Single Mum Seeking.... Raye Morgan

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      “They’re just going to climb out of these cribs again,” Connor whispered to her.

      “Shh. Don’t remind them of the possibilities.”

      They covered the boys and turned out the lights and left, hoping for the best.

      “How about a glass of wine?” he asked her.

      She hesitated, knowing it would put her right to sleep. “I’d better not,” she said. “But you go ahead.”

      The phone rang. She sighed. She was completely exhausted and ready to go to bed early and try to recoup. Hopefully this wasn’t one of her friends asking about the date last night. She’d already ignored a couple of those calls on her cell. And if it was an order for a cake, she only hoped she would be able to get the facts straight.

      “Hello?” she said, stifling a yawn. “Jill’s Cakes.”

      “Oh, thank goodness,” said the lady on the other end of the line. “You’re there. Now please, please don’t tell me you’re closed for the night.”

      Jill frowned. What the heck did that mean? Was it someone at the engagement party who thought some of their order was missing? Or something different? “Well, uh, we’re here and cleaning up but our workday is pretty much over. Was there something you needed?”

      “Oh, Jill, this is Madeline Green,” she responded in a voice that could summon cows. “You know me from the church choir.”

      “Of course.” She pulled the phone a bit away from her ear and glanced up at Connor who had come close and was listening. She gave him a shrug. “Nice to hear from you, Madeline.”

      “Honey, listen. I’m here at the Elks lodge. We’ve had a disaster. Our caterer has failed us. We have one hundred and two people here for dinner and we have no dessert.”

      “Oh.” No. Her brain was saying, “No!” Her body was saying, “No!” “I see. Uh....maybe you should go out and buy some ice cream.”

      “Impossible. We have to have a special dessert. It’s traditional. People expect it. This is Old Timers’ Night. Some only come to this annual award dinner because of the fancy desserts we usually serve. It’s everyone’s favorite part.”

      “But you had some ordered?”

      “Oh, yes. They never showed up. The caterer disavows all knowledge of what the pastry chef was up to. He washes his hands of it entirely.”

      “I see.” Her brain was still shrieking, “No!”

      “Have you tried the Swedish bakery?”

      “They’re closed. In fact, everyone is closed. You’re our only hope.”

      Jill blinked. “So you called everyone else first?”

      “Well...”

      “Never mind.” She made a face, but the lady couldn’t see it. She took a deep breath. “Madeline, I’m afraid we just can’t...”

      Suddenly she was aware that Connor had grabbed her upper arm and was shaking her gently.

      “Say ‘yes,’” he hissed at her intensely.

      “What?” she mouthed back, covering the receiver with her hand. “Why?”

      “Say ‘yes.’ Never ever say ‘no.’”

      He meant it. She groaned.

      “You’re trying to build up a reputation,” he whispered close to her ear. “You need to be the go-to person, the one they can always depend on. If you want to build your business up, you have to go the extra mile.”

      He was right. She knew he was right. But she was so tired. She really didn’t want to do this.

      “Say ‘yes’,” he insisted.

      She was too limp to fight it. Uncovering the mouthpiece, she sighed and handed the phone to him. “You do it,” she said.

      She turned around and looked at the mess they would have to wade through to get this done. Everything in her rebelled.

      “You realize how many they need, don’t you?” she asked when Connor hung up.

      “Yes. We can do it.”

      “Can we? What makes you think you can say that?”

      “I’ve seen you work. And I’m here to help you.”

      She winced. “How long do we have?”

      “One hour.”

      Her mouth dropped open but no sound came out.

      “Okay,” Connor said quickly, hoping to forestall any forecasts of doom. “Think fast. What do you make that cooks in less than an hour?”

      She shrugged. She felt like a wrung-out rag. “Cookies.”

      “Then we make cookies.”

      She frowned. “But that’s not special.”

      “It is the way we make them.” He looked at her expectantly. “What’ll we do?”

      She looked at him and she had to smile, shaking her head. She knew he was as beat as she was, but the call for desserts seemed to have given him new life. “You’re the one who made the promises. You tell me.”

      “Come on. What’s your signature cookie?”

      She closed her eyes. “I’m too tired to think.”

      “Me, too,” he agreed stoutly. “So we’ll go on instinct instead of brainpower.”

      She began to laugh. This was all so ridiculous. They’d just produced more baked product than she’d ever done before in one day, and now they were going to do more? Impossible.

      “Cookies?” he coaxed.

      “I guess.”

      They made cookies. Pecan lace cookies with a touch of cardamom, pressed together like sandwiches with mocha butter cream filling between them. Chocolate ganache on the base. A touch of white butter cream around the edges, like a lacy frill.

      Connor used the mixer while Jill prepped the pans and got the chocolate ready to melt. Just as the first pan went into the oven, they heard the sound of giggling from the next room.

      Jill looked at Connor. “Oh, no.”

      He nodded. “They climbed out again. We should have known they would.” He looked at her. There was no time to spare and she was the chef. “I’ll take care of them,” he told her. “You just keep baking.”

      It took a couple of minutes to catch the boys and carry them back up, and all the while, he was racking his brain to think of some way to keep them in their beds. There was only СКАЧАТЬ