Authors: D.S. Roi
A
sher checked his phone for the third time. The end of Monday was miserable after Sally and Rebecca left the house. Now, Tuesday was shaping up to drag along uneventfully, making Asher wish it was the wedding day. At least then he’d get a glimpse of Cyana.
Heat from his irritation seemed to hover around him. He’d apologized about Sally’s behavior, but Iona refused his calls. She was polite, asking him to keep communication on a professional level until further notice. Cyana must have been pretty torn up about Sally’s intent to take business from Huffing Kitchen. He shoved the device back in his pocket, wondering, once again, why he hadn’t offered to replace Cyana’s phone.
Because if I had, she’d have gotten away from me.
He shook his head at how well his ingrained selfishness worked. Growing up a rich brat had that side effect. He was well aware of his stubborn quality and leveraged his will well. He’d gotten his hands on his shy beauty, only to have her wounded by the Wilmington obligation to stay picture perfect
.
All the more reason to remain alone.
The thought twisted his gut. Sally could be right. With his shaded past, it may not be the best option to have someone as sweet as his little baker associated with him.
Damn.
Huffin Muffin was a great idea he was certain he could back. Adding her baking skill to the Wilmington services would be a hit in streamlining wedding celebrations.
He heaved a breath and clamped his jaw. There was more on the line than Cyana. Did he screw up his chance to nab Huffing Kitchen as his seasonal restaurant venture by getting involved with her? She hadn’t made it a mystery why she’d ended up at the Milway. What was he thinking the first time he saw her and discovered she was Mama Huffing’s daughter?
I’ve gone and done it this time.
He gritted his teeth; raked a hand through his hair. His first chance at a restaurant partnership and he’d screwed it up before he had a chance to make an offer.
Herman’s gonna kill me.
“Senor Wilmington, where would you like the bar?” Miguel yanked him out of his brooding.
The breeze should have woken him from his fret while he held the door open for Miguel’s crew to unload the rig parked in front of the Milway. Only now did he notice the heavy scent of rain mingled with rose and gardenia.
He glanced up from the porch where men were marching past him with padded dining chairs and tables, portions of the bar and spools of fabric. The wind had increased with the looming storm, threatening to green up the lawn one last time before the wedding. The large magnolia bushes along the cobblestone drive swayed in the saturated gusts. He blinked and turned to Miguel.
“Put it next to the kitchen. We’re gonna set it against the wall there and bring it out to the double doors so folks can grab a drink comin’ or going,” he said.
The increased moisture in the air had the men hustling to get all the items inside ahead of the storm. Memory pinched at the ache in Asher’s chest. His mind wandered back to meeting Cyana, standing in her hoodie while the sprinkles dropped around her. The passion they shared at the lake and in the Colonial room during the heavy rain shunted a wave of yearning through his body and straight to his cock. Damn if he hadn’t replayed the sight of her coming in his head at least fifty times a day. He was addicted. Plain and simple.
“Vamanos!” One of the men shouted in alarm.
Asher ripped from his reflections with a curse. He needed a doorstop on all the entryways and exits before the wedding. Mostly, he had to focus on something other than his Cyana. The crew hustled inside with the last of their load. A crack of thunder clapped and lightning ripped across the sky.
I
ona set a bowl of kale and white bean soup in front of Cyana. Her stomach growled from the scent of it through the yoga workout with Mama. The lengthy “Mm” left her throat from the memory of how clean and flavorful Iona’s soups always were.
“Gotta have a taste of home with the weather out there,” Iona said, setting Mama’s bowl down.
“Thanks, baby,” Mama said, still engrossed in the laptop.
“Mama, eat!” Josiah clambered up his high chair.
Iona rolled him closer to the table and took her seat. She set her phone down and proceeded to blow on spoons of soup before instructing Josiah on how to chew what she shoveled in his mouth.
“He’s still inclined to swallowing right off, I take it?” Cyana asked.
“You know our boys have always liked my cookin’,” she said.
Cyana laughed. “Girl, everybody likes your cookin’.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Mama agreed.
Iona laughed. “Yep, seems like Asher and Rebecca still want to give Huffing Kitchen a go.”
“Really?” Cyana asked.
“I meant to ask you what you did to that boy. He’s been blowin’ up my phone. Girl, we may have to replace yours today at this rate.”
She shrugged. “Not in the storm.” The memory of his kiss and intensity of his need in the Milway fridge warmed her. The sensation was followed by the heavy dread of not being able to talk with him after Sally’s performance.
Somewhere, her heart wanted to believe he was different from his mother; someone other than what Sally wanted him to be. But, she could be projecting her desires on his personality because of her feelings. What had she seen in him that could speak differently? A crack of thunder solidified the pending doom of a downpour.
“Don’t miss the flash floods in the iceberg, do ya?”
Cyana pointed her spoon. “Iona, Chicago is not an iceberg.”
Iona smiled and grew quiet a moment to feed Josiah enough bites to keep him calm. “Okay, so what are you gonna do about your white boy?”
“What do you mean?” Cyana shrugged.
“Come on, Ce Ce. You’ve not been yourself since leaving the Milway. Don’t try and pretend like you’re not sweet on him.”
Cyana sighed. “That’s the problem.” She paused long enough to spoon a heaping amount of soup in her mouth. She finished the bite. “It’s so crazy. I knew he’d be trouble the moment I looked him over.”
“Um-hum, the biceps and the buns. Sucked you right in,” Iona declared.
Mama laughed, entertained enough by the girl talk to close the computer.
“I wish it was simple, but…” Cyana shook her head.
Mama’s brow knit. “What is it, baby?”
“His eyes, Mama. It was like you said. They were so kind and happy. I tried to think maybe it was because I haven’t paid much attention to the guys around. I’ve never seen that kind of joy in any other man but Eric.”
“Girl, you just didn’t have any around worth paying attention to,” Iona interjected.
Cyana nodded before shoveling in another huge bite.
“You really are fallin’ for this man?” Mama asked.
“I think it’s too late for falling, Mama,” Iona said.
Cyana groaned. The Huffing women had become very open about their relationships after Jamal went to jail and left Cyana and Eric with no place to call home. Iona and Mama knew her well enough to read through any defenses she would try to raise. It wasn’t worth an attempt.
“I’m so scared,” she said. Her level of defeat rushed out in a sigh.
“Scared? Honey, what do you have to be scared of?” Mama asked.
“I don’t know. Society. Introducing Eric to any man in my life. Being hurt again, like with Jamal. You heard Iona. He’s violent.”
“I didn’t finish reading those articles, Ce Ce. Even as fuming mad as Asher was when Sally stepped all over our toes, I didn’t get the impression he would hit. Rebecca watched the entire show with us, as if it was commonplace for those two to go at it.”
“Well, I don’t expect him to be aggressive towards his mother,” Cyana protested. “Ugh. She makes me so mad I just have to leave if she’s around or I’ll rip her eyes out. I certainly don’t want to be seen as Asher’s,” she placed her spoon down and formed air quotes, “help.”
“If you really like this man, then none of it matters.” Mama grasped her hand when it settled on the table. “All those family members who disapprove won't be spending time with ya’ll. You won't see them every day. Some may cut themselves out of your life. Trust me, honey. Your daddy and I went through it.”
“Really mama?” Cyana asked.
“Oh, yes. Grandma Gertrude hated my guts with a passion.” Mama’s brow knit. She shook her head in true Huffing fashion. “Treated me like old dirt, not fresh dirt. You hear?”
Cyana gasped. “No, Mama.”
“I know you girls wouldn’t be able to tell by the way she loved on y’all growing up. But, before you came along, his family had shut your daddy out completely ‘cause of me. Your daddy didn’t like it. Not one bit. Gertrude said she didn’t want nappy heads hanging ‘round, if you know what I mean.”
“Mama, that doesn’t make any sense. Daddy was half black. Grandma Gertrude had to lay down for a brother at some time.”
“Yeah, but it was ol’ rich blood. You know. Not some commoners who didn’t know who their ancestors were like me. Your grandpa was old military, too. Brought up on the islands and not born from dirt like my people. Them rich folk don’t see island people as true black no way. Not slave black, ‘cause the Brits own them.”
“Oh, god. What year is it? Are we still living in the dark ages?” Iona placed her hands on her forehead dramatically.
Mama chuckled. Cyana was well aware of the bigotry of the south. Closet bigots is what Mama came to call them. They were alive and well all over Dixie. The type of people who thought it was just fine if blacks married into other families, but not theirs. She recalled growing up around daddy’s family. There didn’t appear to be too much bias, but she remembered they tended to dote over Iona a lot more. Cyana figured it may have been a color thing due to Iona’s light skin tone, but she didn’t stop loving her sister because of how other people acted.
“How did everything change?” Iona asked.
“Everything didn’t change, baby, but things did get better as you girls came along. Yo’ father established his house as an environment of love, laughter and acceptance.” Mama squeezed Cyana’s hand before giving it a pat. “And boy, did he ever stick to it. Stuck to it so much, no one in his family could deny the joy having his girls around him brought. It’s hard to look down your nose at real love. Love is wonderful. If you look down your nose at it, then you have an evil heart.” Mama patted her hand. “Now that’s the truth. I know Sally Wilmington may have a hard edge, but I didn’t sense an evil bone in her body. No ma’am.” Mama gave her head a slow shake. “A woman who dotes over those boys as much as she does only has their best interest at heart. Even if it’s misguided and a bit overbearing.”
Her mother had always read people well. “I don’t know, Mama. Family is so important. I wouldn’t want Asher to sacrifice relationships with his family. It’s crucial to have people who love and support you. It seems like Asher doesn’t have much to gain from being with me.”
“Then have some fun, sweetie. Asher didn’t ever appear to be the kind of man who didn’t know what he wanted. Seems to me he was always right set on what he got. Since it’s you, I don’t think he’ll let go quietly. Besides, you’ve been without since Eric was born. I’ve been worried about you, locked away from the world with your blinders on only my grandson. I appreciate the good mothering you give him, but it comes at a price to your happiness.”
She thought about Mama’s statements a moment. “I was lying in the bed at the Milway, and Jamal came back to haunt me. I can’t tell you the last time I thought of that ghost, but,” Cyana shook her head slowly. “I don’t pick men well, Mama. Life is less painful and complicated without them. I’ve learned my lesson. I should stay away and take care of my boy. I want this wedding over so I can go back to Chicago and forget this whole,” she waved her empty spoon around, “
thing
ever happened.”
A
sher wrapped the last of the medical tape around his thumb.
Dumbass.
He set the tape on the bathroom counter, grabbed both sides of the sink and lowered his head. There was still much to do. He and Miguel finished setting up the bar, but the situation with Cyana distracted him, costing a hammer to the thumb which broke the cuticle around his nail. It’d heal well enough by the wedding, he hoped.
The upstairs bath was a spot he never caught his wild-haired beauty in. The one place memory didn’t haunt him. He hadn’t removed Cyana’s towel from the hanger. The cloth held the lingering fragrance of her peppermint shampoo. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself upright from the bathroom sink and entered the bedroom.
He emerged from his room and paused at the banister overlooking the space. The crew was done assembling the tables and chairs downstairs. The dining area was filling out well with the furnishings. There was room for a dance floor. The double doors to the back porch and lawn followed the area before the new bar took over the back wall left of the kitchen entrance.
His gaze trailed to the dining setup.
Cyana’s space.
That was the problem. Every time he scanned the house he could see Cyana doing yoga in the spot housing tables and chairs. He paused on his descent and leaned against the railing. This “thing”, as she’d called it, was outta hand. He should focus on being the best man for Josh and filling himself with gratitude the boy he’d raised turned out to be such a fine young man. But, not talking to Cyana left him feeling rough as a cob. He couldn’t concentrate with her around, but at least he got things done.
His chest ached. He longed to hear her voice. Logically, he understood the silent treatment. Sally cut deep, as she always had. She even managed to rattle his cage something fierce. Communication between him and his mother often seemed like watching a title fight of heavy weights. Depending on how much of their first bout Cyana witnessed before he noticed her, she would have gotten an ear full of his shaded past.
“Senor Wilmington, would you like us to arrange them?” Miguel spoke from below, gesturing to the assembled tables and chairs.
“No. I think that will do.” Asher glanced at his phone to peek at the weather warnings. “Why don’t you and the crew get down the road before this storm get’s real bad. Got about an hour to make it home before the flash flood warnings start. Come on up here.” Asher tugged out his wallet and produced a wad of cash. When Miguel made it to him, he handed the money over. “Great work this week.”
“Aye, Gracias Senor.”
“Take tomorrow off. Let some of this water soak in. Thursday is lawn day.”
“Sí, Senor. See you Thursday.” Miguel descended the stairs spitting out a string of Spanish to round up the crew.
When the door closed, Asher was alone. He didn’t move from his spot. The house which once seemed warm and welcoming enough to be his home for the better part of a year was now cold and lonely. There wasn’t a place he could go without a memory to haunt him.
He glanced at his thumb. The thought which made him whack the hell out of it burst back to the front of his mind. Cyana peering up at him with tears brimming didn’t fit in his world on any damned day of the week. Seeing his shy sweet baker emotionally wounded had him in knots. He craved a moment to speak with her about their relationship as much as he desired breath. Her words, “We both know this won’t work. Not in the way you need it.”
What in hell does that mean? Why won't she talk to me?
Did she think he wanted to get married to have the money from his trust fund? Did she think he needed it? Hell, the account grew a considerable amount, but he didn’t need it.
Sally ruined all his plans to consult Cyana about what she might have heard. He took his stare off his damaged hand and draped himself on the banister. An itch worked between his shoulders to do something. Anything. So long as it put him and Cyana back to being as right as ham and eggs.
He took a long breath. Sally was going to be a problem, but there wasn’t a way to keep her from the house with their intimate business arrangements. The bed delivery was the last touch needed to ensure Sally would have a place to stay so she could devote all her attention to the wedding details. At least, it was the excuse she’d given him in order to crowd his space.
Getting Cyana over on professional terms would be difficult too. The cake order was in his email. All he had to do was tap send. No need to talk there. He searched to find a way.
Why not call the guy who got you in this pickle to begin with?
The thought made him right his stance. He yanked out his phone, found the name he wanted and made the call.
“Hey, Pops,” he said.
“Hey. How’s everything going, Son?”
Asher chuckled at the upbeat tone of the only man he’d ever call a father. “I got myself in a mess here.”
“Really? Don’t tell me the wedding’s off?” Pops asked.
“Oh, no. Thank god, no. Those two lovebirds are all sparkly eyes and smiles. It’s one of the vendors who’s driving me bananas.” Asher scratched his head and started down the stairs. “You know the catering company you set me up with?”
“Huffing Kitchen. I can’t forget their dining experience. Sure wished they’d taken my offer to let me invest in them.”
“They’re a tough crowd of ladies,” Asher said, and started to pace. “They insist on having their own restaurant. I think convincing them to start up here at the Milway will probably go over better.”
“So, they have agreed to cater the wedding?”
“Yes, Sir. Their food and work ethic isn’t an issue at all. You see, they brought in a new member.”
“New? You don’t say?”
“Seems there’s another lady in the Huffing Kitchen who’s a certified pastry chef. Rebecca’s been real good about using the local businesses to help with this event and build up the good neighbor rapport for the Milway. When she heard they had a staff member who did cakes, she cancelled her first cake order and decided to go with the Huffings as well.” He heaved a sigh.
“That doesn’t sound like much trouble at all, Son.”
“Well, normally it wouldn’t be, but,” Asher paused in his stride, “I might have gotten myself in a-whole-heap-a horse shit.”
C
yana fanned at her face with the newspaper she’d picked up in Mama’s mail before leaving the house to do other errands. Her Gremlin was running well after its stay at Matthew’s Auto Shop. The thought of Matthew’s reminded her of Asher’s kindness in paying for all the repairs. But without air conditioning, she regretted not borrowing Iona’s car for a second time.
She’d nearly forgotten about the Georgia humidity making everything sticky and sweaty around her. Tuesday’s rain made Wednesday’s heat terrible. The only happy camper was her hair. The afro seemed to curl a bit deeper and thicken up. She coaxed the mass of coils on top of her head with a satin scarf and tied it down on the sides so it wouldn’t fall on her neck and make her more miserable. She shut the door to the car. The breeze kicked up around her long maxi dress. It was a welcomed event.
She stared at the glass front of the print store set in the corner of the shopping center. Her gaze caught a familiar logo next to the building before the wind whipped up and shoved the scent of fresh cookies her way. The bold “B” with the flame around it was identical to the one stamped on the boxes Sally had brought in attempt to trump out Cyana’s cakes. She worried her bottom lip a moment.
I shouldn’t.
With a long inhale she went for the corner depot and picked up three heavy boxes for Huffing Kitchen. She packed them into the back of her car before rummaging in her makeshift purse for her wallet. She fisted out a couple of bucks and put on a brave face before heading to the B Bakery.
The air conditioning hit Cyana like a welcomed wave. Competition or not, she loved the smell of any bakery: chocolate, vanilla and the scent of fresh cookies. Five small steel tables with shining black chairs darted throughout the eating space with a contemporary style. The clerk at the counter gave a friendly greeting. Cyana continued to take in the naked grey walls.
When she spotted the cupcakes through the glass a smile touched her lips. Every piece of the pastry world made her think of how much love, patience and labor went into each serving. She couldn’t say the B cupcakes looked special. They were just plain old cupcakes with a heap of icing on the top, but she knew baking. Looks could be deceiving.
“So, what favorite flavor will you be trying today?” the clerk asked.
She smiled. “The white cake with the pink icing.”
Cyana buckled her seatbelt and took a moment to look over the design of the plastic container. Clear and conceived especially for cupcakes, it was a winner for functionality. She made a mental note to look into the packaging company before firing up her engine and roaring home.
The scent of honeysuckles and chirp of blue jays surrounded her at Mama’s house. The azalea bushes around the front had produced another round of red-pink fragranced flowers. The floral notes made the moist air seem more bearable. Iona stepped from the side door of the house to help her with the heavy boxes.
“I’ll be back.” The humidity and labor made her voice breathy.
As she came out the side of the house to retrieve the cupcake, a white box truck parked just outside Mama’s gate. She knew those purple and green letters. Her heartbeat drummed with excitement.
The man exited the truck. Cyana nearly stumbled at the sight of tall and tanned, coupled with a handsome smile. Her thoughts went to Asher.
Crap.
This wasn’t the first time a good looking white boy reminded her of what she decided to avoid. She swallowed the pain worming its way into her excitement and focused on the package in his hand.
“Ms. –”
“Cyana Huffing.” She finished his sentence with a broad smile. “I sure am glad to see you.”
His grin widened as he handed her the box with her name on it. “Sign here, ma’am.”
Ma’am.
There it was again. She missed the south, but she sorely yearned for how Asher had called her ma’am from time to time.
She signed, gave a smiling goodbye and headed into the house.
“I got my phone,” she squealed.
“Hal-le-luuu-jaaaah,” Iona said, throwing her hands into the sky while looking up.
Cyana chuckled and set the packages down. Iona approached her with a parcel opener. “Girl, we need to plug it up right now. I can’t wait to send this text out. Eric will be so happy.” Iona stopped. “Ce Ce!” Her voice lit with alarm. “Is
that
a cupcake from the bakery Sally is trying to sell to Rebecca?”
“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged. “It was right by the print shop.”
“I know it’s right by the print shop. But
you
shouldn’t go in there.” Iona placed a hand on her hip.
“Mama I,” Mama said. She always called Iona “Mama I” whenever she crossed the line of sister to mother. “Your sista is probably checking out the competition.”
“Mama,” Iona shifted to Mama Huffing who sat in the glider with a sleeping Josiah face down on her lap. “She brought the devil’s cake into this house.”
Cyana chuckled at Iona’s antics. “I thought we should try it.” She maneuvered around her sister to grab some forks. “You want a bite, Mama?”
“No thank you, baby. I already know if it ain’t yours, it ain’t worth it.”
Pride spouted in her chest. “Okay.” She handed a fork to Iona and opened the container.
“Devil’s cake,” Iona grumbled with a sour look.
“Just the icing first, then the cake; then together,” Cyana said.
Iona made eye contact with a look mixed in disapproval and dread. They moved with wordless unity. Cyana grabbed a nearby roll of paper towels to set next to the container. Iona reached for the tiny wastebasket in the cabinet below the island and placed it between them.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” Iona said.
They both took a healthy amount of icing from the top and shoved the bites in simultaneously. Cyana saw dread written all over Iona’s face and ripped off a napkin to hand it to her sister quickly.
“Oh, it’s commercial,” Iona said, after spitting her frosting in the napkin.
Cyana swallowed her nibble while moving for a cup to fill with water. She swished the liquid around inside her mouth before spitting it into the sink. “Not homemade.”
“It’s hydrogenated,” Iona said.
“Probably soy.” Cyana nodded.
“Might as well have swallowed a whole spoonful of estrogen,” Mama said.
“It’s gross. Ain’t a bit of love in
tha
t
.
” Iona pointed to Cyana. “Mama, Cyana’s making me eat estrogen.”
Mama laughed.
“I don’t want to play anymore.” Iona tossed her napkin into the trash.
“We don’t have to eat it. I’ll scrape it off.” Cyana went back to her seat and removed all the icing. “Come on. We need to know if it’s better than mine.”
“Better?” Iona placed a hand on her hip and inserted all her attitude in her words. “They don’t even know how to make butter cream from scratch. Is there a shortage on butter and cream I don’t know about?”