“A key? To what?”#p#分页标题#e#
“My place.”
“I already have a key.”
Devlin exhaled in frustration.
“I know you already have a key,” Devlin said. “I’m trying to ask you to move in with me, and doing a piss-poor job of it. I don’t want to wait until we’re married, Elizabeth.”
Lou swallowed and set the lid back in place.
“Maybe we can save the nightie until I move in—leave it at your place until then?” Lou asked.
Devlin smiled, certain of his success. Lou licked her lips, trying to unglue them from her suddenly dry teeth.
• • • • •
Lou squinted as she studied Harley, her pastry chef, between the shiny shelving separating his domain from the rest of the kitchen at Luella’s. He didn’t seem to notice her. She could see the amber bottle of vanilla on the shelf a few feet away in his station. She took a step closer, watching Harley’s back, squinting at the glare of fluorescent lights off stainless steel. The whirr and snick of Harley’s mixer kneading bread dough broke the silence. Another step. Another step. She reached her hand toward the vanilla. Whirr, snick. Whirr, snick. Just a few more inches. Almost there. Just an inch more.
Harley spun when Lou’s shirt started to ring. He saw Lou’s precarious position and shook his head, denying her. With a sigh, Lou fished the phone out of her bra and put a smile on her face.
“Happy birthday, handsome! You’re up early.” She turned her back to Harley, looking out the front of the gleaming kitchen.
“So are you,” Devlin said. “I was planning to leave a message. I figured you were still sleeping.”
“I have vendors coming early today,” she lied.
“Fine. You’re still planning on getting out early tonight?”
“Unless it gets busy, I should be over by ten. Is that okay?”
“Not until ten? I wanted more time to celebrate with you. Can’t you leave that restaurant earlier?” She could practically hear his puppy-dog eyes over the phone. Lou tapped her finger on her lip and considered revealing the imminent visit she had planned, but any desire to appease him was outweighed by her excitement to witness his shock when she showed up in a few hours with the cake. Nothing beat cake for breakfast, especially early surprise birthday cake.
“Sure.”
“Great. Can you get my dry cleaning, too?”
Lou sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll have time.”
“Please? For my birthday?”
“Ugh. Sure.”
“You’re the best.”
“I love you, too.”
Lou stuffed the phone back into her shirt and returned to her mission. Now was her chance, as Harley layered fragile phyllo dough into a strudel, hunched in concentration. At over six feet tall, heavily tattooed, with teddy-bear brown eyes and a rumbly voice, he was more Jolly Green Giant than Hells Angel, but Harley protected the vanilla like a mama bear. Lou tiptoed toward the shelf, keeping one eye on him, the other on her target. She needed this cake to be spectacular, so she needed the best vanilla—Harley’s. He knew a guy who knew a guy in Mexico who made small batches. It was the most potent vanilla she’d ever tasted. She’d seen him mark the sides so he could tell if anyone used it. As long as his back stayed to her . . .
“No,” Harley said without turning.
“Hmph.” Lou dropped her hand. Her shoulders sagged. She needed that bottle. “Please, Harley. I need your good vanilla for the cake.”
“He doesn’t deserve it.” Harley turned to face her, shaking his head from side to side. “And I can’t believe you’re moving in with him.”#p#分页标题#e#
Lou twisted her apron in her hands. “I haven’t agreed yet. That’s why I need the cake to be perfect.”
“He won’t appreciate the subtlety. He wants you to move in, so it’s inevitable.”
“I don’t know. A ring is one thing. Moving in . . . it’s too real.” She reached toward the bottle again.
Harley watched her, waiting for her next move. His neat, blond beard covered his jaw like Kenny Rogers’s circa 1985, and an ever-present black bandanna covered any hair he had. His full name was Harley Rhodes. Whether from predestination or paperwork, the name fit him.
“Dammit, Harley, as my pastry chef, I respect you. As a friend, I value you. But right now you’re pissing me off. I pay for the stuff. I’ll use it when I want.” Lou grabbed the bottle and scurried back to her mixer. She could feel Harley smile at her retreating back.
She took a deep breath, blew it out, and began pulling ingredients off shelves, confident where each was, never pausing to think before grabbing. Lou set out a large bowl, then measured each cup of flour, leveling the top. A cloud puffed with each addition to the bowl.