Double Stuffed: MFM Menage Romance Page 2

  He looked at his mother.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You can take it.”

  Damien took the cookie and put it in his mouth.

  “What do you say? Thank the nice lady,” his mother instructed.

  “Thank you.” he beamed.

  Oh. What a precious angel. I wish I had one.

  We continued serving the morning rush and with Emma there---God, I felt great. I could already feel like I had dropped a good chunk of my workload. Maybe I should hire two helpers.

  Then a guy in a suit, who looked vaguely familiar, walked into the bakery.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for the owner,” he said in a friendly voice.

  “I’m the owner, Honey Davidson,” I said extending my hand for a shake.

  “Jack Streeter,” he introduced. “Channel Five News. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”

  “Oh, you’re the Five at Five,” I said repeating the commercial.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he smiled. “I know you’ve recently opened your shop and we’d like to do a piece on you. Someone in the station brought in a box of your muffins and let me tell you---they were all gone in no time. Just delicious.”

  “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’m flattered. Sure. When would you like to do it?”

  “Actually, I have my crew outside,” he said. “We could shoot it right now and it would be on the news tonight.”

  “Oh, my God. Now?” I said a little unprepared for that answer. “I feel like I should get my hair done or buy some new clothes or something.”

  “No, you’re fine,” he said. “You’re a baker and you’re dressed in your work clothes. I’m sure that’s what you want people to see, right? Trust me, you’ll do great. That is, if this is a good time.”

  “Actually, this is the perfect time,” said Emma. “We just finished the morning rush.”

  “I guess I’m doing this,” I agreed.

  “Great,” said Jack. “Don’t worry. This is going to bring a whole new wave of customers to your shop.”

  Hmmm, maybe I should hire another employee to help.

  Jack’s crew came rushing into the shop. They were professional and knew just what to do. They moved aside the tables, set up some lights and a camera. The lights were bright and made me a little nervous. I was beginning to think the cup of coffee I had on my break was putting me on edge.

  A makeup person came in and touched up Jack and then checked me.

  “Do I look okay?” I asked.

  “You look great, babe,” said the makeup woman. “Jack does these all the time. He’ll make you look great. Promise.”

  “Okay, Honey I’m going to do an intro and introduce you. Then I’m going to ask you some questions about your bakery, what you make, specialties--- that sort of thing. Is there anything specific you’d like to promote?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment.

  “The cupcakes,” I said. “I’d like to sell more cupcakes. I made a new one that’s like an orange cream soda.”

  “All right,” said Jack. “Don’t worry about making a mistake. If you stammer or something, we’ll do another take. So, I may ask you repeat something. Okay? Here we go.”

  The camera man gave him a countdown and Jack suddenly came to life. I mean, he was friendly enough when we meet but when the camera was on him, his whole body filled with life and energy. It was almost if he lived for that camera.

  “Jack Streeter on the Street.” he said into the camera. “And I’m here with local sensation Honey Davidson of Honey’s Buns which recently opened up in the Breezeway Plaza. Hey, Honey, how are you doing today?”

  “Great Jack,” I smiled.

  “Now you’ve been having great success with your bakery, but a lot of people may not know you even exist yet. When did you open?” he asked.

  “I opened on May 15 of this year,” I explained.

  “And how fast did you have people lining out the door to get your cupcakes and baked goods?” he asked.

  “Within a week, I was swamped, Jack,” I explained. “I’ve been dead on my feet for months trying to keep up with the demand. In fact, I just hired Emma here to take up some of the slack.”

  Emma waved from the kitchen.

  “What are some of your specialties? I understand you make a lot of cupcakes,” said Jack, leading me right into it.

  “I try to experiment will all sorts of flavors,” I said. “The latest is a cupcake that tastes like an orange cream soda.”

  “We had some of your muffins down at the station and I have to tell you, they were amazing,” he said. “What’s your secret?”

  “Fresh ingredients and just baking every morning, Jack,” I explained. “I don’t skimp on anything. Everything is handmade by me or Emma. We cook everything fresh and we usually sell out by two.”

  “Wow, that’s great,” said Jack.

  Jack changed gears for a second and gestured for the camera guy to cut.

  “Hold up a second,” said Jack. “You may not want to tell people you sold out by two. Can you just say that last line again, but don’t mention the part about selling out, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I repeated the line without the part about selling out. Then it occurred to me that we’d never have enough stuff for tomorrow. The place would be mobbed. I would probably have to make extra everything to keep up with the demand.

  Jack asked me a few more questions, but then decided to end it.

  “Well, there you have it,” said Jack, wrapping up the story. “Get down to Honey’s Buns at the Breezeway Plaza. Fresh baked goods made locally. For the Five at Five, I’m Jack Streeter.”

  “We’re out,” said the cameraman. “I’m just going to roll some film of the cakes and stuff.”

  “Honey, you don’t mind if he films you and Emma cooking and the cakes, right?” asked Jack.

  “No, that’s fine,” I said. “Should I go into the kitchen?”

  “Yeah, just do what you normally do,” he suggested. “Maybe pick up a bowl and mix something if you can or decorate a cake.”

  I got out the icing gun and started decorating some cupcakes. Emma moved some of the bread to the other side of the kitchen. The cameraman filmed what we had left in the counter. It looked pretty full, but there were a few empty spots.

  “This will be on tonight,” smiled Jack. “Thanks so much.”

  “And here’s something for you,” I offered. “A free box of muffins.”

  “Ooo,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy these. I don’t suppose you have any Italian bread left? My wife loves good bread.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Here, take it. On the house.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he dismissed.

  “It’s fine,” I assured him. “Enjoy. I can’t wait to see the news.”

  “Thanks, and good luck with the bakery,” he said. “I hope this piece brings in lots of customers.”

  As the news guy left, I had a weird ominous sense. I had always wanted to be a baker and that’s what I was doing. It felt like self-promoting on the TV news was---I don’t know---cheap? If my food was good, people would come, and they would tell other people, right? It felt like a bit of a betrayal to promote my own bakery. But I guess, if I didn’t do it, who would? Right?

  Chapter 3

  Clark

  I was at home working on a new recipe for Beef Wellington. I wanted it to be infused with different Asian flavors. It was a risk and I could tell by the smell coming out of the oven it was a risk that wasn’t paying off.

  “What in God’s name was I thinking, Cupcake?” I said to my terrier. “Asian cooking doesn’t have bread. This is basically a pot roast baked into a bread.”

  Then it hit me. It should’ve been a dumpling wrap. Yes. That would be Asian and still be Beef Wellington. I had to start over, so first, I threw out the abomination stinking up my oven. Cupcake looked at me with soulful eyes.

  “No, my friend,” I said. “You would not like that. Tr
ust me. This one will work. I’ll prep it, put it in the oven and then we’ll go for a jog.”

  Fortunately, I had another roast all prepared. My first combo of ingredients usually didn’t work. I like to have a “control” when I am experimenting. Of course, now that I was making the dumpling wrap I had completely abandoned that line of reasoning. Still, it was good to have other roasts ready. You can’t imagine how much food I waste here.

  I know what you’re saying, “Give it to the homeless.” No. I can’t pawn off some half-baked scheme of mine on any human being. If it’s not right, then it’s not fit for human or even dog consumption. This is just the price you pay being a chef--- one top rated on TV or otherwise.

  In a short time, I had made the dumpling dough, wrapped it around my mostly cooked roast and filled the dumpling the rest of the way up with soy sauce and various spices. I basically ended up with a giant dumpling. Now the key was to cook it. I would have to broil it. It would be the only way the meat would cook properly. Hopefully the dumpling wrap would keep in the juices. Like any thick meat dish, it would have to sit for a while.

  As it cooked, I got changed and got Cupcake ready for a jog. She loved to go outside. My God, she would sniff at everything and then pee on it. We couldn’t walk ten feet without that dog lifting her leg. I always thought it was only boy dogs that did that, but no, she did it too. If I didn’t get her outside, she’d piddle all over the carpet and then where would I be?

  Just as I was about to leave, and Cupcake got very excited, the phone rang. It was my producer, Steven.

  “Clark, it’s Steven, I’m sending you a video from a baker in Connecticut,” he explained. “She has a small bakery that just opened, and she’s got great appeal in the 18 to 35 female demo.”

  “Why must you always talk like that?” I asked. “Steven, she’s a human being. Why must you refer to everyone by what demographic they belong?”

  “You know me,” he said. “It’s just the way I think. It’s what we producers do.”

  “Fine, send it over,” I said. “I’ll look at it.”

  “How goes the beef thing?” he asked.

  “Not great,” I admitted. “I’m wasting a lot of beef, but the important thing is I’m learning…about wasting so much beef.”

  “You’re hilarious, babe,” said Steven. “That’s why I love ya. Give me a shout yea or nay when you watch the video, okay? Okay.”

  Whenever Steven got nervous or was in a hurry, he would suddenly turn all Hollywood. It would be like late 50’s, early 60’s era. You know, when the studios were powerful and not just hanging by the thread that the Internet hasn’t cut yet.

  “Okay babe,” I said back, mocking him a little. “I’ll watch the video and get back to you.”

  Rather than wait until after the jog, when I was likely to forget about it, I immediately went to my computer and called up the email. The video started playing. It was hosted by some hair slick named Jack Streeter. Very annoying. But when the camera panned over, I saw her.

  There was this stunning woman with a great curvy body and a radiant face. She was a baker, but more than that---she was a Goddess. Normally, I never thought about dating one of the contestants on the show. I mean, chefs come on, cook stuff and then they get eliminated or they continue to win---I had never once slept with or even dated someone on the show. But this woman was different. There was something about her that was totally irresistible to me.

  But in this day and age, that could be dicey. I was not just a chef, I was a TV personality on a hit show. The Baker Battles had been on for three seasons and our ratings had only gone up. There was talk of a spin off show for just me and I wouldn’t be saddled with my co-judge, Ethan. I do a show that would experiment with food and really push the boundaries.

  But if Twitter got wind of me hitting on one of the contestants, my whole career could be over. It would be goodbye to the money, the job, the fame and I’d be lucky to be able to get a line cook position at a hotel restaurant somewhere. Being a chef was a lot like being a TV personality. You had an image to cultivate, not just the cuisine. At my level, a fall like that could be deadly, in the metaphorical sense.

  I needed to think, so it was time to jog.

  “C’mon Cupcake, let’s go,” I said. “Daddy has some thinking to do.”

  Running around my neighborhood, I thought about that girl. I imagined several scenarios in which I would date her. The first was the easiest: My co-judge, Ethan, would eliminate her from the competition. As the show was wrapping up and most of the crew went home, I’d walk back stage and console her. I’d tell her that her sconces or whatever were really great. We’d go get a drink and things would just continue from there. The perfect scenario: she’d be off the show, there’d be no conflict.

  Then I thought about just walking into her dressing room. She’d see me and there’d be this instant attraction. We’d make small talk, but it would become clear that we were being drawn together. We’d shut and lock the door and have a wild sexual encounter right there on the floor. A P.A. would knock on the door looking for us, but we’d ignore it. For a few moments, it would be bliss.

  I needed some more information. There were guys on the show staff who did the research for these things. I mean, I could ask Steven, but I should probably keep him out of the loop. I know what he would say.

  “You can’t date a contestant. It would hurt the show.”

  That guy was always about “the show”. TV producers. Guess he was no different than a chef who was always protecting the menu or the restaurant.

  I’d go through one of the writers or associate producers. Just casually asking for more information wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. If Steven asked why I didn’t go to him, I’d tell him I didn’t want to bother him with such a small request. Or I could just do the research on my own. I mean, this woman had to have a bakery somewhere, right? I’ll look up the news piece online. There should be a link to her bakery. Unless it’s brand new, there should be some information about her.

  I cut my jog short, much to Cupcake’s dismay. She always wanted to walk down this one street where the trashcans stood. I guess there were interesting smells there. It also gave her a chance to pee on everything. But it was hot, so I figured I could justify it by getting her home to get a drink. Sure enough when I got back, she rushed right back to her bowl. Hopefully she wouldn’t pee on the welcome mat out of spite for coming home too soon. I had read somewhere that dogs have a bad sense of time, so I think I was okay.

  When I looked up Honey Davidson online, I didn’t find much. The news piece did mention she had only been open for a short while. By the looks of it, her bakery was already a big success. Good for her. I don’t know if I could date a woman that couldn’t make a decent croissant. There were a few more pictures on the Facebook page, but that was about it.

  I had no choice. I had to call Steven.

  “Hey, Steven,” I said. “Just watched the tape.”

  “Yeah, what did you think? Good contestant, right?”

  “Couldn’t agree more, but I’d like to know more about her,” I said. “What’s her story? Does she have a family to support? Anything like that?”

  “So far all I’ve garnered is that’s she’s single,” he explained. “We can spin as she’s this independent female entrepreneur. That’s a good take, assuming Ethan is on board.”

  “What? He’s not?” I said.

  “You know, Ethan,” said Steven. “The guy’s always a problem.”

  “Well, you just tell him she’s on the show,” I said. “I see absolutely no reason why she couldn’t be a contestant. She looks great. She’s TV ready.”

  “Couldn’t agree more, babe,” said Hollywood Steven. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ethan’s on board. Quite frankly, some days I wish this was just your show. It would be a whole lot easier.”

  “Thanks, Steven,” I said. “Keep me apprised.”

  “Will do.”

  Well, at least I had Steven in my cor
ner. Ethan’s such a dick. And at least, Steven had no idea of my true intentions. I guess I’ll just have to play it by ear. Maybe I could run into her in the parking lot. We could go out for a drink and end up back at my place. Then a steamy love affair under-the-radar. We’re having sex every night, but by day on the set all we can do is exchange knowing glances. A couple of times we almost get caught, but after the season ends we end up together. Then we tell our friends how we met and we’d have this really cool story about our early dating.

  Or maybe it would be totally open. Could that happen? We’re standing by the craft table and I ask her out for a drink. Yeah, why not? The show’s just a TV competition, not an Olympic event. We date openly, everyone on the show knows, but no one cares. Not even a blip on Twitter. Ethan probably says something derogatory, but other than that it’s fine.

  But I guess the worst case scenario is the turn down. She says no because she feels weird about dating someone on the show. And because it doesn’t look right to her, she turns me down and then never dates me. She loses the competition and then goes online to tell everyone she believes she lost because she refused to date me. Again, goodbye career and money.

  No. Oh, God. I can’t believe I’m even thinking it. The worst, worst, worst case scenario. I ask her out and she’s already dating Ethan. Holy shit, no.

  That would be it. That would be proof-positive there is no God in heaven. A boyfriend I could deal with, a straight turn down? No problem. But Ethan? That self-centered ego maniac dating my Honey? Listen to me, “my” Honey. Like she’s already my girlfriend. I have to slow down with that. Can’t put the cart before the horse.

  “Nah, I should be fine,” I said to Cupcake. “I tend to over think these things. I should be more like you, little doggie.”

  Cupcake then lifted her leg and peed against the coffee table.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “Thanks for that.”

  Chapter 4

  Honey

  I got up and did my stretches. Was it possible to be tired from too much rest? That’s the way I felt. I went from getting no sleep and no rest to getting extra and now I feel like shit. Part of me couldn’t help but think it was because I could now focus on myself and what I saw, I didn’t like.