Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake (5 page)

Adelaide climbed off the chair and brushed down her jeans. Plaster dust from the renovations blended with fifty years of grime and a few cockroaches flew into the air causing her to expel a rather loud and very unladylike sneeze that echoed around the empty shop. Cole, who was stacking supplies in the small room he’d designated as a store, poked his head around the doorjamb.

“Everything okay?”

“It’s foul up there. Did the previous owners never clean?”

“I don’t think hygiene was high on their priority list. It took me most of yesterday to clean out the rubbish from the store. There was so much shit, I had to ring for a new skip bin this morning. I even found a pair of used tights. The feet were crunchy with dried up sweat.”

“
Eww
. Gross. What would people leave those lying around for?”

“Maybe the last owners were partial to a quickie in the storeroom?” Cole chuckled, noting the pink creeping into Adelaide’s face. She was such a prude, so proper. Always had been. It was easy to shock her into turning pink.

“Or maybe they were getting changed and forgot to pick them up. You have such a one track mind.”

“Not that one track. I haven’t mentioned the word ‘sex’ for at least a year.”

“And there’s no need for us to start a conversation about it now.”

“I’d have thought you’d be happy I was getting back to normal.”

Adelaide gave an expansive groan. Clearly, her idea of ‘getting back to normal’ didn’t involve him discussing sex.

Putting the cleaning rag down on the chair, Adelaide rounded the counter. She bent under the counter and fishing her wallet from her handbag, made a beeline for the door. “I’m dying for a coffee. Latte?”

“Thanks. Could you get a large? And a couple of those peppermint slices from the bakery? I can feel another all-nighter coming on if we’re to get this place ready for the painters tomorrow and I need a sugar hit.”

Adelaide turned, her hand poised on the doorknob. “You shouldn’t eat any more junk. You’re diet is appalling as it is, what with the cakes you’ve been sampling.”

“Yes, Mum.”

How was he meant to know if his recipes were good if he didn’t taste them? He couldn’t put them out to the public without testing them and being able to give recommendations. Though he had to admit he’d been feeling queasy from the huge amounts of icing he’d consumed over the last week. Sickly stuff if you ate it by the bowlful. Those little silver balls tended to get stuck in your teeth too.

“You should do more exercise,” Adelaide added. “Get fitter. Maybe I’ll look into a gym membership while I’m up the road.”

Cole knew Adelaide was only saying these things out of concern; that his exercise regime had been put on the back burner with the opening of the shop, but she was the bossiest woman on the planet after his mother. Ella Anderson was the queen of bloody bossy. From the day he’d been born those two had bossed him around like he was incapable of making a decision on his own and with Phoebe in the mix, it had been three times the annoyance. Nobody would think he’d had his own successful business from the way they’d carried on. Sometimes, he’d longed for a nice quiet place with a few blokes sitting around drinking beer and watching cricket, no women allowed. And he didn’t even like cricket that much.

“I jog. When it’s not raining.”

“You need to be more consistent. You don’t want to end up a flabby old man.”

“And you don’t want to end up murdered.”

“As if.”

“Keep annoying me and it could happen.”

“Whatever.”

The shop door closed and Adelaide disappeared down the street, taking her grumbles with her. Cole stretched and stood for a moment to survey his handiwork. It had taken him the better part of two days to get some semblance of order in the kitchen and storeroom but he was pleased with the result. Everything was stacked in neat clear plastic containers, labelled and easily locatable. You’d have to be blind not to be able to find what you needed in there. He stepped backwards, pulling the door closed behind him, mentally ticking the job off the to-do list. Now that the storeroom was done and kitchen fit out complete, he and Adelaide could finish off the prep for the painters. He’d have to source a couple of tables and chairs too and check on the expected delivery day of the fridges and the coffee machine. He wanted to source a couple of things to decorate the walls too. He wasn’t sure what yet, but he’d know it when he saw them. Cole had an eye for making something cool from nothing.

Walking out to the shop front, Cole picked up an aluminium bottle and took a long swig of water. He smiled to himself. For the first time since Phoebe had passed away, he was feeling as if life had a purpose again. He was looking forward to the opening and to the day when someone would taste the chocolate cupcake Phoebe loved so much. One smile of pleasure at the fudgy mixture, made with melted chocolate and extra cocoa and he’d know Phoebe was smiling down on him.

This was a marker for a new phase of his life. A moving forward. Not forgetting. But moving on.

Speaking of which, he’d better get a move on himself. There was a lot of tidying to be done before the painters arrived. That pile of cockroaches Adelaide had left on the floor by the wall wasn’t going to sweep itself up.

*****

A while later, Adelaide pushed the door open with her hip and carrying the coffees over to the counter, put the tray down. She plonked a bag of groceries, down beside them. "Hi honey, I'm home."

"Thank God. I was about to send out the search party.”

"I haven’t been gone that long.”

Cole eyed the grocery bag, containing what looked to be ingredients for that night’s dinner. For once, Adelaide hadn’t come back with trinkets or clothes from the shops up the street. She’d been known to get distracted and forget what it was she was meant to be buying in the first place.

“Anything happening in the supermarket?”

It was a sad day when the only news came from a trip to the fresh fruit section.

“Yes, as it happens. I got chatted up."

"By?"

"Some guy called Connor Bishop. He wanted me to try his nice firm bananas." Adelaide giggled.

"For real? Blokes really use that line?"

"None that I’ve ever met. Anyway, he gave me his number. He wants to come over to the house and see the work you've done on the garden. He said he wanted to buy the house but he couldn’t afford it."

Cole picked up his cup and took a glug. He made a face as the coffee stung his tongue. Damn. "Unusual angle for seduction. I'm assuming you told him to nick off."

"Not exactly."

"Addie. How many times have I told you? You don't have to be nice to everyone in the world."

"You don't have to be rude, either. Besides, I have no need for a man. I have Lulu.” She took a sip of her coffee; standing for a second with her hand perched on her hip as she took in the paint samples Cole had tacked to the walls. “This shop’s going to look awesome when it’s done. Phoebe would definitely approve.”

Cole nodded. The black, pink and silver décor wasn’t exactly the scheme he would have chosen but it was perfect for a cake shop. It was classy yet fun. And if he was going to do this he was going to do it right. It had to sparkle, like a living memory to Phoebe.

As Cole and Adelaide stood in the centre of the room, the back door to the shop squeaked open and Ella came in. As usual she was decked out from top to bottom and finished with expensive gold rings and large pearls at her ears.

“You won’t believe what I’ve just heard.”

Not so much as a ‘good morning,’ Cole thought. Must be interesting.

“What?”

“Apparently, your shorts are causing quiet a stir up and down the street. I was in the newsagent getting a copy of Woman’s Day and three ladies were discussing you on the other side of the magazine stand.”

Cole looked at his mother. Apart from being bossy she also had the uncanny knack of honing in on gossip of any kind. It was as if she had some sort of inner radar for it. Thank God she didn’t like to spread it as well. “How do you know they were talking about me?”

“The words ‘new guy, dark hair and navy shorts’ were used.”

“That could be anyone.”

“One of them said you looked like the guy in that renovation ad that used to be on TV.”

Great. Cole had specifically chosen Merrifield because he’d thought it far enough from Perth to escape that ad. He could always deny it being him but he knew wouldn’t work. That ad was set to follow him to the end of his days. “I’m sure there’s other people in town who’ve been in an ad at one time or another.”

“As if…”Adelaide remarked. “I told you those shorts were only fit for the ragbag, Cole. The hole in the crotch is so revealing you’d scare the old biddies into an early grave if you bent over too far.”

Cole ignored the comment. He was aware his shorts were on their last legs but they were his favourites, they fit right. Besides, what was he meant to renovate in? A three-piece suit?

Adelaide turned to Ella, clearly annoyed that Cole had ignored her. Again. “I suppose they were laughing. Great way to make a name in a new business, having the town laugh at you.”

“They were gushing over Cole’s ‘lovely eyes’,” Ella told her. “Oh and his ‘muscular bottom’.”

“Which I’m sure they got a full view of when he ran half naked up the street yesterday.” She turned to Cole, who was trying to avoid the topic by staring at a paint chip on the wall. “We can’t take you anywhere, can we?”

“Hey, I wasn’t half naked. And I wasn’t twerking or rubbing myself with a foam finger — though that would probably have made a bigger statement than my shorts — I was jogging. You know, keeping fit like you two keep harping on about.”

“And airing your crown jewels,” Ella said. “One of the women said she’d almost been run over because she’d been ogling your bottom instead of watching where she was going.”

Okay, so he hadn’t exactly been wearing jocks on that occasion but a guy liked to hang loose every now and then. It wasn’t a freakin’ crime.

“She was only saved from stepping in front of the semi-trailer by the honking of its horn. The other one said she’d walked straight into a parked car. I even saw the bruise on her knee.”

Adelaide shook her head in disgust. “Give me strength. Wasn’t the idea of your coming here to have a low profile?”

“Guess I’ve shot that one in the foot then.” Despite himself, Cole chuckled. What else could he do? It was better than crying. Yes, he was trying to avoid people knowing he was the Reno King but the damage was done now. They might as well build a bridge.

“They were trying to figure out ways to meet you,” Ella continued, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. “I was this close to telling them I knew where to find you. For a price, of course.”

“I hope you didn’t.”

“But isn’t it time for you to get back on the horse? It’s three years since the split with Jenny and Phoebe’s been gone a year. You’ve no reason avoid a little companionship.”

“Other than the fact that I’m insanely busy starting a new business, moving to a new town and keeping the apparent hoards of lecherous locals off my back.”

“Or out of your trousers.” Adelaide smirked. “There must be one eligible woman here.”

“And you could keep your nose out of my business too, thanks, Addy. I’ll dive back into the wonderful world of women when I’m good and ready.”

Though who knew when that would be; Jenny had hurt Cole more than he’d ever care to admit and with Phoebe’s illness on top of it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to embark on a new relationship. Most days he felt like he’d gone to the Bank of Emotions and found his account overdrawn. In fact, it might be that he’d never find it full again.

Cole slipped his pass card into his pocket and carrying his water bottle like he was going to the gallows, made his way to the back of the gymnasium. An extremely perky thirty-something who'd identified herself at the door as Aimee, the instructor, made her way to the front and began chatting to a small group of women. Judging by their tasselled combat pants, bright coloured singlets and masses of wristbands with bells they were obviously regulars. Cole was not a regular. He was wearing his old track pants with a hole in the knee and a crinkled ACDC t-shirt he'd found in the bottom of the wardrobe. He longed to be a conscientious objector.

Because, if truth be told Cole would rather have chewed his own feet off than go to a Zumba class but Adelaide had surprised him earlier in the afternoon with a ten class pass that had cost her over a hundred dollars. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her he wasn’t that into dancing. Why he couldn’t hit the real gym — the one with sweat and weights and men — he wasn’t sure, but according to his mother and sister, Zumba would kill two birds with one stone. He didn’t want to have anything to do with any birds. Or stones. The only things he wanted to kill at the moment were the women in his family.

After handing over his card, Cole found a spot at the back of the room and put his water bottle and towel next to the wall. He looked around, not recognising a single soul. It seemed, however, that he had been recognised. Thirty heads twisted simultaneously in his direction, staring for a few seconds longer than was comfortable. Thirty pairs of eyes roamed up and down his body. Some of the women whispered behind their hands and one woman even had the cheek to let out a very subtle wolf-whistle. Softly, mind, but he heard it. He felt like a piece of meat or a prizewinning exhibit in the Merrifield Show. This is more awkward than the first time he’d gone to the school disco at age fourteen and come out of the toilets with his fly undone. Right when the teachers had turned the lights back on.

Swallowing, he moved onto to the gymnasium floor, facing the area where the music was set up. The women, though pretending not to, were still staring. If only he could take his stuff and go but he couldn’t, they’d realise for sure and by tomorrow he’d be branded the guy who’d attempted to brave the Zumba den and failed. Besides, Adelaide was right. He did need a break. With the opening of the shop looming, he was spending more time thinking about it than was healthy. He was also beginning to have sugar withdrawals from the huge amounts of icing he’d been consuming. Ganache, butter cream, Vienna… If he didn’t take some form of exercise, he wouldn’t be able to wrap an apron round his waist by the time the opening came. And Zumba was meant to be fun, wasn’t it? All those wiggling hips and butts — it had to be worth a laugh if nothing else. It'd be good for him to relax and get energised. If only those women would just stop staring.

Approaching the front of the class, Aimee donned a microphone, Madonna style. She flipped her perky curled ponytail over her shoulder and bounced onto the stage at the front of the gymnasium giving Cole a perfect view of the ‘I heart Zumba’ tattoo on her bicep. Jesus, her biceps were bigger than his. If that was what a couple of dance classes did for you he was definitely staying, even if he did look like a dick.

"Welcome Zumba family. I hope you're ready to boogie. We've got a couple of newbies tonight so we'll take it slow. Don't want to scare them away, do we?"

At that, the entire group turned to face him again and began to clap and whoop like they were at a rock concert. Which was even more embarrassing.

"Fabulous," said the girl standing beside him, the pink in her cheeks turning even pinker. "Like I need the whole town gawking. The idea of standing back here is to NOT attract attention."

Cole chuckled. "I wouldn't worry. Once they see me dancing, they'll forget about you."

Shit. That made him sound like he was in love with himself. Which he wasn’t. Hopefully, the town gossip regarding his shorts hadn’t reached her yet.

"First time as well?" she enquired, oblivious.

Phew.

"Unfortunately. I was told I need to get out of the house more. The classes were a gift, if you could call it that. I haven't danced since I was in high school and I looked like one legged version of Michael Jackson then, so I’m not expecting miracles."

“‘Thriller’ happens to be one of my favourite music videos. I like the zombies.”

“Hopefully, I won’t look quite that bad by the end of this.”

“I’m fairly certain I will. Exercise and I don’t have a very good relationship. I'm attempting to get fitter, and well, thinner." She fiddled with her t-shirt self-consciously before turning back to the front.

“You look pretty fit to me,” he replied, instantly wishing he hadn’t because it made him sound like a sleaze when he was trying to be friendly.

“Thanks.”

The girl’s cheek dimpled. She had long lashes. Quite pretty ones that framed two large eyes the vibrant colour of freshly cut grass. Her cheeks were plump and healthy looking. And she smiled at him like he was the only person in the room apart from her. He wished that were the case. Then he wouldn’t be doing a Zumba class.

The session began.

After a demonstration of the moves — for the benefit 'of our newbies' — Aimee switched the music on and the dancing commenced. The warm up was easy enough and the music loud and fun. Cole could see how people got addicted to Zumba. It was more like a dance party than an exercise class with everyone yelling and laughing. The first ten minutes went by in a spin. He was almost enjoying himself even if had crashed into the woman on the other side of him three times.

Then they began the cardio section. Suddenly the music was faster, the moves more intricate and Aimee’s feet and arms accelerated towards the speed of light. In front of him a pair of sixty-year-old Zumba twins were booty shaking and milk-shaking and popping. How the they hell did they do that? They were turning themselves inside out. Cole felt like he’d been beamed into a rap video but forgotten to bring his blingy necklaces.

Up the front Aimee was squealing — the enthusiastic grin never waning — to go left, right, back, forward, shake that butt and shimmy. Before this, he'd assumed he was reasonably fit but he could now see that was not that case. The sweat was rolling down his temple, some of it had gone in his eye and it stung like crazy. Worse, he was being out-classed by a bunch of elderly ladies in combat pants.

Between the sixth and seventh song Cole gratefully raced for the security of his water bottle. As he guzzled water and tried to catch his breath he saw the girl who'd spoken to him earlier from the corner of his eye. She was panting like an overheated puppy, but she wasn’t giving up. There was a look of rapt concentration on her face and the tip of her tongue was protruding from the corner of her lip as she attempted to remember and copy the steps. For some strange reason, Cole discovered it was turning him on. There was no way he could concentrate with her doing that, not when his mind had descended into the gutter and he was thinking of other things she might be able to do. It was practically pornographic, even though it wasn’t.

After twenty minutes or so, Aimee announced that the group should form a circle. The regulars, who obviously knew the upcoming track well, hollered for joy and got ready for action, each one facing the person in front. Cole took his place behind his fellow novice and watched the steps as Aimee gave a quick demonstration. Then the dance began.

It was useless. He was flapping and flopping, positive his dance didn’t look a thing like the one the instructor was doing. Her hips were moving double time and her arms swishing in rhythm to the beat. Her belly button had taken on a life of its own. Then, just as Cole thought he might have made a breakthrough, the instructor indicated that the class should change direction and the girl in front of him tripped over her shoelace, landing, SPLOT! Right at his feet. Engrossed as he was in not looking like a fool, he flipped right over the top of her, somersaulting and landing with a thud on her left calf. His old worn t-shirt ripped from neck to hem where the girl had tried to fend his falling body from hers. His chest and abs would have been completely exposed had they not become glued to her singlet with sweat.

At least that stopped the giggling side-glances from the twins on the other side of the circle.

"Ouch! Bugger!"

A look of pain came over the girl’s face. She grabbed her ankle.

Cole sat up, untangling himself from her legs. Shit. He’d hurt her. "Are you okay?"

"My foot." A tiny tear formed in the corner of her eye as she pulled her sock away and they both stared into the space beneath where the skin had already taken on a funny bluish tinge and was beginning to swell.

Jesus, he was such a dick. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I fell on you like that. I’m really sorry.”

The girl sniffed. “It’s… it’s okay. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Aimee had stopped the music. The class gathered around. "Are you all right, Olivia?"

"Can you walk?"

"Is it broken?"

"Yes. No and I don't think so," the girl replied.

"You won't be able to drive home," said one lady. "I did my ankle at karate and I couldn’t put pressure on it for a week. If you give me your keys, I'll drop you home. You're only round the corner from me."

"I'm sure it'll be okay once I get an ice pack on it. I'm supposed to be going to Alice's for dinner, anyway. Could you drop me there?" The girl attempted to get up but fell back to the floor. "
Arrgghh
! Or maybe not."

“A trip to emergency might be a better idea. It looks nasty.”

The girl was putting on a brave face but she looked as if she was going to cry. “I guess so.”

Cole, who had managed to scramble to his feet by this stage, scanned the rest of the group. They may have been fit as fiddles but he had an inkling none of them could lift her and she certainly wasn’t walking anywhere in a hurry.

"Here. Let me. I'll give you a ride. It’s the least I can do seeing as I caused the injury. You can send someone back for your car later," he said, hitching his arms under her and hoisting her up.

Okay, so that hadn’t been a clever idea. He could feel himself beginning to buckle already. Either he was more out of shape than he’d realised or the girl weighed a good sight more than he'd expected. Shifting her body so she leant against him, he instructed one of the ladies to fetch her things.

"Are you sure?" The girl had wrapped her arms around his neck and was clinging to his naked chest. "I don't want to put you out."

Cole smiled down at her. She was quite a delight.

"No problem. If it gets me out of this torture chamber, I'd carry you to Antarctica."

Well, maybe not Antarctica. She weighed a tonne. Which was odd because she don’t look heavy in the least. She had lovely curves.

Out at his car, Cole deposited the girl next to the door while he unlocked it. "Are you right to get in by yourself?"

"Yes, thank you. You know, it's very kind of you to give me a lift. Beth would've done it."

"I know, but I don't think Beth could lift you." Shit. "Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded."

"Its okay. It's not the first time I’ve been called fat."

Cole wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. "You're not fat. Curves are good. Sexy, if you must know. Men like girls with a bit of meat on their bones."

The girl stared at him. He could see a glimmer of something like mirth in her eyes.

"I’m digging myself deeper, aren't I?"

"It might be wise to stop now."

Cole swung the door open and watched as she tossed her things onto the floor of the car, then held on to the roof and door, doing a little jump to get herself into the four wheel drive. She jiggled with the seatbelt and sat looking at him, her wide eyes blinking slowly. A stray hair had escaped from her ponytail and was falling across her face. He watched as she pushed it back, wishing his hand had done it, wishing his fingers were caressing the creamy skin along the side of her neck, his lips following their course.

God, he needed to get a grip. It was pathetic to be a slave to such thoughts when he’d only just met her. But there was something about her, something insanely attractive, something that made him want to hold her and keep her safe. Not that that was getting them anywhere closer to the hospital. Dismissing the idea, he dashed around to the other side of the car and got in.

"Where to?"

"Hospital, please, driver," the girl joked. "I'm Olivia by the way. Olivia Merrifield."

"Cole Anderson at your service."

"Nice to meet you Cole."