Sugar Rush (16 page)
“My dear, I’ve already taken care of that on my own. Chef Dunne is a gentleman who keeps his word. Our dinner is scheduled later this week.”
Really?
Lani wanted to ask about a dozen follow-up questions to that, but since she’d told Baxter she’d do his show but to stay out of the rest of her life, it was hardly any of her business what else he did while he was on the island. “That’s ... great!” She almost managed to sound sincere. “I’m glad you worked it out. I’m surprised you’re not leading with the interview as your first column.”
Lani wanted to ask about a dozen follow-up questions to that, but since she’d told Baxter she’d do his show but to stay out of the rest of her life, it was hardly any of her business what else he did while he was on the island. “That’s ... great!” She almost managed to sound sincere. “I’m glad you worked it out. I’m surprised you’re not leading with the interview as your first column.”
“Have to strike while the iron is hot, dear. His schedule ties him up for the next couple nights and tonight’s poker action promises to strike a lot of hot iron, if you know what I mean.” Alva’s smile widened, and that twinkly gleam took on a decidedly wicked light. “Molten hot, I believe.”
“This is true.” Lani was amused, even though she knew she shouldn’t encourage Shark Betty in any way.
“You just wait until tomorrow’s edition comes out! They’ll still be talking about it by the following edition, which is when I’ll spring my Chef Hot Cakes article on ’em.”
“That should keep things interesting.”
“Oh, I should think you’ll be doing enough of that all by yourself, dear.” Alva wiggled her eyebrows. Before Lani could even react to that, Alva popped out the back door, closing it behind her with a final click.
“I see what you mean,” Charlotte said, staring at the closed back door.
“It’s one of those things you have to experience to understand.”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte agreed. “You do realize she’s going to write about you and Baxter in this column of hers, don’t you? Do you think that’s why she’s suddenly become your happy helper?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her, except on both occasions she was all about the whole poker tournament scandal. But it might have occurred to her since then.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
Charlotte shifted a surprised gaze to Lani. “Really?”
“First of all, you’ve met her. Do you really think I could stop her? Besides, she’s actually been really helpful.”
Charlotte considered that and nodded. “There’s that whole ‘keep your enemies closer’ thing.”
“She’s not my enemy.” Lani smiled. “But you have a point.”
“Miss Trusdale?”
Charlotte and Lani both whirled around at the sound of Bernard’s voice. Lani had completely forgotten he was still there. “Yes?”
“I just got a call from Baxter. He’s stuck in a production meeting with our producer and director. We’re not going to set up until tomorrow.”
“I’m open for business tomorrow.”
“Right.” Bernard looked distinctly uncomfortable for the first time. “About that—”
“Bernard—” Lani started, her tone a clear warning.
He immediately got twice as blinky and held up his clipboard like a shield.
She felt like she’d kicked a puppy. A near-sighted puppy. She sighed. “Okay, okay. But I need to talk to Baxter. Sooner than later.”
Bernard seemed to breathe a small sigh of relief. “Good. He asked if he could drop by your home after they wind things up.” At her raised brow, he talked faster. “To go over the production schedule, and ... anything else you need to know. I’m sure that’s what he’s doing right now, getting all the answers and information so he can brief you on—”
“It’s fine, Bernard.” Lani decided there wasn’t any pleasure to be had in picking on the messenger. Besides, if Baxter had any ulterior motive in meeting on her home turf—and duh, of course he did—little did he know she had her own secret weapon cake tonight. She slid her arm more tightly through Charlotte’s and smiled. “Tell him that’s fine.”
An hour later Lani and Charlotte had cleaned up and closed the kitchen and Lani was giving her best friend a tour of the front of the shop. Charlotte was the first person from her former life, well, other than Baxter, to get a glimpse of her new one. Of all the people from the big city chapter of her life, Baxter included, Charlotte was the only one whose opinion truly mattered.
Turning slowly, she took in the glistening vintage glass-and-chrome display cabinets that ran in an L-shaped pattern along one side wall, then wrapped around to extend the width of the shop. Her turn finally stopped at the pale blue wood shelves lining the wall behind the register. Each one was filled with an eclectic mix of antique baking implements and vintage cookbooks, all interspersed with whimsical figurines and collectibles relating in some way to the various aprons Lani wore. “You know, I wouldn’t have pictured this for you. Not for New York you.” Charlotte turned and looked at Lani. “But somehow ... with you standing there, beaming with pride like the mother of a newborn she thinks is an adorable little angel ... you know, this really suits you.”
Lani beamed, every bit as proud as that fictional mother. “Thank you. That means more than you could possibly know.”
Charlotte smiled. “Oh, I know. You don’t owe me an I-told-you-so for the honesty.”
“Deal.” Lani grinned. “Does it make you think differently about wanting your own place?”
“Not in the least.”
They laughed at that. During all the times Lani had waxed rhapsodic about running her own place, Charlotte had listened, but shuddered at the thought on a personal level. She claimed she wasn’t cut out for management, not even if she was the big boss. Especially if she was the big boss. Considering how bossy she usually was, the idea was a constant source of amusement to Lani.
“I want to be able to leave work at work.”
“I do that here,” Lani said, which was sort of true. She did live, breathe and literally eat her shop a good part of the time, but mostly that was her own enthusiasm, along with a healthy dose of anxiety about wanting to see it succeed.
“The key word being
here
,” Charlotte said. “The shop suits you, but, I have to say, I still can’t figure out the allure of the location. Personally or professionally.”
here
,” Charlotte said. “The shop suits you, but, I have to say, I still can’t figure out the allure of the location. Personally or professionally.”
“Maybe it’s precisely because here is where I can have a life.”
Charlotte looked at her as if she couldn’t fathom what kind of life one would have there that would be worth living, but both were smiling. It was why she loved Charlotte best. They didn’t have to see eye to eye or agree on everything to still be each other’s best support.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” Lani told her.
Charlotte’s smile widened. “Location and godforsaken drive notwithstanding, I am, too.”
Lani flipped the lights off and they headed to the back, switching off lights as they went. “I can’t believe you drove down here. I didn’t even know you had a driver’s license.”
Charlotte slid her a glance. “Who says that I do?”
Lani’s mouth dropped open, but Charlotte just laughed. “I grew up in New Delhi, remember? Your American roads are mere child’s play to me.”
Lani laughed. “Still, I can’t imagine you behind the wheel. And definitely not for that many hours straight.” They exited out the back door of the shop, laughing as Lani shut, then locked, the door behind them. She turned and plowed directly into Charlotte’s back. They grabbed the porch handrail at the same time as Lani whispered, “Holy Mother of—”
She gawked at the three mammoth white trailers parked behind her shop, filling up not only her parking area, but that of the entire block of shops. Her mouth snapped shut as she spied Baxter, hopping down from the steps leading out of the middle trailer.
He offered her his most endearing smile. “I can explain.”
Chapter 8
B
axter crossed the narrow space left between the trailer steps and the rear entrance to Leilani’s shop. Only then did he realize who had exited the shop with her. “Charlotte?”
axter crossed the narrow space left between the trailer steps and the rear entrance to Leilani’s shop. Only then did he realize who had exited the shop with her. “Charlotte?”
“Chef,” she replied politely, but otherwise showing no emotion.
Lani hid her wry smile, but not quickly enough. Chef was a title of position and respect. Normally.
Baxter nodded. “Chef Bhandari,” he responded with a smile.
“Play nice,” Lani warned them both.
Baxter’s smile grew. He actually liked and respected Charlotte. And he understood where the cool response was coming from. He could only imagine the earful Charlotte must have been getting about him from her friend. She was simply showing solidarity. He envied them the strong personal bond.
So it surprised him when she turned to Lani and said, “It’s been a long drive, long day. I’ll head to your place and leave you two to discuss ... things.”
She’d left her natural habitat to come all the way down to the wilds of Georgia to support her best friend ... but wasn’t averse to said friend fraternizing with the enemy. Interesting. Unless, of course, there was something new he didn’t know about in the “discuss things” column.
Doubly wary, he started to speak, but Lani spoke first.
“Let me take you over, get you settled in.” Lani said to Charlotte, not sparing him a glance. “You’ve had a long day and I’m certain whatever Baxter needs to discuss with me regarding his super-secret production schedule can be shifted to accommodate my far less important one.”
Ah
. Apparently Bernard left something to be desired as his point man while Baxter had been delayed by his meeting with Rosemary.
. Apparently Bernard left something to be desired as his point man while Baxter had been delayed by his meeting with Rosemary.
“That’s okay. Why don’t you two go ahead and talk it out now? I plan on face planting on the nearest soft surface.” Charlotte pulled out her phone. “I plugged your shop and home into my map app. It’ll get me there. Key?”
Lani just looked at her.
Charlotte frowned. “You’re not serious.”
“Not exactly a hotbed of crime here on the island. And my father is the sheriff.”
“You have a point.”
Lani smiled. “Good, because it’s the only one I’ve got. But, honestly, let me go get you settled in. The place is a bit of a disaster.”
“I’m not company-company, you know. I all but lived at your New York studio. It couldn’t be worse than that.” She paused when Lani just arched a brow. “No.”
Leilani lifted a shoulder and smiled a bit sheepishly. “I mostly live here.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Charlotte said. “I’ll ... make do.”
Baxter stepped in. “Why don’t I follow you over? You can get Charlotte settled, then we can head out, grab a coffee, or dinner if you haven’t eaten. We don’t have to talk shop in the actual shop.”
“Do we really need to talk shop at all tonight? I haven’t seen Char since—”
Charlotte put her hand up. “I need sleep. We can play Baker Barbie tomorrow.”
“Baker Barbie?” he asked.
“Her term,” Charlotte replied. “It’s a girl thing.” As if that explained everything. And, perhaps it did.
Baxter hadn’t missed the look Leilani sent her way, which was more plea than friendly concern. Just as he didn’t miss the even look Charlotte gave right back.
Well, well
, he thought. Maybe he had more of an ally in Charlotte than he’d thought. Though he was certain it wasn’t his welfare she was concerned about, if she was pushing for Leilani to work with him in any capacity on this project, then he was all for it.
, he thought. Maybe he had more of an ally in Charlotte than he’d thought. Though he was certain it wasn’t his welfare she was concerned about, if she was pushing for Leilani to work with him in any capacity on this project, then he was all for it.
“I would love to postpone this,” he offered, “but I’ve just gotten the full production schedule this evening, and we really have to go over everything that’s getting set up. It’s going to happen very quickly, starting early tomorrow.”
“I know,” Leilani said. “Bernie warned me.”
“Bernie?”
“Your advance guy.”
He frowned. “Bernard?”
“Right.” Lani turned to Charlotte as Baxter mouthed
Bernie?
“You can follow me over.”
Bernie?
“You can follow me over.”
A minute later they were all in their cars, motoring several blocks to the ocean side of the island. Leilani slowed before the opening of a narrow, crushed shell drive leading to a small cottage that appeared to back right up to the dunes. With dusk rapidly turning to dark, Baxter couldn’t make out all the little details, but her place looked ... he supposed the word for it was ...
cozy
.
cozy
.
Charlotte pulled her compact rental into the drive first, then Leilani swung in behind her in her little red SUV, leaving him to idle in front in his rental. He wouldn’t have pegged Leilani as the SUV type, or, for that matter, the red car type. Not that he’d ever given it any thought. If he had, he’d have pictured her in a little compact, something practical. Like she was. He supposed the little utility vehicle was practical, especially if she catered any events or made deliveries of any kind, but the red was rather ... flashy—which didn’t seem like her at all.
Not that she was plain, but her work was known for its delicate intricacy and elegance. Her flash, if she had that, was in how inspired her creations were. But the execution was always pure sophistication.
He thought about the decadent little cakes she’d had lining her worktables the morning he’d first walked into her kitchen, and, later, the lavishly topped varieties that filled her shop front cases. Those were overtly sensual, bordering on hedonistic. There was also the offbeat music she played, and the eccentricity of the aprons she wore, the eclectic shop décor in general ... and he was forced to admit she might have had more of a point than he’d been willing to concede.
He’d known her only as the chef she needed to be to work for him, to work in a place like Gateau. He’d simply assumed the chef was same person as the woman.
Apparently, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Pulling into the driveway, he watched as Lani and Charlotte climbed out of their vehicles. Though he was admittedly curious to see the inside of the place, he thought it better to leave them to the settling in.
Leilani had always been a tidy chef in his kitchen, orderly and precise, and her own shop kitchen appeared to be the same. Even taking into consideration the exuberant flavor profiles and interesting apron choices, he had a hard time imagining Leilani being messy. But his interest went beyond her housekeeping style. He was curious about her lifestyle here, outside the professional kitchen. He really did want to understand what might have drawn her to stay in this place, on this island.
He might have been able to fathom a moderate city like Savannah. It would have been a real stretch to imagine her in some suburban retail setting. Anything more rural than that simply defied all understanding. And this? This went beyond rural. Sugarberry was so small and isolated, she might as well have announced she’d decided to relocate to Fiji. At least there she’d have had the tourist trade to tap into. And, he supposed, the beautiful view.
With the car windows down, he could hear the rising night symphony of whistles and warbles, croaking and rustling. There was even something ... gurgling, nearby. The evening breeze was still quite warm, a bit humid, and he could hear a steady rushing noise he finally identified as the surf, which meant he’d been right about the location. But that’s all he heard. It was even quieter, in terms of human noise, than in Savannah. And that had felt like a crypt compared to New York. In the city, the rushing noise was made by the steady stream of tires rolling across pavement and grates, and the whistles at all hours were for taxis, the warbles were sirens, and the gurgling noise was probably made by something he didn’t want to examine any more closely in Manhattan than he did here.
It occurred to him they had both chosen to live on an island, and that perhaps the appeal of his was as baffling to an outsider as hers was to him. He thought of her island as being backwoods, whereas his offered sophistication and refinement. Though he’d admit both islands had their uncivilized elements that gurgled in the night, the better choice between the two would seem obvious and clear cut to even the most casual observers.
As the minutes passed and darkness fell, he realized his grip on the steering wheel had relaxed. The tension that had knotted up his shoulders and neck—a result of yet another very long day of strategy meetings and detail chasing—was easing out of him. The gentle evening breeze, and the rhythmic sounds of island night life were gradually enveloping him. It was hard to deny that maybe both islands offered their own unique take on refined living.
Lights went on in the cottage, lending it an undeniably warm glow. He smiled, amused as he recalled his Snow White references where Leilani was concerned. “Of course she lives in a cottage,” he murmured. “All she needs now are the dwarves.” With all the comings and goings at the shop, which he’d spotted through the trailer blinds as he’d labored through his various meetings with Rosemary and the crew, Leilani did indeed seem to be recruiting her own miniature army.
Well, he had an army, too. Though perhaps not so miniature in size, especially when contrasted with the finite constraints of the size of the island they were invading. Locating production in Savannah had proven too complicated. Even locating over the causeway in the closest town of decent size was a logistical nightmare. Hence the decision to rent more trucks and set up, literally, right in her backyard—along with the backyard of all the other businesses on the block. It had taken a lot of finagling and not a little chunk of the newly expanded show budget to make it all work without wreaking too much havoc on the local industry while he was doing it.
He sincerely hoped the popularity of having a hit television show taping in their town, on their island, would serve to boost and perhaps even expand the island economy. Well, as soon as he was gone and not taking up all the expansion room himself. Even though his show had never tackled anything quite as ambitious as his cross-country trek, his wasn’t the first on his network to use a remote location. The bigwigs had files full of facts and figures regarding the positive local economic effects where they’d set their off-site shows. Documentation they used shamelessly on all future off-site locales, with whomever they had to in order to get their production the space, permits, and any other considerations they needed so the show could go on.
He thought about how Leilani was going to take the news of exactly how invasive it was going to be to her island, and her life. It was far more than originally planned and he didn’t relish being the one to tell her.
“The passenger door is locked. Baxter?”
Lani’s voice had him jerking upright, which was when he realized that he’d put his seat back and closed his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
He turned to find her bent down, peering in at him through the passenger side window.
He blinked away the fog, flashed her a quick smile, then fought with the door handle for a few more seconds than was suave or smooth, finally conquering the simple piece of machinery and exiting the car so he could swoop around the bonnet and ... realize he still hadn’t unlocked her door. “Drat it all.”
“I can get my own door,” she said, smiling. “But you will have to unlock it first.”
“There is that. You got everything settled with Charlotte, yes?”
“I did. She’s nested on the couch with cookie dough ice cream, a big spoon, and an
Iron Chef
marathon. She’ll never miss me.”
Iron Chef
marathon. She’ll never miss me.”
“That actually sounds ... rather appetizing.”
Her smile grew. “It’s a short couch, and Charlotte’s idea of sleepwear is a bit ... eclectic. Plus, she doesn’t share her ice cream. Or the remote.”
“So, she brought her own ice cream?”
“Like I said, she doesn’t share.”
“I saw the cooler. What else did she bring?”
“Baker Barbie stuff.”
Baxter grinned. “Hmm. You might be surprised to discover that girl pastry chef stuff is probably a lot like boy pastry chef stuff.”
“Does boy pastry chef stuff include hand dipped, dark chocolate-coated cherries, and a cake pan shaped like a man’s?”—she gestured at him in a general southern direction, and lifted one eyebrow
Baxter spluttered a laugh. “Um, chocolate, yes, possibly even the cherries, but my bakeware comes in the generally accepted forms.” There was something about the added sparkle in her eyes that had him thinking about her sliding those coated cherries into her mouth, licking away every drop of their juicy sweetness, not to mention her devouring that ... cake. He very abruptly decided maybe he’d better return to the driver’s seat in the car, before there was any chance she’d glance in that general, southern region again. The topography of which was rapidly changing.
“Let me get your door.” He was thankful for the growing darkness as he skirted the bonnet once again and climbed back into the car, popping the locks as he did, then leaning across the passenger seat to open her door.
“Thanks,” she said, as she climbed in, settled, and pulled on her seat belt.
He closed his door, too, and thought the quiet island night had just gotten a little more ... intimate.
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