Read Online From Scratch by Rachel Goodman - Free Book Online Page A

face. “Need some help?”
    With a hard yank, she tugs herself free and stares at me, blinking once, twice. Then she springs into action.
    “Shut up! You hot bitch. Get your ass over here,” she says with a squeal, kissing my cheek before hugging me so tight I almost burst. Hugging her makes me think of summer days sunbathing at the pool, trips to the mall followed by sleepovers, frilly dresses and high school dances.
    “Hey, kid,” she says, her favorite nickname for me. “Sorry for just dropping by.”
    “I’m glad you did,” I say, pulling back and taking her in.
    Her once chin-length black hair has been replaced with long, sleek layers that frame her face and fall down her back. Her makeup is more subdued and classic, enhancing her alabaster skin and violet eyes. She’s traded in the jeans and flip-flops from our college days for a pale-green, fitted dress and nude peep-toe heels. But above all that, underneath her smile, she seems sadder, harder, like the light that used to radiate from inside her is now a flicker.
    There’s a prolonged moment of unease when I remember my conversation with Wes, how my best friend has been lying to me for months. For a second, I consider admitting that I know about the demise of their relationship, but stop myself. Shouldn’t she be the one to tell me? Instead I say, “You look good, lady.”
    She hesitates, and I wonder if she can sense that I already know her secret by the tone of my voice. “I can’t believe you’re here. I missed the hell out of you.”
    “Missed you more.”
    “How’d Old Man Jack convince you to finally come home?”
    “He faked an emergency,” I say, then fill her in on the details.
    Annabelle smiles, but it seems forced.
    “You hungry?” I say, gesturing to the steaming stack of cinnamon griddle cakes on the counter. “I was about to eat a late breakfast.”
    Craning her neck, she first eyes the plate, then the bag of powdered sugar beside it. I swear there’s drool in the corner of her mouth, but instead of taking me up on the offer, she says, “There’s no time. We can catch up in the car. You’re supposed to be at the Upper Crust meeting, remember? Sullivan Grace will break my fingers one by one if I arrive without you. I think she suspects you’re going to bail.”
    Of course I’m going to bail. I told Sullivan Grace yesterday that I couldn’t be involved. She obviously chose to ignore that. My father must have rubbed off on her.
    I flop down in a kitchen chair. “Did everyone know I was supposed to be participating in this baking competition except for me?”
    At least Annabelle tries to look sheepish when she says, “Sullivan Grace and I sit on the planning committee for the event, and Old Man Jack’s been talking about it nonstop for the past month. He expects you to claim the title.”
    “So I’ve heard.”
    Annabelle walks over to the towering plate of cinnamon griddle cakes and steals one off the top. Leaning against the counter, she tears off a piece and tilts her head back, dropping it into her mouth. She swallows and says, “You know your dad won two years ago, right?”
    “Really?” In truth, I didn’t even know he competed.
    “It was a total upset. Everyone expected Thelma Wilbanks to win with her sage and blood orange cheesecake, but your dad showed up with an off-the-cuff grapefruit jam rugelach and blew everyone away. He raised over eleven thousand dollars for charity and was even featured in D Magazine .”
    That little sneak. I wonder what else he hasn’t told me.
    “Last year he had to drop out at the last minute and a Granny Smith apple turnover swept the competition,” she continues. “I’m pretty sure Old Man Jack will have an aneurism if that happens again.”
    I roll my eyes. “Only my father would get riled up about a poor, helpless apple taking the grand prize.”
    Annabelle sighs. “I know this isn’t your life anymore—it hasn’t been for a long time—but do this for your dad. It