Take the Cake Page 4

  “Love one,” Emily said. “But shouldn’t I be making it?” She stashed her bag in the kitchen and reappeared, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Hi,” she greeted Thomas with a shy smile.

  “Greetings,” he replied as he sipped his coffee.

  “Thomas and I go way back,” Kate explained.

  “Back to when she thought blue eye shadow and pink lipstick was a fabulous look,” Thomas elaborated, making Emily laugh as Kate winced. “Oh, Kate, don’t be embarrassed. I was right there beside you in my stone washed jeans and matching jacket.” Thomas shuddered.

  “And on that note, I’m going to start baking,” Kate said, sidling away.

  “Okay, missy, I’ll see you again sometime, thanks for the bed last night,” Thomas said, draining his coffee and grabbing Kate for a cuddle before leaving, slapping Wren on the rump for good measure.

  When Wren got back to the counter, Emily was laboriously pouring herself a coffee. Becoming a barista was high on Emily’s list of priorities, and she was applying herself to the task diligently.

  “So, uh, is Thomas Kate’s …” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

  “Oh, hell, no, he plays for the other team.” Wren laughed. “But the two of them have known each other since college. They even dated for a while.”

  “Really?” Emily was agog.

  “Well, Thomas hadn’t come out at that stage, but when he did, he and Kate stayed good friends.”

  “Oh.” Emily thought for a moment. “Makes my life look like white bread by comparison.”

  “That’s not always a bad thing as long as you keep an open mind,” Wren reasoned as Emily nodded in agreement. “Anyway, Kate and I went to a wine bar last night for Friday night drinks, and Thomas ended up meeting us there and we just kept on going, which is why he ended up crashing at her place for the night.”

  “Must be nice to have friends like that,” Emily commented and looked at Wren. “Kate’s pretty cool, huh.”

  “Yep.”

  “So why’s she single?”

  “Beats me.” Wren shrugged. “Guess she just hasn’t met the right guy yet.”

  ~~~

  Michael leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up over his head, groaning as he heard his stiff body stretch and pop. Relaxing once more, he looked at his laptop screen. It made a nice change to see a document on the screen instead of a blank page, because today, for the first time, he had typed something. Granted it was only a few sentences, but it was a start and certainly more than he’d been able to come up with over the last couple of months. He sat in his chair, thinking of warm, dancing eyes.

  Perhaps he’d sit and think a little more and go for a walk later. He looked back at the screen. It still taunted him, but somehow not as much as it usually did. He’d made a mark on the page now. Something was starting. He just wished he knew what.

  Michael looked at his watch; it was nearly midday. He puffed out his breath and gazed around his apartment. After his early publishing success, his parents had encouraged him to invest in real estate. He had been somewhat surprised, therefore, to find himself graduating from college and ending up in West SoHo, living in style. The apartment was spacious with polished floorboards and large windows flanking the wall, looking down onto the street. High ceilings and tasteful lighting added to the sense of airiness, but although his mother had helped to choose the furniture and rugs, the apartment often felt cold to him.

  He rationalized that by telling himself it was because he lived alone and his work kept him to a relatively solitary existence. Nowadays, he felt that it was because the room took a lot of words to fill, and these days words seemed hard to come by.

  Getting up from his desk, he paced the length of the room, hands in pockets as he stared off into space. His gaze drifted toward the row of bookshelves—so many words by so many other people. Of course, there was a shelf that held a collection of his own works, but they weren’t helping him now. He needed to find some more words of his own and sitting inside the apartment didn’t seem to be helping.

  Michael checked the time again. He should eat. His gaze flickered toward the kitchen, where he knew there was a fully stocked refrigerator. For a moment he wavered, rubbing his hands over his stubble as he thought. Setting his jaw, he grabbed his keys and sunglasses and stalked toward the door. He’d go for a walk, do some research, see if he could find any inspiration. Maybe he’d get something to eat while he was out. After all, he knew just the place, but he’d go for a walk first. Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he’d believe it, instead of knowing that going to the bakery had been the first thing on his mind this morning.

  ~~~

  “Daydreaming? Or are you still trying to wake up?”

  Kate glanced up to see Wren watching her from the doorway.

  “A little of both,” she admitted, as she glanced down at the cupcakes and put a cherry on the last one.

  “God, they look good.” Wren sighed.

  “I made them with you in mind.” Kate nodded.

  Wren’s tired look brightened. “Really?”

  “Yep, in honor of Mr. Vegan, I’ve made you an antidote.”

  “What is it?” Wren took a step into the kitchen, gazing at the rack of cakes.

  “Peanut butter cupcakes, with chocolate and peanut butter cream cheese frosting,” Kate supplied. “And a cherry on top.”

  “Elvis would be proud,” Wren commented. “What are you going to call them?”

  Kate told her. Wren jotted it down on the chalkboard. Another day at the bakery had begun.

  ~~~

  Michael browsed through some music, scowled his way through a bookstore, and kept walking. Any stops he’d made in various stores just seemed to prolong the inevitable, so after an hour, he’d sighed and turned the corner, picking up the pace somewhat. He was unaware that the closer he got to the bakery, the more he walked with a sense of purpose. He paused across the street to take a good look at the bakery that seemed to have some sort of hold over him. The red canopy bore the bakery’s name, and he was surprised to realize that he hadn’t even noticed it before.

  Take the Cake.

  He crossed the street and stopped at the window display. A different collection of cupcakes was in the bell jars today, surrounded by apples and vitamin tablets. He puzzled over this, trying to work out the connection, and then remembered the chalkboard at the entrance. He glanced over at it and felt his mouth curve into a smile before he stepped inside.

  Buy organic for health,

  but eat cupcakes for taste.

  The floor was tiled, and the walls were covered in old wooden panels to match the long, antique counter. A pair of dilapidated wooden bookshelves contained a variety of magazines and newspapers along with a collection of children’s books and board games—some new, some old. The tables and chairs were an eclectic mixture of French bistro style and farmhouse, some of which had been hand painted with vines, flowers, and dragonflies, all of which were reflected in the collection of framed mirrors vying for wall space. It was a riot of color and warmth.

  ~~~

  “Wow, God must really love her work sometimes,” Emily said softly.

  “Her work?” Wren asked.

  “Only a woman would work to make something that fine,” Emily replied. Wren looked up to see what had caught her attention.

  He was back and this was the third time in as many weeks now. Coincidence? Wren watched as his eyes raked the room, skimming over the two women behind the counter. Wren frowned a little, watching his expression. Was that disappointment? She thought quickly.

  “Emily, could you spot me here for a sec?”

  “Sure, but I’m not sure I’m up to speed on the coffee machine,” Emily said easily.

  “Not a problem, if you get an order, Kate can take care of it,” Wren said. She stepped away from the counter. “I just have to make a phone call.”

  He was walking toward the counter now, so Wren turned and walked with what she hoped was a cas
ual stride toward the back of the store. Kate looked up when she entered the kitchen.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Just got to get some air. Emily might need a hand with a coffee, though,” Wren replied, not breaking stride.

  Kate watched her go then popped her head out of the kitchen in time to see Emily write down an order. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out into the store.

  “Need a hand?” she asked Emily in a quiet voice.

  Emily nodded gratefully. “My milk froth is getting better, but I’m not confident enough to inflict it on the public yet.”

  “No problem.” Kate grinned, grabbing a cup and setting the espresso, then jiggling the milk jug under the steam spigot with practiced ease. “You’ll pick it up soon enough. Where’s this one going?”

  “Sir Galahad at table four,” Emily said, and then blushed at Kate’s raised eyebrow. Wren had pointed him out to her the first time he had appeared in the store.

  “Check it out.” Wren had given her a nudge to get her attention and directed her gaze to where the man had been sitting. “Seeing guys like that is one of the perks of the job.”

  Kate gazed over at the table where he sat waiting, frowning over a copy of the New York Times. She had to admit that Emily had a point. He sat with a careless grace that hinted at strength.

  “Oh, I see he’s back again,” Kate commented.

  “He was here on my first day,” Emily replied promptly. “What? I wouldn’t forget a guy like that.”

  “I would’ve thought Wren would have enjoyed looking after him after her vegan experience,” Kate said, scanning the order and selecting one of their fresh turkey bagel sandwiches and sliding it onto a plate.

  “She saw him then said she had to make a phone call. I guess that’s why she went out back?”

  Kate thought for a moment. She was sure she hadn’t seen Wren holding her phone. Just then, Wren appeared in the doorway.

  “Hey, Emily, could you give me a hand carrying the next batch of cupcakes out?”

  Emily shot Kate an inquiring look.

  “Go ahead. I’ll take these out,” Kate said. She picked up the cup and plate and walked over to the table. “Hey,” she greeted him as she drew near.

  He looked up and offered a small nod and smile as he shifted his newspaper aside to allow Kate some room to put down the plates.

  “Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “You’re very welcome,” she replied, and then gestured toward the newspaper. “Anything good in it today?”

  He glanced at it and shot her a wry grimace. “Not much.”

  “Well, you can’t read doom and gloom while you eat. Mind if I suggest something else?”

  He looked puzzled. “Sure,” he replied.

  Kate stepped over to the bookcase, and after a quick scan, pulled out a book and placed it in front of him. He picked it up and looked at the title.

  “The Berenstain Bears?”

  “Sure, it’s not classic literature to some, but I think you’ll find it’s a perfect lunch accompaniment.” She smiled, and then looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I know you’ve been in here before, but I can’t remember your name,” she explained.

  “Michael,” he replied.

  “Kate,” she answered with a wink. “Enjoy your reading. If you need anything, that’s Wren over there, and Emily’s new but she’s here to help too,” she said as she returned to the counter, ostensibly wiping down the surface, but keeping a surreptitious eye on him.

  “Hey, boss,” Wren greeted her in a bright voice. Kate turned to see Wren and Emily carrying two plates of the daily cupcake out to be displayed. “You look like you need a break.”

  “Do I?” Kate replied, unconsciously reaching a hand up to her hair. “Do I look that bad?”

  “Nah, you look good, but why don’t you take a load off and I’ll bring you a coffee?”

  “All right,” Kate said slowly. She went into the kitchen to get a couple of items out of her bag, and by the time she reappeared, Wren was already placing a fresh coffee on a table out front, next to Kate’s customer.

  Kate shot Wren a suspicious glance, but Wren was radiating innocence. Naturally, that meant she was up to something. With an inward sigh, Kate sat down and arranged her things. She sipped her coffee, and then set her cup down to select a fresh piece of paper, picked up her pen, and began to write. As she worked, she watched him from the corner of her eye as he picked up the book and flicked it open to read. After the first few pages, he picked up his bagel and began to eat, still reading. Kate watched him, smiling to herself as she caught the occasional “huh” of amusement.

  By the time Michael finished the book and his lunch, his eyes were peaceful.

  “So how was it?”

  He looked up to see Kate sitting at the table beside him, an empty coffee cup and some sheets of notepaper in front of her.

  “I haven’t even thought about that book for years,” he commented. “But it’s still fun.”

  “That’s why I keep it in the store. I get a kick out of watching people of all ages pick it up. I’d love to be able to write something like that—something that makes people smile.”

  “What about your chalkboard out front? And your cupcake names seem to give people a laugh,” Michael pointed out.

  “Guess I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she replied with a slow smile.

  He’d heard her laugh and now he’d made her smile. He watched her mouth curl up, trying to remember every detail. “What’s that you’re working on?” Michael pointed a finger toward the colored notepaper Kate had been working on moments before.

  “This? Oh, it’s a letter to one of my friends.”

  “You don’t email?” Michael was surprised.

  “Sure, but sometimes I like to give people the pleasure of finding something nice in their mail instead of statements and bills.”

  “Huh,” Michael said, leaning forward in his chair as she spoke, intrigued.

  “I like to think that there’s a certain romance in writing a letter to someone,” she continued, a faint pink tingeing her cheeks now. “Because it sends the message that you’ve set aside time to put pen to paper to someone. You’re not forwarding a joke or dashing out an email. You’re actually sitting down and devoting some time to that person, and it’s something tangible.”

  She picked up the small sheet of paper and flapped it to illustrate her point, and then put it down with a slight laugh. “Mind you, this isn’t exactly War and Peace. It’s just a note to say I was thinking of them and a really bad joke that’s going to make them groan, but it’s still something.”

  “I admire you for that,” Michael said in a quiet voice.

  She looked at him in surprise. “What on earth for?”

  Michael shrugged. “I don’t have much luck writing anything lately. I don’t think I could manage something complicated like a letter.”

  “Want a tip about that?” she whispered. She leaned forward, looking conspiratorial and Michael instinctively leaned toward her.

  “Sure,” he whispered back.

  “Say what you have to say and then stop. Don’t labor at it so much.”

  Michael stared at her for a moment, and then began to laugh. If only she knew. He was still chuckling when she looked up to a summons from the counter.

  “Gotta go. Sounds like the Pocket Rocket needs me. It was nice meeting you, Michael.”

  “You too,” he replied with a smile. He knew her name. He knew the bakery name. She’d given him more words today. He watched as she gathered up her paper then left the table, running a hand over his shoulder in passing. Michael lifted his hand to grasp her fingers, but she was gone. He watched as she disappeared into the kitchen, and looked up a few minutes later as she re-emerged. She was stuffing the notepaper into a stamped envelope, and she left the store.

  Michael sat watching her as she walked over to a mailbox on the other side of the street. She stood gazing at the envelop
e for a moment, kissed it, and popped it into the slot. She patted the mailbox for good measure and returned to the store, grinning at Michael in passing as she walked through the store and back into the kitchen.

  “Is there anything else you’d like?” a voice said beside him.

  “Yes,” he replied in an absent tone, and then jerked back to awareness as someone giggled. “Sorry, what?”

  He looked up to see a small woman with close-cropped hair and a knowing grin, regarding him as she picked up his empty coffee cup from the table. Wren, he remembered.

  “I said is there anything else you’d like?”

  “Uh …” Out of reflex, he looked at his watch. “Not just now. I should probably be going.”

  “Kate had to take a phone call, but she wanted me to give you this with our compliments,” Wren explained, extending a cupcake on a plate toward him. “It’s our daily special.”

  Michael glanced at it then back at her. “What’s this one called?”

  “Vegan rehab.” She grinned, and then added, “Private joke.”

  “Right,” he said, accepting the cake and standing up. “Please tell Kate,” he felt a stab of pleasure at being able to use her name, “that I said thanks.”

  “Will do,” Wren replied, stepping away and eyeing him appreciatively. “And I’m sure we’ll see you here again some time,” she added in an assured tone. “And just so you know, she’s single.”

  Michael’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to work out if he’d heard her right. Wren leaned forward.

  “She’s single, you know, available,” she repeated. “Just thought you’d like to know is all.” She winked.

  Michael stood in quiet amazement as he watched her collect some cups off nearby tables and take them out to the back, humming to herself as she worked. He waited for a moment longer, but Kate didn’t reappear, so he quietly left the store. Half a block later, he began to eat the cupcake. It was good.

  As he walked, his thoughts wandered back over his afternoon, and he shook his head. He had established a comfortable routine for himself, but that routine had faltered when his inspiration had seemingly run dry. By some chance, he had found his way into the bakery. Not once, but three times now. Today he had spent the afternoon reading a children’s book and talking to a woman who made him feel rested and exhilarated all at once. It was a curious sensation, and he liked it.