Sugar Rush
By Donna Kauffman
BRAVA BOOKS
Copyright © 2012
Donna Kauffman
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-6634-7
Chapter One
It was the cupcakes that saved her.
Leilani Trusdale thought about that as she carefully extracted
the center from the final black forest cupcake, then set
the corer aside and picked up the pastry bag of raspberry truffle
filling. She breathed in the mingled scents of dark chocolate
and sweet berries. It was inspiring, really, how much power a
single, sweet cup of baked deliciousness could wield. Cupcake
salvation.
Lani shifted the tip into position. "So, it's all on you, my
tasty little friends. Work your magic. Heal me now." She focused
intently—fiercely, even—on her way to piping the precise
amount of filling into each and every one of the one hundred
and fifty-six cupcakes that lined the racks on the stainless steel
worktable in front of her—which was totally unnecessary. The
fierce focusing, not the filling. She could fill a table of cupcakes
blindfolded. In her sleep. With one hand tied behind her back.
Possibly on one foot. She'd never done it, but she'd take the
bet.
Of course, there were other things she'd never done before—big
things, important things—that she'd also taken the bet on.
And those bets had all paid off. Every last one. So, she should
feel confident, right? About this most recent bet. This huge,
ridiculous gamble that kept her awake every night, wondering
what in the hell she'd been thinking.
Had she been completely insane, walking away from the career
she'd slaved actual blood, sweat, and many, many tears to
construct in New York City, to start over on little Sugarberry
Island and open her own shop?
Who did that?
"I did," she said out loud, rather defiantly, hoping the statement
alone would inspire confidence. It wasn't like she couldn't
go back to New York if all else failed. She hadn't hated her life
there. Exactly. So, she had a backup plan ... if absolutely necessary.
Her cell phone buzzed in her chef's jacket pocket. Frowning,
she set the pastry bag down and wiped her hands before digging
it out. Only one person would be calling her at the crack
of dawn. She hit the mute button on the stereo remote, silencing
the cantina band from the Star Wars soundtrack—everyone
had their own mix tape, hers just happened to be made up of
her favorite movie theme song hits—then touched SPEAKER-PHONE
before propping it on the worktable. "Hey, Charlotte,"
Lani said in greeting. "What's up, besides us pastry chefs?" She
picked up the bag again and went back to work, too antsy to
stand still and chat.
Antsy, and angry.
"You sound awake," Charlotte said, "which means you're
in the kitchen."
"Where else would I be?"
"You live in Georgia now—where even pastry chefs probably
sleep past five AM."
"Not if they want to get their product baked and frosted before
opening, they don't."
"You're not in Atlanta. How many cupcakes could the entire
island of Sugarberry consume in a day?"
"Char—"
"Answer me this. How many racks of cupcakes are in front
of you right now?"
Lani didn't answer. On the grounds that the truth would totally
incriminate her. Friends could, occasionally, be a pain in
the butt. Especially best friends. They knew too much.
"Chocolate?" Charlotte prodded.
Lani sighed. "One hundred fifty-six. Black forest." At Charlotte's
continued silence, she sighed again. "Okay, okay. With
raspberry truffle filling. And Dutched chocolate ganache frosting."
"Oh no, I'm too late! You already heard."
"I have to make these." Lani tried not to sound defensive,
knowing she failed even as she said the words. "They're for the
Kiwanis Club."
"What on earth is a Kiwanis?" Charlotte asked. "Never
mind. I don't think I want to know. Much less why they're congregating
in clubs."
"It's all part of the annual fall festival here," Lani explained.
"It starts with a huge community dinner tonight. The Kiwanis
raises money for local civic improvements, so I'm contributing
cupcakes to help the cause."
"Good heavens, Lan, you're working . . . what, bake sales
now? Is it going so badly as all that?" The lilt of Charlotte's Indian
accent came through a little stronger than usual. It always
did whenever she was upset.
"Your confidence is inspiring. It's not like I'm helping the
high school glee club earn money at a table in front of the local
grocery store. I'm doing signature cupcakes in boxed sets as
part of a huge auction they'll hold as a kickoff event after the
dinner. The people here support me. I'm happy to do it. Plus,
it's good marketing. And the Kiwanis Club I'm sponsoring is
going to donate all the money they earn from their auction entries
to expand and improve the youth and senior centers."
"See, the fact that you need to keep your youths and seniors
in centers is a big part of what concerns me about this sudden
life shift," Charlotte replied. "But we've had that little talk. As
long as you think you need to be on your little island in the
middle of nowhere, you know I am your biggest cupcake cheerleader."
Lani did know that. Charlotte might not understand, but she
did her best to support. "You really need to come down here,
Char. You'll see. This town is like living inside a sustained, continual
group hug. You can't believe what it's like to have such
loyal support. I mean, I know it's mostly because I'm a Harper,
and my great-grandmother was revered here, but they're very
sincere about it. And it just feels ... well, great, actually. Come
down. Feel the Sugarberry love. You'll understand then, I know
you will. You never know, you might even stay." Lani smiled. If
you could hear a person shudder, she was pretty sure she'd
heard Charlotte do just that. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too. At the moment, however, we have more important
things to discuss. I didn't think you'd already know.
That's why I called so early. I wanted to get to you first. Are
you okay?"
Lani squeezed a bit harder on the pastry bag than necessary,
but managed to keep from making a raspberry truffle volcano
out of the next cupcake. She didn't pretend to not know what
Char was talking about. "I'm fine." Total lie, and one Charlotte
wouldn't buy for a second. Especially given the black forest
and Dutched ganache. Dead giveaway, really. "How in the
world do
you know? I just read about it in our little local daily
less than an hour ago." Which was why, less than an hour later,
she was filling cupcakes as if her life depended on it.
"I'm still in New York, remember? We know everything
first. Franco told me this morning when he came in. He's here
helping me with setups. We're catering a champagne gala at the
Lincoln tonight. It's crazed."
"Bon matin, ma chère!" came Franco's shout from somewhere
in the distance, via the speakerphone.
The accent affectation never ceased to amuse Lani. Franco
was definitely tall, dark, and swarthy. He was the youngest
from a family of seven with six older sisters, and just about the
best gay boyfriend a girl could hope to have. But he'd been
born Franklin Ricci and raised in the Bronx. He was about as
French as baseball and Mom's apple pie. Still, he somehow
made it work.
"Bonjour, mon ami," Lani said, warmed by his always
cheerful voice, feeling anything but, herself.
"Before you ask," Char said, "Franco got the news last night
from a production assistant on Baxter's show he's been hot
after for a month now. I had to tell you the second I heard. It's
not out for public consumption—yet—so it's not national
news."
"It will be international news when we finally get together,
ma chère," Franco crooned. "And we will. Like the finest Belgian
chocolate with French vanilla filling. Mmm mmm. For private
consumption only." His rich laughter echoed into Lani's
kitchen.
"Seriously, Franco," Char scolded him. "No one cares about
your latest conquest. We're in a state of emergency here."
"Almost conquest. And it's true love, this time,
chérie,"
Franco said with a wistful, dramatic sigh. "Or could be."
"What else do you know about this?" Lani asked, feeling a
bit sick, along with antsy and angry. "What exactly did you
find out, Franco?"
"Not much," he said, dropping the accent momentarily.
"Just that production is gearing up to start filming the next season
on location in Sugarberry. I made the connection immediately,
of course, but no one else is saying anything about it. Or
you. At least not that I've heard. At the moment, Baxter's website
and the show website are touting the third season, which
launches this week. Baxter is going around doing all the standard
promo for the season premiere, but it's only a matter of
time before he mentions the next season, since it's going into
production this week, too. His ratings are so high there's a lot
of buzz about the major networks trying to steal him away for
his own daytime show. Apparently, his network execs are pushing
like mad to get him going, filming this next season. They
want to get all the sponsors inked early on, before the rumors
get out of hand." Franco came closer to Charlotte's phone.
"Brenton told me they're going to make a big splash about the
season premiere on the morning talks all this week. Someone
will get him to spill."
"Brenton?" Lani asked. "Really, Franco?"
"It's adorable on him, trust me," he said, all Bronx now.
"Listen, Baxter is supposedly doing a surprise spot on
Today
tomorrow. And honey, you know Hoda and Kathy Lee will be
all over him, because—straight or gay—who wouldn't be?
They'll bring up the network rumors, and I wouldn't be surprised
if he mentions that he's already begun the next season of
filming, just to squash the buzz. Word is going to get out,
ma
chère. Of course they'll make the connection as it's the only one
to make. It's only a matter of time."
Charlotte came back on the line. "We just wanted to give
you a heads-up, Lan. I didn't want you hearing about it from
anyone else. How did it make your little local paper before
making the entertainment news here?"
"Ask Baxter." Lani was certain he was behind the personal
little news bulletin. He was nothing if not a master at controlling
the whims of his own fate. The question she still had no
answer for was
why? Why was he doing this? Any of it? She
said as much out loud.
"I don't know," Charlotte responded. "But, like Franco said,
your name hasn't come up in conversation amongst the crew or
production, so I don't think anyone else has made the connection
yet."
"Well, I'm not news, entertainment or otherwise, so why
would anyone on the set care? The only one who will be bothered
by this whole thing is me. I just don't understand what
possible explanation he used for wanting to set his show here
on Sugarberry, of all places."
"Lani," Franco said, butting back in, "you know it's not coincidence.
I don't know what he told his bosses, but they obviously
went for it. There has to be a hook, don't you think? And
the hook has to be you."
"But, why? Just because I worked for him?"
"You know better than that. The world might not care now,
but you know it's only a matter of time before it's all out there.
Any news that includes Chef Hot Cakes being interested in a
woman—particularly one he worked with, mentored, and
handed over the running of his beloved shop to ... and about
whom there was some pretty juicy gossip back in the day—is
not just going to be any news. It's going to be
the news."
The very suggestion made Lani's stomach sink further. Just
like it had, regularly, "back in the day." Those days had mercifully
ended ten months ago. She wanted to keep it that way.
"There's nothing
to get out. Come on, you and Char know that
better than anyone. There was never any substance to those rumors.
Most definitely not from Baxter's perspective. You two
are the only ones who ever knew how
I felt, and you both
know I'd kill you in your sleep if you ever breathed a word."
Charlotte gasped. "You don't think we—"
"No, of course I don't." Charlotte and Franco were the two
people Lani trusted most in the world. They were "her people,"
and she was theirs. "It wouldn't have mattered anyway,
even if you had," She went on. "I mean, the world won't care
what I might have felt for him, because Baxter doesn't care. It's
certainly not newsworthy now. Yes, he made my professional
life utter hell for the better part of three years—which I signed
on for—and yes, he never once stepped up to defend me when
the personal gossip started. Not once. But, though I hated it,
and it hurt, it wasn't exactly a surprise that he didn't. Baxter is
notoriously, completely oblivious to anything not in his own
personal line of interest. So, I'm equally sure he had no idea
what kind of hell my life was then, and I'd certainly like to believe
he doesn't have a single clue about the hornet's nest he's
stirring up coming down here now. I can't imagine he'd intentionally
do something so—"
"Heartless?" Franco said.
"Sadistic?" Charlotte added.
"Thoughtless," Lani finished.
Charlotte sighed. "Like I said, he had to sell this idea somehow."
"You think he purposely used me as, what, some kind of
bait? Even if he had, why would they go for it? There's nothing
to mine here. We never were anything but business associates."
"You're right, it doesn't seem like something he'd do. Yet,
he's heading your way, with a production crew in tow. Clearly
he had to tell the network something, and I don't know how
else he'd have sold Sugarberry as a location if not for you."
"Maybe he does realize how hard he made it for you to be
taken seriously," Franco offered. "Maybe, from his perspective,
he's bringing his show to Sugarberry Island as a way to
help make amends. That sounds more like something he'd try
to do."
Lani almost choked on her own tongue. "
Help? How? By invading
my sanctuary? My home? And turning it into some kind
of media circus? How on earth would that do anything other
than turn my new life into the same crazed hell I just left behind?
Even he's not that obtuse."
Was he?
"Maybe the gossip and behind-the-scenes kitchen controversy
wasn't the hook he pitched. Maybe he just simply pitched
you, going from fast climbing, award-winning pastry chef to
running your own little island cupcakery. How you're blending
the two worlds? I don't know, but that is unique, and something
of a hook," Charlotte said, though she didn't sound completely
sold on the idea.
"Besides," Franco added, "by the time you took off, what
you actually left behind was a whole bunch of people who were
in awe of your talent."
When Lani snorted, Charlotte added, "All right, so maybe
they were in awe while their mouths hung open in stunned disbelief,
after you proved they were all narrow-minded, gossipmongering,
donkey's asses. But, the point is, no one doubts you
or your talent now." Charlotte's lovely, proper accent was always
an odd contrast when she was angry. It was like being
bitched out by royalty. "Baxter's favoring you and singling you
out because your talent warranted that kind of support and
mentoring. He left you in charge of his shop because you were
accomplished enough to handle it. He treats Gateau like his
firstborn child. He'd have never trusted it to just anyone. When
you left, everyone knew you'd earned your place the right
way."
"Those were still the same people who had nothing better to
do than dish vicious, snide dirt about exactly how they thought
I'd `earned' my position, and just how many positions I had to
get into, and how often, to do it," Lani said. "I know what they
were saying, Char. We all know what they were saying. It was
ugly and gross, and I won't pretend it didn't hurt. A lot. I'd
never come up against anything like that in my entire life."
"Because you're the good girl," Franco said. "The nice one,
the kind-hearted BFF everyone wants on their side. Of course
they chewed you up and spit you out. But you showed them
what you were made of."
"Franco, I didn't stay and run Gateau when Baxter left to do
his television show to prove to them, or even Baxter, that I was
worthy. I stayed because I thought it was what I wanted, what
I'd worked so hard for. It was the pinnacle, the dream. I knew
I'd earned my way to that success, because I'm the one who
busted my backside to achieve it. And that was all that mattered."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sugar Rush
by Donna Kauffman
Copyright © 2012 by Donna Kauffman.
Excerpted by permission of BRAVA BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.