Second Time Around (18 page)

He’d reached over and stroked her cheek. “How about a hot shower and a foot rub?”

She kicked off her high heels and wiggled her toes, which had lost all feeling right around the cake cutting. “This is already the happiest marriage of all time. And don’t worry. We’ll make up for lost time on the honeymoon.”

“You’re worth the wait.” He trailed his hand along her neck, bare shoulder, and arm until he laced his fingers with hers. “Always have been, always will be.”

They’d rested together in silence for a few minutes, their bodies relaxing into each other. Then Anna had mustered the energy to raise her head and prop herself up on her elbows.

“Promise me we’ll never be like that.” She’d squeezed his hand. “Promise me that our kids will not have to spend their weddings worrying about whether we’re going to start brawling over stupid crap that happened fifteen years ago.”

“I promise.” He squeezed back. “We’ll always be on the same team, no matter what.”

“But life can surprise you.” She thought about how all the
fractured, feuding families downstairs had started in rapturous honeymoons. “Marriage is tough.”

He pulled her back down and wrapped her in his arms. “We’re tougher.”

The oven timer dinged. Anna wiped her eyes, splashed cool water onto her cheeks, and called in the family she’d created for herself, the sisters who’d stuck by and supported her during the toughest times of all.

C
oca-Cola cake?” Jamie peered dubiously at Anna’s recipe notes. “With actual soda in it? No offense, but that sounds kind of—”

“Iffy,” Caitlin finished for her.

“It’s a Southern classic,” Brooke said. “Don’t you people ever go to church potlucks?”

Anna ignored the commentary and guided each of her friends to the individual prep stations she’d set up. “I’m using gourmet dark cocoa imported from France and making the marshmallows from scratch. That’s what the cream of tartar and the gelatin are for.”

“You’re making marshmallows from scratch?” Jamie asked.

“
You’re
making marshmallows from scratch,” Anna corrected her. “It’s easy once you get the knack of spreading it on the marble slab. We’ll do the cake first, and then, while that’s cooling, we’ll tackle the velvet Jell-O salad, the bread-and-butter pudding, and the Fruit Fool.” She laughed at their expressions. “Hey, it’s an authentic 1950s cocktail theme. The heyday of Wonder Bread and fruit cocktail. Our job is to take these ingredients and elevate them to an unprecedented level of playful refinement.”

Cait and Brooke exchanged a look.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” Jamie said. “But the refinement part’s all on you.”

“Fair enough,” Anna said. “I really appreciate you guys coming in to save my ass yet again. This is probably going to take all night, so I apologize in advance.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cait said. “We live for all-nighters.”

“I’m just so frustrated about not being able to use the Hobart mixer,” Anna said. “It would cut my work time in half. I know the beaters are supposed to be stored right here in this drawer, and I’ve torn this whole place apart looking for them. Now we’re all going to be inconvenienced because of someone else’s carelessness.” She paused, her mouth hanging open. “Unless …”

“Unless what?”

Anna’s mouth snapped shut. “I smell sabotage.”

Two minutes later, they had located the local phone book in the back office and Anna was dialing Trish Selway’s home number.

“Hi, Trish, it’s Anna McCauley. Listen, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if there’s any chance you might have misplaced the mixer attachments while you were working tonight. Accidentally, of course.”

“Who is this?” Trish mumbled.

“Anna. The other baker at Pranza.”

A stifled yawn on the other end of the connection. “What time is it?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I can’t seem to locate the flat paddle attachment for the Hobart mixer.”

There was a long pause, and when Trish finally replied, her voice dripped with schadenfreude. “Really? Hmm. That’s too bad.”

“I knew it!” Anna raised her fist in vindication.

“Knew what?” Trish asked.

“Don’t play innocent with me. You made off with it while I was at the grocery store, didn’t you? Have you no shame?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it. Save yourself a world of hurt and just tell me where you hid it.”

“Are you kidding me? You call me up, at home, in the middle of the night, to accuse me of—what are you accusing me of, again?”

“Concealing essential kitchen equipment with malice aforethought. You can’t stand the thought of having competition, so you’re sabotaging me!”

“Wow. Do you have any idea how insane you sound?”

“Oh right.” Anna pounded her fist on the metal countertop. “
I’m
the insane one.”

“You’re the one rousting a pregnant woman at midnight and having hysterics,” Trish pointed out. “Leave me alone, you psycho. The Bug and I need our sleep.”

Click
. Anna listened to the dial tone for a minute, then slowly turned around to face her friends.

“Good for you,” Jamie said. “You really gave her what for.”

“Yeah, she won’t screw with you again,” Cait said.

“She claims she has no idea what I’m talking about.” Anna chuffed. “She called me a psycho.”

“The nerve!”

Brooke, Cait, and Jamie turned to one another, exclaiming their assent with increasing force and frequency until Anna said, “Although.”

The other three shut up.

“Now that I’m thinking this over, I have to admit that
there may be a teeny, tiny, very remote possibility that I jumped the gun here.” Anna ran her index finger along the countertop. “I mean, you have to agree that these are not the actions of a rational woman. Calling up my competitor in the middle of the night and flat-out accusing her of theft and sabotage? Am I losing my grip on reality?”

“Of course not.” Brooke cleared her throat delicately. “I will say, however, that you do seem to be wound a little tightly today. Forgive me for asking, but is it possible that you’re PMS-ing?”

Anna burst out laughing.

“What?” Brooke asked, flushing pink.

“Nothing.” Anna gasped for breath. “Everything. Let’s get to work.”

And they did, working magic with marshmallows and maraschino cherries until after dawn, when Trish Selway swept through the door. She drew up short when she saw Anna. “What are you still doing here?”

“We’ve all been slaving away for the last twelve hours.” Anna tapped her whisk against the rim of her metal mixing bowl. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a breakfast meeting with Seth.” Trish thinned her lips. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that Seth is on his way. I have a lot to discuss with him, starting with the mysterious and oh-so-conveniently timed disappearance of the Hobart beater.”

“Oh my God, you’re still on that?” Trish marched over to the metal drawer, bent down to rummage through the utensils, and yanked out the flat paddle. “Is this what you’re bitching about? This beater right here?”

“How the hell … ?” Anna could feel the blood rushing out of her face. “I looked through that drawer twenty times!
That was not in there.” She appealed to Cait, Brooke, and Jamie. “That was not in there.”

“Sure. It just materialized out of thin air.” Trish tossed it on the counter with a clang as she strode toward the dining area. “Sucks for your friends they had to stay up all night for no reason. Still want to talk to Seth, you paranoid legacy lunatic?”

“I am mortified.” Anna couldn’t look away from at the paddle still rocking gently on the counter. “I’m also PMS-ing. And blind. And a self-destructive maniac.”

“But the good news is, you make excellent pancakes.” Jamie gave her a consolatory clap on the back. “Now who wants breakfast? No mixer required.”

H
elena waited until she was certain that MacCormick had taken her brothers outside to the grounds for a botany lesson before she made her way to the last room at the end of the hall and tested the doorknob. As before, it was locked, but this time, she had come prepared. She produced the housekeeper’s key ring and let herself in
.

Inside MacCormick’s chamber, she found nothing out of the ordinary. But she simply knew something was amiss with him. Over the last three weeks, he’d always seemed to be around her; nary an hour passed that she didn’t feel that amber gaze upon her
.

The clothes in the garderobe were of finer quality than befitted a mere tutor, but a cursory inventory of the desk drawers yielded no secret missives, only books—classical Roman works that she’d never read but had heard of
.
Specifically, she had heard from her parents, her tutors, her society peers, that she must never compromise her virtue by reading them
.

Naturally, nothing could now prevent her from poring over the pages
.

Her eyes widened as she came upon a section with graphic illustrations of gods cavorting and fornicating. Knees gone weak, she sank onto the edge of MacCormick’s bed. She devoured the pages with such fervor and concentration that she didn’t hear MacCormick enter the chamber until the door slammed behind him
.

His hands were clenched, his expression inscrutable as he spied the book’s depictions that had riveted her so completely. Helena slammed the cover closed as she leapt from the bed. “I was only—I didn’t mean—”

He saved her the trouble of stumbling over excuses. Without warning, his rough hand wrapped around the nape of her neck. He drew her closer and his lips descended upon hers
.

She raised her hand to push him away, but his lips were so firm, and he moved them so shamelessly over hers. With each second, her body grew warmer until passion overpowered her propriety. She clutched his linen shirtfront, silently demanding more
.

When at last he broke away, he rested his forehead against hers and murmured, his voice low and thick, “Ye’ve no need to read that, lass. I’ll gladly demonstrate anything within those pages.”

    “Cait?” There was a soft knock at the door. “You in there?”

Caitlin looked up from her keyboard with a mixture of alarm and annoyance. She’d woken up this morning with an idea for a scene and had been on a roll ever since.

“Uh, just a second.” She hunched closer to the computer screen, reread the sentence she’d just written, and closed the file before getting to her feet to unlock the door.

Anna stood in the hallway with a smudge of flour on her nose and a big cardboard box in her hands. Her expression was sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Cait assured her. “I’ve been up for hours.” Anna glanced at Cait’s robe, threadbare plaid boxers, and woolen kneesocks.

“I haven’t showered or eaten or left the room yet,” Cait elaborated. “I’ve been writing.”

“You must be really inspired. Now I feel doubly bad for bothering you.”

“Anna, listen to me. Stop feeling bad. About everything. We all adore you, and as it happens, I’m overdue for a break.” She nodded at the white bakery box. “Let me guess: You got my psychic breakfast order and have arrived to deliver warm crullers?”

“Even better.” Anna lifted the lid of the box to reveal rows of light, oblong sponge cakes. “Boudoir biscuits.”

“Oooh, sounds fancy.” Cait closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of vanilla and powdered sugar. “Sounds kind of sexy, actually. Is this some traditional French postcoital treat?”

Anna laughed. “Sounds like someone’s still hot and bothered after her little escapade in Archivist’s Alley. But no, basically, it’s just another name for ladyfingers. I’m trying out recipes for a reception in the history department, and I figured boudoir biscuits sounded classier than the other traditional name: cats’ tongues.”

“Much classier.”

“I promised Brooke I’d drop these off at her office before her staff meeting at noon, but I just got a call from a potential new client who wants to meet me over at Pranza, like, this second, and Jamie’s nowhere to be found.”

“Give me fifteen minutes to make myself presentable and I’ll dash right over there.” Cait flashed her most winning
smile. “Any chance you’ll send me off with homemade quiche and a freshly brewed latte?”

“No time,” Anna said. “How about lukewarm coffee and a shower with no hot water left?”

“You girls are too good to me.”

C
ait had just turned her car through the wrought-iron gates flanking the college campus entrance when her phone rang. A little shiver of excitement ran through her when she recognized Gavin’s number. “Hello?”

“I’m sitting here in my office, looking at all these stacks of books, thinking of you.” His voice sparked a resurgence of all the deep, dark desires she’d had in the library basement.

She struggled to keep her tone sweet instead of sultry. “Really.”

“Really.” He laughed. “I’ll never think of the library the same way again.”