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Authors: Luanne Jones
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understand.”
“Follow me.” Rita snagged his sleeve as she hurried past into the kitchen.
“I’ll pull a table and four chairs into the middle of the floor.”
“What is going on here, Rita?”
“You know that old song ‘If I Knew You Were Coming I’d Have Baked a Cake’?”
“Song?” He tagged along with her to the mammoth steel-doored refrigerator.
“Well, I knew you were coming, so I did bake a cake. My specialty.”
“Princess cake?”
“Three layer, red velvet cake with a seven-minute boiled frosting and a crown on top made of drizzled white chocolate and strawberries.” She brought out a large plastic container of tea. “Pour that into the nicest pitcher you can find, why don’t you? I’ll get the cake.”
He scanned the shelves until he found the one pitcher that was neither cracked nor stained nor ugly enough to send his mother into a fainting spell. He filled it with ice from the machine. “You were going to serve me something called Princess cake?”
“And you were going to ask for seconds, probably thirds, and a piece to take home for a midnight snack.”
Having tasted her cooking already, he did not doubt that. He poured the tea into the new container. “But Princess cake?”
“Don’t start with me, Will.” Both of her arms and most of her upper body disappeared inside the fridge. “I cannot deal with your mother, my ex, and your sexual-ambiguity-in-regard-to-snack-food identity crisis all at the same time.”
He didn’t even know where to start to address that. “Sexual ambiguity? Snack-food crisis? Me? I am not the one here with identity and self-esteem cri…Damn.”
She held the plate before her, peering at him over the peaks of lacy confection and strawberries dipped in white chocolate. “The Perfect Princess cake.”
“This will stop even my mama dead in her tracks.”
“Shh. Quick, say a prayer.”
“A what ? Why?”
“Never say dead and mama in the same sentence if your mother is still living. Don’t you have any sense at all?”
“You’ve as much as told me I don’t.”
“Shut your eyes and say a prayer, I mean it.”
He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. The message was far from heavenly. When he opened his eyes again Rita was gone, but the sweet aroma of that cake still lingered. So did the feeling that for all his bravado about coming here to help her realize her potential, he might well be the one who ended up learning a thing or two about life and himself in the bargain.
Chapter 5
E VERY D IXIE B ELLE D ISCOVERS :
What we tell ourselves we are, that’s what we become.
“I thought you said they were on their way.” Will raised his arm just enough to give Rita a view of his flexed muscles.
He was showing her his wristwatch, no doubt, but what she saw was muscle. Her pulse picked up. When Rita caught the subtle scent on Will’s skin and took a deep breath she swore she drew in some kind of electrical charge that sent a shiver through her whole body.
Careful not to jiggle the table where they both sat in wait, she moved closer and pretended to make a note of the time. “Well, you know how it is around here. A body dare not step a toe outside the house without proper attention to hair, clothes, and makeup. Or the next thing you know somebody down at the Belles and Beaux BeautySalon will spread the word that you are definitely letting yourself go !”
“And Pernel can’t afford that kind of bad word of mouth.” Jillie never turned her gaze from the row of parking places out front. Still, her satisfaction at making a cutting remark about Rita’s ex showed in the faint reflection of her face on the glass door where she stood watch.
“Did anyone ever tell you what a bitch you are, Jillie?”
“About as often as folks tell you what they really think of your brother,” she said, not looking back to see how he took it.
“Then I guess you don’t hear it often enough.” He sat back and curved his hand around the top of
“Follow me.” Rita snagged his sleeve as she hurried past into the kitchen.
“I’ll pull a table and four chairs into the middle of the floor.”
“What is going on here, Rita?”
“You know that old song ‘If I Knew You Were Coming I’d Have Baked a Cake’?”
“Song?” He tagged along with her to the mammoth steel-doored refrigerator.
“Well, I knew you were coming, so I did bake a cake. My specialty.”
“Princess cake?”
“Three layer, red velvet cake with a seven-minute boiled frosting and a crown on top made of drizzled white chocolate and strawberries.” She brought out a large plastic container of tea. “Pour that into the nicest pitcher you can find, why don’t you? I’ll get the cake.”
He scanned the shelves until he found the one pitcher that was neither cracked nor stained nor ugly enough to send his mother into a fainting spell. He filled it with ice from the machine. “You were going to serve me something called Princess cake?”
“And you were going to ask for seconds, probably thirds, and a piece to take home for a midnight snack.”
Having tasted her cooking already, he did not doubt that. He poured the tea into the new container. “But Princess cake?”
“Don’t start with me, Will.” Both of her arms and most of her upper body disappeared inside the fridge. “I cannot deal with your mother, my ex, and your sexual-ambiguity-in-regard-to-snack-food identity crisis all at the same time.”
He didn’t even know where to start to address that. “Sexual ambiguity? Snack-food crisis? Me? I am not the one here with identity and self-esteem cri…Damn.”
She held the plate before her, peering at him over the peaks of lacy confection and strawberries dipped in white chocolate. “The Perfect Princess cake.”
“This will stop even my mama dead in her tracks.”
“Shh. Quick, say a prayer.”
“A what ? Why?”
“Never say dead and mama in the same sentence if your mother is still living. Don’t you have any sense at all?”
“You’ve as much as told me I don’t.”
“Shut your eyes and say a prayer, I mean it.”
He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. The message was far from heavenly. When he opened his eyes again Rita was gone, but the sweet aroma of that cake still lingered. So did the feeling that for all his bravado about coming here to help her realize her potential, he might well be the one who ended up learning a thing or two about life and himself in the bargain.
Chapter 5
E VERY D IXIE B ELLE D ISCOVERS :
What we tell ourselves we are, that’s what we become.
“I thought you said they were on their way.” Will raised his arm just enough to give Rita a view of his flexed muscles.
He was showing her his wristwatch, no doubt, but what she saw was muscle. Her pulse picked up. When Rita caught the subtle scent on Will’s skin and took a deep breath she swore she drew in some kind of electrical charge that sent a shiver through her whole body.
Careful not to jiggle the table where they both sat in wait, she moved closer and pretended to make a note of the time. “Well, you know how it is around here. A body dare not step a toe outside the house without proper attention to hair, clothes, and makeup. Or the next thing you know somebody down at the Belles and Beaux BeautySalon will spread the word that you are definitely letting yourself go !”
“And Pernel can’t afford that kind of bad word of mouth.” Jillie never turned her gaze from the row of parking places out front. Still, her satisfaction at making a cutting remark about Rita’s ex showed in the faint reflection of her face on the glass door where she stood watch.
“Did anyone ever tell you what a bitch you are, Jillie?”
“About as often as folks tell you what they really think of your brother,” she said, not looking back to see how he took it.
“Then I guess you don’t hear it often enough.” He sat back and curved his hand around the top of
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