I grinned and grabbed the phone off the wall. “This is Roxie.”
“Hello, Roxie, this is Mrs. Oleson, from the mayor’s office.”
“Oh hello, Mrs. Oleson, how are you?”
Chad’s eyebrows went up. Mrs. Oleson had worked in the mayor’s office for as long as anyone could remember, no matter who the mayor was. She had her hand in nearly everything that happened in town. Huh. Not unlike a Mrs. Harriett Oleson from Walnut Grove. I allowed myself a few seconds of Almanzo fantasy.
“Roxie, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What can I do you for, Mrs. Oleson?”
“I’m in a bit of a pickle, dear, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”
“I’ll do what I can. What’s up?” I replied, confused but intrigued.
“Well, you know I always bring cakes to the ladies’ luncheon, and this year I’ve just totally overextended myself. Linda and Evelyn were positively raving over the walnut cake they had at the diner last week, and I wondered—”
“You want a walnut cake too?” I finished.
“Actually, I’d need four. And maybe . . . do you have something different you could make? They’ve already had the walnut cake, so I thought maybe we could surprise them with something new,” she said, her voice getting quiet and sneaky. “Eleanor made her famous sponge cake last week, and I need to step it up a notch or two.”
“Something new,” I repeated, glancing over at the barren cake display case with worry. Not about how I was going to bake more—but because I wanted to do it. “When do you need these?”
“Tomorrow?” she asked hesitantly.
Yikes. I looked again at the display case. This morning it had held eight cakes, each sliced in eighths, individually for sale. Now there were only crumbs.
Did I want to do this? Could I do this was a better question, adding another thing to my already packed schedule.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, decision made, grabbing the yellow order pad out of Maxine’s apron pocket as she passed by. She frowned, eyeing me from under the beehive hairdo that held a—
“I need this too,” I chirped, plucking the pen from the hairspray-stiffened swirl. She cracked me on the ass with a dish towel in complaint.
“Carrot?” I parroted back to Mrs. Oleson, my mind immediately racing. “Traditional? With nuts?” I was giddy at the thought of shopping at Leo’s for the ingredients. Mmm, I could do a cream cheese frosting. I’d seen tubs of it at Maxwell Farm from the dairy next door. What else could I pick up there? Oooo, maybe he’d pick me up. Maybe he’d finish what he started that day in the silo—
Shit, I was on the phone. “Pick them up tomorrow morning,” I instructed Mrs. Oleson, flustered.
As I hung up the phone, the Scott family walked in. Mom, Dad, and two kids, with the point-five bun in the oven and ready to pop out.
“Have a seat anywhere that’s open,” I called, leaning over the counter to see if there was a booth or table free. There was one in the back, and Mrs. Scott was able to waddle uncomfortably over and sit down.
“Looks like someone is making a name for herself in this town,” Chad said over his menu.
“I don’t even know why you’re pretending to look at this—you always get the same thing. Tuna melt, potato salad, cherry Coke.” I rolled my eyes, smacking the top of his head lightly with his menu.
“She knows her customers’ orders, she’s becoming famous for her sweet treats, she’s emphatically not crushing on a farmer—what a summer Roxie Callahan’s having,” Chad said.
I smacked him again, not trying to hide my smile.