Chapter 3: Icing

 

Max had the phone number for Fiona’s cupcake shop because it was on her call spreadsheet for work. In theory, she absolutely, positively could call Fiona back and tell her that something had come up, and that she wouldn’t be able to make it that evening for that cupcake after all.

But Max didn’t call and tell Fiona she wasn’t coming.

Max drove to Newbury Street the moment she got off shift, parking her Escort down the street a few shops from Florabella Cupcakes. The night was cold and hushed, though there were still people bustling past with shopping bags and big winter coats, the holiday shopping season already in full swing. Max pulled her coat a little closer about her, shut the car door, and then she was walking down the sidewalk toward the cupcake shop, her hands deep in her coat pockets.

The shop window displays on the street were so cheerful and charming, reminding her of old black and white Christmas movies Max had watched and loved as a kid. Newbury Street was at the heart of the more artsy district of the city, and that was reflected in the type of shops it contained. There was a yarn shop, and a gourmet boutique shop of cheeses, and a handmade toy shop with carved toy soldiers in their windows, and a used book store that was already closed for the evening, but had a very bored-looking tabby cat in the window, gazing out at her through slit eyes, his tail moving back and forth in annoyed flicks as he sprawled on a stack of enormous hardcovers and watched the window shoppers with narrowed eyes. Max tapped the glass of the cat’s window gently with a long finger, and the cat practically rolled his eyes at her before widening them and pouncing a little at her finger. Max chuckled at him--he was a really nice cat, and he’s the guy who always drew her into that book store, even though she did love books.

Now, she nervously lifted her coat’s collar closer about her ears to better keep out the chill, and kept walking down the snowy sidewalk. She was close to the cupcake shop, and this meant that she still had time to turn back, to call Fiona and tell her that she couldn’t make it.

She still had time.

And then she ran out of it.

Because right there, nestled between Marie’s Yarn and Fabric Arts and The Blue Dog (which, upon walking past, Max realized was an upscale coffee shop, the little booths visible through the window filled with people nursing gigantic, steaming mugs of some fantastic-tasting holiday coffee beverage, and busy on their laptops) was Florabella Cupcakes. The cupcake shop had a pink and white striped awning and two little white iron tables and chairs out front covered in filigree that looked sweet and inviting, though Max doubted that anyone was currently using them in this weather. They were also covered with a light dusting of snow.

The “open” neon sign in the window was turned off, and so were most of the overhead lights inside, but the window display on both sides of the door was well lit, and Max paused for a moment, taking it in. There was a Christmas tree in both windows, covered with pink tinsel and absolutely laden with cupcake ornaments in all sorts of styles, from hand blown glass cupcakes (that were probably antique) to hand-sewn felt cupcakes to what appeared to be a cupcake carved out of wood and painted. There was a cloth banner draped in the air above each tree that read “celebrate the season with cupcakes!” in cheerful pink and gold cursive.

There was movement beyond the door, and then Fiona was there, turning the lock and opening it up. She was wearing a frilly pink apron over a blue blouse and jeans, and she had flour on her nose, splotched on the apron, and a little bit in her red hair that was swept up into a ponytail. Max was taken aback by how charming she looked with that dusting of flour in odd places.

Fiona’s grin was huge, in that moment, and she wasn’t grinning at anyone else but Max.

And Max, in that moment, felt her heart rise and warm.

“I’m so glad you came!” said Fiona, stepping out but keeping a leg in the door so it didn’t close. She gestured Max closer, and then Fiona was wrapping her warm arms around Max, giving her a tight squeeze as the warmth from the shop rolled out around them, too, chasing the chill of the winter away. The scent of cupcakes rolled out with Fiona as she squeezed Max tightly, but also the sweet hint of something floral and vanilla. The embrace lingered a beat too long, or maybe that was just Max’s imagination. Fiona stepped back, her bright green eyes flashing warmly. “I just took a batch of peanut butter cupcakes out of the oven, so you’re right on time,” she said, her smile deepening. With a gentle hand at the small of Max’s back, Fiona pushed her gently through the door and into the shop, shutting and locking the door behind the both of them.

The scents inside the shop were so much stronger than what had come out of it into the street to meet her. As they swept over Max just then, she breathed out. They were so heavenly that Max couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes, leaned back on her heels and inhaled deeply, rising up on her toes as she did so, buoyed up by the intense, mouthwatering aroma of cupcakes and sugar and pure deliciousness.

“That’s what heaven smells like,” said Fiona, then, and Max’s eyes snapped open. Fiona stood beside her, her hands on her hips, one hip jutting to the side as she gazed up at Max with those bright green eyes that seemed to spark, even in the darkness of the cupcake shop. Something passed over Fiona’s face in that heartbeat, something unreadable that Max wasn’t certain about, but then Fiona was smiling again, and gesturing toward the back of the shop, around a corner, toward the light that was spilling out into that hallway.

They moved past the little quaint tables and chairs that, for some reason, reminded Max of Paris, even though she’d never been to Paris. She’d certainly seen enough movies centered in the city, and usually the main characters of those movies were seated, at some point, at a coffee shop that had tables and chairs just like these, with their soft whites and pinks and shabby chic appearance. The tall counter next to the cash register had about five levels of plexi-glass shelving for cupcakes, all of which were currently empty.

“Thanks to the holiday season, business is booming,” said Fiona as they both walked toward the back hallway over the charming black and white tile floor. “I sold out again today, and actually had to close up shop early! I don’t want that to happen to me again…that’s bad for business. So I’m baking a couple extra dozen tonight, just in case of sell out again,” she said, grinning up at Max. “Come on back!”

They rounded the corner, and Max was met with a row of three ovens across from shelves of trays and a long expanse of counter space covered in dozens and dozens of cupcakes, arranged in phalanxes like a tiny cupcake army, ready to take over. It was much warmer back here in the kitchen, and Max found herself unzipping her denim jacket as Fiona pranced forward, an oven timer sharply beginning to beep.

“Oh, right on schedule—this is perfect!” she said happily, bending down to open up the oven door.

The wafting scent of peanut butter cupcakes swept over the both of them as Max tried very, very hard not to look at Fiona’s beautiful curves. And they were beautiful, the swell of her thighs and bottom in the jeans. Max’s fingernails pressed hard against her palms, and she glanced down at her boots leaking melting snow on Fiona’s clean black and white tiles.

“They’re done!” said Fiona triumphantly, setting the pan of cupcakes on the cooling rack and turning towards Max with a grin as she took off her oven mitts. The mitts were bright pink, the same pink as her apron. Fiona followed Max’s gaze and looked down at herself with a wry expression. “Believe it or not, I don’t even like pink. But it’s what people expect from a cupcake shop,” she said, rolling her eyes a little as she chuckled. “I just go with it.”

“No…it suits you,” said Max quietly, struggling for the words. She put her hands deep in her pockets, felt her cheeks color as she murmured: “you look great.”

Fiona glanced up sharply at that, her eyes bright and wide, but just as quickly she was glancing down at herself chuckling. “Hah! I’m covered in flour and exhausted. But you’re…you’re very sweet to say that.” She glanced up again, biting her lip, and there was silence for a moment between them as Max’s heart began to beat too fast.

“So, what kind of cupcake do you think you want? I have a lot to choose from.” Fiona grinned hopefully at Max and pointed to a few pans. “Those are strawberry and peaches and cream and cherries jubilee. I like to keep the fruit separate from the chocolate ones. This is peanut butter chocolate, ‘Death by Chocolate’ and raspberry chocolate. Then I have white chocolate and orange chocolate…”

Max began to chuckle. “Oh my goodness. How long have you been baking to make this many?”

“Well, I closed a little early. And I’m very fast,” said Fiona, hooking her thumbs into the frilly apron’s pockets and grinning broadly at Max. “Impressed?”

“Very,” said Max, truth making her sigh out the word. She cleared her throat, glanced over the trays and trays of cupcakes and tried very hard not to look at the beautiful woman standing in front of her.

But Fiona kept drawing Max’s eyes back to her. Back to her ridiculous, sweet apron, and her red curls escaping from under the blue bandana that was trying to keep her hair contained. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she didn’t need any. Fiona’s lashes were long and curved, her cheeks rosy, her smile defined by little curving lines around her lips that showed how often she smiled. She looked like what Max had always assumed a ballerina looked like, which was an odd comparison, but she definitely made Max think of one. All fine bones and powerful grace.

Fiona glanced at the rows of cupcakes, folding her arms in front of herself as she shifted the weight into her heels. She’d noticed Max was staring at her. Max cleared her throat again, panic setting in. “Um... I really like chocolate and peanuts. I’d probably like the peanut butter chocolate one, though I have to confess,” she said as Fiona brightened up, popping one of the cupcakes out of the tray, “I’ve not really eaten a lot of cupcakes in my day.”

Fiona patted the bottom of the cupcake and tested its warmth with her hand against the wrapper. “We’re going to have to wait to frost it. This tray came out of the oven about a half hour ago, so it’s closer to being frostable than the ones in the tray I just took out. Do you have a moment?” said Fiona, setting the cupcake down on the counter as she moved toward her industrial-sized refrigerator. “If you don’t eat cupcakes often, I really want this one to be perfect. Memorable.”

Oh, it was already memorable. The ovens were very warm, but even if they weren’t going, Max would have been far too warm anyway. Fiona ducked into the walk-in fridge, and Max cast about, feeling awkward and out of place, uncertain of what to do. There weren’t any chairs to sit on. She compromised with leaning against the wall. Fiona returned, shutting the fridge door behind her and holding a little spatula.

“You refrigerate your spatulas?” said Max with a smile. Fiona nodded, pulling the bucket of frosting out from under the counter and setting it gently next to the cooling cupcakes.

“Yeah…it helps me pick up the frosting better,” she said, setting the spatula on top of the bucket’s lid. She picked up a tray of unbaked cupcakes; the batter nestled in its wrappers in wet spirals, and opened the oven door. A wave of heat hit Max, and she averted her eyes as Fiona bent over, the jeans clinging in all of the right places, her bottom and thighs making the perfect curve...

Max sighed, running her hand through her hair and taking off her jacket, holding it in front of herself a little like she was the new kid in class, and it was the first day of school. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so self-conscious and awkward, other than those first days at a new school, and that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago, it seemed now.

“So, Max…what’s that short for?” asked Fiona, taking off her oven mitts again and smiling charmingly at Max.

Max rolled her eyes a little with a tense chuckle, and bit her lip. “It’s short for Maxine. It’s the age-old story, really. My father wanted a boy, so he was going to name a boy Max and a girl Maxine…and then call her Max anyway. It stuck.” She glanced up at Fiona from under hooded eyes. Fiona was leaning against the counter, one foot on top of the other, lounging and balanced like someone who probably did a lot of yoga. Fiona struck Max that way: very in tune with all of herself, in perfect control of her body, never awkward or gangly like Max was. “What about Fiona?” Max asked. “Where did that come from? It’s a beautiful, unusual name…why did your parents pick it?”

Fiona’s gaze flickered for a moment, and then she shrugged. “It’s a good Irish name, you know? I was born in Ireland, but my mother couldn’t keep me, so I was adopted out to American parents when I was about two. They changed my name because they thought Fiona fit me better.” She wrinkled her nose, pushed off from the counter and fiddled with the dials on top of the stove. “They were well-meaning, though I wish I very much knew my first name. It would make me feel more connected to where I came from, I think.”

Max realized her mouth was open and shut it. “They just…they just changed the name of a two-year old? I mean…” She didn’t know what she meant, it just felt like something you shouldn’t probably ever do. It felt wrong.

“They were well-meaning, not necessarily right,” said Fiona with a shrug, stacking the oven mitts on top of each other on the counter. “But it’s all right. I like this name. I love my parents. I can’t really remember my birth mother…just glimpses of her, really. I know she had hair like mine.” With a wry smile, Fiona tugged at a loose curl that spilled out down beside her cheek from the bandana. “It’s important to me to have my mother’s hair, because I guess it still makes me feel connected to her, and that’s really the only connection I have. That probably seems silly, putting so much stock in having the same hair,” she said with a small smile.

“It’s not silly at all. Honestly...I think that’s beautiful. I don’t think I could imagine dealing with all of that as well as you have. I was—and am—really lucky, I know. My parents were so normal and boring. They took really good care of us, me and my sister. They did the best they could by us, worked normal, boring jobs so that we could have everything we needed…” Max trailed off as she noticed Fiona watching her.

“Mine, too. They wanted what was best for me, always,” said Fiona, her thumbs in her apron pockets again as her green eyes glittered in the low light. “I guess we were both lucky in that way.” She gazed for a long moment into Max’s eyes.

Max watched the curve of Fiona’s jaw, the smooth, sweet skin that flowed from that graceful curve of jaw down to her neck, under the scalloped edge of her shirt. She could just see the gentle tap of Fiona’s pulse along her neck. Max was very aware of how fast her own heart was beating. She was too hot, too aware suddenly of how small the kitchen really was. It had seemed so big a few minutes ago, but Max knew that if she took three steps forward now, she could place her hands at Fiona’s waist, her fingers curling around the curves there. She could press the length of her body against Fiona’s, feel the perfect way those bodies would fit together, hip to hip, breast to breast, their forms melding together. Max looked down at the floor again, a blush rising in her cheeks.

She shouldn’t be there. She knew she shouldn’t be there, discussing her past, her family with this woman she should really only know in passing.

But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the warmth of Fiona’s smile, the sight of her body that Max, whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, was desperately attracted to, the mind she was—impossibly—attracted to even more. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the sunshine that was Fiona’s very presence.

Fiona turned, touching the cupcake’s wrapper with her fingers, and then she was taking the top off of the container of frosting. The warm scent of sugar, chocolate and peanut butter began to waft into the air a little stronger, spilling out of the tub to surround the both of them.

“Have you heard from Jo this week?” asked Fiona softly, taking up her spatula and scooping up a big dollop of frosting. She put it in a see-through plastic bag, and screwed the nub of a frosting tip onto the corner of the pastry bag. She squeezed the bag until the frosting was against the tip, and then it began to pipe out beautifully onto the cupcake in a spiral that grew smaller as Fiona expertly maneuvered it in a narrowing circle. Max watched her work and came over closer to get a better look.

“No I haven’t—not since that night we all went out to dinner together. How are things with you two?” asked Max, her voice a little strained.

“Oh, they’re good. Good,” Fiona repeated a little distractedly. “I just haven’t seen her much this week is all. She’s opening up a new branch of TurnTurn Delivery in Seattle, so she’s been traveling a little...well—more than usual, I guess. But it’s just difficult to get used to, is all, her gone all the time. We’ve been on a lot of nice dates, but now all of the best ones, it seems, have been given rain checks.” She spiraled the frosting upward and tugged the bag a little toward her so that the top peek of the frosting was perfectly pointed. She set the bag down on the counter and turned toward Max with a small smile, and the cupcake on a napkin, held out to Max like forbidden fruit. “It’s ready!”

“Wow, it’s beautiful, Fiona,” said Max, and she meant it—but she wasn’t looking at the cupcake when she said it. She was looking into Fiona’s eyes. To be honest, she wasn’t even certain she meant the cupcake.

When Max reached out to take the sweet from the woman’s hand, their fingers inevitably touched. Like it’d been fate. An electric surge moved through Max, and she sighed reflexively. There was such heat that shot through her in that moment. Such a deep, intense longing. She wanted to kiss Fiona’s hand, her fingers one by one, her knuckles, her palm. She wanted to taste that woman’s skin, brush her lips over the dusting of sugar that seemed to cover Fiona’s hands, a sweetness that seemed to reflect what was within. Max wanted these things with such a fierceness that an ache blossomed deep inside of her, an ache Max had never really felt before. Or had felt such a long time ago, that it was like feeling it again for the first time.

She breathed out and picked up the cupcake from the napkin, and their hands no longer touched. Again, Fiona’s expression flickered, but the smile came back in an instant, and she took a step back, gazing at the oven and the kitchen timer. It beeped just as she did that, and she bent over, opening up the oven door and pulling out the tray of cupcakes with a hand sheathed in her pink oven mitt.

This time, Max did not look away as Fiona busied herself with taking that tray out of the oven. She let herself drink in Fiona’s form, the gorgeous curves of her body as she bent down to take out the tray. Max’s heart was beating too fast, and she tugged at the wrapper around the cupcake, desperate for something to do to take her mind off the fact that Fiona stood only three steps away. Three steps was not a long distance. Max could take those three steps in a heartbeat, and then her fingers would trace a line down Fiona’s cream-colored neck, her mouth hot against the captivating pulse beat there.

But Max did not take those three steps. She took a deep breath, and she bit into the cupcake.

The blossom of sweetness that erupted in her mouth made her sigh again, this time in pleasure. It was a euphoric taste, a perfect blending of peanut butter and chocolate and the sweetness of the creamy icing.

“Good?” asked Fiona, her eyes sparkling as she gazed sidelong at Max. Max licked her lip, nodded slowly, her mouth too full to say anything. “I’m glad you like it,” said Fiona, walking past Max to set the cupcake tray on the cooling rack beside her. The hallway was very narrow, and Fiona brushed lightly past Max as she did so, her hip grazing against Max’s thigh. A jolt went through Max, a lingering thrum of warmth deep inside of her, and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as Fiona went past again, the scent of her lingering in the air even after she’d gone by. That sweet vanilla, and that warm, spicy floral.

“Sorry,” Fiona murmured, pausing next to Max, her eyes flicking up to Max’s, and then down again, deliberately staying on Max’s lips for a long moment. “You have a bit of frosting…” she whispered, and she reached up with her hand and brushed a thumb over Max’s lips.

Shock flooded through Max just as quickly as the heat, and she stayed perfectly still, afraid that if she moved, if she even blinked, something would betray her, her thoughts, the flush of warmth inside of her. She would groan, or she would shudder, or she would lean forward against Fiona’s warm, sweet thumb that lingered a beat too long against Max’s mouth. Fiona drew her hand back, then, flicking her gaze away, and taking a step back, turning away from Max.

There was no frosting on Fiona’s thumb that Max could see.

Max wolfed down the rest of the cupcake in two bites, tossing the wrapper in the garbage under the counter. She pushed off from the wall, her head reeling, uncertain of what had just happened. But she wanted to think about it. She needed to think about it. She needed time to think about it.

“It was wonderful. Amazing…” She grappled for something to say that could put in a smattering of words what she’d just felt. But she couldn’t. Fiona leaned against the counter, her face unreadable, her mouth set in a long, firm line as she crossed her arms, as a fleeting smile ghosted over her lips.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she said then, and her voice trailed off, seeming to linger over the words.

“We’ll talk soon,” Max promised, practically stumbling as she backed out of the small, narrow kitchen into the darkened cupcake shop. She got to the door, fumbled with the lock, and then was out in the brisk night air, the cupcake shop and all its warmth behind her.

She didn’t even put her coat on. Max just walked quickly down the street, holding the bulky jean jacket under her arm, her shoulders hunched as she reached up with hot fingers, touched her lips gently, touched where Fiona had touched them.

Max licked her lips, tasting the sweetness of the cupcake and its frosting, tasting the sweetness of Fiona’s fingers.

She stood shaking outside of her car for a long moment, gazing down the street that was now entirely deserted.

Somewhere far distant, one of the apartments above where she stood was playing the radio loudly. The mournful strains of “Silent Night” seemed to float around her, the mournful music echoing and spiraling down as Max got into her car, shutting out the cold, quiet night.

She breathed out, gripping her steering wheel.

Max could no longer deny what she was feeling. This wasn’t something that she’d be able to box away in her heart and never look at again, something she could be guaranteed to never feel again.

She was absolutely and completely attracted to Fiona. Every aspect of Fiona was beautiful to her. She was the most amazing woman Max had ever met.

And now that she’d acknowledged all that, she also needed to acknowledge this:

There wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.