A Sweet Mess Read online

  This story has a simple beginning. My time at home was dwindling away, and I wanted to visit one more restaurant before going abroad again. Rumors of a restaurant rising out of the mountains, graced with the shimmering stars of Michelin, called me. I borrowed a friend’s poorly maintained car (more on that soon) and headed for the mountains. It was supposed to be me, the car, and the open road for a half-day drive.

  My friend fate’s fickle nature manifested itself when one of the tires blew in the middle of the freeway, sending the car skidding. Fortunately, I was able to maneuver it off to the side, and no one was harmed as a result of the incident.

  After a harrowing ride in the world’s most ancient tow truck, I found myself in the hidden town of Weldon, California. With repairs unable to be completed until the next day, I had no choice but to spend the day in the picturesque town.

  For the first time in what seemed like years, I had free time on my hands. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I checked into a charming trattoria and inn and went for a walk. Yes, a leisurely stroll, if you will. The small, tidy streets of downtown Weldon had a warm, inviting feel to them, and I, by all means, accepted their invitation to explore.

  I was lost in the delights of the colorful mom-and-pop stores when the sweet, seductive fragrance of baked goods beckoned me. Led by my trusty nose, I soon found myself in front of Comfort Zone, a quaint bakery sandwiched between an old-fashioned barbershop and a pet store.

  The outdoor seating consisted of a couple wrought iron tables, with black-and-lavender parasols shading the customers from the sun. The simple but dramatic color scheme blended perfectly with the bright white storefront trimmed in gray. All this, combined with the alluring scent of fresh bread and cakes, and I was sold on the spot.

  When I stepped into the shop, the interior did not disappoint my heightened expectations. From the plush couches and mismatched chairs to the clusters of black-and-white photos on the walls, the bakery essentially hugged me in welcome. The customers looked well at ease, whether they were laughing with friends or snuggled into overstuffed armchairs with their noses buried in books. I couldn’t wait to join them.

  The display case was a wonderland of cakes, pies, cookies, and pastries. The choices weren’t overwhelming in number, but each was presented with such care and affection that it was impossible for me to choose. When I find myself in such delightful conundrums, I always go for the daily special. Something the chef was excited to share with me. A personal recommendation. Plus, it happened to be one of my favorite desserts, chocolate Bundt cake.

  The polite but sullen young lady at the counter asked for my order—sliced or whole—and I went for the whole cake. With a cup of Sumatra coffee. I’m not a complete glutton, mind you, but I was on vacation. There is something wickedly decadent about digging your fork into an entire cake or your spoon into a whole tub of ice cream. I took my first bite of the cake, and my eyes slid shut. It was better to narrow my senses to focus on experiencing the cake without distraction. The chocolate cake was moist, not quite dense, and just the right amount of bitter and sweet. It was a perfect balance of the devil and the angel.

  When I dug deeper into the Bundt cake, I discovered it was filled with a creamy, caramel-colored filling and specks of what I suspected were dried fruit. Intrigued, I forked up a small mountain and stuffed it carefully into my mouth. The filling was not caramel but some sort of a cream cheese and peanut butter filling. Other than its overuse and cloying texture, it tasted surprisingly delicious. However, the “dried fruit” pieces were unchewable, so I swallowed my mouthful.

  And promptly choked.

  Aided by the thick, sticky peanut butter filling, the translucent bits of colorful what-the-hell-is-this got lodged in my throat. With teary-eyed coughing and gulps of scalding-hot coffee, I escaped near asphyxiation.

  So what were those odd bits of un-masticate-able health hazards?

  Gummy worms. Chunky bits of chopped gummy worms.

  What were they doing in the chocolate Bundt cake? And why?

  Utter, egocentric arrogance.

  The small-town baker/pastry chef has awe-inspiring talent. But it’s the kind that has led to unbearable arrogance. An unfortunate pitfall for some brilliant chefs. It could have been frustration or boredom that led to the creation of the peculiar cake. Who can know for sure? Whatever prompted the addition of the gummy worms, the cake should not have been served to an unknowing customer. Experiments should stay in the kitchen until they are perfected. Comfort Zone’s pastry chef used its customers, including myself, as test subjects, which was unforgivably selfish, and a senseless rebellion against the core value of chefs everywhere.

  A true chef would never have done something so hurtful, disrespectful, and reckless. I take the arrogance of the act as a personal affront. And for that, I strongly advise my dear readers against ever entering the menace known as Comfort Zone.

  You. Deserve. Better.

  His review was humorous, lively, and even complimentary in parts, and she had to concede he was fair about the oddness of her cake. But he was completely wrong about her. Making her customers happy with her sweet creations was her raison d’être. Arrogance and boredom? How dare he! His sweeping presumptions and scathing judgment of her as a chef based on one gummy worm–filled cake was unfair and hurtful.

  But he’d been so gentle and sweet during their night together. Gah. Stop thinking about that. This has nothing to do with that. She crumpled the tattered magazine pages for the twentieth time and stuffed them in her pocket.

  Aubrey wished the critic had been a small, thin man with chalky skin and greasy hair. Someone who didn’t know how to bake or cook, sitting stooped over his computer in a cold, windowless office. Hating on people who did their best to create something lovely for others to enjoy. She could scoff at a man like that and console herself that her life was fuller and happier than his.

  A long sigh leaked from her lips. Yeah, right. Scoffing wasn’t her thing. She’d probably feed the poor imaginary critic some sweet buns to cheer him up.

  It might actually be easier to scorn Landon Kim, an arrogant elitist. He was a tall, muscular specimen of male perfection with fan-freaking-tastic hair who happened to have a degree from a little place called the Culinary Institute of America. The celebrity food critic and blogger could ostensibly cook and critique—the perfect package. Life is so unfair. He was going to breeze through life being rich, famous, and buff, while she lost her bakery and was forced to work at a chain doughnut shop that didn’t even make their wares in-house.

  She couldn’t reconcile the funny, sexy man she’d taken to bed with the cocky, judgmental food critic with a stick up his ass. Well, maybe he couldn’t not be judgmental—it was his job to critique restaurants. And despite his mocking tone, his review of Comfort Zone was witty and well written. Aubrey Choi, are you making excuses for him? She had lost her mind. That was it.

  All of this was a rotten joke fate decided to play on her. What were the chances of me picking up a food critic? A critic who happened to eat the most outrageous cake I’ve ever made? It could only happen in a perfect shit storm so rare that it came just once in a billion years.

  Her phone rang, bringing her back from her dismal thoughts. She stared at the screen with a confused frown. It was her mom, but it wasn’t her birthday or Christmas.

  “Mom?”

  “Hey there.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “How are you holding up?”

  “What do you mean?” Aubrey frowned. She’d left her parents’ house ages ago. Why would her mother be worried about how she was doing after all this time?

  “Comfort Zone. I read that horrid review a month ago. I’d brushed it aside as nonsense when I first read it, but I’ve had this bad feeling recently. Are you in trouble?”

  She covered the phone mic to take a huge breath. She and her mom never spoke about anything beyond the niceties—like the weather and royal weddings. It felt oddly wonderful to have her mom worry about her. “I’m
okay. We’ve lost most of our out-of-town customers in-store and online, but the locals are still loyal. I’m sure the review will fade away soon. Comfort Zone can hang on till then.”

  That was a total lie. The impact of the review seemed to hit Comfort Zone harder and harder every day. Aubrey had written to the food magazine’s editor in chief explaining that the chocolate Bundt cake indeed had been filled with gummy worms, cream cheese, and peanut butter, but it was a special order for her favorite mini-customer. However, despite Aubrey’s many-flavored pleas, the editor gently and firmly refused to give Comfort Zone a second chance.

  “Thank goodness,” her mom said, the relief palpable in her voice. Aubrey didn’t regret her white lie. “But for the time being, are things difficult for you? Is there anything I could do to help?”

  I could use some money. Ha! Like she would ever ask her mom for money. Aubrey knew who the money would come from, and she would rather starve than accept his help.

  “I’m okay, Mom. Everything will be okay. Thank you for calling, though.”

  “Are you sure? I could—”

  “I’m sure. I’ll call you if I need your help.”

  “Good. I’d really like that.” Her mom paused as though wanting to say more, but she sighed softly. “Bye, Aubrey. Hang in there.”

  Talking to her mom left her listless and melancholy. Aubrey had never been there for her. It wouldn’t be fair to accept her help no matter how dismal things looked. With a forlorn sigh, she stepped through the swinging kitchen doors, and the ancient hinges screeched in protest. They needed a spurt of WD-40. Everything needed WD-40 or Krazy Glue in her shop. Comfort Zone had outgrown its tiny, old home months ago.

  That was part of the reason why Aubrey had decided to lease the diner. It had been a good year for the bakery, and it was generating a steady profit. Most important, her gut told her it was time, so she put away everything she could for the expansion. It took her months, but she finally paid the security deposit two months ago, spilling a barrel of happy tears.

  Landon Kim’s review came out only two weeks after the building owner handed her the keys to the place.

  The foot traffic had decreased instantly. There were no early-morning lines out the door. The out-of-town customers trickled down to nil. If not for her loyal customers, she’d already be packing her bags, and their patronage alone couldn’t keep the bakery afloat for long. Aubrey blinked away the bitter tears that rose too readily to the surface. This couldn’t be the end of Comfort Zone. This could not be the end of her independence.

  Her father’s parting words still rang in her head. You’re going to fail, because that’s what you do. Don’t worry. I’ll clean up your messes like I always do, but when you come crawling back, I expect you to be a very obedient and humble daughter.

  She would never crawl back to him. As a failure three times over. As a family embarrassment, who left home at eighteen, never attended college, and bankrupted her small business. She just couldn’t do it.

  It was sink or swim, and Aubrey could not sink. Cold sweat broke out on her scalp, and she clenched her eyes shut. She refused to lose her dream because of one scathing review. She would get a bank loan. Or sell off some equipment. Something. She couldn’t sit back and watch her life crumble apart.

  * * *

  Landon heard a small commotion in the lobby before a red-faced teenage girl ran up to his desk.

  “You can’t just barge in there, young lady.” Craig’s secretary was tugging at her arm.

  “Please,” the girl sobbed. “I just need a minute of Mr. Kim’s time. This is all my fault. Please.”

  Craig rushed out of his office and took stock of the situation. He nodded at his secretary to leave them and gently led the distraught girl into his office, motioning Landon to follow. She sat in one of the guest chairs. Landon leaned against the closed door and crossed his arms.

  “What’s this about?” he asked gruffly.

  He’d been tense and restless since he’d learned that Aubrey was the recipient of his scathing review. He wanted to fix it, and his inability to help was eating away at him, but that was no reason to be short with a kid.

  “Christ, Landon. You’re scaring her.” Craig shook his head at him and turned to the girl with a kind smile. “Okay, young lady. We do need to know who you are and why you’re here, but go ahead and catch your breath. Would you like some water?”

  The girl shook her head and made an effort to breathe normally. After several seconds, she squared her shoulders and faced Landon.

  “My name is Lily, and I work part-time at Comfort Zone.”

  Landon groaned and ran his hand down his face. He belatedly placed where he’d seen her before.

  “What my friend means to say is”—his editor paused to glare at Landon—“please continue.”

  “Mr. Kim, that day you came to Comfort Zone. I was the one who gave you the wrong cake. It was for Andy’s birthday party, but I screwed up. Aubrey is an amazing baker and a wonderful person. Everyone in town adores her.”

  “Lily, I understand the cake wasn’t meant for me, but what’s done is done.” He did his best to soften his tone. “I never review the same place twice, and I can’t make an exception.”

  “Just try this.” She plopped a small white box on Craig’s desk with a plastic fork on top. “It’s Aubrey’s pretzel bread pudding. It’s better warmed and served with vanilla bean ice cream, but it’s incredible on its own. Just try it.”

  It was a pointless exercise, but he didn’t want to upset her again, so he obliged. The moment the pretzel bread pudding hit his tongue, he was enveloped in a perfect harmony of flavors and textures. It wasn’t an explosion of sugar and spice. It was much subtler than that. The familiar flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla wove through the bread with the added smokiness of the pretzel dough. The salted caramel with the faintest hint of espresso added a modern edge to the classic.

  “Damn.” Landon had detected Aubrey’s talent even when it was buried under peanut butter and gummy worms. But this? It was extraordinary.

  “What? Is it that good?” Craig forked a big morsel and popped it in his mouth. “Holy shit. I mean, crap. Sorry, Lily.”

  It was the most delicious, creative, and masterfully executed bread pudding Landon had ever had. For the first time in a long time, he was at a complete loss. He might have ruined the career of a promising pastry chef with his review. The strange cake deserved his scorn, but Aubrey and Comfort Zone didn’t. But nothing had changed. If he wrote a second review and their fling was discovered, both of their reputations would be shredded.

  “You see? She really is an amazing baker and boss.” Lily was practically bouncing up and down in her seat. “You’ll give Comfort Zone another chance, right?”

  Landon squeezed the back of his neck and resisted the urge to let loose a parade of profanity in every language he knew.

  “Look, Lily. That is one of the best bread puddings I’ve ever tasted.” He held up his hand when the girl opened her mouth to interrupt. “But the situation is more complicated than you think. I can’t bend my policy without my readers questioning my objectivity. Besides, the entire town of Weldon seem to be fans of Comfort Zone. Business will go on as usual soon with my review long forgotten.”

  “No. You don’t understand. Weldon has a tiny population. The bulk of Comfort Zone’s customers were online or travelers stocking up on their way to the mountains and the lakes. Aubrey was always busy filling online orders on top of running the shop, but I haven’t seen her send anything out since the review.” Lily leaned forward in her chair, gripping the edges of the seat. “The bakery is going out of business because of your review. I think Aubrey spent a whole lotta money on a lease to move Comfort Zone to a bigger location. I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but when I mention the other store, Aubrey just looks sad. And scared.”

  Expansion? The kid had to be exaggerating. Could the situation truly be worse than he’d imagined? Landon scowled in frustrat
ion, and Lily shrank in her seat.

  “You must be exhausted, Lily. It was a long drive from Weldon, right?” Craig led the kid, who was sobbing again, out of his office with a menacing glare at Landon. “Why don’t we order you some food and let you recharge? Our employee rest area is quite comfortable.”

  Landon returned to his desk and sat facing the windows, his logic and emotion duking it out with each other. His rational side wanted to walk away from the whole mess—Aubrey, her talent, and her bakery. His human side wanted to write a second review for Comfort Zone. She was so special, and taking her talent away from the world would be a crime.

  “Fucking hell.” He raked both his hands through his hair as he crossed the hallway to reach his office. Several coworkers peeked at him but quickly ducked back to their work when he glowered at them.

  He probably looked deranged. The whole situation was a fucking mess. Landon didn’t do messes. He planned, calculated, organized, and exercised iron control over his life. Impulsive dreamers like his dad were the ones who made messes—shitting everywhere they pleased and expecting others to clean up after them. Landon had cleaned up his father’s messes and swore to never be like him. So how had everything gone to hell? It was unacceptable.

  His cell phone vibrated, and he ignored the infuriating buzzing until it stopped. When the buzzing resumed not a second later, Landon picked up his phone to throw it out a window, but he answered the call after a glimpse of the caller ID.

  “Mio dio, Landon,” Aria said, not bothering with something as mundane as hello or how are you? “I just finished a walk-through of our location. They made me wear a hard hat. A putrid, yellow hard hat. Can you believe that?”

  “Unbelievable.” Landon rubbed a hand down his face, and his expression relaxed into his resting bitch face. “How dare they protect you from a head injury at a construction site.”

  “The construction is crazy, by the way.” His friend didn’t acknowledge his dry response with so much as a snort. “Dust and noise everywhere. I’m surprised I didn’t get impaled during my walk-through. But the point is—”