“Jake?”
With his thoughts still elsewhere, Jake returned his attention to Todd. “Sorry, what?”
“You keen?”
He shot his friend an irritated look. “No, but you’re right. Maybe it is time I did something for the community. But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted.” Todd slapped him on the back. “Good man.”
“Now get out of here. I have work to do.”
As Todd left the kitchen, Ari entered. “A customer’s asking for two éclairs filled with whipped cream and topped with standard chocolate icing instead of the usual glaze.”
Jake peered through the one-way mirror straight at Molly, who stood staring down at her phone. “Let me guess. Blonde hair, blue shirt?”
“Yep. Said that’s how her mother used to make them when she was a kid.”
His mum had too; it was a Kiwi thing back in the day. He returned to his task. “Tell her we’re all out of chocolate icing.”
“Um, no, we’re not.” Ari grinned. “There’s some left over from the caramel shortcake, and while it’s not traditionally correct to glaze an éclair with the basic stuff, when we’re at the money end, the customer should always be seen to be right. Authenticity’s all well and good, but culinary norms are challenged every day and have been for centuries.”
For shit’s sake!“Is that right?”
“Plus, she’s freakin’ hot if you ask me.”
Working hard to suppress both a grin and his mild annoyance, Jake picked up an éclair shell, placed it on a tray, and piped it with cream. He slid it across the counter. “Knock yourself out, dude.”
Ari waited. “She wants two, remember?”
“Of course she does.” Jake reached for another, filled it as before, and left it for Ari to ice. “Tell her they’re on the house.”
8
Even though Jake’s parents had divorced several years ago, they still maintained a reasonably amicable relationship. Well, on a good day, anyway. It wasn’t unusual for him to be invited to his mother’s for a meal and for his father to be there too.
But when his mother texted him a dinner invitation for that evening, Jake wondered if Alexia had already been gossiping to her about Molly Parker. It wouldn’t have surprised him.
As Jake walked through the front door of his childhood home, the aroma of roast lamb filled him with a strong sense of nostalgia. Memories of Sunday dinners with family and friends gathered around the large dining table, where they’d stay late into the night, discussing music, movies, and novels. Religion and politics were off-limits—well, at least until his father pulled the stopper out of the port bottle.
“Hi.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
Still dressed in her realtor skirt and jacket, complete with shiny name badge on the lapel, his mother, Hazel, looked up from stirring a pan of gravy. “You look tired, darling. I hope you’re getting enough sleep. How’s the bakery going?”
“Good. Busy.” It was his standard response. He didn’t want his mother worrying about him. She’d had more than enough on her plate in recent months.
“And Ava? What’s happening with you two?”
Jake hesitated, forming his response. “Why would you even ask me that? She’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Don’t get all defensive. I wish you’d get out and about more—you work way too hard.”
“I went surfing just this morning.” Jake had expected her to quiz him further about his love life, but for once, she’d changed the subject. “Where’s Dad?”
“Out in the garden on his phone.” She opened the kitchen window. “Henry! Dinner’s almost ready.” She handed Jake the wooden spoon. “Take over here while I go and get changed, will you?”
He grinned. “You’re trusting me with the gravy?”
“Yes, so don’t mess it up.”
