The Ingredients of You and Me Page 4

  Make good decisions. If that wasn’t a mantra for me to remember the entire time I was here, I didn’t know what was.

  My lips curled together in an effort to stop myself from laughing. My grandparents died before I was born, but I wagered this was what they would have sounded like. “Okay, I’ll add boots to my list of stuff I have to get.”

  Mancini nodded and raised her hand. One by one she ticked off on her fingers, “Boots, a warmer coat—preferably one with a waterproof outer shell—a hat with earflaps, gloves, and jeans that aren’t strewn with holes, please and thank you. Also, remind me to give you a warm quilt. I doubt those fancy Air Bob’s have anything suitable.”

  “They’re not called Airb— I mean they’re called Airbn— You know, never mind. Thanks, Mancini. I’ll be sure to remind you.”

  In my head, I was wondering why I was doing this to myself. It was my first day in town, and I was spending it with an eightysomething. But when she looked at me with her big brown eyes, my smile got a bit wider. I was close with my parents, but they’d traveled a lot since retirement, and with my former crazy schedule at the bakery, I didn’t see them often. Being cared about by someone who barely knew me was comforting and in an odd way, I was genuinely grateful.

  “Promise?”

  I smiled. “Yes, I promise.”

  We climbed up the wide, well-shoveled steps, and I wondered who did them for Gigi. Unless she had some sort of plow rigged up to her motorized wheelchair, which wouldn’t surprise me.

  When we arrived at the front door, I heard voices carrying outside. It sounded like dozens of people yammering.

  “What’s going on here? Are we interrupting something?” I asked, hoping that we weren’t crashing a party.

  “Not at all. Something much better,” she said, pushing the door open without a knock. “You’ve got front seats to the hottest ticket in town!”

  “You guys got a run of Hamilton here?”

  She bumped her hip into mine as she crossed the threshold. Lin-Manuel Miranda wasn’t inside, but Gigi was speeding toward me, a wide, beaming smile on her face.

  Behind her, a dozen or so card-carrying members of AARP were looking at me expectantly. I lightly elbowed Mancini, who, like Gigi, was smiling.

  “Hi, everyone,” I said nervously.

  “Welcome to the Hope Lake Senior Citizens’ Club.”

  Just exactly how old do I look? That’s what I wanted to ask. I didn’t of course because, rude. They were seniors, but they were also perfectly lovely.

  Gigi’s house was apparently the meeting spot for the group.

  “This seems like the social event of the week. What am I so rudely interrupting?”

  “Never an interruption. We’re happy to have you here!” Gigi said, taking my hand gently. “Twice a month, or more, if we’re feeling saucy, we get together to hobnob, kvetch, and organize whatever activities we want to.”

  I smiled. “Wow. It seems like you guys run Hope Lake.”

  “We do. Just don’t tell Cooper,” Mancini said, referring to the town’s mayor.

  I laughed as we walked into the next room. In Gigi’s traditionally styled dining room, the club members gathered at a table that was generous enough to fit more than a dozen busybodies with room to spare. The table wasn’t set for dinner per se, but there were plates stacked at one end, a pile of colorful napkins with snowflakes on them, and a runner down the center, where a profound amount of food sat atop it looking and smelling delicious. My stomach growled in delight.

  Mancini was walking to the kitchen with the lasagna in her hands, talking to a woman, when she tossed over her shoulder, “I’m going to throw this into the oven to warm up, but make yourself at home, Parker.”

  “Mancini,” I called, but she was already out of earshot. I thought this was just going to be a quick pit stop. Looks like pit stop was code for dinner party courtesy of the seniors of Hope Lake.

  “Can I get you something to drink, dear?” a thin, diminutive woman asked. She had a severe black bob and winged eyeliner that made Adele’s look amateur.

  “Uh, sure. Water is fine.” I smiled and waited for her to walk away. But she stayed next to me, looking on expectantly as if I’d never answered.

  “Hello?” I asked, touching her arm gently.

  “Oh, you’re serious. Silly me. I didn’t expect anyone to ask for water. I’ll ask Gigi if she has any,” she said, turning to walk away, but I stopped her.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll take whatever is handy,” I insisted, looking around for a station set up with drinks.

  Sure enough, a wheeled bar cart with brass fixtures and a glass top filled with liquor bottles sat in the far corner of the expansive dining room. “Holy shit, you guys are getting lit?”

  The woman laughed. “We’re having a drink, if that’s what that means. We have the usuals: manhattans, highballs, amaretto sours, gin and tonics. The normal fare.”

  Normal? What year was it? But it made sense. These ladies weren’t thirty-year-olds drinking IPAs and craft beers. They probably had whiskey and bourbon when they were my age. If I drank that, I’d burn up from the inside out.

  “Tonic water with a lime is fine with me. In case I have to drive Mancini home,” I teased, figuring anyone could back the SUV out and over a hundred feet.

  She gave me the slightest eye roll and ventured off to the cart.

  Under the window was another table full of food, and this spread was nothing to sneeze at either. Though this was my first senior citizens’ club meeting, I had to wager that they didn’t do anything small.

  On the main table was a bowl that was piled high with meatballs, pasta in a separate chafing dish, the massive salad that Mancini had brought, a partially sliced ham, scalloped potatoes, green beans, and what looked like a full assortment of desserts.

  When Mancini returned from the kitchen, she carried the piping-hot lasagna with her pot-holder-covered hands, and she had a bright smile.

  “Ladies, let’s dig in!” she exclaimed, setting her contribution on the only empty space on the sideboard.

  I took a seat at the main table, sitting next to Mancini and the woman who’d brought over my tonic water. She didn’t sneer at it, but she was definitely judging me for not adding any gin. “Thanks,” I said as I took a sip. “I’m Parker.”

  “Lillian,” she said, holding out her delicate hand for me to shake. She wore a massive ring on each of her ten fingers. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and a diamond so large that it could probably be seen from space glittered as she signaled around the room.

  “Packed house tonight,” I said, trying to engage her in conversation.

  She snorted. “We’re missing a handful. Usually we’ve got thirty at this meeting, but some of the girls don’t like to come out in this damn weather, even with the rides to and from.”

  “I could understand that, I guess. I feel bad they’re missing all the food!” I quipped, earning a laugh.

  “Again, this is nothing. When we have the full group, it’s an embarrassing amount of riches.”

  I had a feeling I would be accidentally-on-purpose stopping in when they had another meeting just to see the spread.

  “Allow me to introduce you to who did brave the snow to be here tonight. This is Pauline,” Lillian said, pointing to a woman who was astonishingly pale. Her head was wrapped in a brilliantly colored scarf.

  Pauline extended a thin, bony hand. “Cancer. It sucks, don’t get it,” she said by way of greeting. When she smiled, her eyes glittered. While her body might have been sick, her spirit clearly wasn’t.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, tucking into the plate of food that was handed to me. While I was hungry, I wasn’t a big stuff-my-face kind of girl. They didn’t seem to know that, though, because as soon as my plate was emptied, I was having another scoop of something added. If I looked away, it just appeared.

  “Parker, do you want another piece of bread?”

  “Parker, we know you’re a famous baker, but we h
ave cake, ice cream, cookies, pound cake, torte, cupcakes, a stollen, and I think Sadie made a Baked Alaska.”

  “That’s it?” I teased. “I can feel the diabetes forming.” I laughed when my glass was filled without me seeing the culprit. Thank God I wasn’t drinking, or I would be taking the Uber or staggering home.

  Another plate appeared in front of me, dropped off by a stealthy dessert fairy. On it was a sampling of what everyone had brought. “You guys really do have meetings, right?”

  “Oh, hush. We always put out a spread for our meetings. You’re a pastry chef, right?” Pauline asked.

  “You must love to sample your own creations. I do the same. It’s a perk of the job,” the owner of the ice-cream shop said. She told me her name was Viola. Her hair was violet colored and spun up into a design that resembled cotton candy.

  Between their names, ages, occupations, and if they were single and looking to mingle or still happily married, I was having a hard time keeping them all straight. Whether self-proclaimed or appointed, Mancini and Gigi were clearly the ringleaders, as they took charge leading the conversations. Even though the ladies had a meeting to get to, it seemed the focus of said meeting was me.

  “Parker, Charlotte tells us that you are famous. It’s not for one of those sex tapes, right?” a woman in the corner said, waving a finger at me. “I hear they’re the new thing for you young people.”

  I choked on my drink, spitting a little of it onto my shirt. “Oh my God, no. Nothing like that. I was on a couple shows on the Food Network, and I was pretty popular on YouTube too.”

  “I saw your show,” Clara said, slipping another cookie onto my plate as if I wouldn’t realize it had appeared. “I was glad you beat that irritating guy you were running against. He was so pompous and didn’t come close to having the skill or talent to justify the ego. I wanted to stick him in the oven.”

  “You and me both,” I said, earning a laugh. “It was a great experience. One I’m grateful I had.”

  When the doorbell rang suddenly, the group grew giddy and eager. As the light ding-dong echoed throughout the house, I felt a sudden wave of nerves. “I’ll get it,” I offered, jumping up before anyone else could even set their napkins down. The reprieve from heading down memory lane was needed. I wasn’t averse to sharing my life story, but it also felt like a lot to dump on people the first time I was meeting most of them.

  At the door stood a smiling Henry and a harried-looking Charlotte holding a box of lopsided cupcakes. “I shouldn’t have even tried, but I promised we would bring dessert.”

  Henry laughed. “They’re perfect. They’ll love it.” He grinned before dropping a quick kiss on the top of Charlotte’s head. As they stepped inside the foyer and the ladies started welcoming them, I noticed another couple climbing the stairs. It was Emma Peroni, Charlotte’s childhood best friend, and her fiancé, Cooper Endicott, the mayor of the town. Emma was partially responsible for Charlotte leaving New York and staying in Hope Lake.

  Emma was trying—in vain—to rub off the lipstick that was smeared across her cheek. As she held the mirror up to her face, she sighed at the sight of the vibrant red stripe.

  “See,” she said, elbowing the guy beside her, “I told you she’d still be here.” Then, “Parker!” she shouted. “Forgive my appearance, this one was handsy.” Emma pointed to Cooper, who was clearly proud of the fact that he was responsible for the makeup predicament.

  “I lost a bet. I said you would have been long gone by now, but it seems Emma was right. It’s so good to see you again, Parker,” Cooper said, reaching out to shake my hand.

  “Ugh, so formal.” Emma laughed, pulling me in for an awkward hug.

  “I was so happy when Charlotte told us you were coming to visit! I hope it’s longer than your visit last summer,” Emma continued, pulling Cooper inside the foyer. “And I knew you’d be here because the ladies never let anyone leave before dinner!”

  I laughed. “You’re right. I couldn’t turn down the food. I will say you guys sure know how to welcome a girl to town,” I said, and waited on the porch for a beat until I realized that no one else would be making an appearance.

  The group was still just inside the door. No one had gone back to sit at the table. I couldn’t stay out here waiting much longer without it looking suspicious.

  Mancini stepped outside, hands outstretched for the cake. “Just so you know, he had something else going on tonight.”

  I managed a small smile. One that I hoped would convey that it was no big deal even though it was—at least to me. “Oh, I’m not waiting for anyone. I wasn’t… I mean,” I began, but Mancini’s face told me that no matter what lie I tried to float, she wasn’t buying it. “I’ll be right in.”

  She turned and closed the door just a bit. Enough to give me privacy to get composed, and to decide if I was disappointed or relieved that I wouldn’t be running into my former flame tonight. I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing from the biting wind that whipped through the porch.

  When I finally joined the rest of the meeting, I was decidedly grateful that I didn’t have to see Nick Arthur. At least not yet. Not after how we ended things. Or more accurately, how we didn’t end things.

  At the table, I was pulled into another dozen conversations at once. Maybe it was a good thing so many people were here. I would only have to explain my sudden visit to Hope Lake once, especially because all the people here would disseminate my story through town.

  As if hearing my thoughts, Pauline cleared her throat loudly. “Tell us about the reason for this vacation to Hope Lake, Parker,” she said, subtly adjusting her scarf.

  I shifted on the padded dining room chair. In what looked like a practiced move, the seniors and my friends each turned one by one until they were all facing me. Even Charlotte, who for all intents and purposes already knew the story. Everyone looked at me expectantly, and I never felt more like I was under a microscope than I did then. Which was saying something, considering I’d been on reality television.

  “Well, I guess it’s easier to start from the beginning,” I said, watching the seniors’ eyes widen excitedly. I was beginning to think their group was more about gossip than it was about, well, whatever older ladies did for fun.

  “You know Charlotte’s story, obviously. Well, her coming here, to Hope Lake, was sort of my fault. You know, in a roundabout sort of way.” I was trying to avoid telling them that I baked a cake that ended her career when—without knowing who she was—I sent Charlotte’s boss a cake that explained, in crude detail, that her husband was having sex with her sister.

  That was a major downfall of D&V. When things went awry with the deliveries and the messages, they really went wrong.

  Gigi snorted, and Charlotte playfully admonished her grandmother with a light touch on her hand. “You mean, your cake got her fired. We all know the story.” She smiled in a way that let me know that everything worked out as it should have. She got her granddaughter back home to Hope Lake because of it, and Charlotte got both her dream job and a great boyfriend, to boot.

  “Okay good, so I can leave out the raunchy details.” I laughed when some of them looked genuinely disappointed at the lack of gossip. “I’m pretty sure you can still find the video of Charlotte’s old boss opening the cake box on YouTube. I’ll warn you, it’s vulgar and really not pretty.”

  Two of the ladies at the far end of the table pulled out their phones, but Pauline and Lillian were quick to sweep in and ask them to put them away. YouTube would have to wait until later.

  “Anyway, prior to that incident, I was feeling a bit uninspired by the whole bakery model. The novelty had worn off. The messages and the reactions, the sometimes cruel requests from people—it was taxing my creativity and, well, my spark sort of fizzled out. I guess in hindsight it had a long time ago, but I didn’t really question it until everything happened with Charlotte.” I smiled, thinking about my perfectly happy best friend.

  “While I was bored, my customers weren�
�t. They were coming in by the droves. I just lost the passion for the vicious part of Delicious and Vicious. I wanted to focus on sweet desserts again, not what kind of crazy and nasty messages people could think up to ruin someone’s day. Or worse.

  “I had built a business around doing anything the customer asked. There were no limits to the wording, only the ingredients. What started out as a funny way to get back at my own ex by sending him a carrot cake saying It’s definitely you, not me, had morphed into something that felt out of my control. Granted, it afforded me an amazing life and opportunities that I wouldn’t have had otherwise, but at what cost?”

  Gigi gave me a weak smile. “At the end of the day, you can lose yourself.”

  “And the vicious doesn’t seem like you. At least not now,” Mancini said kindly, taking my hand in hers.

  I shrugged. “It was. I don’t want to come off like there wasn’t a part of me, at one point, that liked calling people out on their crap. I just grew out of it, I guess. That, compounded with how tiring running the business was becoming, made me realize I needed a new path.”

  “Do you think that was before or after the Food Network appearances?” Cooper asked, mouthing What? when Emma nudged him in the ribs.

  “Wow, you guys go right for the jugular!” I took another sip and kept the glass in my hand for comfort. It was like the adult equivalent of a stuffed teddy bear to snuggle up with at night.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to share, Parker,” Gigi said kindly. “Though it sometimes helps to talk it out.”

  Ever the wise one, that Gigi.

  “It’s okay. I’m okay. The Next Best Baker show that I appeared on was the one that put me on the map. The other ones after that helped as well. Obviously, it was a huge boost for the business. But with it came a side to things that was less than pleasant.”

  “Sex tapes,” the same woman at the end of the table grumbled. Someone across from her took her wineglass away.

  “No, nothing so salacious,” I explained with a smile. “There was some backlash, sure. People taking issue with the tone of the baked messages for one. Thinking I was being cruel by doing it, etc.”