Page 38 of Strike
“Oh, my God.”
“I’m thinking of making the twister out of spun sugar, but I’ll need a lot. Either that or I’ll have to make a base all the way to the top, then…” I shrugged. It was a work in progress, and I was a fan of trial and error.
“Fairy floss?” Macy suggested.
“Genius!” It was dense enough to cover the insides, and I could use little bamboo skewers to pin the flying debris up and down the twister.Best.
Dropping everything, I threw open the cupboard doors searching for the fairy floss maker I got for Christmas one year. It was a cheap little thing, but it could crank out the floss like nothing else and was better than trying to do it in a saucepan.
“Are you okay?” Macy asked, watching me closely.
“I’m fine.”
“The last time I saw the kitchen like this—”
“I’m fine,” I said, hauling the appliance out of the cupboard over the fridge.
“That story in the papers…” she went on, looking sheepish.
“I can’t think about that.” I dumped the fairy floss maker on the last empty spot on the table. “The shop is weeks away from opening, I’ve got this cake, I need to keep my staff informed and busy, and there’s just too much to do.”
“You always do this,” she complained.
“Do what?” Now, what ingredients did I need? Sugar, corn syrup, water, and a little pinch of salt.
“Throw yourself into your baking when you don’t want to face something.”
I placed my palms down on the table and closed my eyes. Saying a little prayer, I glanced at my housemate. “I did face it. I faced it the other night.”
“What do you mean?” She frowned and sank down into a chair.
“Mark came by the shop when I was cleaning out the damaged stock.”
Her mouth fell open. “And?”
“And I gave him a chance to explain, and he didn’t say anything.” I rolled my eyes, totally over the whole thing. “He just stood there. Completely silent. Saying nothing.”
Macy worried her bottom lip, and her fingers began pulling the hem of her blouse. When she got that look, I knew something was up. The last time I’d seen it was when she accidentally threw out the tiny container of gold foil I’d bought for a client’s wedding cake. It was actual gold, too. The edible kind. She felt awful for weeks.
“Macy…” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“I said I thought I knew him from someplace,” she blurted. “It came to me later, so we Googled it, and I mentioned it to Kevin…”
“You squealed to Merritt?” I exclaimed. “He’s a fucking journalist, Macy! Did you even stop to think I mightn’t want my name splashed all over the papers? Especially after finding out the man I’ve fallen for was convicted of assault against a woman.Fuck!” With a frustrated cry, I grabbed a knife and brought it down on one of my marzipan cows, severing it in half.
“You fell for him? Seriously?”
“Dodged a bullet,” I muttered.
“Callie… I didn’t realize…”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I replied. “I could’ve found out later in a worse way.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“Do you think it’s true?” she asked, looking agonized. “Do you think he really did those things?”
