Heartbreak Cake (8 page)

“What’s for lunch?” I sit perched on a bar stool in Crystal Cove’s kitchen and watch Noah walk in and out of the fridge while he mutters ingredients to himself.

“How do you feel about braised short ribs?” Noah says loudly from inside the subzero, and I hear the rustling of plastic bags.

“I feel a lot of love toward braised meats. Keep talking.”

“Homemade gnocchi, rosemary, garlic, roasted red pepper flakes, short ribs all tossed in Taleggio cream sauce and parmesan,” he says, coming out of the fridge holding a huge brick of cheese.

“Reggiano or Grana Padano?”

“How dare you?” he says with a playfully dirty look. “Reggiano is the only true Parmesan.”

“I had no idea I touched a cheese nerve.”

“It’s a northern Italian food feud. My grandmother would have hit you with a switch for a lesser comment.”

I am mesmerized by Noah, who glides on the balls of his feet while he works in the kitchen, making each move look like a graceful tango. He gently adds fresh gnocchi to a bubbling stockpot and then moves on to mince a bundle of rosemary, his slender fingers gently hold a paring knife as he slices through the herb.

“Tell me how hard it was to leave your seaside restaurant in Portofino in order to make waffles and eggs in California’s heartland.”

“It was actually really easy. My mom needed help, so there wasn’t any hesitation.” He takes a garlic clove and peels the leaves, gently pulling each clove off and chopping it swiftly into tiny pieces that he tosses into the bowl of fresh rosemary.

“The Peach Keeper is a family heirloom. My grandparents moved to California from Italy when they were eighteen. They started out with a peach orchard and grew a dozen different varieties for several years until they were able to become a fully-functional farm. “My Nonna,” Noah says and puffs his chest out proudly. “She turned her kitchen into a small restaurant for the extra income while they grew the farm. It didn’t take long for word to spread about her fancy omelets that she called frittatas and the woman who served the strongest coffee in town. She turned farmers onto drinking cappuccinos, and the town was never the same.” Noah smiles. “She has a way about her.”

“Sounds like it.”

“When my mom got sick, they were going to close down the restaurant. But I decided it was time to come home and help my family. I handed the kitchen over to a restaurant group to manage and took the first plane out. The restaurant runs itself, and I go back every few months. I’ve made it work.”

He sets a bowl in front of me, and picks up the block of cheese and grates generously. It’s at that moment I notice a tiny peach tattoo on Noah’s forearm and have a strong desire to reach out and trace it with the tip of my finger. But instead, I just look away feeling shy, as if I took a peek into his journal without asking.

“So the grandson of Italian peach farmers makes good.” I shove a forkful of gnocchi into my mouth, giving up any ruse of being ladylike. “She’d be proud. This is unbelievable Noah.”

“Thank you. It’s a family favorite.” He pulls up a stool and takes a seat right next to me, draping a cloth napkin on his lap elegantly. “
Buon Appetito
.”

We tuck into our meals, and in between bites and laughing about stories of his family and mine, the word
comfort
pops to mind as he causally picks food off my plate to check if he added enough cheese and I drink from his glass of water. It’s not often I feel this type of ease with someone. It’s a nice distraction from the rest of my life.

“Why’d you leave?” Noah asks as I finish a story about how a shattered dessert blowtorch was the mastermind behind the creation of the hotel’s famous deconstructed pistachio crème brulee. “You, Simon and Pedro. You guys sound like you were
The Three Musketeers
.”

“Try
The Three Stooges
,” I snort, but he was right. We were a close group. And as much I hate to admit it, Josh was the Yoko Ono to our breakup.

“It had just run its course,” I say automatically. “It gave me the experience to open Cake Pan, which is why I’m here to talk to you.”

“I thought it was for my homemade pasta and muscles,” he jokes, and I think of the tattoo on his forearm and my cheeks flush hotly.

“The bakery is going to be part of a segment on
Good Morning Los Angeles
about brunch ideas for engagement parties, and I am hoping I can convince you to come and help with some early morning baking. We could get a mention of you working here and plug the Peach Keeper this way, too.”

“Sounds like you’re doing me a favor.”

“You have to be at the bakery at 3 a.m. and you may just do grunt work, but it will be good for you and the hotel. Our pastry intern will melt under the pressure if Pedro yells at her because she’s not fast enough. We need a set of skilled hands that don’t need to be told what to do to get to the sweet spot, you know?”

“I’m your man,” he winks. “You’re cute.”

“Will I get to be on the air?”

“Maybe. Let’s see if the producer likes your face.”

“Have they met Pedro yet? I literally swooned when he I met him.” Noah places the palm of his hand on his heart. “Dreamy.”

It’s true. Pedro isn’t just good-looking, he’s, Enrique Iglesias attractive. He’s got the pouty lips, green eyes and smooth skin the color of coffee and cream. He can be a bit of distraction when you first meet him.

“I’ve considered placing him in the display window so he can frost a cake and bring in the female clientele.”

“I would never normally recommend using sex for marketing, but for Pedro I’d give you the seal of approval. The ladies must go crazy for him.”

“They do, but Pedro is very focused on his family. He runs a tight ship and doesn’t pay any attention to excess or compliments”

I think of how Pedro is crisp with me these days, cool and distant, and won’t talk to me about the visit Valentina paid us last week.

“Are you going to need permission from Josh to help us out, or can I tell Pedro to stop screaming at the pastry intern?”

“Release the poor intern. I’ll be there.” Noah gets up and clears our plates. “But I have one request.”

“I knew you were going to be temperamental.”

Noah pulls out his cell phone and shows me the photo on his screen saver. “These are your cornmeal lemon muffins. Teach me how to make them.”

“Aren’t you clever? Both a compliment and a way to poach a recipe, but I don’t give recipes to other chefs. It’s a professional hazard, you understand.”

I instinctually run my hands through my hair and wonder if I am still wearing lipstick or if it’s smeared all over my chin. I toss my hair out of my eyes and give him my wide-eyed flirty stare that I save for special occasions. I hope I’m looking sexy rather than giving him crazy crack eyes.

“Noah,” Josh’s voice calls from the hallway, giving me enough time to quickly lean back in my chair so he can’t see me right away when he comes through the double doors.

I want to get a good look at him before he puts his guard up. On first glance, he doesn’t look sad, depressed or even have a hint of dark circles under his eyes. In fact, he looks relaxed, as if he just left the day spa. I swear I smell coconut oil on the man.

“What is this feast,” Josh walks in and stops mid-strut when he sees me seated in the chair next to Noah.

“I made Indira lunch,” Noah says, putting his hand on my shoulder, which is a nice touch. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

When Josh visibly cringes, I nearly lean over and give Noah a big wet one.

“Gnocchi with short ribs,” I drawl. “It was pure heaven.”

Noah and I smile at one another like we are in on a secret together, and Josh takes a few steps back, blinking at us.

“Come by my office when you’re done with lunch. I wanted to go over the menu for the party this weekend.” Josh looks cool, but I know better. We’ve surprised him, and he hates being caught off guard. “See you guys.”

Josh meets my eyes before he walks away and I frown at him.

Don’t look at me you bastard,
I want to scream.

“See ya, Josh,” I chirp, hoping he can hear the sarcasm underneath the gait.

“He was being weird,” Noah says, surprised. “You think he was mad that you were down here? He’s always down here with Valentina and Eloise. Sometimes he’s down here with Beth having lunch. Didn’t think he’d mind.”

“Beth from catering?” I repeat. The big-boobed blonde who has always had her eye on Josh. Married or not.

“Yeah, they’re working on a few events for the city together and trying to get in on some wedding at the end of the month. Some couple they both refer to as LA royalty.” Noah throws up air quotes. “I think they got overlooked, and Josh isn’t taking it well.”

“Stephanie Hemsley and Travis Wright,” I say flatly. “That’s the one.” Noah sees the look on my face. “I take it you know the couple.”

“Guess who did get picked to make their wedding cake.” I raise my hand.

“That’s a huge deal!” Noah says excitedly.

“I know. It’s been a whirlwind.” I beam with pride and shuffle my feet like a shy schoolgirl not wanting to brag.

“Do you know what Josh and Beth are scheming?”

“Not exactly.” Noah looks behind him and then leans closer to me. “All I know is they’ve been trying to get a meeting with the bride. They really want to be at this wedding.”

“Thank you, Noah. As someone who takes delicious braised meats seriously, I pledge allegiance to anyone who can make me swoon with short ribs and cream sauce. I promise I won’t say a word about what you just told me.”

“Indira, you licked your bowl of gnocchi clean and then had the nerve to ask for seconds. I would expect nothing less from you.”

***

Nothing like a ton of cheese, meat, and pasta to make you wish you had skipped the form-fitting jeans for something with an elastic waistband. I stand in front of the hotel waiting for my car to be pulled up by the valet, and I’m more than ready to crawl into bed and fall into a pasta coma. What’s worse is I’m holding a baker’s dozen of Nutella sandwich cookies that are going to be my bedroom companions tonight.

But my heart feels heavy, and I can’t wait to get in the car so I can drop the smile and let myself cry.

It’s exhausting pretending to be okay.

Seeing Josh did not make me feel empowered like I thought it would. I should’ve known that in a game of emotional chicken, Josh will win. From the moment he was able to flash me his impersonal glossy smile, I knew I wasn’t strong enough to play the “I won’t care if you don’t” game.

I do care. More than I should.

“Indira.” I hear a squeal behind me, and Eloise bounces toward me looking like she’s not going to stop until she topples me over. But she halts just steps away and looks at me shyly. The little girl I met four years ago is starting to look like a little lady with an apricot-colored beret that looks beautiful against her honey-hued hair.

She is a perfect combination of Valentina and Josh. Lucky enough to get her mother’s soft Mediterranean olive features accompanied by her dad’s ocean blue eyes with hints of green. She is astoundingly beautiful.

“My mom gave me a book about a cupcake lady, and it made me think of you,” she says with smile. “But we don’t make cupcakes. She’s teaching me how to make butterfly cookies.”

“Those are palmiers, and they’re delicious.” I kneel down so I can meet her at eye level.

Eloise turns, and I follow her gaze to find Josh walking slowly toward us, giving us time to talk to one another.

“I think of you every time I pass our ice cream store, remember? Tuesday night was waffle cone night and we always told daddy that we shared, but we never did,” Eloise says lowering her voice so he won’t hear our secret.

“You think you can still take me there one day?” She moves closer to me. “I don’t understand why I don’t get to see you anymore.”

These are questions her father should have answered. I look to Josh who can’t hear what she’s saying, but he can tell by my expression that I am not enjoying her questions.

“You should talk to your daddy, honey,” I say, feeling relief when I see my car pull up. I fight the urge to get up and bolt, trying to remember this six-year-old girl doesn’t understand the complications of adult relationships. But who the hell really does?

“Just because my mommy came back didn’t mean you had to leave.” Eloise says tearfully. “You were my friend and then you were gone. You didn’t say goodbye.”

“Well, because it’s not good bye. We can still be friends. We just have to find a new way. Is that okay with you?”

Eloise reaches out and wraps her arms around my neck, nestling her head against my shoulder like she used todo.

Josh moves in front of me, and I see what I came here to see. He is still conflicted. Stay or go? Wife or mistress? New life, old life?