Chapter 8
EIGHT
Nervous energy filled Camilla as the clock counted down to her appointed time with Fred and Nadia. Her cakes were delicious, and her designs were beautiful. She was confident in her abilities. Still, a lot was riding on bagging this job.
There was another clock ticking in the back of her mind, one that ended on the first weekend of December. Her final payment would be due, and she had to somehow come up with enough money to pay back the very last part of the ill-advised loan that clamped around her neck like a yoke. Once she did, she’d own her business free and clear.
Otherwise, the past ten years—and longer—of work would crumble right in front of her eyes. Her father would be right after all. It would have been nothing but a hobby, and a very expensive one at that.
The bakery door opened, and Camilla painted a bright smile on her face. “Nadia! Fred! So good to see you again.”
Nadia smiled brightly. She was a beautiful woman, dressed in elegant clothing, with a bright-pink purse slung over her elbow. A little dog poked its head out from the purse, looked around, then disappeared inside the bag again. Nadia hurried to the counter and leaned over to give Camilla a kiss on both cheeks. “Thank you so much for doing this, Camilla. After we tasted your cake at Amelia’s wedding, I knew we’d made a mistake hiring anyone other than you. When the other bakery fell through, well, I figured it was meant to be!”
“It was almost a good thing when they called and said they couldn’t fulfill the order,” Fred added. He reached over to shake Camilla’s hand, smiling kindly.
The two of them had been through an ordeal six months earlier, when Nadia’s ring had gone missing. Fred’s business had taken a beating, and he’d had to fire several employees. He looked a bit older these days, with more gray in his hair and a few extra lines bracketing his mouth.
But when he glanced at his wife-to-be, Fred’s face softened. He put an arm around Nadia’s shoulders and nodded to Camilla. “Where do you want us?”
“Take a seat at any table you like. Would you like tea? Coffee? Water?”
“A couple of coffees, I think, right baby?” Fred glanced at Nadia, who nodded.
Camilla looked at her barista Ben, who dipped his chin and got to work. Then she was hurrying into the kitchen, taking a deep breath, and bringing out the prepared samples.
This had to go well. It had to.
It would.
She grabbed the first couple of cakes and went back out to make her pitch. She’d made small, four-inch double-layer cakes for the Goodhews to taste. She’d decorated them very simply but had made sure they looked as polished and professional as any of her other work. She would not mess up this opportunity.
“Your questionnaire indicated that you two have opposite tastes,” Camilla said, placing the first two cakes on the table. She sliced into them and deposited the pieces onto plates. “Fred, you like rich flavors like chocolate and caramel, and Nadia, you said you prefer bright, fruity flavors, correct?”
“That’s right,” Nadia said, eyes on the generous slices in front of her.
“I thought we could start with something neutral and go from there. This is my signature vanilla cake, made with homemade vanilla extract. It has a deliciously light, moist crumb, and it has enough structure to take any filling you choose. On the left, I’ve combined it with a chocolate ganache and whipped caramel filling. On the right, we have a Swiss buttercream frosting and a tart strawberry filling. The Swiss buttercream isn’t as sweet as traditional buttercream, and it tends to have a lighter mouthfeel. Please.” She gestured to the cutlery.
Heart thundering, Camilla sat across from them at the table and watched Fred and Nadia take their first bites. Fred went straight for the chocolate-vanilla-caramel combination, while Nadia tried the fruitier, lighter cake. Both sets of eyes fluttered closed, and soft noises of appreciation sounded from their throats.
Camilla couldn’t help the victorious smile stealing over her lips.
“This is the cake,” Nadia said, pointing her fork at her choice.
Fred grunted and shook his head. “No way. This is the one. Try this caramel filling, baby.”
Nadia took the bite Fred offered and slumped in pleasure.
Camilla laughed. “Not to make things more difficult on you, but would you like to taste the other options?”
They nodded, so Camilla hurried to bring out the four other small cakes she’d prepared. With the two of them having such different tastes, she’d scoured her recipe books to find something that would suit them both. The whole week had been spent baking, planning, and designing.
She’d barely seen Marlon since the evening they’d burned her apron, and she was glad of it. She was too busy for men, had too much riding on the next few weeks. Anything but total focus would spell the end of The Sweetest Thing. A few days to clear her head had been exactly what she needed.
She had kept baking for him, of course. Watching the morning treats disappear from the kitchen counter always gave her a secret thrill. But baking for someone was very different from getting involved with them. The former was her profession; the latter was a problem.
In the end, it was one of Camilla’s new combinations that won Fred and Nadia over. Fred absolutely wanted the caramel filling, which Camilla had—on a whim that very morning—combined with her great-aunt’s spiced poach pear recipe, all supported by a lightly spiced cake. It was brightly flavored while still being rich, and both Fred and Nadia immediately declared it the winner.
“This is what we’ll cut for the ceremony,” Nadia said, spearing another bit of poached pear with her fork. “But we should get a variety of cakes for guests to choose from.”
“What I’d suggest is a smaller tiered cake for photos and cake cutting, and then a number of sheet cakes for serving to guests,” Camilla said, clearing a few of the empty plates from the table. “We can cut them in the kitchen and have the caterers serve them after you’ve cut the main cake and taken pictures.” She sat down across from them with drawings of her designs for decoration. “Now, let’s talk design.”
At that point, Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out a rectangular box. He placed it down on the table and lifted the top, revealing an antique cake topper. The small figurines were exquisitely crafted, the man dressed in a vintage tuxedo and the woman’s lace gown intricate with details, gleaming gold to match the man’s bowtie and vest. On her head was a tiny, glittering tiara.
Camilla exhaled. “Wow, Fred. It’s beautiful.”
“It was my grandmama’s,” Fred said, carefully lifting the cake topper out of its box. He stared at it for a moment, then exchanged a soft look with Nadia. “My grandparents had it on their wedding cake, and my parents did the same. I know it’s not as fancy as a modern wedding cake topper, but I’d like to use it on ours. It would mean a lot to me.”
It surprised Camilla to hear that from Fred. He was a big, solidly built man who ran an extremely successful business. This kind of sentimentality wasn’t something she would have expected from him. Maybe that’s why she felt her eyes begin to water. “Of course, Fred,” she answered past the lump in her throat. “We can work anything into your cake design. A beautiful topper like that will be no problem at all.”
“The piece is quite precious to me, even without the gold and diamond elements,” Fred told her.
Camilla nearly choked. That was real gold? And real diamonds? On a cake topper ?
“So,” Fred continued, “I’ll provide detailed pictures and measurements, but I’ll keep the cake topper in my possession until the day of the wedding. Does that work for you?”
Camilla gulped. “Sure thing.” The last thing she wanted was a priceless family heirloom in her possession for even a minute longer than necessary.
Fred smiled and set the figurine back in its box, closing it up with reverent hands. Then he turned to his fiancée and kissed her forehead. “Love you, baby.”
Nadia smiled. “Love you too, Fred.” She turned to Camilla. “Fred’s grandmother had a tiara that matched her cake topper. We designed my veil and dress so they would work with it.”
“That’s beautiful,” Camilla said, and she meant it. Fred’s heirlooms were probably worth more than Camilla’s entire business, but they were obviously precious to both of them. She would do her best to honor the request and make a cake worthy of a gold-and-diamond cake topper.
By the time Fred and Nadia left the bakery, Camilla was equally exhausted and elated. She’d done it. She’d done it! They’d paid a hefty deposit, which was going straight into Camilla’s loan payment account. If the bakery kept selling at its usual pace, she wouldn’t have any problems freeing herself of the shackles of her debt. She’d get the second half of the payment the day before the wedding, and she’d be able to transfer it straight over to Frankie Smith's bank account.
For the first time since Frankie had shown up at her bakery, Camilla felt real hope. Light shone bright at the end of the long, dark tunnel Camilla had been traversing, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was almost over. Once her debt was cleared, Camilla could start building her cash reserves. She could expand the business. She could start planning her retirement. She might even be able to find a home to call her own.
This last not-so-little ten-thousand-dollar hiccup was just that—a hiccup.
Soon, she’d be able to build a life for herself, and no one—not her parents, her siblings, or Frankie Smith—could take it away from her.
“That went well,” Ben said behind the espresso machine. He grinned at Camilla. “You were great.”
“You think? I was so nervous I couldn’t stop fidgeting.”
“You came across confident and competent. It was awesome.”
Grinning at her employee, Camilla felt the bloom of pride in her chest. Ben had been the first person she’d hired when she opened the bakery, and if anyone had seen her grow into the businesswoman she was, it was him. The praise made her smile.
Things were going to be okay—she hoped.
Either that, or she’d lose everything. Camilla sighed, her smile fading. One way or another, this would all be over soon.
Marlon had just gotten out of the shower when he heard the front door open. He’d spent the week on various sites around Stirling and neighboring towns meeting with potential clients. Between festivals, commercial security system installations, and a couple of requests for personal bodyguards, Elite Security was growing at a rapid pace.
He was glad the week was over. By the time he was dressed and heading downstairs to hunt for dinner, he could hear movement in the kitchen and smelled something delicious cooking.
Camilla stood at the stove caramelizing onions in a big skillet. Ever since their flammable moment in the kitchen a few days ago, both of them had retreated into a more normal roommate relationship, orbiting around each other and only really seeing evidence of the other’s presence.
Still, Marlon couldn’t deny that he loved waking up to the smell of her baking. Even when they didn’t cross each other in the morning, there would be fresh baked goods and a hot pot of coffee waiting for him. In the evenings, they’d alternated cooking duties and leave leftovers for whoever got home later. But they hadn’t eaten together since the apron incident. They hadn’t had the chance.
“That smells good.”
Camilla glanced over at him and smiled, but he saw a shred of darkness in her gaze he didn’t like. “I’m making cheeseburgers with caramelized onions. You want one?”
“Hell yes,” he replied, then moved to lean against the counter. “How was your day?”
She painted a bright smile on her face. “My meeting with Fred and Nadia went well. They booked me and paid the deposit.”
“Congrats. That’s great.” Marlon’s smile faded after a moment. “Why do I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me?”
Camilla shook her head. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
Marlon took the wooden spoon from her hands. “I’ll stir these. You sit down. Go shower, freshen up.”
“You telling me I smell?”
He grinned. “I’m telling you you look like you need a break. Go.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then gently squeezed his forearm. The touch lingered even when she pulled her hand away. He watched her walk out of the kitchen, heart beating steadily.
The thing about growing up as a caretaker for his family was that Marlon enjoyed it. He liked making other people feel good. He liked knowing that the people he cared about were safe and healthy and happy.
But he knew how draining it could be too. He knew that caring for others could be a trap, a long slog that paid no dividends after years of endless work. When his grandparents had passed and Leo had been old enough to leave for college, Marlon had exhaled, slept for days, then realized he had no idea who he was or where he was going. It had been nearly two decades since then, and he had no desire to go back to his role as the main carer and provider for other people.
He just wanted to be on his own. That was the only way his life made sense.
He stirred the onions as they slowly grew dark and jammy, their delicious scent filling the kitchen. That’s when he noticed the little succulents clustered on the windowsill and the new porcelain jars on the shelf with cursive writing proclaiming them full of flour, coffee, tea, and sugar. The old, yellowing lace curtain had also been removed from the window, and he could see the spindly, bare branches of the trees in his backyard interspersed with hardy evergreens. It would snow soon. He could feel it.
Camilla was leaving her mark on his home, and her mark looked good. He glanced around the kitchen and, for the first time in a long time, truly noticed how old it was. After his grandparents had died two decades ago, he’d hardly done any work on the place. He’d retreated into himself.
The cabinets were old melamine, and half the doors were either hanging crooked or swollen with moisture. The backsplash was tiled, its grout stained and cracked. The linoleum on the floor was peeling up in a couple of corners.
He hadn’t noticed. Maybe he hadn’t cared.
“Those look great,” Camilla said, drawing his attention to the skillet. Her hair was wet and twisted into a clip, and she wore loose sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. He wanted to rip her clothes off and feel her wet hair on his skin as he took her on the kitchen counter.
No . No, what he wanted was a peaceful life where he didn’t feel constantly stressed about other people. He just wanted to be alone.
Taking the spoon from his grasp, Camilla transferred the onions to a small bowl and pulled out patties she’d already shaped. “Do you mind slicing the buns? We can toast them in the oven.”
They worked side by side in the kitchen she’d brightened with her presence and her plants and her jars, and Marlon felt a deep, hidden knot loosen in the depths of his heart. When they sat down, he felt like he was home for the first time in decades, even though he’d lived here all along.
“I like your additions,” Marlon told her, nodding to the tiny potted plants and jars.
Camilla read his expression with a hesitant gaze. “Yeah? I was worried you’d think I was overstepping. I found the jars in one of the cupboards. The curtains are in the laundry room. I washed them but I don’t think the yellow color will come out. They’re hanging up to dry.”
“Toss ‘em,” he said. “Room looks better without them.” Marlon groaned as he bit into his burger. The woman could cook. And bake. And decorate. And look amazing doing it.
“Can’t beat a good burger.” She wiggled happily in her chair and took a bite of her own. She glanced at the window and asked, “Did those curtains come with the place?”
“This was my grandparents’ house. Leo and I lived here when we were teens and inherited it when they passed. I bought him out so he could pay for college. Haven’t done much with it since then.”
Camilla’s eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to take down your grandparents’ curtains or mess with the jars. I can put everything back.”
Marlon chewed his bite and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been meaning to renovate this place for about fifteen years, but I guess I haven’t gotten around to it. Don’t know why.”
“I get it. Your grandparents were important to you?”
“Only parents we ever had,” Marlon said. Then, as if his mouth had a mind of its own, he heard himself continue: “Mom struggled with addiction and died when we were in our teens. We moved in with our grandparents, but they got sick when I was in high school, so I ended up taking care of them. We couldn’t afford a nurse. When they passed, I didn’t know what to do with the place, so I just left it as-is while I made sure Leo graduated high school and made it to college. Then I was starting a business, and all my energy went into getting it off the ground. Guess I got comfortable here.” He gave her a hint of a smile. “Maybe I got lazy.”
Camilla watched him with big, blue eyes, and he thought she saw too much. “That’s a lot for a kid to deal with. And then to go on and start a business.” She whistled. “Impressive.”
Marlon shrugged. “That’s the hand I was dealt. We were lucky to have a place to stay.”
She nodded, turning back to her meal. They ate, and that knot in Marlon’s chest loosened a little bit more.
“You like redecorating?” he asked suddenly when they were both sitting, quietly satisfied after the meal.
Camilla straightened. “Yes. Why?”
“I could use your help. I’ve been meaning to buy a new couch for the living room, but I don’t know what to get. Walls need a good coat of paint. Maybe a new rug. Little decorative shit. I don’t know. I’ve got no idea.”
Camilla inhaled, clasped her hands at her breast, and let out a little squeak of excitement. She was the cutest thing Marlon had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in response.
He arched a brow. “I’m guessing that’s a yes?”
“It’s a hell yes!” She jumped up to clear the table, then dragged Marlon to the front room. Her hair was a chaotic mass piled on top of her head, starting to curl as it dried. Her cheeks had grown flushed, her eyes bright. “This is an amazing room. The original architectural details are so beautiful. I think we should lean on that. How do you feel about tufting?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Good, because I hate it.” She gave him an impish smile, and another laugh was dragged out of him. She turned toward the room and spread her arms in a wide arc. “We’re going to go traditional, but with a modern twist. No tufting.”
“No tufting,” he repeated with a solemn nod.
“Light colors, maybe a nice neutral taupe on the walls. Bright white trim and moldings. Do you have tools? We could add a chair rail or some kind of molding to the walls around, try to find something that matches what’s existing. The chandelier is amazing, but I think it might be too big for the space.”
Marlon half-listened to Camilla tell him all her grand plans, but mostly he just watched the way she brightened as she spoke. She had a thousand ideas, and all of them sounded good.
She dragged in a hard inhale, then turned and grabbed his forearm with both arms. “We could go antiquing!”
“Whatever you want, Camilla,” he replied with a soft smile, and he meant it. He’d give this woman the world if he could.
She spun around in a circle, her finger tapping her chin, a focused, enchanting expression on her face. “Do you have a tape measure?”
Her energy was like a fresh, cool breeze blowing in his life. He nodded. “I’ve got a tape measure.”
“Let’s get started, then.”
The good thing about being the boss was that Camilla could set her own schedule. Emily had been more than happy to take the weekend shifts, which meant that Camilla had had Saturdays and Sundays free for a few months now, other than when she took on special cake decorating jobs. That evening, as she and Marlon measured out the living room and looked up photos for inspiration, she found herself excited about the upcoming weekend for the first time in a long, long time.
A year ago, she would’ve spent some time with her friends and caught up on paperwork for the business. Lately, her weekends had been consumed with work and trying to find a rental in her price range. But to do something fun? To redecorate this beautiful room and get to enjoy the finished product?
It was almost as good as baking and decorating an elaborate cake.
“I’m glad you’re getting rid of the sex couch,” she said from her perch on the armchair across from the offending piece of furniture.
Marlon leaned back on said sofa, stretching his arms across the backs of the cushions. “The sex couch?”
She shuddered dramatically, which made him grin. She loved doing that. He was so serious and scowly most of the time that making Marlon smile was its own special reward. Then his face changed slightly, and his gaze dropped down the length of her body.
Heat pooled between Camilla’s thighs, and she suddenly remembered that it had been months since she’d slept with anyone. Her vibrator had gotten a serious workout this week, but it was barely taking the edge off. She’d started using it morning and night just so she could think clearly during the day.
She’d gone through periods of horniness before. It came and went in her life, depending on how stressed she was, how busy she was, if she was dating anyone, and a thousand other factors. It wasn’t exactly un usual to be extra horny for a period of time.
But this…this was different. This was white-hot lust that sparked every time Marlon was near. This was torture.
“I should go to bed,” Marlon said, his eyes still heavy with desire. “Big weekend ahead.”
“Mm-hmm,” Camilla said, thighs clenching. She cleared her throat and stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”