Bachelor at Her Bidding (Bachelor Auction Book 2) (19 page)

Except… There was a larger white box on the counter in Susie’s kitchen.

Rachel narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Is that what I think it is? Ryan sent the box here?”

“No peeking. And I have strict instructions on presentation,” Susie said.

“How did he even know I was coming here tonight?”

Susie wrinkled her nose. “Um.”

Rachel blew out a breath. “You talked to him?”

“He called me and asked where we were meeting up because he wanted to send you cake. Rach, I know he hurt you, but he’s a good guy at heart. He’s not a selfish jerk like Nick was. He’s hurting just as much as you are, right now. He’s got huge dark circles under his eyes, ones that are even bigger and darker than the ones under yours.”

“Hmm,” Rachel said.

Susie waited until everyone was over and had a mug of coffee before she brought the box through. And then she opened the lid.

The cake was made of lots of layers, all in perfect straight lines. The top had glossy dark glazing that reflected things as if it was a mirror. One corner had an artful scribble of white chocolate across it, and the opposite corner had three long curls of white chocolate placed on top of each other to make it look like an abstract daisy, an effect intensified by the little bits of gold leaf in the center of the “flower”.

“That’s spectacular,” Hannah said. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Right at that moment, Rachel’s phone beeped with a message. Even before she looked at it, she knew who it would be from, and what it would be about. Ryan, with tasting notes on the cake.

“He says it’s an Opéra cake,” she said. “Three layers of
joconde
 – that’s a coffee-soaked almond sponge – with layers of coffee mousse and chocolate ganache, and the top is chocolate mirror frosting.”

And there was another of his chocolate labels.
However long it takes me, I’ll keep trying to make it up to you.

“Any man who apologized to me like this,” Lizzy said, “I’d definitely forgive.”

“Hmm,” Rachel said, and texted Ryan.
Thank you for the cake, from all of us.

“I have strict instructions,” Susie said. “He left me a knife, and apparently I need to dip it in hot water before I cut the cake, and clean the knife and dip it in hot water again before I make a second cut.”

“Well, he is a chef. He’d be fussy about the way it’s served,” Dayna pointed out. “And it would be the way to get a clean cut. It’d be a shame to spoil those straight lines by squidging the cake.”

Lexy was the first of them to take a mouthful. “Oh, my God. This is even better than it looks! Rachel, you have to forgive him.” She looked thoughtful. “On condition he makes us cakes on Thursdays if we’re not going out. Any cake he likes, as long as it’s cake.”

“You,” Rachel said, “are a little too easy to please.” Then she took a mouthful and almost –
almost
 – agreed with her friend.

But she wasn’t ready to give in yet. Winning her sister and her friends over to his side was just cheating.

*

Friday’s delivery was
at her desk again. Ryan’s tasting note via text told her that it was a
mille-feuille
 – caramelized puff pastry, with rose and raspberry crème piped between the layers. The top had thin sugar glaze with a pattern iced on it, plus a candied rose petal and a raspberry. The pastry was thin and crisp, and absolutely melted in her mouth.

And the message on the chocolate label was very simple.
I miss you.

Yeah.

She missed him, too.

*

On Saturday morning,
a courier arrived at Rachel’s apartment mid-morning with a familiar white bakery box. This one contained a dome with a beautiful deep purple frosting, topped with a white chocolate snowflake.

He could, she thought, have brought it himself rather than sending it by courier.

Or maybe he thought she wanted him to stay away.

Dutifully, she texted him.
Thank you for the cake.

It’s a chocolate sponge base with a white chocolate mousse containing huckleberry pate, and huckleberry
glaçage, was the reply.

What’s
glaçage? she texted.

Jargon, sorry. Parisian chefspeak for a thin creamy frosting.

It tasted amazing.

And the message on the chocolate label summed up how Rachel felt.
The world doesn’t feel right without you.

She’d talk it over with her family tomorrow, she decided.

*

Sunday’s box was
sitting on the counter in her mother’s kitchen when Rachel arrived. Not content with getting her sister and her friends on his side, now he clearly intended to recruit her family to his campaign, too.

“You missed him by ten minutes,” her mother said. “He says it’s something called a
Fraisier
.” She paused. “I did ask him to stay for lunch, but he said he was going to visit with Phyllis.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He looked so sad, Rach. Lonely.” Her mother gave her a pointed look as if to say,
and so do you
.

“Mom, I…” Rachel blew out a breath. “He keeps sending me cakes to say sorry.”

Susan Cassidy spread her hands. “He’s very good at cakes. Susie sent me pictures of the ones he sent earlier. And she brought me a piece of the one he sent on Thursday. It’s amazing.”

“Right now,” Rachel said, “I don’t know whether to feel angry with him for getting my family and friends on his side, or whether to accept his apology and agree to start again. He’s driving me crazy.”

“I took a peek. There’s a note with it.”

“Written in white chocolate on a label of dark chocolate. That’s what he’s done all week,” Rachel said.

All the same, she read the label.
I’m really, really sorry for hurting you.

“He’s gone to quite an effort to show you he means it,” Susan said. “And this is all his own work. He hasn’t just thrown money at the stores in the hope of buying an apology. This, to me, looks like a labor of love, because I don’t think any of these can be made in the blink of an eye.”

“If he loved me, Mom, he wouldn’t have accused me of thinking like his ex and wanting him to dump Phyllis in just any old retirement care place.”

“An accusation he made when he was scared that his last living relative was about to die,” Susan pointed out. “He wasn’t thinking straight. And, right now, neither are you.”

“Hmm,” Rachel said. “I’d better text him to say thanks.”

He replied with tasting notes.
Fraisier: an almond sponge base topped with vanilla chiffon cream and with sliced strawberries round the side.

But this wasn’t like any strawberry tart Rachel had ever seen. The strawberries weren’t stuck on the side; they were perfectly aligned with the filling. And on the top was a garnish of fruits of the forest, with tiny versions of yesterday’s snowflakes sprinkled across it.

Every single member of her family approved of it.

And every single one of them thought she should forgive him.

OK. Let’s talk,
she texted him when she got home.

Not yet
, came the enigmatic reply.

Why?

And his reply drove her insane:
Patience
.

He’d sent her cake after cake to wear her resistance down – and now he’d done that, he was telling her to be patient?

Sheesh.

*

Monday morning’s delivery,
according to Ryan’s text, was a white cake with passion fruit custard layers and whipped cream on top, with raspberries to decorate. The message was,
Please will you give me another chance?

She knew the cake wouldn’t last until the evening, so she shared it with her colleagues and the practice next door for their mid-morning break.

And they, too, lectured her about making it up with Ryan.

So what is this, get my family and my friends *and* my colleagues on your side so they nag me on your behalf?
she texted him later that evening.

We’re on the same side,
he texted back.

Enough was enough. She called him.

Except he didn’t pick up the phone. Exasperated, she left a message on his voicemail. “Ryan, you’re driving me crazy. All right. You win. We need to talk. Call me. Please.”

*

He didn’t. And
there was no box on her desk on Tuesday morning.

Had he changed his mind?

At lunchtime, two men came in carrying an enormous box.

“Shannon signed for it,” they informed her cheerfully, and left the box on her desk.

She lifted the lid. It was a massive sheet cake with perfect pale yellow fondant frosting. And this time there wasn’t a chocolate label; he’d written his message on the cake itself.

I fell in love with you maybe the first night I met you but it’s taken me this long to work it out and realize that I want to be with you, for now and for always. You make my world feel like a better place. I’m sorry I panicked and pushed you away. I never meant to hurt you, and I’d like to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll give me the chance.

I’m truly sorry.