The Little Brooklyn Bakery. Julie Caplin
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Pouf.’ Bella waved her wineglass at Sophie. ‘Pouf is the perfect word. Although why we are sitting here when I have a perfectly good sofa over there, is bonkers.’ She awkwardly raised herself to her feet and hobbled over to one of the pink armchairs, lowering herself gingerly and putting her bad leg on the messy table. Sophie followed and sank into the sofa opposite.
‘Sophie, you’re a godsend. I think if it hadn’t been for you I would have wept hysterically on the stairs for the whole night.’
‘Your knee not so good?’ Even from the sofa Sophie could see that Bella’s injured knee was almost double the size of the other.
‘No. It’s sore. And very stiff. Shit, I hope I can drive tomorrow.’ Bella leaned over and prodded it. ‘It’s very swollen. I can hardly bend it.’
‘Is there anyone else who could help deliver them? Could you put them in a taxi?’
‘Not really. To be honest, it’s a two-man job. I need someone to hang onto the boxes. I usually ask my friend Wes, but …’ she tightened her lips, ‘I was going to ask you if you could help out.’
‘Course, I don’t mind. I’d offer to drive but …’ she pulled a face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been behind the wheel of a car. Living in central London, she used public transport all the time.
Bella winced and looked at her watch. ‘I can try calling the cavalry … see if Todd’s available. What’s the chance of him being around on a Friday night?’
‘Slim,’ suggested Sophie. ‘In fact, I’d say given that I’ve been fielding his calls all week from a stream of lovely girls, he’s bound to be out on a hot date.’
She’d already decided he was like Macavity, the Mystery Cat – i.e. never there. Certainly not at his desk when she was in the office, although there were definite signs of habitation. Usually empty coffee cups and cookie crumbs. The switchboard kept putting his calls through to her extension and she’d been the recipient of several very perky, friendly repeat calls from women trying to track him down. To be fair – and that was one of Sophie’s strengths, she was exceedingly good at being fair – the women were always absolutely charming and, rather bafflingly, completely understanding about his failure to return their calls.
‘Aw, poor Todd. He’s so busy. If you could tell him that Lacey called again, I’d be grateful.’ Poor Todd. Poor Lacey, more like. She’d called four times this week. While Cherie with the lisp had called three times and high-pitched, giggly Amy twice.
‘Well, I’ll have to call him,’ said Bella, wiping at her forehead with her arm, leaving a streak of flour across her face. ‘I can’t think of anyone else with a car.’
She tapped her fingers on her phone screen. To Sophie’s surprise, the phone only rang twice and then she heard Todd answer.
‘Hey Todd.’
‘Hey Bellabella. What you up to?’
‘Having a disaster. I need your help.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Would you be able to help with a delivery tomorrow morning? I need to get six dozen cupcakes over to the other side of Greenpoint.’
Sophie waited, expecting a slew of questions and excuses.
‘Sure. What time?’
‘Early, I’m afraid. I said I’d get them there for eight because I thought I’d need to get back to open the shop. My Saturday girls don’t start until ten. It’s a bit late to phone the client and change the arrangements now.’ Bella winced.
‘No problem. I’ll be there at seven. You’d better have a coffee ready.’
‘Todd, you’re an angel.’
‘Does that mean I qualify for a lifetime supply of heavenly cupcakes?’
‘You bet. See you tomorrow.’
‘Laters.’
Bella turned to Sophie. ‘He’s a star. So will you go with him? Sorry, you’ve probably got plans.’
‘Of course I can help.’
‘And you should be finished by nine.’
Great. That just left the rest of the day to fill.
‘Hey English,’ said Todd, immediately stepping forward and relieving her of the first box of cupcakes. He had that healthy, wholesome glow of a character from a TV ad, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, in a crisp white cotton button-down-collar shirt and denim shorts which showed off perfectly even-tanned legs.
She wasn’t sure why she had, but thank goodness she’d washed her hair, blow dried it into soft curls for a change and put on some make-up. She didn’t feel like a bag lady next to him. Even better that she’d put on her favourite cobalt-blue linen shirt that did wonders for her eyes and cut-off shorts that showed off her legs, which apart from her hair (on the days like today, when it behaved itself) were definitely her best attribute.
Not that, scrubbed up, she came anywhere close to matching his golden beauty. No wonder he had a harem of women panting down the phone to speak to him.
‘Morning Todd.’ She was deliberately brisk. The stupid sudden fluttering in her chest could just back off. Hormones had a lot to answer for. That must be it. Normal healthy response. She was not the sort of girl who had crushes. She was far too sensible, and after James, a relationship-free bastion of singledom.
‘How many boxes have we got?’ He grinned, eyes twinkly and direct. The flutter intensified and she had to suck in an extra breath.
‘J-just another two.’ She shot him a perfunctory, polite, see-your-thousand-watt-charisma-has-no-effect smile in response.
‘Cool.’ His grin didn’t so much as dim. ‘My car’s in a no-waiting area around the corner. You can’t miss it.’ He was already heading off down the street, calling over his shoulder. ‘I’ll take these if you can bring the others.’
She took a steadying breath, watching him as he strode off. God, he had a nice backside. Broad shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist and that … yeah, that backside. What the hell was wrong with her? Objectifying the poor man. She gave herself a stern mental shake.
She marched back into the kitchen to grab the last two boxes.
‘Here’s the receipt. You need to give it to the customer. They’ve already paid. Good luck and don’t take any risks. Make sure Todd drives like an old lady. I feel this batch is jinxed.’
‘Bella, don’t worry. I’ll guard them with my life.’ They exchanged knowing smiles. They’d finally finished very late the night before.
Carrying the two boxes, she rounded the corner and nearly stopped dead. Todd was right, you couldn’t miss his car. So much for the assumption he’d be a BMW or Mercedes type of man. She had to slow her steps down, while she schooled her face. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings but it took a second or two to mask her surprise. This car was a mess, without doubt the scruffiest, tattiest thing she’d ever seen. And so not Todd, who usually rocked the preppy look with his crisp chino shorts and perfectly pressed linen shirts. The ancient Golf had a huge dent in the driver’s door, the bumper at the back was missing and the panel of the rear door was bright blue, in ugly contrast to the dark racing-green paintwork of the rest of the car. As she neared she could see that the paintwork on the bonnet had bubbled with pale craters, looking like skin peeling after a nasty case of sunburn.
‘Interesting car,’ she said straight faced, handing the boxes over to him. Despite the distraction of the car, she was still unable to stop herself ogling his pert bottom as he leant into the rear seat to stow them next to the others.