Page 7 of Cupcake of the Month
“When are you going to stop working for me and start your own catering company?”
When he stopped receiving mail with glossy and artistic logos on the envelopes containing letters that thanked him for the interview for the chef position but they hired someone else. When Zach turned eighteen in five years and no longer needed a guardian. When his mom and stepdad were apprehended and put in prison to serve out their sentences and the guilt stopped. “Being parted from you would devastate me. All my soufflés would fall. My crème brulèe would burn. My fruit tarts would rot from the inside out.”
“You should be out there exploring chef opportunities. Not working the meat counter at Essie’s all day. Not serving food with me at night.” Barb pointed her butter knife at him. “You have to make opportunities for yourself, Josh.”
Lately, the closest he had come to opportunity was the Friday afternoon cooking demonstrations when he worked his primary job at the big-box store. Leaving that hell wasn’t an option. He needed the steady paycheck Essie’s gave him. “You know why I can’t.”
“You don’t carry the sins of your parents. Sorry – your mom and stepdad. Just like your brother doesn’t carry them either.” Barb’s glare bored holes into his body until she turned her attention to the bowl of shrimp. “You have so much talent in the kitchen. And business has been getting better since you helped me with the financial planning. You’re killing me over here.”
He was killing himself, too.
Even with him being the cause of her eminent death, Barb had no qualms using his display skills to add the finishing touches to the assembled trays. Staff continued circulating as mounds of food left the kitchen. Lana poked her head in once and caught his eye. Sticking in the toothpick to see if he was done.
He should be disgusted, but if it got his hands on her Porsche, he’d take it.
Finally the night was over. Barb stuffed some leftovers in a bag and zipped it into his worn, grey backpack. “I would offer you a ride home, but I’m thinking you have that taken care of.”
“Thanks.”
“Give Zach a hug for me.”
Josh nodded and grabbed his bag. He inhaled once he was outside again, but he couldn’t detect that elusive citrus scent.
Lana’s gleaming silver Porsche sat under the street lights. The window slid down as he approached the driver’s side door.“Need a lift, stranger?” she asked.
He didn’t say anything, only held out his hand.
She gave a low chuckle and tossed him the keys. He opened the door for her and helped her out of the ninety thousand-dollar car, then escorted her to the other side.
“What a gentleman,” she murmured as he leaned forward to help her into the passenger seat. She placed a hand on his jaw.
He feathered a light kiss on her lips.
“You’re such a tease. I hope you’re not using me for a ride home.”
He didn’t make any promises.
The car handled like he’d expected, purring down the highway and gliding through the streets for the twenty-minute drive to the brownstone. He checked the review mirror for cars tailing them, but didn’t notice anything. When he pulled alongside the curb, he turned off the ignition and handed the keys back to her.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said.
She stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “One of these nights I’m going to figure out the secret ingredient, Josh, to get you to bake for me.”
He pressed a kiss to the back of one of her elegant hands. Hands with manicured nails painted a deep pink. Hands that didn’t know the burden of manual labor. Hands that had time to be idle. He exited her car. “Maybe next time.”
He helped her back into the driver’s side, then waved from in front of the building until she drove off and turned a corner.
Once she was gone and he was certain no one had followed them, he crossed the street and jogged another couple of blocks to his dilapidated apartment. Call it ego, call it paranoia, but he didn’t want anyone to know where he lived with his brother.
The building’s front lawn was mostly dirt and the structure was sorely in need of a paint job, but it worked. It was cheap.And its residents were friendly. So what if the owners put little time and attention into its upkeep? They hadn’t asked many background questions, and the building had a roof. That was all he needed. Since his mom and stepdad jumped bail and the courts froze their bank accounts, he did all he could to keep his half-brother with him and not in a foster home.
It had been a long eight years.
He evaded a cat who watched him with a steady green gaze. “You’re not getting my shrimp.”
The cat meowed in response. Josh wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a call to action for other felines in the neighborhood, and he hightailed it into the building.
Josh unlocked his mailbox, but it was empty. He didn’t expect much anyway, since the only address he ever gave out was to his post office box. No way was Zach going to see the letters his parents sent, the ones that proclaimed innocence, that begged for funds after cheating so many other people out of their money, that attempted to use guilt to manipulate. Instead, Josh had shown every last one of Marian and Clint’s communications to the federal investigators.
