Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“What is that smell?!”
Andrea gritted her teeth at Phantom’s shrill question.
“Burnt sugar,” she growled. “I was trying to see if I could candy these rum-soaked cherries. But I think the heat was too high, and … well, here we are.” She grimaced and gestured at the sticky mess that was all but Gorilla-glued to the bottom of Marren’s largest stockpot.
She winced again and mentally went through her go-to cleaning spells, wondering if any of them would stand a chance against the charred red globs.
“I’m going to have to buy Marren some new pots,” she added.
Phantom flicked his tail. “She won’t use them. Her idea of a home-cooked meal involves shrink wrap and a cardboard box from the freezer.”
Andrea snorted a laugh. “Really? But she has such a nice kitchen.” She glanced around anew, noting the little details.
It seemed too well-appointed for someone who didn’t enjoy cooking.
But on second glance, she realized much of what tied it together were decorative elements, and not necessarily functional items: a vase with silk flowers, a decorative cutting board with a floral pattern burned into the wood, a set of sage green ceramic canisters with copper lids to match the sink.
“She’s a workaholic,” Phantom replied. “And even when she is here, she’s always got her nose in a book.”
Andrea turned and considered the cat, noting the tinge of disapproval in his tone.
“She talks to herself, too,” he continued.
“Always muttering. And if I ask her what she’s going on about, she’ll start rattling off ten obscure facts about some ancient Mesopotamian society, or her theories about the etchings she’s working to preserve in the margins of some half-destroyed grimoire from Spain. ”
“It’s a shame you and Crumpet can’t communicate,” Andrea said, glancing at her pup who slept in the corner of the couch, his nose half-obscured by a throw pillow.
“He’d probably say the same thing about me, although in my case, it would be less about Mesopotamia—I likely couldn’t even find that on a map, if we’re being real.
” She snorted at her own expense. “I mostly mumble reminders to myself, to make sure the dairy order went through or to finalize the new recipes for the springtime menu or worry about whether or not it might be time to change up the bakery’s packaging for something a little brighter. ”
Phantom scoffed. “At least the hound gets some benefit from it. Surely you throw him a cookie from time to time. What do I get? The smell of old, musty books and dust!”
Andrea laughed and started to clean up the mess she’d made over the course of the afternoon. Her frustration ebbed as she collected dishes and carried them to the sink, then set about unloading last night’s dishes from the wire rack beside it, to make room.
“Not as often as he would like,” she told the cat. “And he’s a terrier, not a hound.”
“All dogs are hounds,” Phantom insisted.
She figured there wasn’t much point in arguing.
“Purr-haps, I could be of some assistance,” Phantom continued. “Though, you’d have to get comfortable with the idea of thinking outside the box you humans tend to get stuck in.”
Andrea frowned at the cat. “Oh? And what box is that, exactly?”
Phantom flashed his teeth in a leonine grin. “Let’s just say, a lot—okay, no, all—of my ideas involve fish-flavored frosting.”
Andrea’s upper lip curled.
“Okay, okay, I can tell by the green tinge on your face that’s a no-go. What about chicken? People glaze chicken all the time, and glaze is a codeword for desserts, is it not?”
“Tell you what, Phantom, I’ll add you to the acknowledgment section at the back of the book on one condition.”
The cat’s eyes illuminated with curiosity. “What’s that? You like the chicken idea, right? I’m telling you, it’s got legs. No pun intended.”
Andrea leveled the spatula in the cat’s direction. “My condition is that you never offer me baking advice again.”
The cat deflated and flicked his tail. “I should have known. Just another close-minded human.”
Andrea snorted a laugh and dried her hands. “If that means I don’t have to think about chicken cupcakes ever again, I’m fine with that label.”
Phantom continued his mutterings of disappointment, though they were only partially audible as a fresh round of hammering started from next door.
The cat gave the wall a scowl, but Andrea found it hard to stay too mad about the noise, as it often led to thinking about Wes and the way the subtle lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
Apparently bored with her cleaning, Phantom padded out of the kitchen and disappeared.
Even with her best cleaning spells, it took over an hour to undo the carnage from her day of baking.
As she worked, she sifted through her progress in her head.
Her hard deadline was now less than two weeks away, and while she at least had something to submit, she knew Martina would hex her six ways to Sunday if she didn’t hand over a complete manuscript.
Then, come the new year, she would have to get everything ready for the various photo shoots, as her cookbooks were full-color with lots of glossy spreads.
Her home kitchen had served as the stage for the first book, the bakery for the second.
The third would also be photographed at Sunset Sweets, the shoots going late into the night after the shop was closed for the day, so as not to completely disrupt business.
Assuming she had a business to go home to.
A ripple of anxiety coursed across the surface of her mind at the thought, quickly followed by the urge to punch William in the nose. Or perhaps someplace lower…
Andrea exhaled and braced her palms against the counter. “Let it go,” she whispered to herself as her eyes squeezed closed. When they opened, she stared out the window over the sink, taking in the view of snow-covered mountains and the silver-gray sky as twilight neared.
The row of townhouses was on the outer rim of the neighborhood, and backed up to a swath of protected acreage. She imagined it bursting with wildlife and flowers in the spring and summer, and tall swaying grasses in the autumn, the trees in various hues of oranges and reds and yellows.
Her mind was tired from a busy day, one filled with questions and doubts and frustration, but her body felt restless. The idea of another cocoa-fueled movie marathon held no appeal. But what else was there to do? Marren had books, books, and more books. Oh, and a smattering of jigsaw puzzles.
She’d taken a midday break to walk Crumpet, but between the snow and cold air, he’d been begging to go home less than a mile in, deciding it was preferable to stay cozy on the sofa.
He’d need a quick potty break before bed, but otherwise, he’d be off in puppy dreamland, abandoning her to her own devices.
Of which she currently had none.
Then, looking over at the fridge, she saw the note Marren left her with an assortment of soon-to-expire coupons for local establishments, and noticed the name of the local pub. Frost & Flame. A vision of Wes flashed in her mind, and she smiled.
“I didn’t realize humans still ventured out after dark,” Phantom observed from his perch on the bathroom counter, watching as Andrea applied a coat of mascara. “I thought Netflix and food delivery apps had rendered that practice obsolete.”
Andrea paused mid-stroke and glanced at the cat’s reflection. “Very funny. As if you have a raving social life.”
“Of course I do,” Phantom replied, licking one paw. “When it’s not covered in snow, I go out on the deck every evening, as does the neighbor’s tabby. He’s a horribly uncouth creature, but one must maintain diplomatic relations.”
Andrea arched a brow as she replaced the mascara wand in the tube and screwed it closed. “Diplomatic relations? What, are you planning on invading the local pet store or something?”
“That’s not any of your concern,” the cat replied tartly.
“Oookay.” Andrea reached for her red lipstick. “Doesn’t Marren go out? Surely she has friends, dates … something?”
Phantom’s laugh came out as a scoff. “Marren? The woman whose biggest thrill comes from seeing properly restored book bindings?” He shook his head, whiskers twitching. “Her idea of a wild night is staying up past ten to finish reading an ancient grimoire.”
“She’s passionate about her work. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Andrea said, though she’d noticed the remarkable lack of social evidence in the townhouse—no photos with friends, no mementos from girls’ nights out.
“Trust me,” Phantom continued, his tail curling with amusement, “Marren will only manage to cobble together a proper social life once she’s retired and ensconced in one of those old folks homes with forced communal meals.
And even then, she’ll probably only attend bingo night if one of the prizes is a dusty old spell book. ”
Andrea couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re terrible. Have you heard the expression ‘with friends like these, who needs enemies’?”
“The woman celebrated her last birthday with cake that came out of a box and a documentary about medieval manuscript preservation.” Phantom’s green eyes narrowed.
“Meanwhile, you’re putting on enough perfume to announce your presence three counties over.
I assume this has nothing to do with the lumberjack who brought you coffee this morning? ”
“Hey!” Andrea lifted the cowl collar of her sweater dress and took a deep sniff. “I can barely smell it and I’m wearing it!”
Phantom flicked his tail and lifted his chin. “I said what I said.”
Andrea stopped herself, refusing to take the bait.
“I always wear perfume when I go out,” she said, taking one final sniff to make sure she hadn’t gone nose-blind.
“And as for the lumberjack thing, he’s a contractor, first off.
And secondly, no, this has nothing to do with him.
I’m going out because I’m hungry and I don’t feel like cooking. Is that all right?”