Recipe for Love (6 page)

��Helen Keller

I
NSTEAD OF GOING
to bed that night, Rachel searched for her mother’s sewing machine.

“I think it’s in the back of the hall closet,” her mom said, tapping her ceramic tea
mug with her finger. “There might be some leftover fabric in there, too. Do you remember
the floral print I used to make your Easter dress a few years ago?”

“Yes,” Rachel exclaimed, her excitement erasing the sluggishness from her tired head.
“The one with the pink-and-purple grape leaf design? I loved that dress. I wish it
hadn’t faded.”

“You got quite a bit of wear out of that one.” A brief flicker of a smile lit her
mother’s face but disappeared with a quick glance at the clock. “Wish I could stay
up and help you, but you know—”

“You have work tomorrow,” Rachel finished. “I know.”

“We’ll catch up with each other soon,” her mother promised as she put her empty tea
mug on the kitchen counter.

Rachel nodded. “Soon.”

After her mother left, Rachel dug out the sewing machine, spent twenty minutes relearning
how to thread the needle, then set to work cutting and stitching the floral fabric.
Her mother had been right. Four yards of the grape leaf print remained, almost enough
for another Easter dress. Definitely enough for two hundred three-by-three inch double
thickness triangles. She also found several large spools of brand new ribbon in assorted
colors. Each wineglass holder took only a couple of minutes to make. The main goal
was to secure one side of the triangle to the other, not a huge project. She’d sewn
harder patterns before. She’d just never had to stitch together
so
many.

Early the next morning she arrived at the cupcake shop in a predawn daze. She’d had
no sleep, but, hey, she did have over two hundred triangle holsters.

“You sew?” Andi cupped her hand over her mouth but couldn’t cover her surprise.

“I’m not Martha Stewart or Suzy Homemaker, but I can stitch together two pieces of
material—yes.”

“Rachel the seamstress.” Kim laughed. “Who would have thought?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Rachel warned. “It will ruin my image.”

“We wouldn’t want anyone to know that Rachel, the popular party girl, is actually
a ‘plain Jane’ in disguise,” Kim teased.

“There’s nothing plain about Rachel,” Andi said as she stocked the display case with
a fresh batch of lemon−blueberry cupcakes. “Right, Rach?”

Rachel hesitated, and a cold, prickling sensation crept up her spine. “I hope not.”

Kim pointed to the pile of stitched fabric triangles. “What do we do with these?”

“We need to sew ribbons on each end to turn them into necklaces the customers can
wear,” Rachel instructed. She held up the first one she’d finished as an example and
put it around her neck. “See? I can carry a wineglass with no hands. The perfect souvenir
after customers eat their cupcake. They can use the glass to taste wine at all the
winery booths.”

“Only problem is we don’t have wineglasses,” Andi said, flicking the switch to start
brewing a pot of coffee.

“Kim and I are headed to the glassblower’s studio now,” Rachel told her. “You concentrate
on making the rest of the cupcakes.”

“Wait till you taste this new batch.” Andi smiled and waved a hand toward the kitchen.
“I created a new recipe.”

“You didn’t stick crab in the batter, did you?” Rachel asked, scrunching her nose.

Andi laughed. “No, of course not. This is my new creation for the Romance Writers
group called a Recipe for Love. It contains bittersweet chocolate, chocolate chips,
and whipped cream, and it’s topped with a Hershey Kiss.”

“Sounds good,” Rachel replied. “I bet they buy a ton of them.”

Andi wriggled her eyebrows. “That’s the plan.”

“The Lonely Hearts Cupcake Club might need the ‘Recipe for Love,’ too,” Kim added.

Rachel reached beneath the counter, pulled out the Cupcake Diary, and wrote:
Recipe for Love
. “I might need that recipe myself,” Rachel mused.

“We could all use a little more love,” Andi assured her.

R
ACHEL AND
K
IM
borrowed Andi’s car, followed Mike’s directions, and drove to the glass shop. They
would have taken the Cupcake Mobile except neither one of them knew how to drive a
vehicle with a clutch, a problem they would have to deal with later.

When Rachel stepped through the door of Astoria Glass Art, her gaze was drawn to the
fabulous array of color adorning the walls, the tabletops, the shelves. There were
glass sculptures, fluted bowels, vases, trays, candleholders, ornaments, beads, jewelry,
and . . . wineglasses.

Kim walked toward a table of blue glass flowers with intricate petals and leaves.
“This is amazing. Do you see how the glass is pulled and twisted?”

“Looks like a stretched piece of blueberry taffy,” Rachel said, keeping her distance
from the all-too-fragile pieces.

“I wonder if I could create something like this for the tops of our cupcakes using
crystallized sugar and water.”

“If you did, the cupcakes would be too pretty to eat,” Rachel told her. “But you might
win first place in an art show.”

“I’m going to do it,” Kim vowed, her green eyes lit with resolve as she turned around.

A woman in her midthirties with a sandy blond ponytail walked toward them. “Can I
help you?”

Rachel nodded. “Are you the owner?”

“Yes. Danielle Quinn.”

Rachel thought the idea of asking the glassblower for help seemed logical when she’d
talked with Mike. Now she hesitated, and felt self-doubt creeping in. “I . . . uh
. . . we . . . are the co-owners of Creative Cupcakes on Marine Drive, and we have
a booth this weekend at the Crab, Seafood, and Wine Festival.”

Danielle rolled her eyes. “Twenty thousand people are expected to attend this year.
The traffic through town has been horrible. It wouldn’t be so bad if they came in
my shop and bought something, but most of them are only interested in wine, not the
glass.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Rachel told her. “We would like to sell our cupcakes in
wineglasses to encourage more sales.”

“You’re here to buy my wineglasses?” Danielle asked, her expression eager. “How many
do you need?”

“We can’t afford to buy them,” Rachel said, shaking her head.

The glassblower put her hands on her hips and scowled. “You don’t expect me to donate
them for free, do you?”

“What if we sell them for you at the festival?” Rachel suggested.

“No, this isn’t going to work. I don’t even know you.” Picking up a pair of pliers
and a long metal blowpipe, she walked toward the electric furnace at the back of the
shop.

“But you know Mike Palmer and his brother, Tristan, from the Grape Mountain Winery,”
Rachel said, following her. “They highly recommended your work.”

“They did?” Danielle paused, then took two steps back. “When did you speak to them?
What did they say?”

Rachel smiled with the satisfaction of every performer who knows exactly when they’ve
hooked an audience. “I spoke to Mike last night, and he said his brother would work
with us and sell his wine along with our cupcakes. He said Tristan thinks your glassware
is the best.”

“He did?” The glassblower drew in her breath. “And you said Tristan will be there?”

“Yes, he has his own booth but will keep popping over to supply ours. Mike said you
might want to come to the festival and sell your glasses with our cupcakes and Tristan’s
wine.”

Kim nodded in agreement. “We’ll all be working
together
.”

Rachel shot Kim a mischievous look for emphasizing the last word, but it worked. Danielle
shut down the furnace, called in some helpers to man the glass shop, and prepared
to join them at the festival.

“If Tristan will be there, then so will I,” she declared. “When do we start?”

A
NDI,
R
ACHEL, AND
Kim drew straws and Andi lost, so while Andi stayed behind to operate Creative Cupcakes,
Rachel and Kim went to the festival with Danielle. Unlike the day before, the second
day of the festival spun sales around in all three directions. The cupcakes, the wine,
and the wineglasses were an instant hit.

“This champagne pear cupcake is the best I’ve ever tasted and goes great with this
dessert wine,” one woman commented, pointing to the Grape Mountain Winery bottle.

“What a clever idea to serve cupcakes in a wineglass with a spoon,” another woman
blurted. “I want one.”

A third woman in their group was jostled by the swarming crowd behind her, and the
wineglass she’d been using slipped through her fingers.

The sound of the glass shattering on the ground drew the attention of other festivalgoers,
who all stopped what they were doing and cheered.

The woman flushed, and she stepped forward and pointed to a chocolate Whoopie Pie
cupcake in one of Danielle’s wineglasses. “I want one because it comes with that ribbon
holster to wear around my neck.”

“Here, try this wine with that cupcake,” Tristan said, pouring the woman a sample.

Before the group she was with left, they had spent over $100.

“This is wonderful!” Rachel exclaimed. “I can’t wait to tell Mike.”

“He said he’ll stop in between bus runs,” Tristan told her.

Rachel smiled up at him. Tristan was taller than his brother, less stocky, but had
the same hazel eyes. Although she preferred his brother’s looks, Tristan Palmer was
a handsome man. It was apparent Danielle thought so, too.

As Tristan and Danielle flirted with each other, Rachel nudged Kim. “They remind me
of Jake and Andi.”

A twinge of loneliness pricked Rachel’s emotions, but not enough to unload her feelings
like those ridiculous women with lonely hearts who were meeting at Creative Cupcakes
later that night.

Kim smirked. “I bet Tristan proposes before the festival is over.”

“I saw Danielle enter her name into the drawing for a Hawaii vacation,” Rachel confided.
“Maybe if she wins they’ll use it for their honeymoon.”

Kim smirked. “I put Andi’s name in the raffle. She really wants a warm island vacation.”

“Andi already put her name in yesterday,” Rachel said with a grin. “She also put in
a ticket with my name, your name, and Jake’s.”

T
HE REMAINDER OF
Saturday was swallowed up by a sea of people waiting to be served. Rachel, Kim, and
Danielle couldn’t hand out the cupcake glasses fast enough. The line grew longer each
hour and picked up where it left off the next day. By the time Sunday evening came,
Rachel was ready for the festival to be over.

She wasn’t the only one. Gaston stomped toward their booth as they were closing, his
dark expression contrasting with his white pastry chef’s uniform.

“There were so many people here,” he said, lifting his cleft chin, “you were bound
to sell some. People come to the festival to taste samples. Now that they’ve tasted
yours, I doubt they’ll ever buy from you again.”

Rachel wished she still had the wooden block she’d used during lunch to crack open
crab legs so she could throw it at him. She knew better than to let her Irish temper
flare in public, but her exhaustion had worn down her defenses. “Creative Cupcakes
will continue to flourish, no matter what you say or do, so why don’t you go back
to your puff pastry?”

She was about to say more, but Kim put a hand on her arm.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Kim murmured. “His ego is as inflated as the hat on his
head, but he’s harmless. There’s nothing he can do to us.”

Rachel wanted to believe her, but she didn’t trust that Gaston’s words were only empty
threats. He meant to sabotage their reputation, and as Creative Cupcakes promo manager,
she’d be on her guard.

Chapter Six

We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect
person perfectly.

—Sam Keen

R
ACHEL’S CELL PHONE
chirped, and she took it out of her pocket to glance at the caller ID above the incoming
number.

It was Mike.

She opened his message and read,
What would you do if you had to choose between a million dollars and a million kisses?

Rachel smiled to herself. She’d been texting back and forth with Mike all morning,
each time answering crazy, off-the-wall questions. She punched in her reply,
LOL. I’d take the money and run. You never said who the kisses would be from.

A few minutes later he texted back.
U R right. Could have been the Prince of Pastry or the tattoo artist next door 2 your
shop.

Rachel stifled a groan, her fingers pressing the keyboard on her phone as fast as
they could.
Ugh to both. But the tattoo artist is a good friend.

She hit “send” and waited for his next message. A moment later her cell phone buzzed,
and she touched the “open” button on the message screen.

What if it were me?

Rachel stared at the words and pursed her lips. She typed back
I don’t know how you kiss
and hit “send.”

She congratulated herself on a smart answer as she walked down the street to the cupcake
shop. When she arrived, she got another return text from Mike.

We could remedy that.

R
ACHEL WAS SINGING
softly, thinking of her upcoming date with Mike that afternoon as she sat in front
of her laptop at one of Creative Cupcakes’ back tables. She looked up Mike’s profile
online, read all the newspaper clippings of his miniature models used in past films,
and finally turned her attention back to her job.

First she posted photos and quick recaps on their success at the Crab, Seafood, and
Wine Festival on their website, Facebook, Twitter, and a half dozen other promotional
sites. Then she searched for the name Creative Cupcakes on the Internet and found
at least ten different blogs and review sites claiming their cupcakes left customers
dissatisfied.