When Only Cupcakes Will Do (11 page)

‘Yes, I think your uncle will love what you've created, Gabriella.'

Rosa spent the whole hour waddling around, smiling, relaxed, pausing to chat to the other mothers while Lucie got stuck in with the creative side of things. The atmosphere in the hall was surprisingly calm while the children were engrossed in their task. Even Jess had time to leave the washing-up bowl and exchange gossip with her mummy friends from the local primary school where Jack and Gabriella had taken the reception class by storm.

It was a truly wonderful afternoon and one which Lucie wished could continue. Why hadn't there been this sort of party when she and Jess were young? Jess was eleven years older than she was, so by the time she could remember her birthday parties, Jess had moved on to more sophisticated pursuits to celebrate her passing years – usually including boys.

The party wrapped up with a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday' and a huge cheer when Gabriella managed to blow out her candles in one breath. As Rosa stood at the door to thank everyone for coming and for their gifts, one of the mothers paused and sought out Lucie.

‘Hi, Lucie, I'm Kate – Maddy's mum. That was the most enjoyable children's party I've attended in a long time. I love the fact that the children get to make as much mess as they like without being told off! I remember the baking sessions I did with my grandma, perched on a little stool with my sister, waiting until I could lick the bowl! Are we even allowed to do that now? I've shied away from doing the same activities with my girls because of the mess. I'd forgotten how much fun it is, though. But it's not only passing on essential skills for their future, is it? The thing I remember most is the bond I formed with Gran during those sessions at the kitchen counter.'

‘It was exactly the same for me and Jess,' smiled Lucie. ‘Our gran was an avid baker too. She passed her enthusiasm on to Mum and then us. I hope we're doing the same for Lewis and Jack.'

‘Do you have a business card? I heard you telling Rosa that you do adult parties as well. I'm thinking it could be a great idea for my sister Jemima's hen party next month. She lives in Kensington and has organised a glamorous do for her friends up there, but she's promised to come home for a more low-key celebration that can include Mum and my aunt and us oldies who have to be up at the crack of dawn with our offspring. It's a perfect solution.'

‘I don't have any cards yet, Kate, but here's my mobile number. What would you say to cocktail-inspired cupcakes and cake pops? We've already experimented with a few recipes. I think you'll like them.'

‘Oh my God, yes please, that sounds amazing!'

Lucie had two more enquiries from the mums about children's birthday parties before they closed the doors of the hall.

‘Thanks for everything,' said Rosa, slumping into a chair and resting her aching feet on a low stool as Lucie began to clear away. ‘Gabriella has had a wonderful party, haven't you, darling? And the best thing is that I don't have to worry about the tidying up!'

Gosh, Cupcake Armageddon has definitely landed
, thought Lucie as she scanned the level of culinary chaos ten five-year-olds had left behind. Jess had excused herself five minutes earlier, weighed down with bags and boxes to be returned to her kitchen, with Lewis and Jack trotting happily at her heels clutching a cupcake in each hand as well as a large slice of birthday cake.

She plastered what she hoped was an angelic look on her face, pushed up her sleeves and began the task of brushing the floor while Rosa supervised Gabriella and a friend she had invited for a sleepover from her seat on the wooden throne – probably a discarded relic from the church next door – softened with a
tapestry cushion. Gabriella and her friend chose to amuse themselves by chasing each other around the room, shrieking and giggling as the concentrated injection of sugar raced through their veins. With the amount of cake they had both consumed, Lucie was also concerned about the possibility of synchronised vomiting.

‘Gabriella, Adriana, calm down! Come on, help me take some of these presents out to the car and let Lucie finish the tidying up. She must be exhausted!'

Lucie smiled gratefully at Rosa as she began to mop the floor with warm soapy water. One of her promises to herself was to leave the place where her parties were held as clean, if not cleaner, than when she arrived.

The door swung back and she looked up to exchange a comment with Rosa, but it wasn't Rosa who loitered on the village-hall threshold. Lucie enjoyed a few pleasurable heartbeats of desire before her stomach shot down to her toes when her eyes registered exactly who it was.

Standing before her, looking like he'd just walked off an Armani fashion shoot, was Ed Cartolli.

Chapter Twelve

Lucie felt her world tilt on its axis. A cauldron of emotions swept through her body sending every one of her senses into a spin so that she felt disorientated, unable to decide between flight or fight. Her head told her that this time the prudent course would be to sprint from the room as fast as her shock-weakened knees would allow – remember what happened last time, it said.

But inconveniently her brain simultaneously refused to send that signal to her feet and she seemed to be rooted to the spot, her face suffused with warmth. Her heart pounded against her ribcage and her stomach felt queasy, whether from the copious consumption of over-iced cupcakes offered up by the party guests eager to hear her expert opinion or the man who stood before her she wasn't sure. She suspected it was the latter.

‘Hello, Lucie.'

Ed offered her a wary smile. She hadn't been expecting that. She opened her mouth to respond but no words came out, just a sort of embarrassing croak.

‘Are you going to start throwing things at me? Do I need to call on my heavily pregnant sister for protection?'

She knew she was staring at him like a gobsmacked goldfish, and that she was being rude by not answering him, but all her mental agility had been extinguished when he'd appeared in the doorway. However, a few seconds later her faculties returned and she felt a whip of anger slash through her veins. This was the guy who had got her fired!

‘What are you doing here? Is losing me my job at Francesca's not enough for you? Have you come to trash my new business too?' She glared at him, her heart doing an impression of an energetic Irish jig. There was another problem as well. The effect his proximity was having on her. She could have cut the atmosphere with her cake slice.

‘Well, this
is
my niece's birthday party.'

‘Your niece's? Oh, I thought…'

Ed opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted.

‘Yay!' squealed Gabriella dashing into the hall. ‘Uncle Mundi! Uncle Mundi!'

‘Gabriella! Happy birthday,
bella mia
!'

‘Uncle Mundi, look – I made this for you!'

Lucie watched Gabriella launch herself into the open arms of her favourite uncle, waving his specially decorated cupcake in the air.

Oh my God, no!

Ed Cartolli was being presented with another specimen of her sub-par baking to sample and find wanting – although she knew for sure that this time there was no errant spice in the mixture otherwise the children would have sounded the alarm well before now. Haute cuisine they weren't! But still, there was no way these buns would match up to his exacting standards of expected excellence.

Then the scathing review Ed had written about the dessert debacle at Francesca's popped into her head and the whole nightmare came screaming back. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth in an effort to hang on to her temper. Despite the fact that there was no audience this time to record her reaction, they had the chaperone of a five-year-old child and she couldn't risk any further bad publicity if she wanted her new business to work out.

But would her business enterprise be over before it had even begun? Any review he published about the Travelling Cupcake Company would surely be their first, and maybe even their last.

Would they ever have another booking?

She took a couple of steps backwards towards the kitchen. She inhaled a deep, calming breath and managed to grab hold of her flying thoughts enough to realise how ridiculous she was being.

Would the celebrated Edmundo Cartolli really review the catering at his niece's fifth birthday party?

Obviously, when they'd met again at Francesca's his handsome features had been camouflaged behind the veil of her irrationality and indignation. Looking at him now, in the cold light of day, there was no mistaking his striking Italian origins – caramel skin, espresso-coloured curls, boldly drawn eyebrows and lashes the colour of liquorice that she would have given anything to possess. He'd clearly decided that, as it was the weekend, he wouldn't bother shaving and the smattering of dark stubble only served to add to his attractiveness. And, despite increasing the distance between them as swiftly as possible, his citrusy cologne lingered in the air between them.

But there was the small matter of the way her treacherous body was reacting to his presence. When they had trained together at Le Cordon Bleu she had watched from the sidelines in amusement and confusion as the women on the course drooled in his presence. She'd rolled her eyes and given him a wide berth. So why were sparks of electricity zapping around her body causing her fingertips to tingle?

With Gabriella's arms entwined round his neck as he balanced her on his hip, her sparkly scarlet party shoes dangling around his thighs, she couldn't fail to note how his black jeans hugged his taut contours like a second skin. The rolled-up sleeves of his pale-pink shirt exposed forearms bedecked with a scattering of dark hairs that she was ashamed to admit sent a ripple of desire through her veins. A navy-blue cashmere sweater was draped effortlessly around his broad shoulders in typical Italian style. God, the guy oozed so much charisma it radiated through the whole room.

She was shaken from her romance-infused reverie when she realised he was speaking to her again.

‘Would you rather I had waited outside? As you can see, Gabriella was expecting me and she
is
my favourite niece.' He plastered a noisy kiss on each of the little girl's cheeks and she giggled, stroking his beard with her fingers. Lucie experienced the most ridiculous sensation of wishing she could swap places with the birthday girl – and receive the same joy-filled greeting.

‘How on earth could you have known I was here?' she blurted out, before Ed slid his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans, extracted his iPhone and waved it in the air. ‘Ah! Of course. Twitter!'

‘Here it is.
‘#LividLucie is back! Check out these little iced gems from #TheTravellingCupcakeCo!'
Great name, by the way.'

‘Look, I'd appreciate it if you didn't…'

‘Gabriella? Oh, Ed, you've managed to grace us with your presence at last, have you? About time!' Rosa waddled into the hall and embraced her younger brother, which presented Lucie with the welcome opportunity to escape into the kitchen.

‘Rosa, why don't you take Gabriella home and I'll follow you? I've got her birthday presents in my car outside.'

‘Sure. See you later.'

‘Bye, Uncle Mundi!' trilled Gabriella.

Lucie remained behind the kitchen door, motionless, straining her ears in the hope of hearing footsteps and the front door slam, anxious for Ed to leave the hall as soon as possible so she could finish washing the floor and hand the keys back to the vicar's wife.

‘Okay,' said Ed as he pushed the door into the tiny kitchen open.

Lucie hadn't been expecting his arrival in her temporary sanctuary. She took a couple of hurried steps backwards, tripped over a mop and bucket and landed, bottom first, in a crate of utensils and stainless-steel pans.

‘Oh God!'

Ed stood and watched in amusement, his hands in his back pockets, laughter dancing across his face, as she struggled back to her feet, brushing her curls from her face and leaving a smudge of chocolate ganache on her cheek.

‘Well, I've heard of girls falling at people's feet but I thought that only happened in Hollywood movies starring George Clooney or Brad Pitt, not for food critics who are scouring their lexicon of appropriate responses and coming up with a big fat blank,' Ed smirked causing the familiar duo of dimples to appear in his cheeks.

She noticed he didn't offer his palm to help her up. ‘I…'

‘No, let me speak first. You might not believe me, but I had no idea you were the pastry chef at Francesca's. Every review I write is the truth. It may not be what the chef or the proprietor wants to hear, but, when I decided to become a critic, honesty was the one attribute that was non-negotiable. What is the point of publishing a review unless you can stand behind your opinions one hundred per cent, with the knowledge and experience in your armoury to back up everything you write and have a well-researched answer if you are challenged? As you know, Lucie, like you I have the qualifications to allow me to appreciate every flavour, every texture, every aroma, every technique. You might have a problem with that, but I'm not going to apologise for having integrity. Can I ask you this? How would you have reacted if you went to a restaurant and were served dessert sprinkled with smoked chilli powder?'

Lucie stared at him for a fraction of a second until she realised he was right and he hadn't deserved the outpouring of emotion he'd received. When it came to food, as with everything else in life, honesty was always the best policy.

‘I'm sorry, Ed. I shouldn't have reacted like I did. It was not only unforgivable to lose my cool like that, but totally unprofessional. You of all people know how much this career means to me. I pride myself on my meticulous attention to detail and that night my standards slipped. Everything you wrote in your review was justified. But can I just say, in my defence, that at the time my brain was scrambled. I'd just proposed to my boyfriend – in Tiffany's of all places – and he turned me down. I was in a bad place and took my craziness out on you.'