Recipe for Love Read Free

more reliable than a man.
    —Miranda Ingram
    R ACHEL PUT THE pink bandana back over her hair and tried not to think about Mike the Magnificent
     any longer. If he wasn’t interested in her, then so be it. She didn’t need him.
    “Who knows?” Andi said, her voice filled with compassion. “The next guy through the
     door could be the man of your dreams. Maybe he’ll be dressed as Superman.”
    Rachel managed a short laugh. “That’s comforting.”
    “Or it could be the stooped, gray-haired building owner,” Kim warned. “He said he’d
     be by this evening.”
    “Eat a chocolate cupcake, and you’ll feel better,” Andi instructed. “Then help tally
     receipts and count out money for rent.”
    Rachel nodded to the Cupcake Diary Andi held in her hands, the three-ring binder containing
     all their notes pertaining to the cupcake business. “How are we doing?”
    “When Jake balanced the financial books, he said Creative Cupcakes is doing okay,
     but we need to do better,” Andi informed her. “There’s still no money for extras.”
    Kim set her paintbrush on the plate of food gels and turned in her seat at the front
     table where she’d been decorating the smooth fondant tops of a dozen vanilla truffle
     cupcakes. “Maybe we shouldn’t have accepted the building owner’s offer to use the
     extra space in the back for a party room.”
    Rachel frowned. “I love the party room.”
    “I have several groups interested in booking the space for different nights of the
     week,” Andi said, tapping the list in the Cupcake Diary with her pencil. “And once
     the shop starts making more money, I’d love to go on vacation. Someplace warm—with
     Jake.”
    “After working so hard to open Creative Cupcakes, we could all use a vacation,” Kim
     agreed. “But before I can afford to travel, I need to rent a gallery space in Portland
     to display my artwork.”
    Rachel thought of her sick grandfather who had drained her mother’s bank account with
     medical bills. “We need more customers.”
    All three of them lifted their gaze to the golden cupcake cutter, the size of a short
     sword, which hung on the pink pin-striped wall above their heads. The shiny victory
     blade had been a symbol of success after their struggle to open the shop. Now it sat,
     unused, between Kim’s unsold watercolor paintings as a stark reminder that starting
     a business was only part of the battle. Now they needed to stay in business.
    Evening fog drifted in ghost-like wisps through the streets outside Creative Cupcakes’
     window. The inside of the shop resembled a ghost town, too. The tables and chairs
     in the dining area and the stools in front of the marble counter sat empty. The sweet,
     delicious multiflavored cupcakes in the glass display case remained untouched.
    Andi straightened her shoulders and pointed toward the large storefront window. “Here
     comes a customer now.”
    The bells on the front door jingled as it opened, and in walked a tall blond man with
     an impressive build. Except for his black beret, he was dressed all in white from
     the collar of his dress shirt straight down to his leather wingtip shoes.
    Kim nudged Rachel and whispered, “Maybe he’s an angel sent to answer our prayers.”
    Rachel pursed her lips. “He looks more like Chef Ramsey on Hell’s Kitchen .”
    “Can we help you?” Andi asked.
    “I’ll taste one of your bite-size tiramisu cakes,” he said, his accent distinctively
     French.
    “Great choice,” Rachel told him. She opened the display case while Andi took his money,
     and the strong scent of the coffee-and-mascarpone whipped frosting wafted into the
     air. “Dusted with cocoa, these moist, creamy cupcakes are guaranteed to melt in your
     mouth and keep you coming back for more.”
    “I’ll be the judge of that,” the Frenchman replied. Lifting the miniature cupcake
     to his mouth, he took a bite, paused a few seconds to chew, then walked over to the
     nearest garbage can