Baking for Keeps Page 4

  “If it isn’t my favorite talk show host,” he said standing aside to let her pass by him into the house. “How are you doing, Lacey?”

  “I’m good, thanks, Chief.” She stopped and looked around at the bare floorboards and the peeling walls. “How’s it going?”

  “There’s a lot to do, can’t be denied, but it’s not impossible. How can I help you, Lacey? Do you need something from me for the Bake-Off?”

  “Actually I would like to interview all the judges at some point, Chief Hale, but if it’s okay right now I’d like to show Zac around and let him see what we’re trying to do here. I’m trying to inspire him to be the Crooked Corner bachelor. Nat had to drop out. Zac, Chief Hale is going to be one of the judges for the Bake-Off.”

  “I’m the one it will be easiest to impress. I appreciate a nice cake but I don’t know too much about the process. It’s the other three who know what they’re looking for; they’re all professionals after all. Who else is lined up to take part, do you know, Lacey?”

  Lacey chewed her lip while she thought. “Harry’s family wanted to be involved and so they have sponsored Avery Wainright. Do you know him? He’s a rodeo rider. Tyler Carter from the gym has been put forward by his employees who seem very keen to watch him bake! Um, I believe Wes St. Claire is another. I don’t know him at all but apparently he’s working here over the winter and his dad has sponsored him on behalf of the family firm for a bit of local PR, which is great. Plus Matthew West; it’s always good to have a medic involved—even if he is more used to dealing with animals. With the Crooked Corner bachelor that’s five and there are another three I just can’t remember off hand. So eight bachelors at five hundred dollars each gives us four thousand dollars before we even start. I bet we can meet target, Chief.”

  *

  Zac stood just inside the hall while Lacey chatted. He looked around at the dirty woodwork, the bare staircase, and the exposed wires. It would take a lot of work to bring this old house up to scratch: work, time, and money. All for a bunch of kids. His hands clenched into fists and for the first time in a long time his chest ached, a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. Nostalgia for the years he’d been part of a happy, loving family. A family just like the ones he passed every day, kids swung onto dads’ shoulders, holding hands with their moms, hats pulled low and hands mittened against the cold. Sadness for the way it ended so abruptly, for a boy forced to grow up far too soon. And hope. Hope because a place like this might have made all the difference to a boy like him.

  It would make a difference thanks to the dedication of the two people standing before him and the nameless, countless others who gave their time and energy.

  “Zac!” The impatience in Lacey’s voice suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d called his name. “Do you want to look around?”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  He pushed off the wall and nodded at the Chief before following Lacey into the sun-filled back room. It was a huge space, windows looking out at the garden below. “We’re planning a kitchen in here,” she said, a sweeping gesture indicating the back wall. “It’ll host a breakfast club before school and in vacation time. It’ll be filled with healthy snacks for after school and the aunts will run weekend baking and simple cooking lessons. They plan for every child who comes here to be able to grow up knowing five simple recipes and be able to make bread and a layer cake.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s a fine sentiment but they never did manage to teach me or Nat; maybe we were too old and too used to room service by the time they got their hands on us.”

  “It’s a good plan,” he agreed. He had lived on cans and mac and cheese from a box for a couple of years until he’d managed to teach himself to cook a few cheap and nutritious meals. He was probably the only adult in the US who had bad memories of packaged mac and cheese.

  “Okay, then over here is the old living room. We’re hoping to turn it into a studio.” Lacey led Zac back into the hallway and into a big square room that ran the whole length of the house. “The plan is to hold martial arts, dance classes, drama, anything really—if there’s someone qualified to teach it then they’ll run it.”

  A planned small office and reception area completed the first floor and Lacey informed him that upstairs would hold a quiet room with desks for homework, a chill-out room with games and beanbags, and a library and reading room. “There’s an attic as well so there’s room to develop further,” she said. “And of course there’s the garden, which will have vegetable plots where the kids will be encouraged to learn about plants and gardening, as well as hoops and other outdoor games.”

  She turned to him, eyes wide with hope. “I know Marietta looks prosperous but like anywhere else it has its fair share of kids who need a hand or just some space for many reasons. Some have loving families but they’re just feeling off-kilter; others, well others have been dealt a rougher hand. But they all need somewhere. Look, a Bachelor Bake-Off might sound a little crazy to you but it’s a great way to bring the community together and to raise awareness of Harry’s House. Will you consider helping?”

  Zac couldn’t answer. Not yet. He stayed away from any ties from choice. No family, no close groups of friends, no binds to anyone or anything. It was easier, safer that way. If he said yes he’d be making a commitment to this place, a temporary commitment but a commitment all the same. But how could he say no when he knew just how life-changing a place like this could be?

  “What would be involved? I don’t sign anything without reading the small print first.”

  A huge smile split Lacey’s face. It was as if the sun had come out. “Nothing too onerous I promise. There’s three rounds. You bake cookies for the first, easing you into it, a pie for the second, and a cake for the third. No novelty aprons although I think that was touted as a possibility but you get off easy. If you agree that is,” she added quickly but the gleam in her eyes suggested she was confident of his capitulation. “It starts a week today and then the two Saturdays after, finishing off with afternoon tea at The Graff.”

  “How much are you hoping to make?” Maybe he could just make a donation instead, assuage his conscience at second hand.

  “Twenty-five thousand minimum,” Lacey said. “Each bachelor costs five hundred dollars to enter and then each event has some kind of fundraising event attached to it. Plus we’ll be soliciting donations from some of the town’s wealthier individuals so we’re confident we can make it.”

  He could easily afford to reimburse the Crooked Corner for the bachelor sponsorship. “Couldn’t you just ask those wealthy individuals for donations and dispense with the whole baking part?”

  “I guess, but we want the club to feel like it belongs to the town. This way everyone can contribute whether it’s bidding on a cookie or buying a raffle ticket. Look, Zac, it doesn’t matter that you can’t bake; that’s kind of the point. Nobody will be judging you, well, they will but not in a mean-spirited way. Besides, this is your opportunity to prove that the auditor stereotype is wrong.”

  “That we’re middle-aged with the spreading middle and receding hairline to match?” Zac said dryly watching with satisfaction as the color rose in Lacey’s cheeks.

  “You may have noticed that I have a tendency to talk nonsense,” she said with dignity. “But you have to admit people don’t expect auditors to be as young and as…” She stopped abruptly, her cheeks reddening even further.

  Zac took pity on her, not sure if he wanted to know what she was going to say or not. As stuffy? Or something more complimentary? His mind flew back to the hug the night before, how soft she had been, how warm. The scent of her still lingered in his mind, a sensual memory. Hands off, he reminded himself. Even if he was to break his no dating while working rule he instinctively knew Lacey Hathaway wasn’t the type of girl to enjoy a brief no-strings dalliance. No, she needed wooing, romance, sleigh rides in the snow and picnics by the lake. Someone to adore her, to find her babbling endearing. Someone who wanted to settle down and become part
of the town she loved so much—not a scarred, embittered loner.

  It would be dangerous to agree to be one of the bachelors. To be part of this place even for a short while. He didn’t need reminding of everything he had turned his back on, although not until they had so comprehensively turned their backs on him. His gaze flew to the battered old house. Would this community have left him alone to fall or would someone, some people, have extended the helping hand he had once so desperately needed? The only thing he knew for sure is they were prepared to try. And if so, knowing how much it mattered, how could he stand aloof?

  “I’d need help. I have never baked in my life.”

  “The aunts will jump at the chance,” she assured him. “They love teaching people to bake. Aunt Patty actually learned at a proper Parisian patisserie school. She has mad pastry skills. Aunt Priscilla was in charge of cooking at the family ranch when Uncle Bill was still alive. She could make enough bread to feed twenty cowboys before breakfast and have five different pies on the table by lunch! They’ll be so happy to teach you, and it will stop them trying to get me to make a decent cake. After several flat cakes and soggy pies I told them I was happy to stay on the eating side of the process. The baking gene just plain passed me by.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Zac said slowly. “You want me to learn to bake in a week, enter a competition, and let people judge my efforts but you just gave up trying to learn?”

  “A family doesn’t need three professional bakers!”

  “In that case I’ll make a deal with you, Lacey Hathaway. I’ll be your bachelor but you can learn to bake right alongside me.”

  *

  Lacey stared at Zac in disbelief. He was joking, right? But he hadn’t shown any signs of being the jokey type so far. “But…I’m already involved. I’m documenting the process, remember?”

  “It would be a great hook for your radio show and the documentary, more of an immersive process. You can suffer along with me. Come on, Lacey. No one will even be judging you.”

  “I…” For once she couldn’t find any words let alone the right ones—and not just because of Zac’s unexpected suggestion. The way laughter brought out the gold flecks in his brown eyes, the realization that when he smiled he had a small but perfect dimple at the corner of his mouth, the tightness in her chest when all his intensity was directed solely at her discombobulated her in a completely unexpected way.

  “Let’s make it interesting.” His voice was a gravelly purr, which weakened both Lacey’s legs and her resolve. How had she thought this man stuffy? He was lethal. It was as if Clark Kent had whipped off his glasses and the real man stood there, although instead of tight lycra he was devastating in his black coat and jeans.

  “Interesting how?” She forced herself to concentrate as he offered the wager. Lacey had an older brother; she was by no means defenseless when it came to competition and high stakes.

  “We’ll hold our own mini bake-off the morning of each fundraiser. The aunts can judge. The loser pays an agreed donation to the center each time. Fifty dollars, say?”

  Another guaranteed one hundred and fifty dollars for the center. With time so tight and so much work to be done there was no way she could turn it down. And Zac was right, it would add a nice extra dimension to the publicity she had planned. Sure she was featuring the Bake-Off on her radio show and planning to interview all the bachelors but anyone who was interested in Marietta probably already knew about it. The short documentaries she was planning were destined for the internet and she was really hoping to get support from further afield with them. A personal stake would surely make them that much more powerful.

  “Okay.” Her heart was hammering fast. Lacey swallowed and before she could think her next words through carried on. “But let’s make the stakes a little more personal.” She couldn’t believe she’d said the words out loud and as the gleam in Zac’s eyes intensified she fought the urge to backtrack.

  “More personal?” he drawled, soft and slow and dangerous. Lacey’s stomach clenched.

  “If I win, then I get to show you my Marietta,” she said quickly. “In all its small-town charm and quaintness. If you win…”

  “If I win then I get to choose.”

  “Choose what?”

  “I don’t know yet. But be sure of one thing, Lacey. You’ll find out in the fullness of time because I really, really don’t like to lose.”

  Chapter Five

  “Right.” Aunt Priscilla folded her arms and stared sternly at Lacey and Zac. Lacey tried very hard not to meet Zac’s eye or she knew she would start giggling. It was hard not to feel like a naughty teenager after three lectures about hygiene and a health and safety talk that had included a whiteboard and diagrams showing all the many ways a person could injure themselves in the kitchen.

  Zac had started the morning as his usual unreachable self, aloof as if he felt himself above the proceedings, but by the time Aunt Priscilla had shown them a drawing of a person impaling themselves on the handle of a wooden spoon, which had improbably been left stick-up in a jar on the floor he had melted—much like the butter that apparently was quite capable of scalding a person so badly they would be maimed for life.

  “You didn’t warn me this would be so dangerous,” he murmured, his breath warm on Lacey’s neck. She shivered despite the warmth of the kitchen, his proximity bringing her out in goose bumps. What was going on? She wasn’t usually a sucker for a handsome face and an attitude. When she imagined finally falling in love and settling down she always thought it would be with someone kind and safe, maybe a little homely but with a good heart. Someone who wanted a family, children, and security and was happy with the small things in life—just like she was.

  At least if she was developing an inappropriate crush it was with someone who would be gone in a couple of months. Maybe that was why her stomach kept turning over and she was all too aware of the soft tan of his wrists, the strength in his hands. It was a safe crush. And nothing to do with the teasing smile in his eyes or the feeling that she was in a very exclusive club indeed now Zac Malone had decided to be friendly toward her.

  “I had no idea,” she whispered back as soon as her aunt’s back was safely turned. “I always thought the cake mix was the tastiest part but after that lecture on salmonella I’ll never sneak a lick of the spoon again.”

  “Right.” Her aunt whirled round and fixed them both with a gimlet stare. They were practicing in the professional kitchen. The large, sleek space was all machines and stainless steel and thermometers and blowtorches and state-of-the-art ovens. As soon as they set foot inside it seemed that both aunts transformed from the sweet women Lacey knew and loved to scary reality show judges. “Both of you take up your positions by your workstations. It’s time to start on this week’s tasks. Cookies.”

  “Cookies,” Lacey echoed as she took in the three bowls, sieve, two spatulas, three spoons, four knives, and cookie tsheets. It all seemed a little like overkill. Really, how hard could it be? She hadn’t had much baking success in the past it was true, but small children made cookies all the time. It couldn’t be beyond her. Could it?

  “The secret to a successful cookie is air and the temperature of the butter,” Aunt Patty said. She’d stood to one side during the lengthy kitchen orientation but now she strode to stand between the workstations looking every inch the elegant catwalk model she once had been: tall, slim and, as always, dressed one hundred times more fashionably than her great-niece.

  Lacey looked down at her trusty blue jeans, today teamed with a soft pink sweater. Would she be able to pull off swishy silk trousers in navy and gold with a matching slouchy jacket? She suspected not. And she certainly couldn’t pull off the spike heels her aunt was never without. “Baking is alchemy. Our job is to turn these ingredients—” she held up a stick of butter in one hand and a bag of sugar in the other with a flourish as if they were valuable auction items “—into culinary gold. Too much air and protein and you get a soft, spreadable cookie. Bu
t that’s not what we want. We want a good snap. What do we want?”

  “A good snap,” Lacey parroted obediently, all too aware of Zac’s sardonic glance.

  “Teacher’s pet,” he mouthed and she flashed him a smile before turning back to her aunt.

  “That’s right because we are starting with a classic cookie, a recipe handed down to me by my Scottish mother, that’s your great-grandmother, Lacey. She was a wonderful cook and she was particularly known for her shortbread. A perfect pairing of butter, sugar, and flour. Made correctly it can be cut into a variety of shapes, which makes it a good choice for seasonal cookies. Zac, you will be baking twelve stars, twelve hearts, and twelve of the classical rectangles.”

  It was Lacey’s turn to smirk in Zac’s direction as he said, “That’s thirty-six cookies,” in an apprehensive voice.

  “Shortbread is, of course, a classic for a reason,” Aunt Patty carried on, ignoring him. “Not only is it a very satisfactory cookie to eat but it is also very easy to make. So we are going to customize the shortbread recipe to add a little variety and interest to your bake. Zac, what would you like? Lavender is very popular in shortbread, or we could be a little adventurous. Chili chocolate? Coffee and walnut? Cardamom and pistachio?”

  Zac looked helplessly at Lacey who smiled as guilelessly as she could back at him, refusing to feel even slightly guilty for embroiling him in this workshop on his day off. Besides, he would probably have gone for a run and worked, Saturday or no Saturday. She’d actually done him a favor.

  “They all sound good,” he said. “But maybe a little fancy for a beginner. Chocolate chip is always good. We need a crowd pleaser don’t we?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Aunt Patty admitted with a wistful look at the extensive herb rack. “But it still needs something to make it zing. Lemon zest?”