Part 6 (1/2)

”He wrote a book?” Andi demanded.

”On sale now for only thirty bucks,” Kim said, sounding like a commercial. ”Who would pay that much? Avoiding bankruptcy is as simple as not buying his book.”

A horn blasted from the street outside, and all three of them turned their heads, rose from their seats at the table . . . and gasped.

”His face is on the side of the bus!” Andi exclaimed, her voice rising. She walked closer to the window. ”And on the billboard across the street.”

Kim joined her. ”I see him on the side of that yellow taxi, the poster in the window of the gas station, and on the flyers those people are handing out on the sidewalk.”

Rachel's legs trembled as she stood up, walked across the shop, and opened the front door. As she took in the new landscape, she thought it a miracle there wasn't a sign reading WELCOMETO THEWORLDOFGASTON.

How could they compete against such an aggressive promo campaign? She shut the door on him and took a deep breath, her mind reeling. She should have continued her education after high school. She should have gone to college for marketing or multimedia communications.

”Someday we'll have a golden trophy like Gaston claims he has,” Andi said, her expression tight. ”A cupcake trophy with a great big number one on top. Creative Cupcakes will win cupcake contests all over America.”

Rachel turned and snapped her fingers. ”What are we waiting for? Let's challenge him to a cupcake contest, like Cupcake Wars on TV, and offer the winner a magnificent trophy. I doubt Gaston would be able to resist, and we'll settle once and for all who's number one in this town.”

”Yes,” Andi agreed, her eyes wide. ”But where?”

”The Astoria Sunday Market opens May twelfth, less than two weeks from now,” Kim offered.

”Bake outside?” Andi asked.

”We can run extension cords and bring tables, mixers, and portable convection ovens.” Rachel took the newspaper from the counter and waved it in the air. ”If Jake can get the Astoria Sun to give us coverage, we may even pick up some sponsors.”

”Jake!” Andi rushed to the television Jake had set up in the corner. ”He's on in twenty minutes. The local network is filming a segment on the newspaper and asked him for an interview.”

”I can pay a visit to Hollande's French Pastry Parlor, throw down the challenge, and be back before Jake steals your undivided attention,” Rachel promised.

True to her word, she returned to the cupcake shop with five minutes to spare.

”Well?” Kim asked. ”What did he say?”

Rachel imitated the way Gaston Pierre Hollande had rubbed his hands together. ”He can't wait.”

MIKE MET RACHEL at the cupcake shop at noon. He was dressed in jeans and a blue plaid short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt over a white tee. His hair waved back from his face as if recently combed. And the smile on his face made her eager to go out and have a little fun.

”See you later,” she called over her shoulder to Andi and Kim as she ditched the pink ap.r.o.n she wore over her blue-and-white sundress. Grabbing a jacket to protect her against the cool Oregon wind and her beach bag filled with necessities, she followed Mike out the door.

”You look great,” he told her.

Tossing her red curls over her shoulder, she replied, ”So do you.”

Typical first-date conversation. Rachel smiled. She loved the thrill of discovery a.s.sociated with first dates, but this one felt different. She'd been texting back and forth with Mike so many times over the last twelve days she felt as if she already knew him. There was an added intimacy to the usual words, and it threw her off guard.

He opened the door for her to climb into the Jeep and took a small bouquet of flowers off the seat. ”Do you know what today is?”

She hesitated. ”Wednesday, May first.”

”May Day.” He placed the ribbon-tied stems in her hands. ”These are May Day flowers.”

Rachel breathed in the deep fragrance of the tiny pink and white petals as she and Mike got in the car and he started the engine.

”In some parts of the United States,” Mike said, driving toward their coastal destination, ”a person sometimes fills a small basket with flowers or treats and leaves them on another person's doorstep. Then the giver knocks on the door and runs away.”

”I never heard of this tradition. Why does the giver run away?” Rachel asked.

”So the person who receives the flowers can try to chase after and catch the fleeing giver.”

”And if they do?”

”A kiss is exchanged.” Mike turned his head, gave her a quick glance, and grinned.

Warning bells rang in her head as she grinned back, and her pulse kicked up a notch. Her suspicions had been right.

This wasn't going to be an ordinary first date.

AT LOW TIDE, the wide expanse of sand near Fort Stevens State Park seemed to stretch to eternity. The scene reminded Rachel of one of Kim's paintings of a pale dirt road that narrowed until it traveled off the page, leaving its destination to the beholder.

Mike took her hand, and the wind propelled them forward. The cras.h.i.+ng waves of the Pacific Ocean lay on one side, the rolling dunes topped with tuffs of billowing green sea gra.s.s lay on the other. Tucked in between, the beach was a haven for seabirds and seclusion.

Mike lifted his camera and took a picture of the iron whalebone remains of the Peter Iredale s.h.i.+pwreck. ”Back in 1906 this s.h.i.+p had four masts, was 285 feet long, and weighed 2,075 tons, too heavy to pull out of the sand when it ran ash.o.r.e. Now it stays here stuck on the beach, a reminder of all the thousands of other vessels in the Graveyard of the Pacific.”

”My grandfather told me twenty-seven crewmembers and two stowaways were rescued,” Rachel said, thinking of the many times he'd brought her to this spot. ”I always dreamed what it would have been like to be one of those stowaways.”

”Hollywood is filming a movie about the s.h.i.+pwreck, and the two stowaways are the main characters,” Mike told her. ”Maybe you should audition for the part.”

Rachel ran into the rusted bow and stuck her head through one of the many window-like openings in the metal framework. ”Rachel Donovan, actress extraordinaire, playing the part of a stupendously charming stowaway living an enchanted life at sea.”

Mike snapped a picture of her and then lowered the camera and let it hang from the strap around his neck. ”Your life hasn't been enchanting as Rachel living in Astoria?”

She stiffened. ”Why do you say that?”

Mike walked closer and looked straight into her eyes. ”Something in your voice sounded like you might be unhappy.”

”Me, unhappy? I'm never unhappy.” Rachel looked away, studied the round bolts in the metal framework around her, and turned back to meet his gaze once again. ”Truth?”

Mike smiled. ”Always.”

”Instead of enchanted, sometimes I feel like my life is a s.h.i.+pwreck.”

”With only the necessary bolts and framework holding you together?”

Rachel nodded. ”How do you know?”