from the pots on the counter into porcelain mugs instead of the thick paper cups she provided, Angela tried to imagine teaching Scott to say
bon appetit
. And failed.

She and Bonnie sat at a spotless table and stared apprehensively at the croissant, the napoleon and each other.

“Okay. Here goes.” Bonnie picked up her croissant, opened her mouth and sank in her teeth. The crust crackled audibly; her eyes went wide, then, as she started to chew, closed in rapture.

Courage, Angela.

Her fork went easily into the napoleon, which could be tough if the pastry wasn’t perfectly fresh and perfectly baked. The forkful went just as easily into her mouth.

Ohh.
Intensely flavored apricot, enriched with a pastry cream so light and clear-tasting she didn’t feel a single calorie. The hazelnuts added a pleasant crunch and their strong flavor stayed in perfect balance to the whole.

A few more bites eaten in reverent silence, then she and Bonnie switched plates to try each other’s bit of heaven. Angela picked up the croissant. The crust shattered into buttery flakes; the inside was warm, moist and slightly chewy, with tangy raspberry flavor from fresh berries, not jam, mingled with rich dark chocolate.

Every flavor was distinct, clean and of top quality. Every texture was ethereal, on its own and in combination. Simply put, Nell was a genius, next to whom Angela was an amateur. Marjorie’s comment made sudden and glaring sense. These pastries were all about passion. No matter how hard and how meticulously Angela worked on her recipes she couldn’t come close to this.

“Excuse me.” A woman in a gold-and-white striped apron lightly dusted with flour stood beside their table. “Which of you owns A Taste for All Pleasures?”

“That’s me.” Angela nodded, horrified by a sudden urge to cry. This would, of course, be the genius herself. All this time Angela had worked her ass off, hungering for what Nell did, thinking she was getting close, and now she realized for the first time, how far away she was. Too far ever to catch up. “I’m Angela Loukas.”

“Nell Kaiser. So nice to meet you. I guess we’ll be sharing the stage at Slatewood this spring? My uncle mentioned you.” She leaned forward confidentially. “He said I better have a taste of your cookies. That I might learn something.”

“Ha!” As if. “I doubt that.”

“You
should
try her cookies.” Bonnie rummaged under the table and triumphantly produced a small pastry box with Angela’s logo on it, which she opened and offered to Nell. “How about now?”

“Bonnie.” Angela’s face caught fire. When had Bonnie put the box together? Angela did not need this humiliation. This was like handing Picasso your finger-painting project. Like sending Einstein your arithmetic homework. Like—

“Oh. My. God.” Nell was chewing. She turned to Angela, genuine awe in her eyes. “There are absolutely incredible.”

Angela blinked. Blinked again. Say what?

A sharp pain in her shin made her jump. Bonnie had kicked her.

“I’m glad you like them.” Her voice shook. Was this really happening?

“The texture.” Nell took another bite, frowning, concentrating. “Some really cool combination of sugars? What temperature do you bake these at? Low-protein flour? You must use chocolate from—” She broke off laughing. “Listen to me, trying to get your secrets. Man, these make me want to take my own cookies off the shelves and hide in shame.”

Angela gaped. Gaped some more until she got another pain in her shin. “Thank you. Really. I was thinking a minute ago I’d pledge my firstborn child for your way with napoleons.”

Nell nodded, not pridefully, but looking perplexed. “It’s funny, isn’t it. Some recipes respond to us better than others. And it’s not always the ones you love the most.”

“No?” Angela shook herself, not wanting to appear clueless. “I mean no. Absolutely. What do you love most?”

“Cupcakes!” She gestured into the air and let her hand drop. “I really wanted to open a cupcake shop. I worked my butt off, tried every variation of every recipe I could think of, but in the end I was defeated.”

“Angela’s cupcakes are
to die for
.” Bonnie grinned loyally.

“Trust me, I’ve heard. Uncle Larry will probably ask for hourly deliveries the way he was talking.” She spoke without a trace of jealousy. “But cupcakes and I aren’t a good match. It’s like dating. You might be crazy about some guy, but if he couldn’t care less about you…”

“Éclairs don’t love me.” Angela gave a hiccup of laughter, suddenly and ridiculously giddy. “Neither do fruit tarts or petits fours. Madeleines outright wish I was dead.”

Nell laughed and gestured to the cases. “You’re looking only at the pastries I fit with. These recipes and I belong together. You can’t fight that.”

Angela nodded, yes, yes, yes. She’d been told this before. By Tom, by Marjorie, by Jack, by Bonnie, bless her heart, and by Daniel. But how much more lovely to think that cookies loved her or that she and cupcakes belonged together, than to think she wasn’t good enough for anything else.

She had been reaching beyond herself. Her mistake was in assuming that she was reaching for something better and of more value.

“Thank you for coming out to say hello.” She stood and shook Nell’s hand warmly in both of hers. “I can’t thank you enough for the compliments. I’ve been having something of a crisis of confidence lately.”

“Ha!” Nell nodded sympathetically. “I live in crises of confidence. I finally decided when you stop having crises, you’ve stopped caring, and it’s time to retire and do something else.”

Angela laughed, light as air in spite of the quantities of fat and sugar she’d just consumed. “It has been really, really nice meeting you.”

“Same here. I’m looking forward to working with you. We’re going to throw a hell of a party together.” She looked longingly at the box on the table in front of Bonnie. “Can I…?”

“Absolutely.” Angela took the box and handed it to Nell, wanting to hug her. And then hug Bonnie for believing in her enough to bring it along.

And then wanting to rush back to A Taste for All Pleasures and tell Scott to stay until closing because she was going to find another person who’d believed in her enough to recognize her true talent and send it over to a boss who’d already said no. A man she belonged with as much as if not more than she belonged with her cupcakes and cookies, cinnamon rolls and muffins.

A man she truly loved.

16

“S
COTT
,
I
NEED
YOU
to take over for an hour or so, okay?” Angela practically skidded to a stop at her front counter. No customers. Good. She’d feel less guilty. “You can call Alice out if things get tough.”

“Sure, no problem.” His too-black brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yes! Fine!” Everything was more than okay. Everything was wonderful, amazing, perfect and fan-freaking-tastic. Or would be as soon as Daniel forgave her. Which he would, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Because the alternative was unthinkable. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem a little flustered.”

“Do I?” She put a hand to her burning cheeks and laughed like a village idiot. “Well, no. I mean maybe a little, but nothing bad has happened. I just need time to…straighten something out.”

He held up his hand as if he were taking an oath. “You can count on me.”

“I do.” She smiled. Scott was wonderful. Alice would be in soon, she was wonderful. It was April twenty-ninth, still in the fifties and raining, and
that
was wonderful, too.

Daniel had believed in her. More than she’d believed in herself.

Sudden inspiration hit. “Be right back.”

She dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a chocolate-chocolate cupcake and packed it in one of the fancy small boxes she’d invested in recently, perfect for thinking-of-you gifts. Or I-love-you gifts, like this one.

“Back in a bit.” She flew to the bakery door, then remembered she’d driven to Nell’s bakery with Bonnie, and didn’t have her car keys. “Oh, wait.”

Whirling, she ran back to her office, grabbed the keys and left again, calling another goodbye to Scott.

Three steps from the building’s front door, she remembered her umbrella. Not a good idea to show up at Daniel’s apartment looking like a drowned rat.

Back into her office, past a visibly amused Scott, not that she blamed him, she grabbed her umbrella and rushed back into the store. “So, um, Scott.”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re leaving now?”

“Well.” She sighed. “That’s sort of been the plan all along.”

He grinned. “Good luck with whatever it is, Angela. I’m behind you.”

“Thank you, Scott. Thank you.” She nearly teared up. The kid deserved a raise. She’d give him one when she got back. She’d give everyone raises. And champagne! They deserved it. A Taste for All Pleasures was in at Slatewood! If that went well and the word spread, she’d be on her way to less worry and higher profits. Those were good things. Even without the trappings she’d dreamed of.

Into her car, tossing the umbrella onto the seat next to her, out onto Broadway, heading for Slatewood’s offices on 5th Avenue South. She was on her way.

Except she wasn’t. The traffic slowed to a crawl. What should be a five-minute drive would take longer.

A lot longer.

She glanced at her watch. Four-thirty. At least she’d make it by five before Daniel left for the day.

Four-fifty-five, after having to park at the far end of the huge lot behind the Slatewood headquarters, she was in the reception area, breathless from running.

“I’d like to see Daniel Flynn, please.”

* * *

D
ANIEL
TOOK
the pan of chocolate cupcakes out of the oven and sniffed. Hmm. They smelled okay. Sort of. They looked funny. The tops weren’t gently rounded, but had spread flat over the pan, and their edges looked charred. Maybe he’d overfilled them? The recipe had said two-thirds full, but that hadn’t seemed like enough.

Apparently it was.

He’d cut the recipe down to make six cupcakes, because he only needed one. Maybe the recipe hadn’t liked being divided? Too late now. He looked the mess over critically. If he trimmed one and covered it liberally with frosting, he’d be okay. It was the thought that counted, right? Angela wouldn’t expect perfect baking from him.

Though, uh, he wasn’t that sure about the frosting. He didn’t have a sifter, so he’d measured the confectioner’s sugar as is. He figured the mixer would take care of the lumps, and it had. Sort of. Unfortunately, when he added the sugar and cocoa to the butter with the mixer running on high, brown and white powder had flown all over the counter and floor and him. Then the mixture had seemed too thin, so he’d dumped in more sugar, which made it too thick, so he’d added more milk as the recipe suggested, only it turned out to be too much. More cocoa, too much, a tiny splash of milk…that had fixed it. He thought.

A glance at his watch told him this process had gone on way too long. He’d wanted to catch Angela after Scott showed up for work, so Scott could take over the counter while he talked to her, but before she got busy with closing up duties.

It was just after five now. He’d left work at two, after a meeting he couldn’t miss, and had rushed to do his errands, knowing if he ran into trouble with his first purchase he’d be cutting it close making cupcakes afterward.

He had. He was.

Now, to save time, he’d have to frost the cupcakes before they cooled. He chose the cake he wanted, carefully pried the too-wide top off the pan and slipped a knife around the edges and down into the cup, wishing he’d thought to buy paper liners.

Steady. Steady. D’oh!

The cake crumbled in his hands. Okay. Okay. Five more chances.

He tried again. And again. And again. Damn it. Down to two. Maybe if they were cooler? He stuck the pan with the remaining two cupcakes into the freezer and ran to his room to get dressed, since his work clothes, which he’d selected that morning hoping he’d be seeing Angela later, were covered in flour and cocoa.

A pair of dark khakis, a little wrinkled, but they’d have to do, a shirt that matched pretty well…

Back in the kitchen, he grabbed the pan out of the freezer. Definitely cooler. Good.

He picked up the knife and started in with more confidence.

Bad idea. The second-to-last cupcake disintegrated also, though not as rapidly as the previous four. So he was on the right track, but down to his last option.

The pan went back into the freezer while Daniel shaved to spare Angela’s chin—assuming she’d let him kiss her again—and good thing he did because his first glance in the mirror revealed a big streak of frosting on his forehead.

Back in the kitchen. Running out of time. Pan out of the freezer. Knife in hand, sweating, feeling like a brain surgeon, finessing the blade, coaxing the cake, urging it on, even talking to the damn thing in a high crooning voice he didn’t think he’d ever used before.

“C’mon. C’mon out, little guy.”

He was losing it.

And then finally…success. The last cake only cracked, didn’t crumble. He transferred it to a saucer he had ready, holding his breath. Again, success.

Now, frosting. A big knife-full applied gently. Very, very gently.

Not gently enough. The cupcake shuddered and collapsed. Damn it.

It would have to be the thought that counted. He grabbed the saucer and, no longer needing to be careful of a gift for his beloved that looked like a sludge heap, sprinted out to the car. Five minutes to her house, he should make it in time.

Except halfway there, he remembered the most important part of this entire project was sitting in the pocket of the pants he’d taken off and he had to turn around and start the trip over.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up to the bakery. No parking spaces.

Damn it.

He double-parked. Got out to warn Angela he was there, see if she could get away. They could drive to Cal Anderson Park for his presentation of her bakery treat. If treat was the right word, which he wasn’t that sure about.

It started to rain again.

Okay. So much for the park. And thanks, Seattle.

He ran inside Come to Your Senses and flung open the door to A Taste for All Pleasures. Scott was at the counter. Angela must be in the back.

“Hi, can you tell Angela that Daniel’s here?”

Her helper gave him a speculative look. Had Daniel missed a spot of frosting? Powdered sugar in his hair?

“Angela’s not here.” Scott shook his head regretfully. “She left about an hour ago.”

* * *

A
RGH
! I
F
D
ANIEL
wasn’t at his job, and he wasn’t at home, where was he?

Angela sighed, letting her head bonk against the interior door to Daniel’s building, and too bad about leaving a forehead mark on the glass. She shouldn’t have sailed off like this. She should have called Daniel and arranged a place and time to meet, like a normal person would have. If for no other reason, to find out if he even wanted to see her again. She’d once again been swept away by the romance, swept away by the idea of showing up and surprising him.

Swept away by Daniel. But this time, she wasn’t afraid of the sweeping part. Not anymore.

Okay, maybe a little. She was human after all.

She turned and stared through the exterior door at the rain coming down. Again. Maybe it would be best to—

Her cell rang and she dove into her purse to dig it out. It was Scott. Gulp. Trouble at the bakery?

“Hey, Angela. Daniel was here looking for you.”

Looking for me.
Angela practically took off and floated around the foyer. Daniel wouldn’t be trying to find her if he were still angry.

“Is he still there? What did he say? How did he look? What did you tell him?”

“I told him you weren’t here.” He was laughing at her. She couldn’t blame him. “I guess he took off.”

He guessed. Damn. “Okay, not a problem. I’ll find him, thanks, Scott.”

She hung up and pressed the phone to her cheek, clutching the cupcake box between her elbow and waist. If she called Daniel where would she tell him to meet her? Back at the bakery? Here? Somewhere neutral? Maybe that would be best.

Legs appeared on the interior staircase, followed by a stocky torso in a casually fashionable suit. Daniel’s roommate, whatever his name was, holding an enormous bouquet of flowers.

He opened the door, grinning at her, hair freshly combed back, smelling of aftershave. “Hey, little girl, lookin’ for someone?”

“Hi. You’re Daniel’s roommate.”

“Jake. We met across your counter.”

“Jake, yes.” She shook his hand. He looked a lot more cheerful than he had that day. Maybe undercover cookie-buying made him nervous. “Beautiful flowers.”

“Yeah?” He looked at them proudly. “Got them from that cute girl with the store across from you.”

“Bonnie? She’s great.”

“Seemed it.” He tugged at a red rose to make it stand out more prominently. “Would you want to date a guy who bought them for you?”

She laughed. “Absolutely. Whoever she is, she’ll flip over them. And you.”

“I hope so, thanks.” He blushed, grinning like a fool in love. Or was that redundant? “Daniel’s not home. You want to go in?”

“I hoped he’d be here.” She tried not to sound as frantic as she was. “I want to surprise him.”

“Allow me.” He whipped out his cell, punched in a number. “Yo, Daniel. Where are you? Uh-huh. Oh, she’s not? You’re—Okay, good. I’m out tonight with Valerie. Yes,
again
. Right. Okay.”

He hung up the phone and beamed at Angela. “He’s on his way.”

Her heart started pounding. “Thanks, Jake. Okay if I wait upstairs?”

“You can do better than that.” He unlocked the building door and pushed it open for her. “There’s a key in the toe of one of the soccer shoes opposite our apartment. Let yourself in.”

“I will, thank you.” Perfect.
Perfect!
She’d be able to surprise Daniel in a big, big way. Preferably naked. “Oh, and have fun tonight.”

As the door closed behind Angela, he nodded, tipped an imaginary hat and exited into the street.

Angela climbed the stairs to the second floor, remembering tenderly how she’d climbed these stairs with Daniel after her aborted evening at Noc Noc. Thinking how much hope and angst and effort people had to put into starting relationships. With any luck, after she got to talk to Daniel today, they could move forward without so much stress. Maybe without any.

Holding her cupcake box, she fumbled in the soccer shoe, trying not to think about sweaty male toes, grabbed the key and let herself into the apartment, then walked toward the kitchen to put the cupcake box where Daniel would—

Whoa.

The kitchen looked as if a baking bomb had gone off. A mixture of flour, or confectioner’s sugar or both, and cocoa powder coated surfaces near the mixer, on the floor and even on the cabinets. On the table, saucers of chocolate cake, crushed in strange mounds, surrounded by mangled crumbs. A muffin pan with more cake clinging to it. Next to that, a small bowl, half-full of grainy, streaked chocolate frosting.

Jake’s idea of a snack?

Baking burglars?

The front door opened. Angela jumped. She’d wanted to greet Daniel sitting calmly and stark naked on the couch but this could be Jake coming back for something, so it was just as well she was clothed.