Baking for Keeps Read online

  But much as she enjoyed the juggling of budgets and demands that running the station required it was here in this booth—headphones on, music cued, guest in chair—that she came alive. She might spend more time in her office but the booth was her second home.

  “Zac is our very own knight in shining armor,” she went on. “My own brother, Nat, was supposed to be our sacrificial bachelor but he couldn’t get back to Marietta in time so we’re very grateful to Zac for stepping in. Zac is also guiding the good folk at Town Hall to an easier financial life and installing new systems over there so we’re doubly grateful to him. So, Zac, how are you finding Marietta?”

  “Cold.”

  “Zac’s traveled to us from San Francisco. He’s still acclimatizing. Have you always lived in San Francisco, Zac? There’s a hint of the Northeast in your accent, am I right?” This was the joy of interviewing; she got to ask questions that in any other situation would be nosy at best, interrogative at worst. Not that asking about where a person grew up was that intrusive but as Zac never volunteered anything about himself Lacey was aware she was taking advantage of her professional position.

  “A little. I grew up in Connecticut.”

  Lacey glanced at him in surprise. He acted like a city boy. Connecticut brought to mind pretty small towns—a little like Marietta. Maybe it wasn’t the unfamiliar he disliked about Marietta, maybe it was the all too familiar. “Connecticut?” Not the most intelligent question she’d ever asked.

  “It’s in New England, just above New York,” he said helpfully.

  “Thanks for the geography lesson.” She tried to ignore his smirk but could feel an answering smile tugging at her lips. “It gets pretty cold in Connecticut though, or have you been in the Bay Area so long you’ve forgotten what winter really feels like?”

  “I’ve not been back to New England since college,” he confirmed. “Left after graduation and never went back. I like the milder north Californian climate, and I really enjoy the laid-back San Franciscan vibe. Plus I prefer the anonymity of a city. Small-town living can be kind of intense.”

  “And yet here you are. Not only has it snowed pretty much nonstop since you got here but far from being anonymous you’re about to take part in the Bachelor Bake-Off. What brought that about? Apart from my shameless begging and winning ways?”

  “I…” Zac paused. The silence expanded. Lacey’s first instinct was to rush in and fill the gap but she made herself hold still as Zac visibly wrestled with whatever words were in his head. It wasn’t the pause of a man at a loss for words; it was the pause of a man who was going to say something deal-breaking.

  “I know what it’s like,” he said finally. “I know what it’s like to be alone. To shoulder responsibilities that you’re not old enough for. To not know how to fit in homework alongside taking care of the house and working enough jobs to pay the worst of the bills. To wear clothes that don’t quite fit—that aren’t quite clean enough. I know this house is for everyone. For all Marietta’s kids. And that’s how it should be. But there will always be kids who need it more, maybe just for a little while, and I’m in this for them.”

  Lacey swallowed, aware her eyes were filling with unprofessional tears, her heart aching at the desolate tone she’d heard in Zac’s voice. All of the other questions she had prepared for Zac and for the other bachelors now seemed irrelevant. Their favorite cake, baking secrets, their perfect date… All so trivial. “That’s inspiring.” She winced at the trite words.

  “Not really. To be honest I was so focused on getting out and getting on it didn’t occur to me that I could do anything for kids who found themselves in a similar position, nor that maybe I should. But when you showed me the house I realized it would be selfish to walk away when I know what a difference somewhere like Harry’s House can make. That’s all. Besides—” he grinned at her “—it appealed to my competitive nature. Not the main Bake-Off. As a complete beginner I’m settling for mid-table mediocrity but I am intending to win the Crooked Corner mini version.”

  “Glad I could help.” Lacey seized the lighter topic he offered her gladly. It wasn’t that she hadn’t done difficult interviews before or touched on hard topics; she had. It just seemed more personal with Zac and she didn’t want to dwell on why that might be. They weren’t even friends, not really. She’d hardly seen him all week although she came home each night to the scent of orange and warm chocolate wafting from the kitchen.

  “Listeners, you’re probably a little confused right now. As some of you know I might live with two culinary geniuses but I haven’t been blessed with the Hathaway baking gene. Zac quite correctly pointed out that it seemed wrong for me to expect him to learn to bake in a week if I wasn’t willing to try myself. So, to the horror of my aunts, our neighbors, our brave fire crews, and the insurance folk, I am endeavoring to learn to make cookies, a pie, and a cake alongside our bachelor here. Without much tangible success it has to be said. Zac, how are you finding the baking lessons?”

  “Terrifying,” he admitted.

  “Aunt Patty says baking is simple chemistry, which is bad news for those of us who struggled to fill their science requirement in college. Aunt Priscilla says it’s simple math. Now, I am a media graduate but you, Zac Malone, own a company which—and I’m reading from the website here—will take care of all your accounting needs, install software that will also take care of all your accounting needs, and audit and train your staff so they are comfortable taking care of your accounting needs. Wow, I didn’t realize accounting was so needy. Now, I might be wrong but isn’t accounting just math? And if so does that give you a tactical advantage?”

  The brown eyes gleamed. “Lacey, I have the greatest respect for your aunts but there is no correlation between a spreadsheet and a perfect bake. And I know this because I have tried.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I have tried project managing every step—weights, timings, position on the baking sheet and in the oven. I’ve built in all the parameters and probabilities and you know what I realized?” He was leaning close now, his voice soft as if this were private, not being broadcast to whole of Marietta.

  “What?”

  “That there’s nothing scientific about it. It’s magic. Your aunts might tell me its chemistry and math but I’ve seen them just throw ingredients into a bowl: no weighing, no measuring, just mix it up. And yet somehow they turn them into something incredible. Something that I with all my careful measurements and following of instructions haven’t been able to replicate. There must be a wand involved somewhere but I just haven’t seen it yet.”

  “Magic? That would explain a lot. So, you even put baking instructions into a spreadsheet. Tell me, Zac, did you always want to be an accountant?”

  The gleam in his eye intensified. “Of course. Doesn’t every kid? The suit, the car, the spreadsheets…”

  “Absolutely. Every child’s dream right along with pilot and Batman.”

  “Maybe there was a brief train driver phase, and some kind of sports star, obviously, the usual American dream. But I knew by the time I left junior high that I wanted a proper job. Security, to work for myself.”

  “And now you do. Is it how you imagined or do you still have secret dreams of being picked for the Knicks? I mean, if you could be anything, anything at all, would you choose a different path now? Or is it spreadsheets or nothing?”

  “I like making things, not cookies but things out of wood. Maybe one day I’ll retire to a cabin by a lake and carve chairs and be a hermit. That doesn’t sound like a bad way to end up.”

  Even his retirement dreams involved being alone. Anonymous city living or a hermit by a lake. Zac Malone didn’t mean to let anyone in. Lacey just didn’t know why that realization made her heart ache. “Thanks, Zac. So there you have it, everyone: our first bachelor. I’ll be interviewing the other seven over the next two weeks so stay tuned. And remember the excitement starts tomorrow. Aprons will be donned and spoons flourished at four p.m. at Mariet
ta High. We’re starting off with the cookies round and you’ll all get a chance to bid for the masterpieces our bakers produce right after the judging.

  “If that’s not enough to induce you along don’t forget we are also holding an amazing raffle and you definitely don’t want to miss out on that. The top prize is a night in the honeymoon suite at Graff’s and I, for one, am planning on buying as many tickets as I can! There will also be lots of stalls including Sage’s amazing chocolates and Jillian Parker has promised to provide something extra special on her jewelry stall with prices for all budgets—so bring your wallets, people! I’ll see you there. Here’s some Maroon Five with Sugar to get you all in the baking spirit and next up we have the local sports roundup with Mitch Holden.”

  Lacey pulled her headphones off and swiveled round to face Zac. “Thank you, Zac, that was amazing. Thank you for coming along and for being so honest. You went over and above the call of duty. I owe you.” That kind of personal touch was radio gold; she knew that all too well.

  “It’s all for a good cause, right?”

  “So that’s why you were so cross at the weekend? About Ty?”

  The closed look she was beginning to know all too well shuttered Zac’s face as he shoved the chair back and jumped to his feet. “I don’t want to get into it, Lacey. It’s the past. It’s dead and buried. Are we done here?”

  She looked up at his set face and nodded. “Yep.”

  “Good, I need some air.” Zac strode the short distance to the booth door and opened it before turning back to Lacey. “Coming?”

  *

  They walked in silence along the pretty Main Street. Cheerful fairy lights still hung on many storefronts reflecting off the snow below. The stores were mostly still open, warm and welcoming as people walked home from work, enticing passersby to pop in and collect things they needed for the weekend. Everyone they passed called out greetings to Lacey. She seemed to be on first-name terms with the entire town. Most of them nodded curiously at Zac, whether they’d heard him on the radio or were wondering what he was doing with Lacey he didn’t know but the interest itched away at him.

  “Where do you want to go?” Lacey said as they reached the outskirts of town. “It’s a little early to go to Grey’s—that’s the local bar—but there’s the diner if you’re hungry or you want a Friday night beer after the trauma of being interviewed by me.”

  “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She didn’t push it but he could feel the sidelong glance she shot him.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Go ahead what?”

  “Ask me why?”

  “Zac, lots of people don’t drink and besides, it’s none of my business.”

  “And that’s ever stopped you before?”

  “That’s not fair,” she protested. “I’ve been very restrained with you, actually. It’s not my fault I have an enquiring mind.”

  He almost smiled at that. He could practically see the question marks whirling round her brain whenever they were together. He looked around. Inviting as Marietta looked he didn’t want to shop and he wasn’t hungry. “Let’s walk out of town. I know it’s dark…”

  “It’s a Friday. The lake’s lit up for ice-skating and it’s a pretty walk that way.”

  Of course it was pretty; everything about this town was pretty. But the thought didn’t irritate him the way it would have done a week ago.

  The air was cold and sharp, scented with pine and snow as they headed down the path leading to the lake. It was dimly lit and Zac could make out footsteps, hoof marks and the telltale marks of a sled. A wry smile tipped his mouth. Obviously Marietta ran to horse-drawn sleighs.

  “I grew up in a town a little like Marietta,” he said abruptly. “Nicely kept, lots of flowers and fresh paint to keep it looking good, locally owned stores, a couple of elementary schools, a good junior high and high school. It was commutable to New York, just, if you didn’t mind getting up at dawn and getting back once the kids were in bed—and many fathers didn’t. It was mostly the fathers who commuted. The mothers tended to be stay-at-home types—the ones we knew anyway: the Country Club, gym-going, designer-clad types. A new car every other year and a house on the ocean for the summer to make up for never seeing their husbands. I lived in a big house with a dog and a tree house and played Little League and thought that was how the world was.”

  “It is for many people. It’s what I always wanted. Not so much the big house but the dog, the stability.”

  He couldn’t acknowledge her words because if he did he knew he wouldn’t be able to carry on. This version of him, this truth had been buried when he headed south and he’d never intended to resurrect it, but the second he’d driven into Marietta memories had begun to stir. The moment he had seen Ty they had awakened like a kraken emerging from the deep. “When I was twelve my dad left. He’d been sleeping with his PA and she was pregnant. He made it clear that his new family took precedence. He sold our house, bought us a much smaller one on the outskirts of town, and moved to New York with his new wife and family. Told my mom she’d have to economize and get a job, that he couldn’t afford two households.”

  “Ouch.”

  He sighed. “We weren’t the first people this happened to; mostly the discarded families moved to start over in a new town. But my mom didn’t want to move. Nor did she want to get a job or live in a smaller house in a less classy neighborhood, although there were no really poor neighborhoods in our town. She was so angry, so bitter. And as her pre-divorce social circle consisted of a bunch of snobs who didn’t want to associate with bad luck—and liked the women they knew to be safely paired off—she got bitter and lonely. She didn’t get a job and move on with her life. Instead she drank to forget.”

  Lacey didn’t say anything but a mittened hand slid into his, warm and comforting. Zac grasped it, as if it were a lifeline.

  “One Christmas I had the latest sneakers and video games; the next there was nothing under the tree. There was no tree. Mom said she couldn’t face it. She spent the day in bed. By the time I was thirteen I was cooking for us both—well, heating things up, and trying to hide her credit cards so I could pay the bills and spend the support Dad sent through on food before it went on liquor.”

  “Didn’t you say anything to your dad?”

  “He didn’t want to hear. I visited him a couple of times but he said it was too disruptive for Vicky and the baby and he’d come and see me, catch a game, grab some dinner. Only he never did. He mailed his check once a month and that was that. He was done with us. And every week my mom checked out more and more. We started to play this game—she’d hide the bottles she bought. I’d find them and pour them away. Only we never talked about it. I never said, hey, Mom, I chucked away the vodka in the linen closet and she never said, hey, Zac, where’s my vodka? We just pretended it was normal for her to sit at home all day watching TV, never sorting things around the house or getting a job.”

  “So you did it all?”

  “By fourteen I was working: lawn service, fixing things for neighbors, that kind of thing. Any cash-in-hand job I could do I did. I was doing my best to keep the house from falling apart, to feed us and wash the clothes and keep up with my schoolwork. I knew that was key. I knew if I was ever going to get out I needed to study. By this point she’d graduated from bottles at home to bars. She’d be out all night and sleep all day. We barely communicated unless she was particularly hungover and vicious.”

  “But you got out?”

  “Headed south the day I graduated high school and never looked back. I had a part scholarship at Caltech and spent my summers working construction to make up the rest. This is the furthest north I’ve been since. I set up the company a couple of years out of college, auditing and recommending software for smaller firms; now we develop our own software, run training sessions, audit entire towns.”

  The mittened hand squeezed his. “Very impressive. But why, Mr. Boss Man, aren’t you in a penthouse smoking c
igars and sleeping on a bed of one hundred dollar bills and leaving the actual work to the minions?”

  The teasing tone was exactly what he needed to pull him out of the past. He grinned at the visual Lacey’s words conjured up. “We’re not that big yet, although I’m working on it. We run remotely; we don’t really have a big central office so I can manage most situations on the road, even hiring because most of my staff are dotted around the country. It’s only the developing arm and essential admin that’s based in San Francisco.” Besides, he liked being on the road, rootless. Moving from place to place. Too long in his apartment and he started to feel the walls closing in.

  “And your mom?”

  “Died of a stroke. She was barely fifty. Brought on by alcohol. So, you can see why I don’t fancy a beer after a long day.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zac. Sorry that the people who were supposed to be supporting you failed you like that.”

  But that wasn’t why he was telling her. After all, parents let their kids down all the time in a multitude of ways. “The thing is, that town of mine prided itself on its sense of community. It won awards, was always fundraising for worthy projects. But as soon as we needed them they turned away. No one reached out to my mom, no one but the guys who hung around in bars. No one saw I was hungry or if they did they looked away. Worse, no one saw that I was lonely, that I just needed someone to tell me it was going to be okay. They knew I was dressing out of thrift stores, that I worked three jobs at sixteen, that I dropped all my extra curriculars just so I could get by. And they didn’t even offer a friendly word. We were shunned. No more invites to sleepovers or to dinners or camping vacations. My pretty little town turned its back on us.”

  “It’s not like that here.”

  “Isn’t it? I think what you’re doing with the house is great, Lacey, I really do. But Ty and his family need help now. You can’t wait for him to come to you, because he never will. And the longer he gets left out, the harder it’s going to be to let anyone in, ever.”