Sugar Rush (18 page)
“Humble
and
earnest,” she teased. “So ... what happens next?”
and
earnest,” she teased. “So ... what happens next?”
“Are we talking about the show, or—”
She slid her hand free, but her smile remained. “Yes, the show.”
He rather liked talking about each other, but he knew that to continue further was treading back into dangerous territory, made ever so clear by how just touching her hand had set his entire body to hoping again. Some parts more than others. “Right,” he said, determined to stay on the professional path from that point onward. “We’re going to set up production, which will take most of tomorrow, then we’ll need a day to test lighting, sound, while we go through and choose all the recipes, test them out, make sure we have the necessary product, then block out how each episode will progress. I imagine we’ll probably shoot the first episode on Thursday, or get it started anyway. There will be a learning curve across the board with that one, then things should progress more smoothly with the other episodes.”
“How many others?”
“The plan is for five, if you approve, which would be a week’s worth. Rosemary thinks that will give the viewers a real taste, so to speak, of each town we visit. I’ll have enough shows to really get into the local dessert cuisine, or explore whatever specialty or theme I’m delving into in that particular area, as well as bring something new and different to the town.”
“And the trucks in the back lot? In everyone’s back lot? They stay the entire time, or do they just unload stuff, then move out?”
“They stay for the duration. Your fellow business owners were all notified as part of the permit process. Apparently there weren’t any hang-ups there.”
“That’s good,” she said, but he could see reality beginning to ease back into her body language, and he could hear the tension creeping back into her voice.
“What are all those trucks for?” she asked.
“Production mostly, but also makeup and wardrobe, and one is a full utility support kitchen.”
“A kitchen?”
He nodded. “We have to do a lot of advance prep for each show, along with a lot of prep as filming is going on. We need a secondary kitchen to handle that as we’re going to be filming in the only other kitchen we have.”
“Which has more than one of pretty much everything, you know.”
He nodded. “Oh, I know. Down to how many cooling racks you have and what sizes they are. Bernard is very thorough.”
She smiled at that. “Good old Bernard.”
“With all the cameras, lights, crew, etcetera, a lot of the functional workspace other than the part where we’ll be cooking and demonstrating, won’t really be accessible. It’s easier to have a satellite kitchen.”
Lani nodded thoughtfully. “How many people are traveling with this—”
“Circus?”
She matched his smile. “I didn’t say that. But since you did ... how many performers are we talking about, Ringmaster?”
“Enough to make you feel like there should be three rings involved, but, in truth, we’ll be running at about sixty percent our normal staff, so everyone will be putting in extra time.”
“For how long?”
“We have the permits for thirty days, but the schedule right now is designed to wrap things up in ten to twelve days. It can and usually does take a good part of a single day to film each twenty-two minute program, then there’s all the planning and prep, postproduction, and, invariably, delays due to this snafu or that. It’s our first time coordinating everything this way, so we’ve got flextime scheduled in for that. My network has other shows that have gone on location, though those have been isolated instances and not an entire series. We’ve consulted with their teams to get an idea of what we’re in for, what we’re going to need, and will hopefully avoid some of the pitfalls they experienced.”
“So ... a few weeks here, then you pack up and go to the next town, right?”
He met her gaze, nodded.
She held his a moment longer, then glanced toward the passenger side window. “So, are we going to get coffee? I thought you promised me coffee.”
“Leilani—”
She looked back at him. “What you said before, about not knowing me ... You know that a few weeks isn’t going to change that, right? Even if it did, there’s not much we could do about it anyway. You’re leaving.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Okay. I just ... you say you’ve come to terms with it, but I do know you. You don’t just give up. I don’t want you to think that because I’m being a good team player, and I might even laugh and enjoy myself while we’re together ... that it means I’m rethinking what I said before. I’m not. And I won’t.”
“I know. That’s what I started to say earlier.” He shifted his gaze forward, put his hands back on the wheel, and put his foot on the gas. It was easier to talk if he wasn’t looking at her. Wanting to touch her. “Yes, it’s true I thought I’d come riding in on my white steed, storm the castle, and hie off with the lovely maiden.”
He heard what sounded like a snort, but didn’t risk looking at her.
“Like I said, I didn’t think it through much beyond that. What, was I just going to keep you like an abducted wench, and drag you cross-country with my band of merry pastry chefs?”
“Well, Bernard would make a good Friar Tuck.”
He did glance at her then, but the shadows had grown too deep to see her eyes clearly.
“Go on,” she said, her tone more sober.
He liked it better when they were both laughing. “Even if I did come sweep you off your feet ... then what? When we’re done marauding the countryside, leaving satisfied, chocolate-and-powdered-sugar covered smiles in our wake ... the truth is, I have no castle to take you back to. Just a sound stage, an office, and a brownstone in the Village I barely sleep in.” He wound through the narrow island roads, not really paying attention to where he was going, then found himself back out on the loop road again. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m a man who is fortunate to have gotten everything he could have ever dreamed of wanting and so much more ... yet has nothing to give you. Nothing you’d want, anyway.”
She kept quiet, and he drove on in silence for several minutes. “I should have thought it through,” he finally said. “All the way through. And I didn’t.” He looked over at her, and let the car slow again. “I get it now. I’m sorry it took a circus and a merry band of chefs for me to figure it out ... but I have. I well and truly have. It’s not about giving up, it’s conceding I should have never entered the field of play to begin with.”
Chapter 9
T
hose were the exact words she’d hoped to hear from him, but had never honestly expected him to say. But now he had. And, what’s more, he truly seemed sincere about it. He’d listened. And he’d agreed with her.
hose were the exact words she’d hoped to hear from him, but had never honestly expected him to say. But now he had. And, what’s more, he truly seemed sincere about it. He’d listened. And he’d agreed with her.
In all possible ways, it was a far better outcome to this disaster-in-the-making than she could have hoped for since first reading the write-up of his impending arrival in the island paper.
So why wasn’t she happier about it? Or, at least, relieved?
Yes, she could be perverse at times, but not so perverse that she’d want a man pining after her, chasing after her, when she’d made it perfectly clear she didn’t want to be caught. No, she wasn’t that perverse.
Was she?
A light throb began in her temples. It was just so ... complicated.
Intellectually, she was relieved. She could relax now, let her guard down a little and not be so damn vigilant around him. She could be herself, and not worry that her actions would lead him to believe she was doing anything other than being a good sport and making the best of the situation.
But, emotionally ... emotionally was a much different story. After all, he was still the one man she’d wanted. For a very long time. In every possible way. In fact, though she’d dated other men, and had even fancied herself in love for a brief time when she’d studied overseas ... Baxter Dunne was the first and only man she’d truly fallen for. Fallen for in the ways that mattered, ways that went beyond the butterflies and pheromones. They’d had a natural rapport right from the start that had made communication easy, and at times, was even unspoken. Despite their differences in demeanor and approach, they shared a connection of the mind as well as the spirit, and it bonded them in the way of true friends. She respected him, she liked him ... and yes, there were all those lovely butterflies and pheromones to keep things buzzing along on other, more visceral levels.
It wasn’t until he came to the island that she knew for certain she hadn’t just had a crush, or started to fall for him. She had fallen. All the way. She loved him. Or had loved him. Past tense, right? Or maybe it was a different kind of love.
She’d decided, hadn’t she, back in New York, that he wasn’t the one. Couldn’t be the one. For so many reasons, big and small, not the least of which was that he hadn’t even realized she existed as anything other than a pastry chef.
Then she’d come to the island, and started down a new path, opening a new chapter in her life filled with new experiences, new people, new hopes, and new dreams. It had been the right time to move on, get over her silly crush. It had just been proximity, she’d told herself. Even if time and distance didn’t seem to be working in and of themselves for her to get over him, surely she wasn’t so pathetic as to pine over feelings so completely unrequited, was she?
No, she was certainly not. She’d missed him, yes, and had pined—somewhat pathetically for a time—but she’d gotten past that, too. Through many late night bake sessions, some with Charlotte via phone, some alone, she’d come to terms with what would never be, and had finally, mercifully, moved on. She’d pushed herself to hope there would be another special someone, who would fit into this new life of hers. Someday. She wanted that. She was healthy, whole, and looking forward to what came next. She had accepted that whoever the person might be, it wasn’t going to be Baxter Dunne. Would never be Baxter Dunne.
It had been impossibly cruel for him to show up when she’d finally gotten over him.
How could she be anything but incredibly relieved that, after dangling the dream she’d finally given up on right in front of her, sparking back to life all the feelings she’d finally boxed away, that he, too, had come to realize what she had already come to understand? They had no future. Not together.
She hadn’t been secretly hoping he’d change her mind, show her there could be a way, some way, that it would work. Be that white knight on the charger, after all. No, of course not. She wasn’t that ridiculous.
It meant they were both on the same page now. Win-win. All good.
Yea, them.
So, why was it, sitting next to him in the car, driving through the quiet island streets, with nightfall all around them ... relief was not at all what she was feeling?
“I, um—” She had to clear her throat from the tightness that seemed to have formed there. “Thank you. For saying all of that. For telling me. I ... appreciate it. All of it.”
Except for the part where it feels like my heart is shattering into a million pieces
. She wanted to look at him, but she just ... couldn’t. She looked down at her hands in her lap instead and realized she’d twisted her fingers together in a tense knot. She forced herself to straighten them, and tried to get a grip on the silly surge of emotions that was swamping her as she smoothed the fabric of her pants over her thighs. It was just fatigue talking. It had been an incredible couple days for her, a veritable roller coaster of emotions. A little sleep, a little bitch-and-bake with Charlotte—oh, thank God, she’d come—and Lani knew she’d be good as new. It had always worked before.
Except for the part where it feels like my heart is shattering into a million pieces
. She wanted to look at him, but she just ... couldn’t. She looked down at her hands in her lap instead and realized she’d twisted her fingers together in a tense knot. She forced herself to straighten them, and tried to get a grip on the silly surge of emotions that was swamping her as she smoothed the fabric of her pants over her thighs. It was just fatigue talking. It had been an incredible couple days for her, a veritable roller coaster of emotions. A little sleep, a little bitch-and-bake with Charlotte—oh, thank God, she’d come—and Lani knew she’d be good as new. It had always worked before.
She straightened in her seat, and somehow managed to find a light tone. “So, with that all cleared up, why don’t we go find that cup of coffee and discuss the production schedule. I’m assuming you’ll have some kind of contract I’m going to need to sign, for the use of my shop, and, I guess, for the use of me, too.”
She could feel him looking at her, but what he said was, “Right, yes, of course. You’re going to be well compensated for our shutting your shop down, and for your own contributions. I think you’ll approve of what we’ve drawn up, but if you want to have your lawyer look it over—”
“I’m mostly concerned with my shop being protected from any damage that might occur, with all the lighting and camera equipment. I’ll want it in writing that you’ll fix or replace whatever needs fixing or replacing and that when you’re done, it will look exactly like it did when you started.”
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her, “we’ll take the best care. And you’ll be there, so you’ll see how it’s all done, and how it will all be put back to rights.”
That was the trick, she decided. Just keep her mind completely focused on business, on the production details, on tackling the project at hand, and her role in it, whatever the hell that was going to be. God, she didn’t even want to think about that, about being on camera. With Baxter.
Well, she’d just do whatever they told her to do, stand where they told her to stand, say what they wanted her to say, bake what they wanted her to bake, then go home, hide in her cottage, and marathon bake with Charlotte until she had to be back on set. That would be the routine. Every day. For the next two weeks. She could do that. She had to do that.
Maybe she should move her pantry stock from her shop kitchen to her home. She was going to need those supplies for the nightly therapy sessions. Let Baxter’s crew buy their own damn product.
She was pulled her from her thoughts when he reached between them to the backseat, and came back with a big green thermos. She hadn’t even realized they’d parked.
He used the thermos to point through the windshield at the sign posted by the side of the road. “Says there’s a picnic area over there. Full moon tonight, so the lighting should be okay.”
She looked blankly at the sign, then at him, trying to corral her thoughts back on track. “You want to go for a walk?”
He wiggled the thermos. “You remember Carlo, from Gateau?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “You mean the Carlo you selfishly stole from Gateau where I really, really needed him, to be a prep chef on your cute little cooking show, where surely someone else could have done the same job. That Carlo?”
He smiled at her mutinous scowl. “My restaurant, my show. I just ... reassigned him. You were much nicer about it at the time.”
“You signed my paychecks back then. You don’t now. Carlo stealer.”
He just laughed.
She looked at the thermos and understanding dawned. She shivered in anticipation as she nodded toward the thermos. “Is that... Carlo’s coffee? Carlo is here? On Sugarberry? With his coffee?” She clasped her hands hopefully under her chin. “Really?”
Baxter smiled, and nodded, and Lani sighed in abject appreciation.
“I was going to bribe my way into your cottage with it, so we could talk about the show schedule. But, it occurred to me that anywhere we sit and talk in town would probably come with a lot of interruptions, and certainly very little privacy. I saw the sign there, and thought this might provide a good alternative.” He glanced toward the path leading away from the road, into the dunes. “Unless it’s not wise to go back there in the dark.”
She laughed at that, and he looked back at her, pretending to be affronted. “I bring coffee from the gods and you mock my well-founded city boy fears?”
“Well-founded how? Did a cat run across your path while you were walking in Central Park once or something? In fact, I can’t even imagine you walking in Central Park, much less anywhere truly uncivilized.”
“I’ve heard plenty of unfortunate wildlife encounter stories, and I’m more than willing to learn from others’ mistakes. And I would stroll Central Park, if I had the time.” When she rolled her eyes, he smiled. “Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t. But that’s only because it’s never been part of my regimen.”
“Right.” She popped open her door. “Come on, city boy. I’ll protect you from the beach beasties.”
He climbed out his side and came around the back of the car, holding her door open as she untangled herself from the forgotten seat belt. He closed the door behind her and she offered to carry the thermos. “Unless you want me to carry a big stick instead, to beat away the sand snakes.”
“Quite amusing.” He motioned for her to lead the way. “Ladies first.”
“How gallant.” She was smiling as she struck off down the path ahead of him. He was just so ... British. And ridiculously charismatic. Honestly, Hugh Grant could take charm lessons from Baxter Dunne.
“I’m assuming if there was truly anything to be concerned about, you’d have eighty-sixed this entire idea.” He jogged a few steps to catch up with her. “It goes without saying if you see anything that alarms you, I’ll carry you all the way back to the car.”
“And knightly, too.”
“Aye, well ... go with your strength, I always say.”
Lani was laughing as they made their way down the trail path, which was paved for the most part, though the sand regularly blew over and buried long sections of it. The park rangers would shovel it clear periodically, to keep it from getting permanently socked in. The moon was rising and the stars were beginning to light up for their nightly show. It was a lovely, unseasonably warm night, even with the ocean breeze.
She felt the tension in her muscles ease, and the throb in her temples subside as the sound of the surf grew stronger. It was hard to be tense at the beach. It was too elemental, so rhythmic and soothing in its eternal ebb and flow. She started to think maybe that’s what she should do. Just go with the ebb and flow of ... well, all of it. The stress about the show, the worry about being hurt. Just let it roll off her shoulders like the tide going out, tackle the show as it came along, and simply enjoy his company along the way. Maybe that would be her new mantra for the duration of his stay. Sure, it was torture being around him, but only if she constantly put it in the “life is so unfair” perspective. The fact was, she was going to be around him whether it was unfair or not, whether she liked it or not.
So ... why not allow herself to like it?
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many stars in my entire life. Collectively, I mean,” he said. “I’m fairly certain, in fact, that I wasn’t aware there even
were
that many stars in existence. The sky is literally choked with them.”
were
that many stars in existence. The sky is literally choked with them.”
Lani paused. Smiling to herself, she turned back to find him standing in the center of the path, face tipped heavenward like a young boy—a very tall, broad-shouldered boy—in awe as he took it all in. He was endearing and sexy as hell standing there, a bit of Cary Grant dash to go along with the Hugh Grant charm.
“It’s always like that, you know,” she said. “Every time you see the stars out here, you think maybe your memory was playing tricks and you exaggerated how many of them there were.”
“It’s positively awe-inspiring. Rather puts things in the grander perspective, doesn’t it?”
She came to stand next to him. “I was thinking the same thing about the surf. No matter what happens in the world, the waves will always keep rolling in, for all eternity.”
She followed his gaze upward, and marveled along with him. It truly was a spectacular sight. “You wanted to know my reasons for coming here, staying here. This is part of it. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of it.”
“Yes.” There was a touch of reverence in his tone that she completely identified with.
When she shifted her gaze forward again ... it was to find him looking at her.
There was a moment, and then another, when their gazes remained locked, the rumble of the surf providing the only soundtrack.
He broke the moment first, looking down the path in front of them, lifting the thermos in his hand. “Is that a picnic pavilion ahead?”
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