The Cupcake Diaries Recipe For Love Part 2

Rachel recalled the boys in grade school who teased her for her freckles and red hair. A few years later, after she'd used a myriad of beauty products to change her appearance, her high school boyfriend dumped her for someone more popular because she didn't party enough. Then when she went to college and pa.s.sed herself off as "the party girl," her college sweetheart took her for granted. That's when she'd initiated the two-date limit to keep her relationships fresh and exciting and her heart intact. So far, it had worked.

"Rachel?"

She snapped out of her revelry, glanced toward the front door, where Andi and Kim stood waving goodbye to the party guests, and refocused on the masked magician in front of her. "Did you say something?"

"I asked for your phone number, but you look like you've seen a ghost."

Funny how memories can haunt you, she thought. She c.o.c.ked her head, relishing the thought of a temporary diversion. "You want my phone number?"

"Of course," he said, and his mouth twitched into a subtle grin. "Unless you don't want to give it to me."

"Depends," Rachel teased. "Will you call to ask me to be the one you saw in half at your next magic show, or will you use it to ask me out?"

"I'm asking you out now. I only need your phone number to confirm the details."

Rachel gave him a big smile, turned toward her friends, and called out, "Andi, Kim, where's a pen?"

TEN O'CLOCK MONDAY morning, Rachel sprawled across her quilted patchwork bed, her cell phone to her ear, and waited for the coordinator of the Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival to answer.

"The deadline for sign-ups was three months ago," the woman told her.

Rachel's spirits sank, but then there was another voice in the background speaking to the woman in charge.

"You may be in luck," the woman continued. "It seems one of our other food vendors has an emergency and needs to pull out. I can let you have his s.p.a.ce."

"Great. How much?"

"A ten-by-ten aisle s.p.a.ce rents for four hundred dollars."

Rachel thought of Creative Cupcakes' limited bank account and then Gaston's smug face. The event brought thousands of people into town each year, many from neighboring states, and with them came a boatload of money. She hadn't a.s.sociated cupcakes with crab, seafood, and wine, but, hey, why not? Cupcakes tasted good no matter where you ate them, didn't they?

A large percentage of the locals took on double-, sometimes triple-duty temporary jobs during the weekend festival to both help out and earn extra cash. Last year her postman drove one of the school buses transporting people back and forth from the various hotels in town to the fairgrounds. Andi had once worked as a hired hand serving crab in the main dining hall. And she herself had once stood near the entrance stamping hands and collecting the fairgoers' festival fee.

Still, $400 was a lot of money.

"Can I discuss this with my business partners and get back to you on this?" Rachel asked.

"Only if you can get back to me within the next ten minutes," the woman replied. "I know others who would be interested in taking the s.p.a.ce."

Rachel called Andi at home. No answer. Next, she called Kim at the cupcake shop and didn't get a hold of her either. She called Jake at his day job working at the office of the Astoria Sun, but he was out on a.s.signment. And not one of them answered when she called their cell phones.

What should she do? She hated making a decision without consulting her friends, but this was an opportunity too big to miss. Hoping she wouldn't regret her choice, she called back the woman in charge of the Astoria Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival.

"Yes," Rachel said, her voice resolute. "We'll take it."

If they didn't make any money at the festival, Rachel would take responsibility and suffer the loss from her own earnings from the cupcake shop. She might not be able to afford gas for her car, but Kim didn't have a vehicle and managed to get around. She could do the same.

She flipped open the latest issue of Beauty, Fashion, and Glamour magazine to an article t.i.tled, "Top Ten Tips: How to Make Men Fall Irresistibly in Love with You."

Her cell phone buzzed, and she wondered which of her business partners had finally received her message. Instead, it was a text from the magician, Mike Palmer.

Are you available for dinner tonight?

They had agreed on dinner at the new seafood restaurant on pier 39 in the renovated b.u.mble Bee Hanthorn Cannery but hadn't decided what night would suit both of their schedules.

Smiling, she rolled over on the bed and punched in her reply. Need to work. How bout this weekend? Oops. Scratch that. Our shop @ the Crab & Wine fest.

Mike responded a few seconds later. Next Wednesday?

She tried to imagine what he might look like without the mysterious black mask. Would he live up to her expectations? After checking her calendar, she sent back: It's a date.

The deep rumble of her mother's car sounded in the driveway, and Rachel pushed aside the flimsy lace curtain to look out her second-story garage apartment window. Tossing her cell phone on the dresser filled with perfume, nail polish, and makeup, she hurried down the steps.

"You're home early," Rachel said, as her mom got out of the beat-up minivan.

"I had to take your grandfather to his doctor's appointment."

"How did it go?"

"As well as it could."

Her mother's face appeared more haggard than usual. Could be from the two jobs she took on to pay her grandfather's medical bills.

"Rachel, help me get your grandfather into the house, please."

She obeyed and opened the pa.s.senger side of the car. Grandpa Lewy had his wispy white head tilted back, and he was snoring with his mouth wide open. Her mother gave him a gentle shake, and the old man woke with a start.

"I told you I like my eggs hard-boiled," he scolded.

Rachel and her mother pulled him out of the seat, and balancing his weight between them, they managed to lead him into the house.

"When were you hired? You aren't the regular nurse who comes in," Rachel's grandpa said, looking up into her face. "Do I know you?"

"Yes," Rachel answered, meeting her mother's gaze as they helped him into his rocker. "I'm your granddaughter."

"I'm related to you?" The old man laughed. "Your hair is as red as a twelve-pound radish!"

"So was yours back in the day," Rachel's mom chided.

A few minutes later, Grandpa Lewy was comfortably snoring once again.

"Would you like breakfast?" Rachel followed her mother down the hall. "Or should I get out the leftover chicken-and-rice ca.s.serole from last night?"

"I'm not hungry."

"How about I fix you some tea and maybe we could talk?" Rachel asked hopefully.

"I have to sleep now so I can work tonight." Her mother patted her hand and shot her a look of compa.s.sion. "Soon?"

Rachel had heard her mother say "soon" for the last decade. "I thought life would be easier with the state-certified nurse coming to watch over him every day."

"His Alzheimer's is getting worse," her mother confided. "The doctor told me there's a new treatment that could help, but it's deemed 'experimental,' and the insurance won't cover it. I might have to find extra work."

"Mom, no!" Rachel protested. "You're already working two jobs. I can't remember the last time we spent a whole day together. If you take on more hours, I'll never see you."

"What choice do I have?"

"Let me help," Rachel told her. "Creative Cupcakes still needs to grow, but I'll give you whatever I can each week."

"We need $10,000," her mom said wearily, "and if he doesn't start the treatment soon, we could lose him."

"Lose Grandpa?" Rachel swallowed hard. It seemed like they'd just lost her father not too long ago. Drowned in a boating accident. She couldn't lose Grandpa Lewy, too. Out of all her family, he was the one she'd always related to best.

She remembered her grandfather running around the beach, his bright red hair waving in the wind as he chased her through the tide pools when she was a little girl. In a family of redheads, tempers tended to flare, like hers did when they moved from Long Beach, Washington, to Astoria when she was in the first grade.

The kids in her new cla.s.s at school took one look at her ruddy freckles and flaming hair and called her "the Sunkist Monster" because she was all orange. She'd exploded into a rage and promised revenge, but her fuse was doused by the tears that followed. It was her grandfather who had pulled her close, cradled her in his arms, and told her not to listen to them.

"There will be at least one other girl eager to be your friend, if you look hard enough," he predicted.

He was right. Next door to their new house there were two girls, a blonde about her age and the dark-haired sister who was four years younger. Through the years they'd fought and played, but they always stuck together when it mattered most. Who knew they'd end up opening a cupcake shop together?

Harnessing her Irish temper into firm resolve, she pushed her voice past the ache in her throat. "Mom?"

Her mother had walked down the hall, but upon hearing her name, she paused and looked back.

"I'll help you get the money for Grandpa's treatment."

Her mother nodded, gave her a brief smile that didn't offer much hope, and disappeared into her bedroom.

Rachel didn't know how she'd get the money, but she and her two best friends didn't know how to open a cupcake shop either when the crazy idea first sprouted in their heads.

Miracles could happen. All she needed to do was believe.

Chapter Three.

Put "eat chocolate" at the top of your list of things to do today. That way, at least you'll get one thing done.

-Author unknown "I KNOW THREE days doesn't give us much time to prepare," Rachel said, casting a glance at Andi and Kim as they boxed up several dozen chocolate cupcakes. "But I believe setting up a booth at the Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival is a good investment. If it weren't, Gaston Pierre Hollande would never have signed up. Besides, who doesn't love a good party?"

"Wish I had your faith." Kim shook her head. "How are we going to bake enough cupcakes for both the shop and the festival before this weekend?"

"We can do it," Andi said, her face lit with excitement. "We'll have to bake like crazy and freeze some ahead of time, but Rachel's right. The profits could be amazing."

Kim gave them each a wary look. "Or not."

Leaving Andi's teenage babysitter, Heather, in charge of the shop, they walked down the street, crossed the railroad tracks, and carried the cardboard trays of cupcakes along the black paved path beneath the bridge.

"Coffee and cupcakes," Rachel called to the five people waiting for the Astoria Riverfront Trolley.

One man raised his hand. "I'll take one of each."

Rachel smiled as she served the order. "Here's a coupon for a dollar off your next Creative Cupcakes purchase. We're located straight up the block on Marine Drive."

A woman rushed toward Kim, her eyes wide. "Are those triple-chocolate caramel fudge?"

"Yes," Kim replied, "with double dark chocolate whipped b.u.t.tercream icing-"

"And a cherry on top," the woman finished and drew in a deep breath. "I knew I smelled chocolate. How dare you scent the air with those fat-inducing treats!" She glanced in each direction up and down the Columbia River walkway, then pulled two twenty-dollar bills out of her purse. "Better give me the whole box so others don't fall prey to your temptations."

As the woman hurried away, Kim held up her empty hands. "Now this was a great idea. We should sell cupcakes along the waterfront every morning."

Andi agreed. "Hopefully, the people like the cupcakes so much they'll use the coupons to come into the shop."

"If we're going to compete against that French baker, we're going to need to step up our promo," Rachel said, serving two more tourists cups of coffee to go along with their cupcakes. "Why don't we start serving fresh brewed coffee and specialty tea in the shop to help wash down the cupcakes?"

"Don't forget the kids," Andi said as they moved farther along the waterfront walk. "Mia and Taylor will want milk or juice."

"Milkshakes," Kim added. "Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry milkshakes. All we would need is a few more ingredients and a couple blenders."

"I've read that some cupcake shops have started serving ice cream, but we'd need more freezer s.p.a.ce." Andi hesitated. "We'll have to talk to Jake about that."

"Done," Rachel told her. "Look behind you."

Andi spun around and spotted the man behind her. "Jake! What are you doing here?"

Jake Hartman, wearing a white dress shirt and brown khakis matching the color of his hair, gave them all a welcoming grin.

"What if I told you I had a lead on a story about three obnoxious women wearing pink head scarves and pink bakery ap.r.o.ns who are terrorizing the waterfront with cupcakes?"

"What if I told you," Andi challenged, "the chief editor of the Astoria Sun said if we see a deranged madman reporter draw near our cupcakes to send him straight back to the office?"

Jake laughed, wrapped his arms around Andi's waist, and gave her a kiss. "I'm on lunch break."

Envy stabbed Rachel's heart, and she glanced at Kim. Andi's dark-haired younger sister returned the look as if to say, "Yeah, I know."

Kim hadn't dated since her steady boyfriend in college took off to Europe without her. She said she was concentrating on her career as an aspiring artist, but instead of painting canvases, most days she was painting the tops of cupcakes.