Vanity Fare (18 page)

Much Ado About Muffins

Are the chocolate chips paired with the flour here? Or maybe they’re with the dried cranberries? And what about the walnuts? They seem to have an eye toward overthrowing the pecans. There’s a superfluity of ingredients here, all changing partners as quickly as you change your mind.

But once you taste this muffin, you’ll never switch again.

18

“WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?” SIMON’S VOICE WAS PISSILY
British, very clipped and clearly angry. And I hadn’t even slept with him. Sheesh.

“I’m just saying that it’s probably a bad idea for us to see each other.”
Because I don’t need to be ordered around, and ordered for, and besides, I get the feeling you’re scared of your mother.

“Is this about Natalie?”

I tried not to huff in frustration too loudly. “No. It is not about Natalie. I barely know the woman.” Even though she made my Most Hated list.

“Then why? I deserve an explanation.”

I was guessing “because you’re an entitled brat” wasn’t a good response. It was all I had, however.

He continued without waiting for whatever whitewashed lie I was going to come up with. “Did Nick talk to you?” I could tell Simon was close to yelling. My stomach tightened. I took an extra few seconds to reply so I could ensure my voice was at its normal timbre, not a tremulous squeak.

“Not about you, if that’s what you’re asking. Why, should he have?”

I heard him exhale. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t poison your mind against me or anything.”

Was that why Simon was so interested in me? To piss Nick off? And here I thought it was because he thought I was easy. Heck, so did I.

“Look, Simon, I’ll see you at the presentation. Good-bye.”

I replaced the receiver as calmly as I could, Simon still sputtering on the other end. Part of me couldn’t believe I was turning down sex with a gorgeous guy; another part of me wanted to jump up and down because I was turning down sex with a gorgeous guy. And, almost, kind of, sort of, because I had let him know I was mad.

I hadn’t done that since . . . ever. That’s what always annoyed Hugh the most: Whenever we argued, I’d keep everything bottled up and not let him know what I was thinking. He’d beg me to say something, anything, but I couldn’t handle the pressure of saying I wasn’t happy with something.

If I had just spoken up . . . but I couldn’t blame it on me, any more than I could blame it on my wearing jeans. Hugh and I weren’t suited for each other, and maybe he was stronger than I was for recognizing it. Although the way he figured that out was just as wimpy as I was—cheating on your spouse was unforgivable in my book. Even if my book usually featured a half-naked man on the cover.

I’d made the right decision, I knew that. I kept going over it, like touching a sore tooth, wondering if there was something there I wasn’t understanding. Likely as not, I was always surprised by the endings in movies that everyone else had predicted.
The Sixth Sense
? Totally didn’t see that coming.
The Crying Game
? No way. So why should my own drama be any different?

I stopped my rumination long enough to make sure my mom and Aidan weren’t getting in people’s way. We were taking advantage of a special admission offer to the American Museum of Natural History, and my mom and Aidan were in pig heaven wandering around the dinosaurs exhibit.

I jumped when someone touched me on the arm. And wanted to run away when I saw who it was: Natalie.

“Oh, Natalie,” I exclaimed. “How nice to run into you here.” I was such an incredible liar.

“Hello, Molly. Lovely to see you as well.” Oh, she was a liar, too!

“So,” I said, shifting on my feet from side to side, “how is setting up your own company going? Have you gotten office space yet?”

She made a moue of annoyance. “It always takes longer than it should, of course, but I expect we will be up and running soon. Speaking of which,” she said, “are you available to take on any work?”

What? “Um, well, I don’t know.” If I’d been any more incoherent I would have been speaking Esperanto.

“And who’s this?” Natalie turned as Aidan returned, my mom right behind him.

“Oh, this is my son, Aidan, and my mother. This is Natalie, she used to work at John’s company.”

“With John,” she corrected as she bent down toward Aidan. “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said in that tone of voice people who’d never been parents used when talking to adults.

“Hi,” Aidan said back. “Mom, can we go to the gift store?”

I met my mother’s eyes as she gestured helplessly.

“Sorry, hon, we can’t . . .”

“Let me.” Natalie opened her purse and pulled out a red patent-leather wallet. She withdrew a twenty-dollar bill and held it out to Aidan.

“Wow, thanks!” he said, taking it from her.

“Um, Aidan, I’m not sure we should—”

“Of course he should, Molly.” Did she have to sound so condescending? “Consider it an advance, if you want.”

“Oh, you’re hiring Molly? Well, isn’t that nice.”

My mom was so desperate for me to get noticed by anyone she’d sell out her own grandchild. But what could I do? It wasn’t as though I could get Aidan to give it back, not without causing him a whole lot of grief, and for what? For somebody who didn’t like me but inexplicably wanted to hire me?

Whatever. I couldn’t think about it now, not with Natalie and my mother both staring at me, and Aidan already pulling my arm in the direction of the gift shop.

Molly placed a business card in my hand as I was led away. “Give me a call soon, Molly, okay? I have work that’d be perfect for you, and I could use a hand.” She leaned in and said in a confidential tone that set my spine on edge, “One of my clients is testing a new line of breakfast treats aimed at busy moms. Plus I’d really like to hear what you’ve done with Simon’s shop.” Thankfully, she didn’t mention whatever I might—or didn’t—do with Simon.

“Sure,” I replied, knowing that calling her was one thing I was definitely not going to do—ever—in a million years.

But at least Aidan got himself a stuffed lizard I didn’t have to pay for. So maybe the day wasn’t a complete loss.

Seeing Nick that Tuesday wasn’t nearly
as uncomfortable as I’d anticipated. Given that I’d anticipated his turning into Mr. Ice World again, that didn’t mean much. But still. His blue eyes lit up when he saw me, and he led me into the bakery, that omnipresent arm once again holding mine to guide me through the doorway.

The bakery still had the under-construction newspapers on the windows, but the floors were freshly varnished, there was a lovely cream-colored paint on the wall, and the tables and chairs had been set up.

“Would you like to see the kitchen?” Nick asked, gesturing toward a huge plate-glass window.

“I’d love to,” I answered, stepping forward.

Wow. No wonder Simon felt so special if he got to cook with this kind of equipment—those huge stainless steel fixtures that TV show chefs had positively gleamed. Pots and bowls were artistically placed on silver shelves lining the spotless white walls, and an overhead rack held measuring spoons, measuring cups, and other cooking devices I couldn’t identify.

It was gorgeous.
I
wanted to go in and cook there, and I never had that impulse.

I looked around and gave an approving nod. I had to stop myself from giving that same nod of approval when I looked at Nick. I cleared my throat instead.

“This is all so lovely. It really looks like a thing, you know?” Did I just utter something so moronic? Oh, yeah, I did. I cleared my throat. “So John mentioned doing a presentation to the Cooking Channel. Were you trying to keep it from me, or did you just not know?”

He twisted his lips in what looked like disgust. “It’s Simon’s idea. He wants to get as much advance PR as he can, so he’s flying a bunch in and giving them the full dog and pony show. I told him we weren’t ready yet, but John said we were.”

“Why would John say that?”

He darted a quick glance at me. “I assumed you’d told him we were ready.”

“Me? No, why would I?” I gave a rueful laugh. “You’ve met me, Nick, do you think I’d actually be that bold?”

“If there were something you wanted badly enough, yes, I think you would.”

His reply brought a sharp recall of the last time I had wanted something badly enough.
Not in a million years . . .

He walked over to one of the low tables, pulling a chair out and gesturing for me to sit. He met my eyes. “Anyway, there’s no avoiding it.”

I felt like a chastened schoolgirl as I walked over to the chair and sat down. I pulled out my notebook, and felt myself draw a deep breath. “Well, then, let’s get started.” I opened my binder and pulled out the pages where I’d been making notes.

He bent his head over the pages, and I caught his scent: leathery, musky, masculine.

“I’ve added several since last week,” I said, hearing the strain in my voice. “I’m not sure they’ll all work. Lady Windermere’s Flan, for example, since I wasn’t sure the store would offer flan.”

“Mansfield Pork,” he read with a chuckle.

“Obviously that won’t work, I was just brainstorming,” I said nervously.

He looked at me, a warm smile lighting his features. “You are way too clever for this. I wouldn’t have expected to have so much fun working on this project. Normally it’s number crunching and dealing with marketing executives. They’re not exactly a barrel of laughs.”

“Thanks. I’m having fun, too.”

He kept looking at me for a few seconds longer. “Anyway,” he said, returning his gaze to the notebook, “send me the blurbs, I can input them into a PowerPoint presentation. Simon really goes for the bells and whistles.” He had a weary tone in his voice.

“How many of these types of presentations have you done?”

“More than I can count. Even before I went to college, I . . . well, anyway, a lot.”

I wondered what he had been about to say. And why he was so mysterious about his life.

“So you can tell me what to expect.”

He shrugged. “Nothing exciting, really. You’ll get up, explain the general theme, throw in some high-concept works like
amortize
and
scalable,
and they’ll ask questions, which Simon and I will answer.”

“Put that way, it sounds much less frightening than what I had imagined.”

“It’s not like they’re even close to being as smart as you, Molly. Certainly not as sharp. And definitely not as intriguing.” He clamped his mouth shut, as if to stop himself from saying anything else. I wanted to pry his mouth open so he could say even more. I grinned.

“Thanks, Nick. I doubt the network execs are as intriguing as you, either.”

He gave a half-smile. “I shouldn’t have said that, it was”—He paused for a moment. Complimentary? Charming? Seductive?—”inappropriate.”

“I won’t argue the point.” But if I have to stare at you any longer, I’m going to turn into a blithering idiot. I forced myself to look down at my papers again.
Definitely
not nearly as attractive.

“How’s Aidan?”

I smiled. “He’s great. He’s bugging me about when you’ll be coming to take him back to that place again. I told him you had a lot of work to do, and he had to be patient. Patience is not really part of a six-year-old’s repertoire.”

“I could come out this weekend, actually.”

I paused a moment before replying. “Aidan’s with his dad. And my mom’s spending the weekend with her friend in New Jersey. I’ll have the whole apartment to myself.” Oh, shoot, that sounded like a proposition.

Judging by the color his ears turned, he thought it was, too. “Well, the next weekend, then,” he said stiffly.

“Great. Aidan will be thrilled.” Me, I’ll be hoping I won’t accidentally stuff my foot into my mouth again.

“So what are you going to
do this weekend?” Keisha asked. I was lying on my bed, the ubiquitous cup of coffee on my bedside table. Aidan was asleep, Mom was reading, and I hadn’t had to pawn my engagement ring yet. It was a good day.

“I hadn’t really thought of it until Nick offered to come over. I guess I’ll do some cleaning, maybe take a pile of old toys to the Salvation Army.”

“Ooh, girl, you are going to be one crazy party animal.”

“Well, what would you suggest, Ms. Smarty-pants?”

“Let’s see. What wouldn’t you do in a million years? Maybe go ice-skating in Prospect Park?”

“Yeah, and freeze my ass off. No thanks.”

“How about take yourself to the movies?”

“Can’t afford it. Next?”

“Drink yourself into a stupor and do some drunk-dialing?”

“It’d be a good idea if I actually wanted to talk to anyone.”

“Bonk Simon silly?”

“That’s over. At least, according to me.”

“Darn. I wanted you to spill all the juicy details.”

“Speaking of which, how’s the Great White Hope?”

“The first time you made that joke, it was mildly funny. Now? Not so much. But he’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine together.”

“Okay, so you’re making me a little nauseated with all the fine stuff.” I paused.

“I love him, Molly.”

I swallowed. “That is so great to hear. I am really happy for you.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

“And now,” I said, glancing at the clock, “I’ve gotta go before I turn into a pumpkin. Or an incredibly grumpy mom.”

“Bye, hon.”

“Bye.”

As I hung up I realized I still had a goofy smile pinned to my face. Keisha’s happiness did that to me.

Lightning—and love—really did strike in the oddest places. Who would’ve thought Keisha would find the love of her life in Cottonwood, California? Where, according to Keisha, the most exciting things happened one hundred years ago when it was an Old West frontier town?

I was still smiling when I went to sleep that night.

You Pecan’t Go Home Again

Setting off for far-off places, places as exotic and far-flung as your dreams. But your reality can—or pecan—be as good, too. Taste this delicious pecan burrata, filled with dough and nuts and warmth.

Bet if they served this at home you wouldn’t have left in the first place.