Chapter 8
It was eleven a.m. on a Wednesday, and I stood outside the Buttercream Beanery, staring at the door as though I had nothing else in the world I should be doing. A wreath resembling a ring of leaf-shaped cookies in fall colors was poised to draw inside the hungry and those in need of caffeine and a sugar fix. Garlands of maple leaves in different hues of reds, oranges, and yellows trimmed the windows, which framed the customers inside while they either sat at tables or waited for their coffees and pastries.
This was the second time I’d found myself here. The first time, I’d dreaded going inside and now. . .well, what was that slight buzz that shook every muscle? I’d never experienced anything like it, which was disconcerting in and of itself.
I sucked in a deep breath and steeled myself before I strode up the steps and into the shop, the mouth-watering scent of sugar and rich coffee overwhelming my senses as I closed the door behind me. A couple of people stood in line to order, and I made my way to the end while I glanced around the busy café. Liz wasn’t in the front today, but it was earlier than the last time I’d come in.
I’d never before told my assistant I’d fetch my own coffee, so why had I done it today? Gavin appeared as though he’d faint at the idea of me taking on such a menial job. When I grabbed my coat, he gawked at me while I asked if he wanted anything. All he did was shake his head.
Yes, I’d lost my freaking mind. Since Gigi’s birthday, I’d been thinking about Liz more often than I’d like. At the most inopportune moments, I’d wonder what she’d say about something in particular or what she was doing. I was losing my mind. What was it about her that had turned me into a man obsessed? I won’t even mention the dream I had last night!
The woman in front of me shifted down to the order pick-up, and I stepped forward.
“Good morning, sir. What can I get you?”
“I’d like a twelve-ounce cup of peaberry, please.”
The girl touched the screen in front of her. “Anything else?”
“What would you recommend?”
She gave a slight smile and leaned against the counter in front of her. “Well, are you wanting savory or sweet?”
“Let me hear both, and I’ll go from there.” I was never this flexible.
“So, I adore the turkey salad cornucopia.” She pointed to it on the chalkboard menu. “Then Lizzy made apple pie doughnuts for the special this morning. That one in the display is the last one. They’re amazing.”
“They’ve sold out before noon?” It was only eleven.
“This is only the second time she’s made them so far this year. By the end of the month last year, they were sold out before eight. People were buying six or a dozen at a time.”
“Then I’ll have to have one. Can I get the turkey salad thing you mentioned to go?”
“Of course, but don’t leave it too long. The crescent roll will get a bit mushy. They’re better fresh.”
I nodded. “I understand. Thank you for the suggestion.”
After giving her my name and swiping my card, I tipped the girl well before moving to the end of the counter.
“Peaberry and apple pie doughnut for Will!” called a twenty-something guy with a septum piercing.
I stepped forward and collected my drink and the doughnut.
“The sandwich will take a moment. We’ll call your name when it’s ready.”
A table was free by the window, so I brought my order over and collected a fork and napkins from the buffet against the wall. The doughnut was covered in cinnamon and sugar and would likely be a mess to eat, so I’d need to be prepared.
The doughnut cut easily, and the apple pie filling oozed out as I picked it up with my fork. The second it hit my tongue, the bright cooked apple combined with cinnamon, sugar, and another spice I couldn’t identify exploded on my tongue. I paused while I chewed. Liz’s cake had been amazing, especially for gluten-free, but this was. . .I was at risk of sounding like a pre-menstrual woman devouring chocolate if I wasn’t careful. Apple pie was my favorite, and this was even better!
After my second decadent bite, I was sipping my coffee when Liz entered through the customer entrance with a woman that I’d only ever seen a picture of. She was Asian with short-cropped black hair, and her hands waved around when she spoke. Her eyes met mine, and she set a hand on Liz’s arm before nodding in my direction.
Liz turned, and I lifted a hand. Geez! That came off more Tom Hanks in Forest Gump than his character in You’ve Got Mail . I winced. If Gigi hadn’t made me watch that movie with her, I’d have never known it at all. Now I was making comparisons with the characters. Note to self: Next time my little sister wants to watch a rom-com with me, I’m making her watch Die Hard or Pulp Fiction instead .
“I’m surprised to see you here,” said Liz when she approached.
“The cake you made for Gigi was delicious. I wanted to see what else you could do.”
She pulled her scarf from her neck. The weather wasn’t cold, by any means, but the breeze held a chill. Liz wore a light jacket, and the scarf had looked nice with it.
“From what you said at the party, I thought you’d be in the kitchen.”
“I had a meeting this morning. Char, my best friend and assistant, came with me.”
“Lizzy?” The young lady from behind the counter stood by Liz’s side with a steaming mug. “Char thought you might want this. She said to take your time. And sir, here’s your turkey salad order.”
“Thank you.” I took the handled paper bag with the shop logo emblazoned on it.
As soon as the girl hurried off, I held out my hand toward the empty seat across from me. “You’re welcome to join me.”
Liz glanced around then pulled out the chair and sat. “By the name you used, I take it you talked to your sister.”
“I did. She prefers Gigi, so I’m endeavoring to remember that. Her name holds sentimental value to me and our family. It’s hard to let that go.”
Once she’d swallowed her sip, she set her cup on the table. “I can understand that, but it’s not letting go of the name completely. She’s not legally changing it, and you never know, one day, she may embrace the sentimentality and want to use it again. Don’t forget that she’s young, and at that age are social pressures that don’t always exist when you leave college and start working.”
What she’d said was true, of course, although I’d never found the pressures of college to be as strenuous as those in high school. “With so many people on a college campus, I never had the same issues fitting in as I did when I was in boarding school.”
She smiled. “You do know the enrollment at Julliard is less than a thousand. I don’t know about the high school you attended, but where I went was only about a hundred or so less.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Chapin,” she said, her finger fidgeting with her cup. “I then attended Columbia and NYU.”
“I thought your sister went somewhere else.” Jane had mentioned it a couple of times. I’d probably tuned her out when she said where.
“She went to a private school in Queens. My parents wanted to put me in public school, so my uncle paid my tuition and had a car pick me up every day and bring me to Manhattan.” She cleared her throat. “You went to boarding school?”
“Yes, Eton College in England.”
“What made you go there?” A voice inside me nagged that she was changing the subject. Whatever the reason for her parents’ decision, she didn’t want to tell me.
“My mother was English. The men in her family all went to Eton, so she wanted to continue the tradition. My father agreed for the first part of their marriage to live in the UK with her. They stayed until I went to Eton, then moved back to New York. Pemberley was simply too big to manage from abroad and my father didn’t like traveling and being away from her so often.” Instead, I’d flown back and forth for summers and holidays. I hadn’t minded. That was how I became close to Richard. My uncle had dismissed the tradition and sent Richard to a private school in Manhattan, on the opposite side from Liz actually.
“How many students do you think attended Eton?”
“Probably not much more than Julliard, so point taken. But I had my undergrad at Harvard and my MBA at Wharton. You attended both Columbia and NYU?” I winced at my tone. Why had I sounded so surprised?
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I earned my undergrad in business at Columbia and my MBA at NYU. I wanted to bake and not work for my father, so Zio and I worked out an arrangement so I could start the bakery. That was when I attended the Cordon Bleu in London.”
“So you had the business background as well as the culinary training to pull it off.”
She shrugged. “I had a lot of help since the bookstore was attached. A lot of credit goes to shoppers with a fresh book in their hands and the tantalizing smell of good coffee. My uncle also ensured the bakery and café were promoted well.”
I pointed my fork at the doughnut. “I think this is my new favorite dessert.”
Her smile grew a little but wasn’t quite right. “I’m glad. If you like apple pie, I have several desserts that are exclusive to the holidays with that flavor profile.”
“I can’t wait to try them. You’ll have to let me know when each goes on special.”
An incredulous laugh burst from her. “I don’t keep a set plan for specials. Most of what goes on that board is dependent upon what’s in-season and what my suppliers have in large quantities.”
After wiping my mouth, I drank the last of my coffee. “I think I shocked my assistant when I left to get coffee, so I should get back. Thanks for the company.”
She gave a stiff nod. “Your assistant might stroke out if he knew you’d come here.”
I barked out a guffaw. “Very likely.” I put on my suit coat. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”
Once I’d buttoned the front, she handed me the to-go bag. “You ordered Char’s turkey salad cornucopia?”
“It came highly recommended by the girl at the counter.”
“I hope you enjoy.”
I took the bag and peered back through the window when I’d stepped down to the sidewalk. Liz had picked up her scarf while she watched me leave, her coffee cup in her other hand. With a smile, I continued to walk.
“Maybe I’ll see you again?” I muttered. Where’d that come from? It was bad enough that I’d let impulse bring me to her bakery—and sheer insanity that had me sit there to eat. Some part of me had longed to see her—to make her smile. I’d thought about nothing else all morning. Somehow, I needed to learn to rid myself of this compulsion. I had no other choice.
“You should’ve heard the surprise in his voice, Char.” I pushed the dough with the heel of my hand before folding it and shoving it together. I never made yeast breads—not because I couldn’t, but because I preferred to make cakes and other pastries. As soon as Will had gone, I’d mixed up a batch of cinnamon roll dough as soon as I’d stepped into the kitchen. Now, I was venting my frustration on the dough before setting it to rise.
“Lizzy,” said Char. “Give me the dough.” She looked at me as though I had a bomb strapped to me that was about to detonate.
With a roll of my eyes, I put it in an oiled bowl before covering it with a towel. I set it near the ovens where it’d be warm but not so hot it’d kill the yeast. I then took the next part and started treating it with the same venom.
“I doubt he meant it the way you took it.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Then what do you think he meant by it? Lizzy, who was only smart enough to learn to bake.”
“At one of the most prestigious programs in the world. Not everyone chooses uni, and it doesn’t mean they’re not as smart as someone who does. I just think he didn’t realize you’d ever studied anything but baking. Have you ever really watched him?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I kept punishing the dough in my grip.
“Only that he looked extremely awkward while the two of you spoke, like he was nervous.”
I scoffed. “What could William Darcy have to be nervous about?”
Char crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe he gets tongue-tied talking to women he likes, or maybe he’s just socially awkward anyway.”
“Maybe he’s just a dickhead.” Why was Char taking his side?
“It’s possible,” she said. “I’ve never had a conversation with him, but he helped raise Gigi and she’s one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met. I have a hard time believing he’s as bad as you think he is.”
“He hangs out with Jane.”
Char held up a finger. “Yes, but that isn’t a point in his favor.”
I threw up my hands. “Why’s he gaining points all of a sudden? I’m never going to consider dating William Darcy! I can’t stand the guy.”
“Then why does he aggravate you this much? You’ve known assholes before and never been this riled up by them. You usually laugh off whatever they’ve said. You’d think William Darcy committed mass murder by the way you talk about him.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You most certainly do, and maybe you need to consider why he makes you this angry.”
I laughed. “That’s easy. It’s because he’s an asshole.”
“Okay, Lizzy. Whatever you say.”