Chapter 17
L ucas was like a movie star trying to hide from the paparazzi as he pulled his baseball cap down and adjusted his sunglasses.
It was a bright sunny day, the sky free of cloud cover, so at least the get-up was fitting for the season.
When he pulled into the car park and climbed out, Clem waved at him from over by a black hatchback.
And he couldn’t help it: the kiss in the rain flashed across his mind.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it – about her.
He didn’t know what was the matter with him; he’d never been any good at making the first move and he hadn’t been planning on getting involved with anyone.
But when he was around her, it was like everything turned upside down, including logic and sense.
She crossed the car park to meet him.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Sylvie said it’s fine for us to use the kitchen together whenever we like, to practise.’
‘That’s good of her.’
‘Emmie is usually here too – she lives in one of the flats upstairs – but she’s out for the day with Jared, so Sylvie asked me to top up the feeders and water.’
It was a Sunday, so the café was closed, but Clem let them in through the front door. They passed through the cube-shaped entrance, through the gift shop and reception area, and into the main café, where Clem raised the latched gate so they could step inside.
The room was bright and airy, sunlight flooding through the main window.
Lucas glanced around – it was like playing a spot-the-cat game whenever you stepped inside this place.
They weren’t immediately visible, but if he looked close enough, he could pick out the cats.
A long-haired tawny, fluffy cat was curled in a basket-shaped shelf, no eyes or face visible – just a giant ball of fur.
A black cat’s green eyes gleamed at him from beneath a chair.
A calico snaked out from beneath a table and hopped onto the window ledge to bask in the sun, watching a bird wheel across the sky, her pupils dilating.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ said Clem.
‘Okay.’
Lucas took a seat by the window, reaching out to stroke the calico, who nuzzled into his hand and rolled over, exposing a fluffy white stomach. He tickled it absently while Clem made her way around the room, topping up feeders and giving the cats fresh water.
His thoughts drifted to his dad as he scooped his fingers through the cat’s soft fur.
They’d had a cat when Lucas was a small child – he barely remembered it – and his dad had apparently adored her, though she passed away relatively young.
Which was why his mum thought he’d love it here.
A pet wasn’t an option right now; his mum had too many commitments already and his dad was always in pain.
Plus, they couldn’t afford it if they wanted to.
But coming here might be comforting to him.
He added a conversation with his dad to his mental notepad – he should suggest it, the next time he spoke to him.
‘Done,’ said Clem, reappearing. ‘Shall we go into the kitchen?’
He nodded, giving the calico one final belly rub and getting up to follow her through another gate and behind the counter. A narrow hallway led them to a series of doors and into the kitchen.
It was large enough for several people, even though he knew it was only Clem who worked in the kitchen.
A large commercial oven took centre stage, alongside a set of appliances: a shiny metal stand mixer and a set of scales.
A series of racks and shelving units contained plenty of utensils, tools, and equipment, where Clem could easily access them, and there were stainless steel workstations set close to the mixing equipment.
There were cooling racks and a refrigerator too.
‘You’re pretty well equipped here,’ he said. ‘Roomy, too.’
‘Sylvie was thinking of hiring a cook but she’s happy with just baked goods for now.’
‘What shall we practise first?’ he asked her. ‘What were you thinking of doing?’
‘I call them kitten rolls. It’s a Hokkaido milk bread recipe – originated in Japan and it’s become popular elsewhere.
I wanted to arrange them in a bread basket, and do a bigger loaf shaped like an adult cat.
That one will be tiger bread. It’s meant to represent our partnership with the cat shelter, and .
. . Well, last year, there was a stray cat hidden in the wall outside during a snowstorm. She was pregnant.’
‘I think I remember my mum telling me about that,’ said Lucas.
‘Yeah, some of the kittens were adopted out – Jared took one in. Sylvie took in the mum and one of the kittens. I thought I could represent that event,’ Clem explained. She sighed. ‘I might be being too ambitious, though . . . I can’t seem to get it right.’
‘Let’s give it a try. I can help.’
Clem donned an apron from a hook by the door; it was decorated with lots of chubby-cheeked cats and hearts. She threw him a spare one – green and decorated with brown cats this time – and began gathering up the ingredients they’d need.
‘I still don’t understand why you offered to help me,’ she told him, as they washed their hands.
He was wondering that himself. Had it been their kiss, making him want to spend more time with her?
Or that automatic urge within him, to lend a helping hand when people needed it?
Had he become so used to helping his parents during his life, he now did it with everyone?
He hadn’t thought about it until he met Clem.
‘I dunno, I thought it would be mutually beneficial,’ he suggested lamely.
‘We’re in competition, though,’ she pointed out, ‘so you could have easily left me to struggle.’
‘Right. It’s a contest, yes – but let’s make it a fair one,’ he said. ‘I want you to compete at your best, and I’ll compete at mine. No one else will stand a chance.’
That drew a laugh from her. God, he loved the sound.
‘What about after that? We fight amongst ourselves?’ she asked.
‘To the bitter end, with whisks drawn for battle,’ he said sombrely, hand against his chest.
She giggled again. ‘Okay.’ She pulled up the notes app on her phone. ‘I’m doing one main loaf I’m confident with, but for the mini ones – the kittens – here’s the recipe. I’m struggling with it. Again, maybe overambitious of me, but . . .’
‘Let’s give it a whirl.’
They set to work. Clem made the tangzhong paste first, mixing the flour and water in a pan and placing it over a medium heat, following the method until it was thickened and at the right temperature.
She covered it with plastic wrap and set it to chill in the freezer.
Lucas was hovering at her side like a shadow the whole time, observing, while she explained what she was doing.
‘It’s the dough that never works out right,’ she said, when the paste was chilling. ‘Shall we grab a coffee first, then try it? Sorry, I should have offered you one earlier.’
‘Sure. Coffee sounds good.’
‘Have you always baked?’ she asked him, as they removed their aprons and left the kitchen, heading through to the main café room again.
He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t start until just before me and Dwayne opened Muddy Paws.
I offered to learn so we could save some cash at first. It became habit.
My dad liked a lot of the stuff I was making, so I’d make extra to bring to him.
’ He made his way through the counter’s gate, and chose a seat nearby, sliding into it, his foot catching on a toy mouse one of the cats had left there. It jingled happily.
‘It sounds like you’re close,’ she said.
‘We are.’
‘What would you like to drink? A mocha again?’
‘Please.’
She nodded, turning to make the drinks. Lucas didn’t notice there was a cat on the opposite chair, concealed by the top of the table, until a stripy cat popped its head up and stretched out, ears tilted. He laughed as it blinked up at him.
‘Hey, you. Nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Sylvie always jokes that death by cat isn’t a bad way to go,’ Clem called over the noise of the milk frother, and Lucas laughed.
When the drinks were made, Clem deposited them on the table – a frothy mocha for him, dusted with cocoa powder, and a milky tea for herself. ‘Here you go. I can’t do coffee art like Emmie, so you’ll have to settle for a boring, non-decorative mocha.’
The striped cat had already hopped down onto the floor, helping itself to some water from a dispenser, so she slid into the seat across from him. She whipped her phone out of her jeans pocket, checking the screen.
‘You worried about them posting the video of the first round?’ he asked.
‘A little.’ She set it on the table, as if determined not to look at it again, but her hand twitched towards it. ‘I’ve already had some comments on my own profiles. New people finding me, talking about Whisked Away . It’s weird . . .’
‘Ah. I don’t use social media much. And all my accounts are private.’
‘I kind of wish I wasn’t on it at the moment,’ she clarified. ‘But I like posting baking videos and I sometimes help with Sylvie’s cat café accounts. Pictures and videos of my baked goods usually do pretty well. But with the contest . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t like the extra attention.’
‘Putting yourself out there is good,’ he said. ‘In a way, that’s especially true if you don’t like attention. It makes you more confident. You never know what opportunities will come from this. People get book deals and morning TV shows out of things like this.’
‘I’m not sure I’d want that!’ She looked frightened at the very idea.
‘Why not? We could spin out the dog-versus-cat angle.’ He grinned. ‘Everyone would love it. We could even write a dog-versus-cat comic book together.’
Her cheeks flushed, turning a familiar shade of pink. ‘That’s more Emmie’s area than mine.’
He’d never seen anyone look so beautiful while they were embarrassed before. Lucas took a gulp of his mocha to avoid looking at her.