“Impressive logic. How did it work?”
“Well, let’s see, over the last four months I’ve gone on approximately twenty-five first dates.”
“Twenty-five first dates?” Her eyes widened.
“Mmm-hmm. A few of them progressed to second dates, but nothing felt quite right.”
“I don’t know how you had the guts to keep going.”
“I’m tenacious that way. Once I’ve determined on a course, I try to continue until I’ve achieved success or accepted that success is not possible. It’s important not to give up too soon.”
“Wow. Did you meet nice women?”
“Yes. Quite a few. It’s how I met Karen.”
She gestured wildly. “Get out of here. Karen went through with it? She tried online dating?” With a cry of horror she realized she’d swiped his neat blue and white striped tie with a slash of red icing gel. It looked like the tie had tried to slit its own throat.
They both looked down, but she was the one who gasped.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
He continued as though the disaster had never taken place. “And through Karen, I met you.”
He swiped his finger over the red gel on his tie and sucked the red goo off his finger. “I’d say it worked quite well.”
“I’ve ruined your tie,” she cried, holding her palms to her cheeks.
“Yes, you have. Let me know when you finish that book and we’ll go for coffee.” And he left looking surprisingly happy for a man wearing a suicidal tie.
WHEN KAREN WALTZED into the kitchen, Laurel experienced a pang of uneasiness. She’d finished The Thirty-Nine Steps and was getting together with Ron Saturday morning for their promised coffee to talk about the book. But she only had his word for it that Karen and he were friends. She’d heard of men who used Internet dating to pull together their own personal harems.
Not that she could imagine Ron with a harem, but then how well did she know him?
Karen was in full business mode and checking timing on the various cakes that Laurel was making for her over the next two months. After they’d finished confirming delivery dates, she said, “Um, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Karen grabbed at her arm. “Oh, God. You look guilty. Please don’t tell me you’re leaving. I can’t take it. Really. Your cakes are so spectacular, you’re part of our success.”
“No,” she said, half laughing. “It’s nothing to do with my cakes. I’m really happy here.”
“Oh, that is such a relief.” Karen slapped a hand over her heart. Her manicure was perfect. Laurel really should think about getting one of those. She imagined her fingernails with that shiny pink finish, then couldn’t. She wasn’t the nail polish type. “I’ve finally got my dream team, I can’t bear to lose one of you.”
“It’s more, um, personal.” She looked down and suddenly wished she hadn’t opened this conversation. She had no idea how to explain herself and felt foolish even trying.
“You can trust me,” Karen said gently. “If you’re in any kind of trouble…” The hand on her arm was both warm and soothing.
“Oh, I’m being stupid. It’s nothing. Only Ron asked me out and then he said you and he… And I don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable with, because I am so happy here and…” Her voice petered out and she continued to stare at the floor until she couldn’t stand it anymore and raised her gaze.
But Karen didn’t look at all angry. More stunned. She said, “You and Ron?” the way a person might say “ice cream and horseradish?” As though the two things couldn’t possibly belong together. “You’re surprised?”
“Well, yes, to be honest. You don’t seem like you’d have a lot in common.”
“We both like spy novels. And he has such nice eyes.”
“Yes, he does.” She tapped her pretty pink nails against her binder. “Wow.”
Laurel couldn’t gauge what “wow” meant. “So, are you okay with that?”
The wedding planner seemed miles away. She came back with a start. “Oh, absolutely. Ron and I met through a dating site but we had absolutely no spark. I think he’s a very nice man and he’s a talented accountant and I think we’re becoming friends, but we’re definitely not dating. I’ve hired him to do some work for us.”
“Okay then, that’s good.”
“You and Ron. Who should know better than a wedding planner that opposites attract.” She shook her head. “You’ll have to tell me how your coffee date goes.”
“How did you know we’re having coffee?”
“That’s how he always starts a relationship.” Then as Laurel’s eyes widened she hastily added, “At least, that’s what he told me. It’s not like I know him intimately or anything.” She cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed. “Because, in case you’re wondering, there was no, you know, between us.”
Laurel was insensibly cheered by this news. Not that it was any of her business, obviously, if Ron and Karen, who had met before she’d ever met Ron, had hooked up. Still, she was glad they hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine how weird it would be to have sex with a man who’d also slept with a colleague who was the closest thing she had to a boss. Not that she was thinking of having sex with Ron. The very idea had her thinking as muddled as one of her crazy icing color experiments that failed.
LAUREL ALMOST MISSED the letter grade.
It wasn’t until she’d made sure she hadn’t left a bookmark or a smudge or anything that might lessen the book—or her—in Ron’s eyes that she noticed the neatly penciled letter A marked on the inside back cover of the paperback.
An A and then a line of equally neat handwriting. It said: Book that began a genre. Masterpiece?
She loved the question mark at the end of masterpiece, as though he didn’t want to give out superlatives too easily. Was the A a letter grade like a teacher would give a student paper?
She traced the comment with her fingertip. She thought of the way so many people throw out words like masterpiece, genius, brilliant, groundbreaking and so on and how rarely the rave was deserved. She’d often heard ridiculously over-the-top praise for her own efforts. But then, Laurel, who was modest about most things, knew that some of her cakes were, in fact, masterpieces. Which suggested that not only mastery of one’s medium of work was necessary, but also something more. Some whiff of the creative, the unusual, that took a creation to a new level.
She’d never thought of herself in the same realm as artists—she made bakery goods to be consumed, her works of art were no more permanent than a sand castle or an ice sculpture.
And yet, she liked to think that she lifted the mere cake to a new level, infusing it with meaning and giving joy to those first viewing it and then consuming it.
A shy woman, she spoke through food.
Usually.
Sometimes other forms of communication were necessary and she never found it easy to converse. She was shy, loath from a child to put herself forward. She’d always admired bold women, like Karen, who could go out and meet new people, sell products and services, fight when she had to. Laurel was much happier alone in her corner of the kitchen putting her thoughts into icing rather than words.
Somehow, she recognized in Ron a kindred spirit. The fact that he’d made