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Whats Life Without A Little Dessert
Two things were obvious, one he had stood me up; two I would probably kill or severely hurt him the next time he showed his face around me. The dinner of spaghetti that I had cooked had gone cold by seven; I had changed my clothes at eight. Now at the hour of nine o’clock at night I sat alone on my couch a pillow clutched to my stomach by fists of furry. Such a hostile approach to a little situation like this, most would say. Snorting I rolled my eyes well it wasn’t that big of a deal I had to admit, but it wasn’t the first time I had been stood up over something stupid. Men… are always coming up with some stupid excuse as to why they were late or seen with another lady.
I guess thinking any one man was different from another was my own fault; they were all the same…the body of a man, but the mentality of boy. No wonder why statics showed that women matured faster than boys. That wasn’t just statistics it was most definitely a fact that had been proven to me time and time again. I was sure the statistic would never let me down, and if it did then that would be the day that the world went through a catastrophic change.
The more I thought about the lame excuses he was going to make that I had heard over and over the angrier I got. I was like a pot; the water threatening to boil over with each passing second…and boom before I had realized what I had done, the pillow soared through the air and hit the TV. I cursed to myself as the frame shook and the small television began to wobble on its unsturdy structure, within a few seconds time it landed on the floor with a ‘clunk,’ and broke right in half. Least it was put out of its misery the darn thing was practically ancient. I had been too cheap to buy a nice brand new one when I moved out of my parent’s house settling for one an elderly woman was selling for fifteen dollars.
Broken TV, cold house, cold spaghetti ,and a slightly wounded ego, (not that it was that big to begin with). Not only that, but there was an unbelievably agitating sound coming from outside the front door of my apartment in which I so “happily” lived. I got quite listening as hard as I could to the noise outside….it almost sounded like a groan.
“A sick irritating groan…” I muttered rolling my eyes. Deciding to investigate the annoyance I picked up a bottle of mace that I carried in my purse for protection (after all a women’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.) Mace at the ready, I moved toward the door inching my way till my hand reached the doorknob. I took a deep breath I had an unusual feeling creeping up the back of my spine. With a twist and a jerk of the handle, the door was open and so was my mouth emitting a high pitched scream as I sprayed the “predator” in what I hoped was the face.
The figure that had been lying still in the apartment hallway not seconds before was rolling on the ground hands over his face cussing in what seemed more than one language. Finally the rolling ceased and the speaking ended with a “Why the he** did you do that?”
My eyes widened when I finally recognized the voice, but I was in no mood to apologize.
“I don’t know maybe it’s because some guy was making creepy noises outside my door when he was suppose to be inside! So why don’t you tell me….” I went silent seeing the reason he couldn’t come inside or even move without quite a bit of physical exhaustion. Not only was he panting from the rolling, but blood coated his once white buttoned up shirt.
Dropping the mace, and getting on my knees I moved my hands above his body looking for something to do. They began to shake the more stressed I got. “Wh-what happened to you,” I stuttered in an attempt to get him to tell me where the wound was. He sighed in frustration obviously not as worried about it as I seemed. However despite his laid back attitude, there was hidden pain etched in his mystical blue eyes. With some effort he managed to get the words of “call nine-one-one stupid,” out of that foul mouth of his.
Walking back inside the apartment I grabbed the house phone hands no longer shaking as I dialed the number. If he wasn’t “that” worried about it then why should I be? I could take my sweet old time, and let him die on the floor…or.
Someone picked up immediately making me almost smile, “Nine-one-one,” the high pitched nearly squeak voice that could be a man or a woman choked out. “What is your emergency?”
With a sigh I began to talk in a rather fast, and mildly irritated tone. This was his entire fault…
“Yes, hello ..,” was there any simple way to put this? “Er… my friend is on the ground…bleeding badly….,”I noted before, the squeaky voice went on. “No I don’t know where…he’s soaked in blood how am I suppose to know.” I snapped a little agitated because she (or it, whatever it was,) was more worried about why and where he was bleeding rather than asking me for an address, and getting an ambulance to my house.
“Please calm down ma’am, now where is your house located at,” the unidentified voice rang out in commanding authority.
“’bout time…,” I mumbled under my breath. After giving her the appropriate address, and floor number, I hung up the phone, and proceeded back to the hallway where he had taken up his quiet groaning again. I rolled my eyes.
“Such a baby,” I muttered, bending down and grabbing the man’s wrist so I could lug him to the elevator so as to not waste time.
It had taken quite a bit of effort to drag him to the elevator leaving me panting when I was done. I looked down as I pushed the lobby button, simultaneously giving him a teasing grin.
“Looks like you’re going to the hospital.” I teased. This only earned me a sneer in return because he was panting from the labor as well, for he had proceeded to crab walk backwards to try in help me. This had only ended us on the ground in a mess of tangled limbs. It took about a minute to reach the bottom due to the constant stopping of the elevator on each floor. I lived on the fourth, to take that long to get down the elevator was ridiculous. Throwing him off the balcony to the first floor might’ve been a better choice.
When we arrived there was an ambulance already parked outside the door of the apartment complex, and they were rushing a stretcher through the door. When they got him up on it, and were carrying him away to the back of the truck I called, “That’s what happens when you stand a girl up.”
Before the truck doors shut his hand came up and he gave me a flick of his middle finger, making me smile. I waved at the ambulance as it left before heading back up to my apartment. The paramedics had said he was fine, and so I didn’t need to worry. Picking up my cold plate of spaghetti I shoved a forkful of it into my mouth, and picked up the ripped, and jelly stained cover of one of my favorite books. Pride and Prejudice.
I wasn’t sure what time it was, but what I did know was that it was cold, almost unbearably so. I stayed bundled up in my little pocket of warmth, and didn’t dare move for fear of losing it. I knew I would have to get up sometime, but at the moment I wasn’t obliged to. My thoughts more preoccupied with the “things” that had happened last night.
I couldn’t believe I had sprayed him in the face with mace; jerk deserved it in my opinion. I couldn’t help feel a shred of remorse for him as well though. I didn’t want to apologize for it, but then again I knew all too well, that half pain was my fault for letting him sit there so long.
Despite the cold air I rose from the bed, in the mood to cook. There was something I found comfort in the smell of freshly made tarts, and sweets, like you saw in movies, where the mom was perfect in every way especially her cooking. It reminded me of my own mother. She would break out her best china, and dessert recipes for every special occasion. Make muffins for dinner, or sweet strawberry tarts for our breakfast. Lucky us, we were the kids that got to have made breakfast every morning, for my mother was just one of those movie mothers. My brother who was a hog never took the time to learn how to make the food, instead he spent his time consuming it. As for me by the time I had reached the age of twelve cooking was my life, not so much eating, but the process of making a delicious, whatever it was to be that day was the best experience in itself. Not only that, but by the time I had got done making it I felt I deserved the food, because I had made it. I only ever had one serving of everything though.
I was afraid I would get sick of eating and would never enjoy the taste again because I ate it so much. However that never happened, even on those occasional moments were I got another just because I wanted it. My forte though was obviously desserts, my mother and I had found that one out in the ninth grade. This is the year that I started to make dessert after dessert, experimenting with every little ingredient. By then I could have run my own cupcake shop without a flaw, but now I had a whole bakery, with only my recipes. Not only did I make the number one best pie in the town of Springspill Ohio, but I made the best pizza. The pizza was something optional, and it was one of our biggest hits.
We had decided (me and my staff) to keep the pizza around only for a limited time feeling we needed something new besides the usual bakery kind of stuff. Not two weeks after making the pizza, we decided to keep it, was a wonderful hit from the first day we ever made it, and it was staying that way as well.
My mind wandered when I got to the subject of pizza, which was the reason I had met...him. Well Jamie Matlock that is. My hands wondered to the cupboard for a pan to put the now mixed blueberry muffins into it. As I poured I recalled the first day I had met him…or should I say the first time I had seen him face to face.
I had been getting calls for a while from a building company offering me large amounts of money for the property of which my bakery was on. I had declined each offer more than once, despite their persistence. This was a family place, a well known one at that. It wasn’t right to move it to some place new. I loved it here as well and so did all my employs which was a total of three. It was a perfect place to come take a load off. High booths for privacy yet open seats next to green mini curtained windows. It was open and spacious; the checkered green and white floor neatly mopped every day. Little yellow flowers in each small vase, on every table. That was what the customers enjoyed that and the wonderful sweets. But for me and my apprentices it was the enormous kitchen the sweet delight in coming to work every day in a place with practically free rein.
The day the first call came Madeline my cupcake, cake, and anything else you can think of decorator picked up the phone with her normal giddy face on. However as she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone I watched her face go from a giant smile, to simply shocked, she nearly dropped the phone. Running to her rescue I picked up the phone and answered with my normal greeting.
“Hello… yes this is Evangaline Whimloct…yes I am the one that owns ‘World of D’ bakery.”
I listened to the semi-deep alluring voice on the other end of the phone, “Hello, this is Jamie Matlock, secretary of the building supervisor at Mitch and Kagle Inc. We would like to know if you’d be willing to donate land for a children’s playground that we’ll be built in your area.”
At that point in time I didn’t seem suspicious of anything in the least, and as we began to talk I realized just how much land they were asking me to give up. It was more than what I had thought. In fact the man had been crazy enough to ask me to move my shop for the sake of the children. By that point I was getting testy, and before I hung up I thoroughly cussed him out.
The calls didn’t stop for about three weeks, and they had even threatened to get the government into it. They did, a state caseworker had called and asked to have a meeting with me which I rejected rather rudely. I wasn’t going to let them get to me, and if they did then they’d have to go through heck and back first before I gave up my shop for some children’s playground. Besides all the parents I knew said that their children hated the playground, and spent most of their time complaining about how much they wanted to come here.
It was a rather busy day when he showed up at the bakery doorstep. I sat at the register tapping my fingers patiently as I gazed at him while he looked at the menu. He was defiantly attractive more so then any man should be. He was slightly tanned, almost a pale yellowish color to be honest, his black up to date style hair that gave him a handsome charm. Bright blue eyes the color of just forming blueberries, kept in place by slightly slanted lids. Tall, lean, muscle that was hidden under ,what appeared to be lanky arms, and legs. He wore a suit as tough it was his own skin, each curve masked by the form fitting outfit.
I couldn’t help but feel rather flushed by the man’s appearance, and as though he knew it the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were going to laugh, but just as I thought he was he spoke.
“… I’d like a slice of pizza…please.” I gave him a skeptical look, I had no doubt heard that voice before, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.
“This early in the morning…it’s only ten o’clock.” Yes before ten was a busy time for any bakery.
He shrugged, the fitting coat moving with each movement he made. “What else is there to eat…I’m hungry. I could take my money elsewhere if you ‘d like.”
I gave him a scowl, “Just hold your horses ‘suit’ I never said I wouldn’t serve you.”
He gave me a rather cruel grin, “but you implied it.”
He was seated by the time the pizza was ready, newspaper in one had a coffee in the other. I brought the pizza out to my personal favorite spot to sit in the shop. This was where he had sat his nasty little bottom. The sun shine through the window giving the shop a luminous effect and I stood there for a minute gazing out of it in a dream like trance. I shook my head clear and returned my eyes to the man who was looking at me as though I was stupid. Rather embarrassed by my behavior I set the pizza down and asked if he needed anything else. He nodded at this a smirk on his perfectly shaped and sized lips.
“….Yeah. I need a phone number…” His face lit up into a teasing grin.
My face went white not understanding why he was being so teasing. I cleared my throat, “well then I guess you’re out of luck, because I’m not writing down all the contacts in my phone for you.” If he wanted my phone number he was going to have to ask for it directly. Turing on my heel I walked back to the kitchen and began putting the sweet Danish styled icing on the top of the tarts.
The bell at the front counter rang a few minutes later, and I came out to see him standing there by the register, the pupils of his eyes were slits of determination, a devilish look on his face. He tapped his fingers as he waited for me to get closer to the register.
“Can I help you sir?” I pulled my hair up waiting for a reply. He gave a slight shrug before beginning to talk.
“Yes… I want two vanilla bean cupcakes with your “special,” purple dinosaur icing.” The purple dinosaur icing was simply raspberry that we had died purple for kids, so they could have something special to look forward.
I snorted at his reply, “How very…grownup of you,” I mocked, grabbing two freshly baked cupcakes out of the glass case, and topping them with my personal favorite icing.
He regarded me carefully as I iced it slowly yet masterfully, the stare made me almost uncomfortable, and as though he knew it that smirk I hated so much came to his face again.
“Well…I wanted to try this so called purple dinosaur icing. I wanted to see how much I thought this place was worth.” He remarked pulling out a twenty dollar bill from his wallet.
My head snapped up angrily at this, and I glared “well how much is it worth them, since you’re an expert on it.” I fumed. It was though I had already known why he was here I was just waiting for him to say it.
“Not as much as I had offered you that’s for sure. Good thing I decided to take a good look at it or my boss probably would have been cheated out of a lot of money.” He said in the same tone.
I shoved the cupcakes into his hand rather rudely. “Four dollars please.” I held my hand out demandingly.
“Does that included the pizza?” he asked in slight shock gazing at the menu board again, before resuming his original tone.
“Yes…” I seethed jerking the twenty away from his hand, before returning the properly owed money to his hand. “Now get out of my shop.” I went to turn around, but he began speaking before I could.
“What…no phone number?” he teased turning from me, and opening the door to leave.
Out of sheer anger I picked a freshly made chocolate cupcake with green icing on it, and threw it straight at him as he opened the door. He ducked in time see it in the reflection, but when the cupcake hit the door the icing splattered and got the front of his shirt dirty. He turned back to my red angry face, and dipped a long gracious finger into the icing on the front of his coat suit, and licked it in an exaggerated way, making my face go from a light peach to a dark red. No matter how much I despised this man, I had to admit he was handsome.
He smirked licking the rest off of his lips, “That’s alright…I already have your phone number. You’re little bunny boy there gave it to me for free…” he gestured toward the kitchen door where Jack, Madeline, and Joan’s heads were sticking out. I gave Jack a death stare, and he grinned at me sheepishly a light flush o his face.
Before walking out the door he smiled, and said “Nice to meet you Miss Evangaline, my name is Jamie Matlock and I have had a most wonderful time.” Walking out the door he left never looking back.