A Perilous Cake Pop Page 2

  As Nate rested the sign down, he spotted Ali approaching. Ali became instantly nervous. She was huffing and puffing and could feel the sweat on her skin. Since she blushed at the drop of a hat anyway, and her Celtic pale skin hated exercise and sunshine, she knew she would be as red as a tomato.

  Nate flashed her one of his easy-going smiles.

  “Morning ladies,” he called, his green eyes sparkling. “And Scruff,” he added as his gaze fell to the boardwalk stray racing along beside them.

  “Morning,” Ali replied, stiffly, trying her best to sound confident.

  “Can’t stop, Nate!” Delaney cried, grabbing Ali’s arm and tugging her along.

  “Shoot, sorry, Nate!” Ali exclaimed, speeding up, and quietly relieved for Delaney’s draconian approach to exercise.

  Nate followed her with his green eyes as she lumbered past. “Hey Ali. You up for trying out the new crazy golf tonight?”

  “Sounds great!” Ali called over her shoulder.

  She turned back to face the right way, and immediately saw Delaney staring at the side of her face with dismay.

  “What?” Ali asked. “Is my form off? Am I doing it wrong?”

  “You’re dating Nate,” Delaney stated.

  Delaney had had a front row seat to Ali’s Nate-related anguish during the weeks he’d gone from hot to stone cold on her—and heard her woes spilled out over many a bottle of wine. She might be a hippy, Eother-earth lover most of the time, but she didn’t have much patience for mind games. She had boldly declared Ali better off without him on more than one occasion—even wine free ones!

  “We’re just friends,” Ali said.

  “Crazy golf?” Delaney questioned. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  Ali shook her head. “No! It’s just this challenge thing we’re doing together. Testing out all the amusements in town.”

  In her peripheral vision, Ali saw Delaney’s blond brows inch up.

  “Now that’s the flirtiest thing I’ve heard in my life!” her friend exclaimed.

  “It’s not like that,” Ali said. “We’re just friends. We have a shared interest in seaside amusements.”

  “Shared interest?” Delaney echoed with a skeptical look. “Sure…”

  Just then, Ali’s gaze was drawn to Best Hot Dogs. Cleaning the tables outside the hot dog restaurant was its owner, Seth Best, a gorgeous New Yorker with dark hair and eyes. Unlike Nate, Seth had made his intentions toward Ali clear from the get-go. She felt butterflies take flight in her stomach. Either that, or she was getting a stitch…

  Just then, Seth looked over and spotted Ali approaching. He smiled his dimpled smile, his dark eyes sparking at the sight of her.

  “Morning Ali,” he called. “Are you still on for coffee tomorrow?”

  “Yup!” Ali cried back. “Can’t wait!”

  But as soon as they were past, Delaney shot her a look. “Ali! You’re dating Seth too?”

  “No! We’re also just friends,” Ali replied. “We’re both interested in coffee so we like to visit different cafés in town and rank the coffee. That’s all.”

  Delaney stopped running. What she was about to say must be serious to stop her mid-jog! She took her friend by the shoulder. “Ali. Let me explain this to you. Neither of those men want you as a friend. I promise you a million bucks that Nate isn’t taking you to weekly amusements because of a ‘shared interest,’ and Seth couldn’t care less about ranking the coffee. They both have romantic intentions. And you are dating them both.”

  Ali gasped. Her ex had cheated on her, and it had felt awful. She hated the idea that she’d accidentally done the same. Then she shook her head. “Are you sure? Because nothing romantic has happened with either of them. No kisses. No hugs. Not even a hand hold. You’d think if either of them liked me in that way, one of them would’ve made a move by now. I really think you’ve gotten the wrong end of the stick here. Men and women are capable of platonic friendships.”

  Delaney laughed. “There’s no need to get defensive. You can date as many people as you want, Ali. In fact, as a goddess, I recommend you play the field. Just don’t be naive about it. And don’t be dishonest. Make sure they both know the deal.”

  Ali chewed her lip as she pondered over Delaney’s words.

  She was out of practice with the world of dating. Otis had been her significant other for three years, and it felt like things had moved on a lot in that time. These days it was all about apps, and Ali missed the old, more casual ways of meeting people in a bar.

  They started to jog again, passing the pier and the dark green wooden gypsy caravan that belonged to the local fortune teller, Lavinia Leigh. Her pet monkey Django was scurrying around the pier in his red silk waistcoat and shorts combo, searching for dropped coins and other items of value. Lavinia Leigh was sitting on the steps of her caravan, her dark wavy hair swept over one shoulder, adorned with pretty, sparkling emeralds.

  “Uh-oh,” Ali said. “Let’s turn back before she sees us!”

  “Why?” Delaney joked. “Are you dating her too?”

  But it was too late. Lavinia had spotted them and was coming right this way.

  Ali gulped. What premonition did the fortune teller have for her this time?

  CHAPTER THREE

  The metal bracelets on Lavinia Leigh’s wrists jangled as she drew up to Ali and Delaney and blocked their escape route. Her intoxicating sandalwood and lavender incense smell wafted into Ali’s nostrils. Her pet monkey Django came bounding toward them and jumped straight onto Ali’s shoulder.

  Scruff barked at him and Django bore his sharp little incisors in return.

  “Ali,” Lavinia said, smiling her disconcerting smile. “Are you here for my guidance? It’s been a while since I gave you a reading, and your aura is turning more and more pink with every day that passes...”

  Ali blushed as she recalled Lavinia’s last intrusion into her life, where she’d fixated on the shambolic state of her love life. She shook her head. “No thank you, Lavinia. We’re just out for an early morning jog. No need for a reading. I think my life’s pretty much in order.”

  Lavinia smiled her disconcerting half smile. “You may think that, my dear, but let me give you a warning for free. What you think will be double, will end up as half.”

  “Um...okay,” Ali said, unperturbed by her strange message. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked at Delaney. “Time to turn around?”

  Delaney checked her jogging app and frowned. “No way! We’ve only done 1.25 k.”

  Ali quickly calculated it in her mind, realizing that if they turned around now, by the time they got back to the bakery they’d have done exactly half of the planned double of five. Despite the coincidence, it didn’t make her any more inclined to listen to Lavinia. She just wasn’t superstitious.

  Ali looked pleadingly at her super sporty friend. “Please?” she asked. “It’s only my first time. Two and a half kilometers is pretty good for someone who only ever runs to catch the ice cream truck.”

  Delaney chuckled. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s head back.”

  But as they turned around to return to the bakery, Ali’s gaze went from Best Hot Dogs to White Water. She couldn’t help but wonder if there might be another reason behind Lavinia’s cryptic warning.

  *

  Delaney diverted back to her craft store, leaving Ali to jog the final few paces back to Seaside Sweets on her own. The second she was out of sight, Ali slowed to a walk. Her head was spinning, and she had a stitch in her side.

  Just then, she heard a voice call out her name. “Ali!”

  For a brief second, Ali thought it was Delaney back to tell her off for slowing down. But then she realized the voice couldn’t belong to Delaney—it was both male and very Italian.

  She looked up to see Marco, one of the twin pizzeria owners on either side of Ali’s bakery. He was heading toward her.

  “Hey Marco,” Ali said, as he reached her and began walking alongside her toward her store. “What’s
up?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Christmas window displays,” Marco said.

  “Isn’t that a bit preemptive?” Ali replied. Christmas was months away.

  “Not when it comes to Emilio,” Marco replied, casting a narrow-eyed glare at his twin brother and arch nemesis’s pizzeria. “I know what he’s like. If I don’t ask you now, he’ll get in there first.”

  “Get in there first with what?” Ali queried.

  “With a coordinated display,” Marco replied. “I think if we have windows in harmony, it would be very enticing to customers, don’t you?”

  “I guess,” Ali replied with a shrug. “But to be honest, Marco. I’m really not thinking that far ahead yet. Maybe we could discuss it later, at a more appropriate time? Like after fall, for example.”

  “Fine,” Marco replied. “But please remember I asked you first.”

  “Noted,” Ali replied.

  She was about to head inside the bakery when she paused. It appeared that Piper had opened up early, without her, and was currently serving a couple of customers at the till. Ali could see the three of them through the windows. Piper was handing macaroon after macaroon over the counter to a man and woman standing on the other side.

  Suddenly, Marco gasped and grabbed Ali’s arm. “Oh my! Ali! Do you know who that is?” he cried.

  Ali shook her head. “No. Who?”

  “Arlo Hudson. He’s the food critic from Piece of Cake. You know, that website where chefs submit recipes and compete for prizes? He got famous for how brutal his reviews were and how much he made the competitors cry.”

  Ali grimaced. She’d not had the best of luck when it came to food critics. Not because she made bad food, but because they had a peculiar habit of dying on her…

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Ali replied. “What’s an internet food judge doing in Willow Bay?”

  “As far as I know, he got poached by The Herald,” Marco explained, excitedly. “No news yet on what his role will be, but if they’re thinking of launching a similar competition as the one he ran on Piece of Cake, maybe we could all enter and get super rich!” He gasped. “What if he’s in your store for that very reason?”

  Ali pondered his words, but decided she wasn’t buying it at all. “For all we know they hired him to write a super mean column. If he’s famous for making people cry, that wouldn’t surprise me.” She cupped her hands to the window and peered through. All she could see of the man was his back. “If that is even him,” she added, eyeing the man’s back. “You can hardly see anything from here.”

  “Just goes to show how famous he really is,” Marco replied. “If I recognize him from the back! You’d better go and help out Piper before she says anything stupid that might haunt you later.”

  Marco’s words were brusque, but Ali couldn’t exactly disagree with him. Piper had a history of accidentally putting her foot in it.

  “Thanks,” Ali replied, wryly. “See you later.”

  She smiled at Marco as she pushed open the door with her shoulder and headed inside to find out what the mean food critic wanted with her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At the sound of the tinkling bell, Piper’s head darted up. Her pale green eyes looked panicked.

  “Ali!” she exclaimed loudly from behind the counter. “You’re back!”

  Ali approached. “Yup. Everything okay?”

  Piper spoke in a rapid, nervous voice. “Uh-huh. This is Arlo Hudson, and Ophelia, his girlfriend. They asked if we’d be able to open up a little early for them because they have a busy day full of appointments. I said that would be fine. That is fine, right?”

  “Of course,” Ali replied.

  She reached the counter and Piper excitedly mouthed from behind her hand, “He’s famous!”

  Ali rolled her eyes and went through the hatch, grabbing her Seaside Sweets apron off the hook and looping it over her head. She’d been hoping to wash off all that early morning yoga and jog-induced sweat before starting her workday, but thanks to Piper and the oh-so-famous food critic, she wasn’t going to get a chance.

  “Welcome to Seaside Sweets,” Ali said, taking her position at the counter and tying her apron strings behind her back. “How can I help you both?”

  It was her first chance to fully look at the pair, and they were rather odd. They were both alternatively dressed, in black leather and slightly vampirish makeup. The woman had poker-straight jet-black hair that reached down to her waist and was streaked with purple. Ali actually recognized her as a new regular; over the past couple of weeks, she’d been in often. The man was a stranger to her, though, and he was very peculiarly dressed in a hat, sunglasses, and visor, as if he didn’t want anyone actually seeing his face.

  “Your assistant has already accommodated us,” the woman said, gesturing to the counter.

  On the glass display counter, Piper had laid out a macaroon of every flavor they made—twenty-one in total; seven colors (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and brown) in three different hues (dark, neon and pastel)—as well as a cupcake with a dollop of each different flavor of frosting they offered (another twenty-one, the same as the macaroon flavors). That made forty-two sugary desserts in total, all laid out neatly in a line. Arlo Hudson was silently working his way along the counter, plucking up each dessert in turn and holding it up to the light in his many ringed fingers, turning it to inspect from all angles, before putting it to his nose and sniffing deeply, then finally nibbling it in a manner that reminded Ali of a squirrel. He seemed more like a wine taster than a food critic, nibbling just the smallest little corner of the dessert in a peculiarly considered manner before carefully returning it to the position in the line.

  As he moved from the oranges to the yellows, the woman, Ophelia, addressed Ali.

  “I’ve been trying to get Arlo to visit for weeks,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh?” Ali asked, conversationally. “Are you two new to the area?”

  She was thinking of her conversation with Marco about Arlo being poached for The Herald and wanted to know how much of the rumor was actually true.

  “New-ish,” the woman replied, again answering on behalf of her boyfriend. “We moved a couple of weeks back from Chicago for Arlo’s work.”

  So Marco was right, Ali realized.

  She peered again at Arlo as he made his way toward the end of the color spectrum, putting down the lilac-colored lavender macaroon with an appreciative murmur and picking up the neon-colored grape flavored macaroon, before nibbling the dark purple Black Forest gateau—one of Ali’s personal favorites—and moving on to the first of the brown flavors: fudge.

  “What work is it that you do, Arlo?” Ali asked.

  “He’s a food critic,” Ophelia explained. “Moving from digital to print media.” She chuckled. “People usually go the other way, but we had to put so much work into that website—not to mention funding all our own advertising and sourcing the sponsors—and Arlo can make the same amount now just writing his column.”

  “Congratulations,” Ali replied, looking again at Arlo for any kind of recognition from him. “Sounds like you’ve hit the jackpot.”

  When he said nothing, Ophelia let out an awkward giggle. “We’re very happy.”

  “So, am I right in thinking that this taste test means you’re planning on featuring Seaside Sweets?” Ali asked.

  Ophelia nodded. “Yes! Sorry, I should’ve said that from the get-go. Seaside Sweets is at the top of Trip Advisor as the place to go in Willow Bay, so we thought it would make sense to start here.”

  Ali’s eyebrows rose. She looked at Piper. “Did you know that we’re number one on Trip Advisor?” It wasn’t like her internet obsessed assistant not to know something like that.

  “Yeah!” Piper exclaimed, grinning a perfectly straight, perfectly white toothed grin. “We made number one a couple of weeks back. You didn’t know?”

  “I never thought to look!” Ali cried. This seemed like great news. Celebration worthy
. And if Arlo Hudson gave her a positive review and was half as famous as everyone said he was, then this could mean huge things for her business! Ali felt a surge of excitement at the thought.

  Just then, the strange man finished nibbling the final macaroon—the dark brown colored coffee flavored one—and straightened up. For the briefest of moments, it looked as though he was going to say something. But instead, he simply turned and began to stride away for the exit, the heels of his black leather boots clicking on the peppermint green floor tiles.

  Ali blinked with surprise. She’d been expecting him to say something at the very least, but instead he’d just marched off, leaving his flummoxed looking girlfriend behind.

  “Uh—what do I owe you?” Ophelia asked quickly, digging into her purse.

  Ali totted up the sale on the till. “Eighty-four dollars.”

  “I’ll need a receipt,” Ophelia continued as she began shoving notes across the counter. “For business expenses.”

  Ali handed the receipt and change across to Ophelia and she grabbed them both, before hurrying to the door and tugging it open.

  “Look out for the review!” she cried over her shoulder from the threshold.

  Then she disappeared and scurried away.

  As soon as they were gone, Ali turned to Piper. “Was it just me, or was that really odd?”

  “Totally rad!” Piper squealed, completely mishearing her. She grabbed her cell phone and started tapping away.

  “I said odd,” Ali repeated. “Not rad.”

  But it was useless. Piper was absorbed in her phone, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as her fingers moved rapidly across the screen. She was probably updating her many social media statuses to tell the world about her most recent celebrity run-in.

  Ali rolled her eyes. She was so immune to the lure of Hollywood, she sometimes felt like she was living on a different planet than Piper who, as an aspiring actress, seemed easily swept up in it all.

  She started cleaning up the mess Arlo Hudson had left behind, macaroon after macaroon with the smallest nibble marks in them. It was very peculiar. How much flavor could he have even tasted with such tiny little bites?