As she walked in, she apologized again. “Can you forgive me? I left the door open for you, but I was in my bedroom, changing out of my work clothes, and I didn’t hear you knock. Jason told me you walked in and saw him and . . . well. This is awkward.”
She was right about that. “No need to explain.” Then, pointing to the tiered tray, I added, “Can I help you carry that?”
“It’s just that he was supposed to arrive later, after you were gone. But since he was already there, well. I guess I should explain.” She laughed nervously. “It’s a little role-playing game we like to indulge in. I’m the Black Ops interrogator and he’s the—”
“Stop!” I laughed. “Alex, please. You don’t have to explain.” Just give me the cupcakes and all will be forgiven. I didn’t say that to her, of course, but I was thinking it. Many of the world’s problems would be solved if people would just shut up and pass the cupcakes.
I saved her the trouble of having to decide what to do next and took the tray from her. “Come on in.” She followed me into the kitchen, where I set down the tray and grabbed a half-filled bottle of Cabernet to show her. “It’s an awfully good wine. Would you like a glass?”
“Yes, please, and you’re so sweet to brush off what happened.” She wrung her hands together. “But I know it must’ve been a shock to walk in and see . . .”
“A naked man, bound and gagged?” I said, when her voice faded. “Sitting on your couch as if he’d come to tea? Yes, I admit it was a bit of a shock. But he looked pleasant enough. I was going to call the police, but then he winked at me. That’s when I decided to leave. I figured if he was winking at me, he probably wasn’t in any danger. And, more important, you weren’t in danger, either. Were you?”
“Absolutely not,” she insisted. “If anything, Jason’s the one in danger. He showed up early and will have to be punished at some point.”
“Eek!” I instantly held up my hands. “Stop. Please. You really don’t need to explain.”
“I’m sorry!” She buried her face in her hands and I was afraid she was going to burst into tears. Instead she started to giggle. She really didn’t seem like the giggling type and neither was I, most of the time. But the sound of that giggle, and the fact that her cheeks were now bright pink with embarrassment, were enough to make me smile.
After a few long seconds, I gave up pretending that the situation was normal. “Okay, it was weird.”
“Of course it was,” she said, and gestured toward the cupcake tray. “I’m not going to apologize again, but, luckily, I have brought a peace offering.”
“Accepted.”
I checked to see if Derek was still on his conference call. He signaled that he would be a while longer, so Alex and I sat down at the kitchen bar with glasses of wine and the twelve cupcakes. I chose a pink one first because they were so pretty.
I took a bite and closed my eyes. “Oh.”
She frowned. “Is it okay?”
“Oh.” I nodded, but couldn’t seem to form words, just kept repeating, “Oh. Oh.”
With a satisfied smile, she said, “They’re good, aren’t they?”
“Oh yeah.” I took another bite. The icing was just as fluffy and moist as it looked, and it tasted even better than that. It wasn’t the usual buttercream frosting I was used to. It was incredibly soft and sweet without being cloying. “Better than good.”
How did she do it? Was it something you could learn or did you have to be born with that ability? I was pretty sure that baking was harder than cooking. Although I could barely cook, I was still willing to learn how to bake if there was a chance that one day I might produce something this transcendentally scrumptious.
“This cupcake actually tastes pink,” I whispered. “How do you do that?”
“I’ve been experimenting with reducing pink lemonade down to its essence. It seems to work.”
“And how do you get the frosting so fluffy?”
“I make my own simple syrup instead of using commercial corn syrup. It makes everything lighter and fluffier.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you are a genius.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Alex chose a lemon cupcake while I continued to savor my pink one. She asked me how the television show was going and I told her about the books I’d appraised so far. I left out the part where I’d been attacked two days in a row. Instead I chatted on about the books and she seemed interested. At least her eyes didn’t glaze over, so I considered that a real win.
“I love books,” she said.
“I do, too.”
“I mean, I love to read. I don’t know anything about bookbinding, but it sounds fascinating. You actually take books apart and put them back together in better shape than they were before?”
“That’s the goal.”
“It sounds like such rewarding work.”
“It is,” I said. “I love it.”
She told me briefly about the company she ran, a successful brokerage firm in the financial district.
“It’s your own company?” I asked, as I stared at the tray of cupcakes. How could I possibly eat a second one?