Sweethand Read online

  Well, fuck him. Food was important. Her work wasn’t shit.

  She pushed past Remi into the kitchen and started cataloging what ingredients she’d need.

  “Cherry, what are you doing?” Remi sounded concerned.

  “Uh-oh. Is she about to stress-bake?” Reba asked.

  Cherisse ignored them as she started pulling ingredients and stacking them on the counter. “I promised Dale samples of the new thing I’ve been working on, and that’s what I’m doing. If I make an extra-special batch of something for his ungrateful piece of shit friend, so what?”

  “Uh, Cherry? Please don’t send Keiran any poisoned goodies.”

  She spared Remi a glance and smiled. They’d followed her into the kitchen. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t waste food that way.”

  “Cherry.” Reba fell in beside her, eyes flicking over the ingredients as if Cherisse had stashed something deadly in there.

  “Jesus. No poison, I promise!” She started humming as she got everything straight in her head before she began. Sugar, flour, eggs... Stuff for the mango white chocolate ganache filling, too.

  Ava had texted to remind them about ladies’ night tonight, so Cherisse definitely wanted these done and delivered so she could sit back and relax before then.

  Tampering with food like that wasn’t her style—that would be extreme—but she’d send Keiran a little message still. Poisoning the best man before the wedding would probably add unwanted stress anyhow.

  KEIRAN

  He’d fucked up.

  The thought buzzed around his brain like a horde of flies as he tried his best to direct the artiste currently in the booth. They’d been cranking out some instrumentals while he tried to ignore the lambasting he’d received earlier.

  None of his friends were shy about letting him know that he’d screwed up. Keiran had to pull his phone away from his ear as Eric shouted at him.

  “What the hell did you do?” was the first thing he’d been greeted with when he’d finally returned Eric’s Call me now text. Eric avoided phone calls like the plague, except at work. Couldn’t escape that. That was Keiran’s first clue that something was up. After the call connected, Eric had basically handed him his ass, and that was how he’d found out about the article.

  Eric wasn’t a loud guy, but when he was pissed off, watch out, he would let you have it. Afterwards, it always left you feeling like you’d gotten the scolding of your life from a parent who was highly disappointed in you. Even as an adult, that shit made Keiran feel bad. Because Eric was right: Keiran had fucked up.

  He hadn’t thought his offhand joke would be featured in that article in any way, but there it was. In all its splashy, gossip-inducing glory.

  “Eric, really, I’ll speak to the blogger about removing it,” he’d tried to assure his friend.

  “Too late, K.” Eric’s sigh had been long. “It was a shitty joke to begin with. You’re going to have to apologize to Cherisse somehow. Do it before our thing later tonight. That’s all I ask. Ava has her own lime with the ladies tonight, and I’m pretty sure you’d be wise to get in your sorry before then.”

  He’d forgotten all about the guys’ get-together. Eric wanted to celebrate his engagement with his boys. The engagement party had been for his parents and family, but tonight they would grab drinks and rib Eric about his last few months of bachelor life. Keiran had been so deep in the beats as soon as he’d gotten up, basically holed up in the studio since this morning, that it had slipped his mind. Then this whole article debacle. Eric was right; the joke was terrible, to begin with, and shouldn’t have made it past his lips.

  Dale had joined him a few hours ago too. They’d been going hard, trying to put the finishing touches on this one track. Dale had been alerted to the article fiasco at the same time Keiran was, tossing him an I told you so glare before getting a call on his phone and disappearing upstairs, leaving Keiran to Eric’s chiding.

  He stared at his phone. He should call Cherisse, get the apology done with. They’d grudgingly exchanged numbers to arrange a meet-up to discuss this joint bachelor/bachelorette party business. Neither had used it. The wedding was in June, a little less than four months out, so they didn’t have a lot of time. The short timeframe had gotten the rumor mill cranking, wondering if Ava was pregnant, but as Eric had told him, they’d been together so long, why draw out the engagement?

  He was about to reach for his phone when Dale came clomping back down the stairs into the studio, hands full with three boxes. Boxes Keiran squinted at as he recognized the Sweethand logo, with the golden whisk and piping bag icons popping against the pink boxes.

  “Sugar Queen came through!” Dale said, placing the boxes on the table. He picked one up. “Her PA dropped these off. My name’s on this one. Oh. One for mummy, too, and...huh.” He peered down at the last pink box. “This one’s got your name on it.”

  Keiran signaled to the trumpet player to take five as he inspected the box. “You sure?” There was no way Cherisse had sent him anything good after that article mess, and Keiran knew she knew about it. So what game was she playing?

  Dale held the box out to him while Keiran eyed it suspiciously. “Maybe you should vet it first.”

  Dale rolled his eyes, resting the box with Keiran’s name on it off to the side. He peered into his own box. “Holy shit, these look good.” He took a whiff of whatever was inside. “And damn, smells like heaven. Mango, I think. Mango macarons, hell yessss.” He nudged his lid closed, then moved over to Keiran’s box. “Let’s see what she sent for—” Dale’s snort made Keiran jump. It was so unexpected. Then Dale dissolved into loud cackles. “Dude!” He snort-laughed, pushing the box over for Keiran to have a look.

  He’d gotten macarons too. Except, he was certain Dale’s didn’t have writing on each one that spelled out: Go Fuck Yourself

  “What flavor did you get?” Dale wheezed out. “Apart from the saltiness that obviously went into making these. They’re the same color as mine, so maybe mango too?”

  “You don’t think I’m actually eating these, do you? She probably put a laxative in them or some shit.”

  Dale whipped out his phone and took a photo of his set, then one of Keiran scowling at his Go Fuck Yourself ones.

  “C’mon, man,” he protested.

  “What? This shit needs to be documented.” Dale’s fingers flew over his screen. “Hmm, what caption? Ah, yes, got it! I’m tagging you. Repost if you want.”

  Keiran shook his head but didn’t bother to stop Dale. His own fault, really. He had this coming. The macarons did smell good, but he didn’t trust them. He’d never really tasted Cherisse’s hand, even back in the day, when Cherisse had started up her baking and convinced the neighborhood mini-mart to sell some of her treats. He’d see the cake slices at the counter when he went to pay for the items his mother always sent him for; had never tried them, even as curious as he’d been. He’d held fast to his pettiness. He sure as hell wasn’t about to try these potentially suspect macarons.

  “You really not trying one?” Dale asked. “I’m sure they’re safe.” He plucked one of his own out of the box and popped the whole thing in his mouth. “Oh shit, that’s good. So, so good.” Then he reached over for Keiran’s.

  “What are you doing?” Keiran snatched the box away.

  “Look, I’m sure she didn’t do anything to these. She already sent her message. She’s too sweet to pull a laxative prank.”

  Keiran didn’t believe that for a second. Cherisse might have them all fooled, but Keiran was convinced beneath the sugary smiles lurked someone who’d get off on silent revenge.

  “I’m calling her.” Dale had his phone to his ear before Keiran could tell him don’t bother. “Cherisse, hi! Got your lovely package. Thanks so much! Uh, yeah.” Dale glanced back at Keiran, eyes twinkling. “He got his as well. He’s acting like it’s poisoned or something. Yeah, I know you wouldn’t do it, but I guess he didn’t appreciate your message. Speaker? Okay, yeah, hold on.”

>   Dale tapped his phone, then Cherisse’s voice filled the studio. “You’re an asshole,”—there was no doubt she was speaking to Keiran—“and my macaron message stands. But I swear, I didn’t do anything to them. I wouldn’t tamper with food like that.”

  “See, so it’s okay for me to try one, right?” Dale piped up. He stared down at the box. “I’d take the smiley face, but I feel like it really drives the message home.”

  Cherisse laughed. “I thought so, too, and yes, it’s safe for you to eat.”

  “Good.” Dale picked up the one with “yourself” written on it and nibbled a piece off, making sure the “you” remained intact. Keiran rolled his eyes. Dale smirked, enjoying this too damn much. “Thanks again for the treats, Cherisse. Will have Keiran report back on the macarons.”

  “No need, I’ve said all I need to say. Bye.” She hung up, and Dale pushed the box even closer to Keiran.

  “Well? I’m not dead or rushing to the toilet yet, so either it’s slow-acting, or they’re fine.”

  “No.” Keiran scowled at the damn things and shut the box lid, pushing them back over to Dale. “Let’s get back to work.”

  He found his gaze sliding over to the distracting pink box as they worked. Perhaps he could take a nibble later after Dale was gone. Satisfy his curiosity. No one would know.

  He jerked his stare away from the treats, realizing too late he’d had the chance to apologize to Cherisse and hadn’t taken it. He could call her back and do just that, but now, he was annoyed. He had no right to be, but the darn macarons taunted him. Even with their Go Fuck Yourself message, he kept wondering if they tasted as good as they looked. Dale’s chewing and moans of pleasure said they did, but Keiran refused to give in right now.

  So he chose to be petty.

  Chapter 6

  Cherisse

  BOOTLEGGERS WAS LOUD and packed; there was a rugby game going on. Cherisse wasn’t big on sports, but she could appreciate a bunch of fit guys aggressively running around on the screens that were littered throughout the bar. The appetizers were good, and the drinks were strong and tasty. That was all that mattered. The conversation was entertaining too.

  Ladies’ night consisted of her, Ava, Remi, and Ava’s close friend and fellow teacher, Julia. There was some prime Keiran-bashing going on, and Cherisse was grateful her girls had her back. Not that she’d expected anything less, but it felt great to know they’d take Keiran to task on her behalf.

  She’d baked her anger into those macarons, hoping to be in a better mood for tonight’s festivities, but it still lingered. The article played over and over in her mind. She’d memorized the entire thing already, having obsessively read and reread the offending words.

  “Did you see this?” Remi pulled up an Instagram photo from Dale’s feed, showing a scowling Keiran next to Cherisse’s macaron message. “That caption, though.”

  The caption under Dale’s photo made her laugh so loudly she almost snorted her martini through her nose.

  When the sugar queen gets salty #dontmesswiththequeen #henotready #thatsmileyfacetho

  “Accurate,” Ava said, giggling. “Best revenge. Simple yet effective. I told Eric to tell him to apologize to you, did he?” Ava swirled her Long Island with her straw. Cherisse could imagine her sister’s face when she’d laid down that proclamation. You messed with one Gooding sister, you were going to face the wrath of the other.

  “No.” She wasn’t holding her breath for that apology.

  This wedding made certain they couldn’t escape each other, so it would be best for everyone if he genuinely said sorry for the shitty joke. Cherisse told herself she didn’t even care, but the anger swirling in her chest said otherwise. But she could handle Keiran. She didn’t have to like him to survive this wedding. It would make things a lot easier, but once he fell in line with her plan, they’d pull off the best joint wedding shower ever.

  Ava frowned, and Cherisse patted her sister’s bare shoulder. “It’s your night, let’s not sully it with thoughts of Keiran. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Fine!” The vengeful look in her sister’s eyes cleared, and she leaned over, smile mischievous. “So, tell us about this date.”

  Julia perked up. “Oh? Date? Do spill.”

  “She’s got a date with one of Eric’s family friends,” Ava piped up before Cherisse could say a word.

  Cherisse rehashed how her mother had basically thrust this guy on her, but eventually, she’d given in because really? It was easiest to just roll with what her mother wanted. Fighting it would just make her more persistent. Cherisse should’ve known Ava’s wedding wasn’t going to deter her mother from her mission: seeing all her children hitched and happy. Cherisse wasn’t resting romantic hopes on this date. This was a shiny thing she’d dangle in front of her mother to distract. Act like she was willing to dip her toes back into the dating scene, keep her mother satisfied. Yeah, she was an adult who lived on her own, but when her mother got going, it was best to just let her believe she was making an effort.

  Especially since Ava had shown her mother how to install and use WhatsApp. There were only so many photos of random sons of her friends that Cherisse could handle receiving. She figured if she gave in just a bit, her mother would stop.

  “What y’all doing?” Julia asked.

  “Dinner at Amaretto’s.”

  A chorus of oohs went round the table. Amaretto’s was one of the fancier restaurants. She’d never been because it was way out of her price range. Tyler had acted like he frequented the place regularly, and maybe he did. Cherisse didn’t have a clue what to wear, worried nothing in her closet would live up to such a place.

  Her mother had been impressed when—after badgering her about where they were going—Cherisse had revealed the location. Her mother’s screech over the phone meant she approved and was possibly already planning a fantasy wedding for Cherisse in her head. She’d gone on about being so lucky as to have two daughters who secured rich men, completely ignoring Cherisse’s reminder that she and Tyler hadn’t even gone on the date yet.

  Times like these, she was glad she didn’t live at home anymore. Best decision of her life. She’d used needing her own kitchen to craft her creations as an excuse to strike out on her own. Her mother was overly possessive of her cooking space. As a teen getting interested in experimenting with baking, Cherisse had had to create a schedule that she’d run by her mother before getting the okay to start on her baking. Serious overkill. But what could a teen who lived under her parents’ roof do but comply? Taking on Remi as her roomie to make her mother less antsy about the entire thing had worked better than any other excuse would have. Not that Cherisse hadn’t wanted to live with Remi, she had, but her mother’s soft spot for Remi worked in her favor. Cherisse wasn’t above using it to keep her mother from constantly calling or randomly showing up at her place.

  Hell, her mother still tried to do that, dropping by unannounced, which Cherisse had tried to curtail, especially because her mother would always find something in her apartment to critique.

  Why these curtains still up?

  The floor near the living area looks so bare. A rug would look nice here, not that I’m telling you what to do at your own place.

  When last you cobwebbed?

  But she rolled with it, just like she’d do with this date. She wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about it—Tyler hadn’t wowed her with his conversational skills—but perhaps he was better on a one-on-one basis, without a matchmaking mama watching them nearby.

  Ava’s sudden shout of glee drew Cherisse’s gaze up. She spotted Keiran first, standing next to a grinning Eric. Scott waved from his left, and Maxine and a couple other guys Cherisse didn’t know stood behind. What were they even doing here?

  “Hey, you!” Eric planted a kiss on Ava, and Cherisse scowled.

  “Are you guys crashing ladies’ night?” Remi asked.

  “Uh, no.” Eric’s grin got wider. “Would you believe we’re having a groomspeople night, and we
just happened to end up here?”

  “Are you telling me Ava didn’t tell you where we’d be?” That seemed far-fetched. She glared harder at Keiran, who looked on with a mildly sheepish smile.

  Eric made some cross-his-heart-and-hope-to-die sign. “No, honest. A happy coincidence.”

  “Well, you all best get your asses at another table. This is ridiculous,” Cherisse grumbled.

  “Aw, c’mon Cherry, don’t run us.” Scott broke out his usual charming megawatt smile. She almost relented, but the smirk on Keiran’s lips had her seething. She’d thought she hadn’t cared whether he apologized at all, but now, she wanted him to grovel.

  “Your boy here can’t sit with us,” she huffed, arms folded to punctuate her point.

  Maxine snickered, and Keiran rolled his eyes, but he suddenly dropped to one knee, right there in the middle of the bar, and took Cherisse’s hand. Too stunned to pull away, she gaped down at him. “Please forgive me, Sugar Queen. I was a fool, and I didn’t mean it.”

  Cherisse yanked her hand out of his grasp. “You weren’t invited to touch me, and get your ass up!” All eyes were on them, with Keiran making a spectacle of himself. She didn’t need wacky proposal rumors spreading around, linking her to Keiran in any sort of intimate manner. “Apology not accepted. I’ll accept nothing less than sponsored drinks for all of us and a public apology.”

  “What? Come on, that’s a bit extreme. This isn’t public enough?” He got to his feet.

  “Stingy and a pathetic apology?” She pointed her olive-laden toothpick at him. “You’re not winning any points here. You said that shit to a blogger known for bacchanal. Are you new?”

  Keiran glanced at his guys and Maxine, who shrugged and didn’t look the least bit inclined to offer assistance. Good. He wasn’t getting any backup there. It was what he deserved anyhow. Eric was smart. He knew better than to go against his wife-to-be on this. Scott’s grin said he found this way too funny to help a brother out.