Free Babycakes by Donna Kauffman Page B

even more interested in doing so. Completely shaved?”
    “Not completely. She still has some in the middle. So, do you have a gentleman friend? A husband?”
    “No to both.” Kit smiled in surprise at the question.
    Alva smiled right back and patted her arm. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we, dear?”
    Before Kit could get past the sudden choking sensation in her throat to consider formulating a response, Alva was sliding her arm through Kit’s and steering her into the kitchen. She patted Kit’s hand and leaned in to add, “If you do it right, you only need one to fill both positions.”
    With no clue how to respond, Kit smiled, feeling a little more nervous about the evening ahead.
    Lani walked over to her wearing a chef’s coat with GATEAU stitched over the breast, left over from when she had managed Baxter’s bakery in New York City. Her hair was pulled up in a simple ponytail. “I’d hug you, but I’ve got pastry dough hands.” She wiggled flour-covered fingers. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”
    For Kit, the days had been a blur of business talk, contract negotiations, celebrating, and jumping straight into helping assemble a small army of local tradesmen and subcontractors responsible for transforming the tailoring shop into a mail-order catering site. It was overwhelming in many ways, but such a welcome relief from what she’d dealt with for the past year, and had a far more positive end in sight.
    However, the evening was social, not business. Usually quite confident in that area, she was coming to realize how decimating the trickle-down effect of utter betrayal could be. Intellectually, she knew only Trixie and Teddy were responsible for what had happened, but she couldn’t help feeling less than confident about her own judgment after being so grossly taken advantage of by the ones she’d trusted the most.
    So far, everyone she’d crossed paths with had been quite welcoming, but she had no idea how she’d be received in a social setting or if she was up to reading the subtle nuances that came into play when meeting a group of people who’d already established a tight bond with one another. She knew Lani was hopeful they’d all become fast friends. Kit was just as hopeful. But it was a lot to take in, a lot to tackle—all at once.
    “Everyone? Meet Kit Bellamy, new friend, fellow baker, and”—she paused for dramatic effect, much to the detriment of the knot already forming in Kit’s stomach—“our new manager of Babycakes!”
    A cheer went up from the small group—which thankfully included Charlotte—and Kit saw nothing but sincere goodwill and joy at the announcement. The knot loosened up . . . and so did she.
    She gave a little wave. “Hello, everyone. Thanks for inviting me.”
    “Welcome to Cupcake Club,” Charlotte said, beaming with a certain amount of pride.
    Whether it was for the club itself or for being the one to bring her into the fold, Kit had no idea, but it was all positive, so she ran with it. “Thanks. I’m happy to be here.”
    “Rule number one,” Alva said, stepping forward. “What happens in Cupcake Club—”
    “Stays in Cupcake Club!” everyone finished in unison, with the occasional brandished spatula or pastry bag.
    Kit grinned. When you had an eighty-four-year-old, five-foot-nothing senior standing in front of you sporting pink hair, pearls, and another pirate apron—Errol Flynn this time—it was pretty much impossible not to. “Got it.” She made a zipping motion across her lips. “Thanks for the warm welcome. It smells incredible in here.”
    “It’s my new recipe,” Alva offered, ushering her farther into the room. “With Thanksgiving here in just a few short weeks, I wanted to celebrate the season.” She picked up a cupcake from an industrial-sized cooling rack positioned on one of the rows of worktables. “My very own Sweet Potato Tater Cakes. Have a taste.”
    Kit took the proffered cake. “That