Sugar Rush Page 6

  “Well, I don’t have anything to do with—wait, I thought you wanted to write an advice column? A Dear Alva sort of thing. What would Baxter dropping by the poker tournament have to do with that?”

  Alva straightened, squaring her narrow shoulders. “I want to write what the women on Sugarberry want to read. A little advice here, a little gossip there. The kind of thing everyone goes to Cynthia’s salon to find out. Or Laura Jo’s. But then it has to make the rounds, and surely you know how it gets turned entirely upside down and backwards from how it actually happened. Not that anyone intentionally twists the truth, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I just want to put the news all in one convenient place and tell it like it really is, as it actually happened. Along with that, of course I’ll offer advice as I think it would benefit everyone. A true public service.” She smiled so sweetly, Lani thought she actually believed that. “Trust me, it’ll be the first thing they turn to when they pick up the paper. Mark my words.”

  Lani didn’t doubt it. “Sounds like you have it all figured out, Alva, and I wish I could help you with your scoop, I truly do.” The bells jingled on the door, so Lani leaned closer and hurried to say what she had to say, wanting to close that particular conversational thread—the thread being Baxter—before it got picked up by the next customer. Alva had a point—a big one—about how the actual details of this story or that one were forever getting spun all out of proportion to the original happening. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to do with Baxter’s itinerary while he’s here. I found out about the show the same time you did. So, I can’t do anything about getting him to come to your club—”

  “What club would this be?”

  At the sound of the new voice, Lani looked up ... and there he was. How was it he always seemed bigger than life, no matter the size of the room he was in? It’s that smile, she thought, as Alva spun around and beamed up at him with enough wattage to light the Vegas strip.

  “Why, my goodness gracious,” she said, fluttering a hand over her hair, then tucking her purse smartly back under her other arm. “I can hardly believe my own eyes. If it isn’t Baxter Dunne, Chef Hot Cakes himself. Right here in our little town. My, my, and look at you.” She glanced at Lani, then beamed right back at Baxter. “Quite the tall drink of water, aren’t you? I had no idea. The television doesn’t nearly do you justice, and of course, we all think you’re just the handsomest thing to ever put on an apron.”

  “Chef’s jacket,” he said, but his responding smile was wide and sincere.

  Lani watched the scene unfold, thinking it was sort of like having an out-of-body experience. Only she wished she really could leave her body at that moment, and be just about anywhere else.

  “And please, you can call me Baxter.” He glanced at Lani. “I only make my employees call me Chef.” He leaned down—way down—so he could put his mouth near Alva’s ear. “I’ll leave it your call on the Hot Cakes part, however.”

  Lani thought Alva might simply expire right there on the spot. She’d never seen the woman blush before—ever—that she could recall. Alva might look tiny and fragile, but she was pretty much bulletproof, in that steel magnolia kind of way most women on Sugarberry were. At the moment, however, Alva was as bright pink as the plump, perfect raspberries Lani had placed on top of each and every one of the twelve dozen surviving Kiwanis cakes that morning.

  “Why, listen to you!” Alva exclaimed, trying to look properly shocked at his cheeky forwardness, but clearly enamored straight down to her sensible senior pumps. “Aren’t you just the charming devil.” Alva’s hands still fluttered about. “I was just telling Miss Lani May how excited we all are to have you here.”

  Baxter glanced at Lani with a lifted brow and a delighted twinkle in his dark brown eyes. She scowled back at him, then quickly shifted to a sunny smile when Alva glanced from one to the other.

  Alva turned right back to Baxter, and continued gushing. “And to think you’re going to film your television show right here on our little island. Why, I can’t even believe our good fortune. Perhaps I could interest you in a cup of coffee? You see, I write this little column for the local paper, and I’d love to get a one-on-one interview.”

  Alva glanced back at Lani then, with an overly bright smile and an eyebrow wiggle that only Lani could see—apparently a plea not to out her little white lie to Baxter—then she was all beaming smiles again as she turned back to him and put her small, blue-veined hand on his arm, as if she was fragile and needing his strength for support. “What do you say, Mr. Dunne?”

  Fragile, Lani thought, if pit bulls were fragile. It had been more of a Betty White lie.

  “Baxter,” he corrected, still all smiles. “And I’m honored—flattered—but I’m afraid I don’t have time to spare at the moment.”

  Alva looked instantly deflated, but Lani saw the steel still in her spine. Deflated, maybe, but if she knew Alva, far from defeated.

  Baxter looked up at Lani, and his smile grew. He covered Alva’s hand with his own and patted it. “You see, Miss—?”

  “Liles,” Alva said, not missing a beat, though her cheeks pinked right back up when he patted her hand. “Alva Liles. Alva to you.”

  “Miss Alva.” The wattage of his smile almost made Lani blush, and she’d thought herself at least somewhat immune given her lengthy exposure to it. “I would love a chat,” Baxter went on to say, “but I need to confer with Miss Trusdale about the details of the show.”

  “With Lani May?” Alva looked back at her. “But, I thought you said you didn’t know—?”

  “It’s rather a surprise,” Baxter cut in, then looked up and locked his chocolate-eyed gaze directly on Lani’s.

  Which was the moment Lani realized things were about to get a whole lot more challenging for her in the “I can deal with Baxter” situation.

  “I’ll need a kitchen setup, and Leilani’s—um, Lani May’s—little shop here is perfect.” His eyes twinkled brightly as he used her island nickname, with a bit of a quirked brow thrown in, just to be utterly incorrigible about it. “I’m hoping she’ll agree to let us film some of our episodes of Hot Cakes right here.” His smile widened to his trademark grin, his gaze still only on Lani, even as Alva literally squealed in delight. He lifted his hand and did a cheeky little wave to go along with it. “Surprise.”

  Chapter 4

  Well. That hadn’t exactly gone as he’d planned. In fact, it had gone absolutely nothing like he’d planned. He’d intended to sneak her out of the shop for a bit, and make his pitch to her in private. In fact, he’d come to her shop at the break of dawn that morning for exactly that purpose. He’d been confident she’d be in her kitchen when he’d left his hotel before dawn and crossed the causeway, winding his way through the dark, narrow island roads to the center of its only commercial district. If one could call the tiny town square that. Bakers and newsboys—the two folks a person could count on to be up before the sun. He’d relied on them both that day.

  For all the good it had done him. So far, his carefully laid plans had netted him a big fat goose egg. If the way Leilani had folded her arms across her chest was any indication, he’d taken another giant step backward. As if the kiss that morning hadn’t been a big enough blunder.

  He wasn’t used to making big mistakes. The truth of it was, more often than not, he got what he wanted. Mostly, because his ideas were solid ones, but he was aware he was blessed in other ways when it came to convincing people to follow his lead. A bit of charm and a nice smile could give a bloke a healthy headstart down the path toward achieving his goals. As he came by it quite naturally thanks to generous genetics, what was he to do? Pretend to be dour and dry?

  He’d honestly thought he and Leilani would have a quite congenial “hullo, so good to see you”; then he’d ask, one professional to another, for the use of her kitchen. Though his real reasons for wanting her workspace were of a far more personal nature, he’d been certain she’d quickly agree to
the collaboration. After all, featuring her little shop on national television could only be positive for her. It had all been rather foolproof, really. The hard work would come after their agreement was sealed.

  However ... he wasn’t quite so optimistic of his chances to execute even the first part of his foolproof plan. Though he could readily admit he’d handled things ever so wrongly thus far, what with foolishly revealing his personal reasons for being there before even mentioning his professional plans, he was really starting to wonder what in bloody hell her problem was with him.

  “Well, dears, I must get along.” Alva beamed up at Baxter, who felt like a towering oak over the tiny bird of a woman.

  “It was a pleasure, Miss Alva,” Baxter said, trying not to glance at Lani, hoping she took the moment while Alva departed to clear her thoughts, see the bigger picture, and realize the boon he was dropping in her lap.

  Alva squeezed his hand with surprising strength, even as her eyes glittered. “I am so excited, I simply can’t wait to spread the news about your show being filmed right here! In our very own cupcake shop!” She beamed at Lani. “Imagine!”

  “Imagine,” Lani echoed with a faint smile, and far less enthusiasm. Okay, without any enthusiasm. But she didn’t exactly leap in to dissuade Alva from her excitement or her stated mission.

  Baxter took that as a positive sign. Though he was already grasping at the slenderest of straws if he could interpret anything about Leilani’s current demeanor as a positive sign.

  “Wait until I tell Beryl! Dee Dee and Suzette will be beside themselves, now!” The bells jingled as Alva made her merry exit.

  Baxter wouldn’t have been surprised if the spry little thing had clicked her heels and skipped across the small town square. She’d have been quite the vision in her matronly pumps.

  “How dare you.”

  Baxter turned back to face the heat, thinking he’d taken far, far worse in his climb up the ladder, toiling in downright volatile kitchens the likes of which Leilani couldn’t possibly even imagine. He was no stranger to battle.

  Yet, one look at her intractable expression, and he felt at a slight disadvantage. If they ever created Iron Pastry Chef, she’d win the contest hands down on glower ability alone.

  “I do apologize,” he said, moving a step closer. “Heartily, in fact. I’d intended to talk with you this morning, but we got rather—”

  “You got,” she corrected. “I was working, minding my own business. Literally.”

  Baxter studied her more closely and realized she wasn’t angry—well, she was angry—so much as flustered, which probably explained at least a percentage of her annoyance. The woman he’d worked with, taught, and been consistently amazed by, had never once been flustered. Not that she’d shown outwardly at any rate. At that moment, Lani was anything but the serene Snow White, whistling, so to speak, while she worked. Rather more like the dark queen. With something to hide. Namely, the reason she was flustered.

  Interesting. And so unlike her.

  He walked toward the counter, determined to get to the root of it. “I was going to say sidetracked,” he finished, smiling and determined to simply brazen it out. If she really was angry with him, she was going to have to back it up with an explanation. And if he was making her nervous ... then he wanted to know more about that.

  “If you’d wanted a meeting, you should have called ahead and scheduled one,” she said, talking faster, with more heat, the closer he got. “You come in, unannounced, and throw off my entire morning schedule—”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and sincerely. He thought it was probably the latter part that abruptly ended her tirade. He had meant it. He wanted to be amused by her flustered demeanor, rattle her out of it, so they could both calm down and get on with things. Instead, he found it bothered him. More so because he was somehow the source of it.

  It truly was the oddest thing, this protective feeling he had. A delightful Snow White she might normally be, but with that steel in her spine, he was equally certain she could handle all seven dwarves and the evil queen, with one hand strapped behind her back, and a smile on her lovely face. In fact, she often had, he thought, when he considered what the kitchens had been like at Gateau during a service crush.

  “That’s why I came early, during prep. My intent was to get a word with you, in private. To discuss all of this before it became news.”

  “Odd then, that you planted a story announcing your arrival in this morning’s local newspaper. Dwight Bennett is a good editor, but even he’s not that good. He’s not exactly keeping his ear to the ground so he can break the latest news in television entertainment. Why bother being stealthy and discreet, when hitting me broadside, in front of my customer base, will guarantee you get what you want? Alva is out there right now, telling God and everyone—”

  “You didn’t stop her.”

  “The National Guard couldn’t stop her.”

  Baxter tried to stifle the smile, but having met the tiny tornado, he thought Leilani likely had a point. “Then I’ll apologize for making my intentions known to possibly the worst gossip on the island. I didn’t intend for that to pop out of my mouth as it did, but her enthusiasm was contagious and I simply—”

  “Got carried away? Baxter, ever since your show debuted, you have women screaming at you all the time—and not in a bad way. Entire throngs of women get more than a little excited just by being within viewing distance of you. You’re surrounded by adoring fans every single day. And night, I’d imagine. You come off as this unassuming but incredibly appealing guy, who is somehow sweetly earnest and passionately alpha all at the same time. Throw in the accent, and you’re like ... the Hugh Grant of baking. I get that they can’t help themselves. But surely you’re used to it by now. So, it’s a bit of a stretch to think one tiny senior can throw you off your game.”

  He got hung up for a moment on her surprising description of him. Was that how she really saw him? Quite flattering in some respects, especially considering the scowl presently creasing her brow. But ... Hugh Grant?

  “As you noted, she is quite the tiny senior.” Baxter stopped at the opposite side of the counter from where Lani stood, arms still folded. “But you have a point. Maybe it was instinct, just put it out there, gain the advantage.”

  “Well, that’s hardly a—what did you just say?”

  “I said, maybe you’re right, and I instinctively played to the advantage that presented itself. I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t premeditated, but that doesn’t negate that I did it. Or that I’m sorry I did. It was impulsive, and out of line.”

  “Well ... okay, then.” The bluster went out of her.

  But not, he noted, the fluster. If anything, she seemed more jumpy than before.

  “So, just tell me what the bigger picture is here,” she implored. “There has to be an agenda. I’m not stupid.”

  “Far from.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What is it I’ve done to anger you? I honestly don’t have a clue.”

  “I’m not angry, I’m just—” She stopped when he simply folded his arms in a mirror pose of hers. She took an audible breath, let it out slowly. “It’s ... complicated. And you’re right. I’m not being fair to you. I’m sorry for that. I’m not usually like this.”

  “Again, far from.” He smiled then, relieved they were finally getting back to some semblance of normalcy.

  But she didn’t smile in return. And the slightly lost look she’d had that morning, after he’d kissed her, was back. He thought that might be worse.

  “I guess it’s just ... I don’t understand why you’d come here and turn my lovely new life upside down.” She lifted one hand, palm out. Her quiet intensity proved more provoking than her frustration. “And please, don’t use that line you tried this morning. I worked next to you for three years, and ran Gateau’s kitchen for you for another year after that. You never once showed so much as a sliver of interest in me other than purely professional that entire time
. We’ve agreed that I’m not stupid, so don’t come here, into my place—my place, Baxter—and expect me to believe you suddenly can’t live without me. Personally, or, for that matter, professionally. It’s insulting, and ... well, also not fair. I don’t deserve some silly game. I deserve a straight answer.”

  “It seems neither of us is getting what we want today.” Baxter kept his arms folded. “Did it occur to you that your refusal to believe me is also insulting? The one who should be angry here, is me. Other than not sending advance word, which I couldn’t do due to the network’s paranoia over secrecy issues, I haven’t done anything wrong that I know of. I am, in fact, offering you a really great opportunity.”

  “That I didn’t ask for, or need. If I wanted to advance my cause on Sugarberry by using you or Gateau, I’d have done it already. I’m building something different here. On my own.”

  “Leilani—”

  “You should have asked me first, Baxter, before planning anything here, with or without me or my shop. I know I’m not in charge of the island, or your show, or you, but there are literally thousands of places you could have chosen. But you chose the one tiny little piece of land where I happen to live, and make my living. You had to know it was going to upend my life to some degree, no matter how altruistic you thought your gesture might be. Considering the working relationship we had, you owed me a heads-up, at the very least, networks be damned.”

  “I—”

  “You should have just been honest and up-front about ... whatever it is that made you come here. And no, I don’t consider a local write-up intended to generate anticipation for your show on the very morning you arrive, crew in tow, an acceptable advance notice. I’m sorry—I am—but I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do while it’s not busy. I hope you don’t mind seeing yourself out.”

  Of my life, she might as well have added. She’d said her piece quite sincerely, but it was equally clear she’d hardly be crying into her milk and cupcakes if she never saw him again.