“There’s not nearly enough time to go down that rabbit hole,” I whispered as I tapped the screens to preheat the ovens. If he came home more often, it was better I didn’t know. Especially with our temporary hearing next week. I wanted to do anything I could to avoid rocking the boat. Baking in the home I’d abandoned felt like asking for a fight, and Robert never fought fairly.
An hour later, I’d baked four sheet cakes using my favorite recipe and blessed double ovens. I rushed the cooling process as much as possible in our mostly empty Sub-Zero freezer while I whipped up the buttercream frosting.
I checked the time repeatedly as I tested the cakes’ temperatures. When it was safe to cut out circles, I used a biscuit cutter, then arranged the disks onto parchment paper covering several large cookie sheets. I piped icing onto the cakes one at a time and topped them with a second round of cake. I repeated the process until all the cakes were stacked three disks tall and iced with decorative peaks. I dashed the tops withcolored sugar crystals and added an edible purple flower before calling the project done.
“Not bad for a rush job,” I said. Then I piped a little icing onto one of the leftover corners of my cake and gave it a taste test. I savored the flavors and textures on my tongue, then moved the extra cake and icing to containers and piled them into a canvas shopping bag. No sense in letting perfectly good cake and icing go to waste. Plus, I didn’t want to leave any evidence of my work behind. I stole one last piece of cake before washing up the pans and dishes and putting it all away.
“One more thing.”
I stepped back and snapped a photo. A little fodder for the Invisible Baker’s Instagram account.
Chapter Eleven
I pulled into the lot outside Chez Margot, a French café on Main Street, after finishing my shopping the next day. I passed the little restaurant every time I visited my favorite riverside grocer, and I itched to finally get a look inside. Also, I was starving and in no mood to cook when I got home.
Twinkle lights wrapped support posts, and ivy climbed the redbrick exterior to a black-and-white-striped awning above the front door. The delectable scents of baking bread and fresh basil floated in the air, and my stomach growled in anticipation. If the food tasted half as good as it smelled, I’d never eat anywhere else again.
The interior decor continued the outside theme. Black accents, exposed bricks, and a plethora of plants made the space feel cheery and inviting. Chatter and laughter lifted on the air.
A framed photo of a gorgeous dark-haired couple hung near the hostess stand, an image of the restaurant in the background. The man’s eyes were kind and the woman’s smile enchanting. I’d never looked as happy or at ease in photos with Robert. I envied them both immediately.
Why did I spend two decades feeling insecure and uncertain with Robert when I could’ve been independent and free?
“Can I help you?” a man called, striding purposefully in my direction. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A few wrinkles formed at the edges of his mouth and eyes as he smiled. He looked older than in the photo, butI recognized him immediately. The platinum wedding band on his left hand shone in the light.
“I’m just picking up something for lunch,” I said.
“Name?” he asked.
“Sophie, and you?”
He paused, then laughed.
It took a moment before I recognized my mistake.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” I said. “You weren’t asking my name to be friendly, and I’m not picking you up. I mean, I’m not picking up lunch. No. I am,” I stammered. “Here for lunch. Not you—” I stopped talking and wrinkled my nose.Dear lord,I thought, utterly baffled. Was I this shaken by the presence of a handsome man? Or had hunger impacted my brain?
“You know what?” I turned, waved, then marched back the way I’d come in, so I could die in peace.
“Wait,” he called. “Where are you going?”
I stopped just short of the exit and peered over my shoulder at him. “Oh, I’m going to walk into traffic now.”
He burst into laughter and motioned me back. A dimple sank in one cheek as he grinned.
I immediately hated myself for finding another woman’s husband so ridiculously attractive.
Maybe hunger really had addled my brain.
“I think we should start over,” he said. “I’m Lucas.”
A young woman in braids and a polo shirt with the restaurant’s logo rounded the corner, then stopped short. Her eyes went wide at the sight of us, and she hurried in our direction. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear anyone come in,” she explained. “My apologies.”
He waved her off, eyes fixed on me. “No, it’s fine, Pam. Sophie and I were just talking. Will you take a bottle of merlot to the couple at table twelve? It’s their anniversary.”
“Of course.” She offered a polite smile, then hurried away.
Lucas stretched out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
