Sugar: A Novel Part 7

"You probably miss that smell," Avery said to me. He pulled me into a side hug and held me long enough for me to notice a different kind of cologne. Expensive-smelling, and the kind that you couldn't get at the mall. "I could bring a little Calvin K back, you know."

I laughed, surprised to be genuinely enjoying this rush of memories. "You probably wanted to smell like anything other than a culinary student who spent insane amounts of time with spices and oils and raw meat. And that was just the first cla.s.s of the day."

Avery c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "Charlie was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."

I groaned and he looked surprised, maybe hurt.

"It's true. You had this great smile and eyes that were sometimes green, sometimes blue, depending on how tired you were and what you were wearing." He became animated. "And she was a beast in the kitchen. She outscored everyone on every test, not just pastry. She was so intense, I was terrified of her. So," he grinned at me, "I decided the only way to conquer my fear of her was to ask her out."

I watched his face.

"She said yes," he said by way of finis.h.i.+ng his story.

I turned my body to face him. "You never told me you were intimidated by me."

He shrugged slightly, eyes still on me. "I suppose there are a few things I've never mentioned."

Vic spoke from behind the camera. "Perfect." He motioned for the cameraman to stop filming and let a silence fall. His gaze rested on Margot, who was watching the little screen on a device the camera guy held out for her.

Finally she spoke. "She's the one."

Avery let out a cheer that could have originated in the prehistoric era, and Vic clapped his hands, once and loudly.

I felt my eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "I'm the one?" Then, my voice lowered, I leaned into Avery. "Am I still rolling with it?"

He shook his head and then turned to Vic, Margot, and the Mullet Man. "Can we have a moment?"

The three of them left the room, leaving Avery and me alone under the harsh glare of the lights. He moved his chair so that we faced each other.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Charlie, I didn't bring you out here just to be my pastry chef."

"You didn't." I said it as a declarative fact, wondering where in the world this conversation was going.

"I brought you out here because I knew you'd be perfect. You're beautiful, you're smart, you know how to express yourself, and you're a great chef." His mouth turned slightly upward into what looked like self-congratulation. "I totally called it."

"More info, please." I could feel my heart starting to pound, my 'Roll With It' threshold officially surpa.s.sed.

"Right." Avery leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his knees. He reached forward to grasp my hands in his. "Next week, we are going to start filming a show right here at Thrill. And you, my dear, are going to be my much-searched-for female costar."

The pistons in my brain began to fire away. "Wait. What? A TV show? Here?"

Avery stood, his excitement building. "I know! It's unbelievable! I met Vic at a Food in the Media networking event in L.A. about a year ago, and he's been agenting for me ever since. I had no idea he would make it happen so fast, but once he convinced Margot to take a look, things really steamrolled. We did have a few b.u.mps with the pilot and finding the right costar, but now that you're here-"

"Whoa. So you knew all along that you wanted me to be on a TV show and not just revamp your menu?" The wrinkles in my forehead were beginning to hurt.

"Yes. Sorry I couldn't tell you the whole story," he said, coming to sit by me again. "But I thought you might not come. I remembered how much you hated TV, and I thought I couldn't chance it without you setting up shop here first."

I narrowed my eyes. "You lied to me."

Avery bounced one leg up and down, up and down. "I know. And I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"You got me to move," I said, my voice rising in pitch and volume, "leave everything behind, including the restaurant capital of the country, and all of this under false pretences?"

"I'm sorry you didn't know the whole story right away," he said hurriedly. "But just think for a second. You do like it here. Right?"

I shoved my chair back with surprising force and stood up. "You lied to me," I said again and left the room, letting the door swing hard into the wall. One glance at Margot and Vic told me I was the only one who had been unprepared for our little meeting. I hurried down the hall, ignoring Avery's pleas as I walked back to my work, back to the reason I was there. I rounded the corner of the pastry kitchen and shook my head at Tova's inquisitive gaze. I'd wasted enough time in mindless banter for one s.h.i.+ft.

I'm sure it killed him, but Avery had the decency to wait eight full hours before his text barrage began. I puttered around my apartment feeling like a kept woman and trying to ignore the ping of each incoming text. When the pings became so frequent they sounded like a video game from the eighties, I sighed and flopped angrily on the huge couch Avery was paying for. There were twenty-eight unread messages.

8:02 a.m. How much do you hate me?

8:02 a.m. Too pa.s.sive-aggressive? Sorry. Try again. You have every right to hate me. Honestly. No pun intended!

8:05 a.m. I'm sorry.

8:06 a.m. I just want you to know I'm sorry. I really wanted you to like it here before I told you everything but now I see I was wrong. I'm sorry.

9:00 a.m. I'm trying to give you s.p.a.ce. But any time you want to talk, I'm here.

9:01 a.m. Not really good at giving s.p.a.ce. Listen, you should absolutely know that you are the only and first choice. Well, not the first, but the first girl totally BIT on camera, which I could have predicted but Margot wanted to give her a shot because she knows the girl's dad. She was horrible, this girl. None of the spice, flair, humor, beauty that you have.

10:24 a.m. I wasn't even piling on the b.s. with those last compliments. In fact, I'll raise you those compliments and tell you that you also look HOT on camera. I've been watching the footage from last night for the last two hours and while that shows how pathetic my life really is, I hope it also proves to you that I am IN THIS. I want and need for this to WORK. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE FOR THIS JOB.

10:30 a.m. Am I coming on too strong? Do you want me to just let you think?

10:35 a.m. Can you think a little faster?

10:39 a.m. OK. Think about this: Your own pastry kitchen FOR REAL as soon as we're done shooting the season. In fact, your own pastry kitchen TODAY, just as it has been, only with a few extra people and cameras and mics peeking at your work.

10:40 a.m. And think about this: The publicity. Good publicity is good publicity, Charlie. And good publicity turns into good reviews, higher volume, more opportunities.

10:42 a.m. Don't TELL me you aren't thinking what I'm thinking. Cookbooks with your name and face on the cover. Speaking gigs that pay for that house on the beach you've always wanted. YOUR OWN PRODUCT LINE.

10:50 a.m. All you have to do is say yes.

I stared at the phone, not bothering to scroll down through the rest of Avery's messages. I was fairly confident I had the gist of his argument.

The clock on the living room wall ticked toward noon. Typically, I would be arriving at work, taking inventory, discussing the menu with Avery or Chet, trying to keep Tova from destroying anything. I flung my legs off the side of the couch and stood, stretching kinks out of my neck and shoulders.

Pacing from one length of the room to the other, I tried to clear my head. Be reasonable, I told myself, walking a straight line along the wall of windows. Think this thing through. I thought of the beautiful kitchen at Thrill, the easy camaraderie of the staff, the willingness of Tova to listen to everything I said. I thought of the early accolades. I thought of my new digs and how quickly I'd become smitten with Seattle. I stopped pacing, taking in the view of the mountains and the Sound from my window. I thought about my career, what I'd achieved and what remained on my long list of what I wanted to do as a chef.

I thought of Manda, Jack, and the kids, our breakfast at Howie's.

I thought of Kai. I thought about how I liked thinking about Kai.

I said one naughty word and then jogged to my bedroom for a change of clothes and my bag. I could still make it in time for the first seating.

Avery's face lit up like an illegal fireworks display when I pushed into his office without knocking.

"To answer your question," I said, dumping my bag on his desk, "Yes. I do like it here."

"Exactly!" Avery said, triumphant. "So you'll do it?"

I stopped in front of him, nose to nose. "I won't put up with dishonesty, Avery. This cannot, will not, work if I can't trust you." My eyes were locked on his. "One more lie, and I'm gone."

He nodded quickly. "I totally understand. I promise. Total truth from now on." He held up four fingers in what, I a.s.sumed, was supposed to be the Boy Scout's honor and not a Trekkie salute. "You have my word."

"I'll give you one month."

He started to protest, but I put up my hand to stop him.

"One month working alongside all those people who know nothing about running a kitchen and everything about how to make people watch adolescent blather for hours on end. At the end of the trial period, I'll let you know my decision."

"Fine. Fine. I'm sure Vic and Margot will be okay with that. Don't worry," he said rea.s.suringly, though I thought he was the one who looked worried. He hugged me, too hard. "Thank you, Charlie. This has been such a dream of mine, to be on TV, to share my restaurant with the world, and you are making it happen. Thank you."

"You're welcome, but I wouldn't go that far. I still don't understand why I have to be involved, and I'm only doing this as a favor. I'm serious, Avery. Don't mess with me." I pulled away and turned to the door. Avery opened it for me, and we were both startled to see Margot and Vic waiting outside. I looked at Vic, then Margot. She was looking at me like a pet.i.te feline that was allowing curiosity to get the better of her.

"You haven't even seen the Eleanor Roosevelt doc.u.mentary, have you?" My mouth upturned in a wry smile.

She threw her head back slightly as she laughed. "I'm afraid not. But if it makes you feel any better, I have been pitching a show called Presidential Kids Gone Wild for the last three years." She winked at me. "No bites yet. But someday it will sell." She narrowed her gaze. "Well, Ms. Garrett, are you in?"

I nodded. "For now."

Avery looked victorious. "It's never too early in the day for a gla.s.s of champagne. Who's in?"

We all fell into step behind Avery, who strode ahead of us in search of four champagne flutes and our finest Perrier-Jout. I would take part in the theatrics, I decided, and I would clink my gla.s.s and toast to our success. As long as I still had control of my kitchen and could create my desserts on my own terms, this could work. Maybe, I allowed, it would work even better than my original plan when I'd hopped the flight to Seattle.

I watched Avery uncork a bottle from behind the bar, and I met his hopeful glance with a smile. On my way to join in the revelry, I quickened my pace and, in no time, found I had closed the distance between us.

10.

THE towering gla.s.s door to my apartment building seemed to grow heavier each night when I returned home from Thrill. Or perhaps it was my bone-weary self, dragging home at a ridiculous 2 a.m. or 3 a.m., that made it feel heavier and more c.u.mbersome.

Tonight, I had been able to cut out "early" at midnight, but it made little difference to my brain and feet while I struggled with the stubborn door to my apartment building. I wedged my shoulder into the opening, and, at last, it gave an inch. I slipped through and stepped into the brightly lit lobby. Omar was laughing behind his desk, clearly charmed by a man who stood with his back to me.

As Omar greeted me, the man turned around.

I felt a slow smile peek through and thoughts of a long soak in the tub were momentarily forgotten.

"Hey," Kai said.

"Hi," I said to Kai. A flicker of electricity pa.s.sed between us.

"I hope you don't mind that I tracked you down," Kai said, sweeping the lobby with his gaze. "Nice place, by the way." Kai was leaning against Omar's desk, an infraction I had previously a.s.sumed was punishable with death by concierge. But Omar only watched Kai with bright eyes, not even reaching for the fly swatter I knew he kept behind his desk. One side of his mouth pulled up slightly, and I had to drag my eyes north to his eyes.

"Thanks." I cleared my throat in an attempt to clear my head. "And how did you find me, exactly? We've already discovered you aren't, in fact, a strawberry farmer. Do you really own a diner, or are you going to tell me you're a private investigator posing as a cook?"

Omar laughed heartily. "Oh, Ms. Garrett. You have such a delightful wit." He looked at Kai and nodded approvingly. "One can see why you would go to so much trouble."

"What trouble?" I walked toward the two of them. I struggled under the weight of my bag and its burgeoning stacks of paperwork, recipe reworkings, Thrill's most recent numbers, and shooting schedules from Margot and Vic.

Kai gently lifted the bag off my shoulder and let it find the floor with a soft thud. "It was no trouble. Manda stopped by the diner today with a fairly evangelistic plea to surprise you tonight. She said you loved surprises, especially after a long day of work."

The look on my face must have clued Kai in. He raised an eyebrow. "You hate surprises."

I winced. "They make me panicky. I prefer to be in control of the world."

Omar tsked from his position at his desk.

Kai shook his head. "I had a feeling I should disobey Manda and text you a warning shot." Still shaking his head, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and produced an index card filled with Manda's scrawl. "You might want to talk with her about how free she was with your personal information."

I took it from him and read aloud: "'Loves artisa.n.a.l bread, Portuguese wines, overpriced cheese. Don't be worried if she's p.r.i.c.kly at first. You'll do great!!'" I rolled my eyes. "Sorry. She is desperate for me to have a life."

"Well, I can't promise I can deliver that big an order, but we could start with dinner." Kai nodded to an umbrella stand by the front door. Next to it sat a large wicker basket with a green-and-white-checked liner. "Midnight picnic?"

I shushed all of those inner ninnies that were busy trying to convince me I was too tired, every muscle was too sore, and that my hair was a mess. I knew, with every part of me, that what I really wanted in that moment was to share a meal with this man.

Omar must have seen the answer on my face. "Ms. Garrett, I will be happy to keep safe your bag while you are out."

I nodded my thanks, aware of the favor Omar was offering me. He was not one to tolerate being mistaken for a coat check.

"I'd love to," I said to Kai.

"Great, let's go," he said, offering his hand to me, collecting the picnic basket on the way out.

I took it, feeling its strong, warm pull as we moved into the soft night air of Seattle.

We walked in silence, making our way across the leafy patterns cast onto the pavement by the streetlights above. Kai continued to hold my hand, and I continued to let him. His arm brushed up against me as we walked, and he adjusted his long-legged pace to accommodate mine. We rounded a corner and arrived at a neighborhood garden bursting with rows of trumpeting tulips. I snuck a glance at Kai and saw him stifling a yawn.

"Oh, no," I said, embarra.s.sed I'd only just thought of it. "You must be exhausted. When did you get up this morning?"

He smiled, his eyes on a spot in front of us where the sidewalk ended. "I've been up a while." Using his foot to push it down, he held a flimsy wire fence out of my way and gestured for me to climb over and onto the wooded path. "But I decided I was done waiting for you to stop by the diner again. Sometimes a man has to make a move."

I felt a jolt of happiness pa.s.s through me, so glad to be the girl Kai considered worthy of such a move. "Um," I said, turning to more prosaic thoughts, "where are we going?" The path was utterly dark, and the only light was that cast by a nearly full moon. I walked with my hands in front of me to prevent an errant branch from poking me in the eye. Kai took me gently by the shoulders and pa.s.sed by so he could lead the way.

"I mean," I continued, trying not to sound rattled, "you're not posing as a beautiful man who makes b.u.t.termilk pancakes and m.u.f.fins that make me moan, when really you're a serial killer. Or a kidnapper. Or a-"

"Don't worry," Kai said, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Be patient. We're almost there."

"I have virtues." My breathing had become ragged during our upward climb. "But patience is not one of them."

I stopped short when we entered a clearing. It took a beat for me to realize I was standing with my mouth open.