One Spoonful of Trouble (Felicity Bell Book 1) (5 page)

“Rubbish. I’m happy. I’m content. Now give me back my bowl.”

“All done,” Alice said cheerily.

Felicity shoved the tray into the preheated oven and started whisking the cream. Only now did she realize she’d done this all wrong. Instead of explaining to the viewer what she was doing, she’d been rambling about her sex life of all things! Christ. She would have to start all over again.

She stared at the cream, then shrugged. She might just as well prepare these cakes now, eat them, and repeat the procedure at a later date.

“Can you pass me the sugar?” she asked without looking up.

Instead of Alice’s fine-boned hand, a manly paw entered her field of vision, and she glanced up from her work to look into Rick’s baby blues.

For a moment she felt trapped in his powerful gaze, having the impression that her spine turned to jelly, and her legs to rubber. With a supreme effort she managed to take control of her failing limbs and cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a note of amusement in his voice that she didn’t like. As if he was making fun of her. It irked her. “Do you think this is funny?”

He gave a shrug. “I think it’s surprising to see a woman handle a whisk as effortlessly as she handles a gun.”

“It shouldn’t surprise you.” She kept her gaze fixed on the cream this time. She wasn’t making the mistake of staring into those fascinating eyes a second time. “Women can do anything a man can, and probably ten times as well.”

She wondered why she’d said that. She should be conciliating this man, not antagonizing him. After all, he was going to teach her how to write an article. But instead of being upset, he merely said, “You’re quite right. I do think women can do a lot more than men. For one thing, though I can handle a gun, I could never bake a cake the way you can. So you already have me at a disadvantage.”

In spite of herself she had to smile. “I do a lot more than wielding guns and whisks, Mr. Dawson.”

“I’m sure you do, Miss Bell,” he riposted, and she was surprised by the note of softness in his voice. She looked up and was caught by that fascinating gaze again. At least this time her knees didn’t buckle.

“Thank you,” she said simply and was annoyed to see a wide smirk on Alice’s face. Getting a grip on herself, she returned her attention to the cake. “We’ll have to do this all over again, won’t we Alice?”

“I don’t think so hon. I’m sure the cake will be fine.”

“No, I mean I forgot to give my usual running commentary. The viewers won’t be interested in our meaningless babble. They want to know how to bake a cake.”

“I think meaningless babble is underrated,” said Rick.

“I agree. I think we should post the video as is,” Alice said.

Felicity looked up in alarm. “What? No, of course not. We were just going on and on about…”

“About a very interesting topic that will interest many of our regular viewers,” Alice completed the sentence.

“What were you talking about?” Rick asked innocently.

“Nothing important,” Felicity muttered, sending a death ray stare in her friend’s direction.

“We were talking about men,” Alice said. “A topic most women find fascinating.”

“Oh,” said Rick with a confused frown. “So you’re baking a cake, but instead of commenting on…cake, you decided to talk about men instead.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Felicity asked defiantly. “After all, we’re two free spirits. We can talk about any topic we choose.”

“Right. This is
our
video channel after all,” added Alice.

“Exactly. If we want to talk about men on
our
video channel that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“Right. Of course,” Rick said, a little uncertainly. It was obvious he didn’t understand what he’d said wrong this time.

“So we’ll go right ahead and post this video and that will be the end of it,” Alice said, snapping the memory card from the video camera.

“No!” Felicity cried, quickly rounding the kitchen counter.

“But I thought you just said we should be allowed to talk about whatever it is we want to talk about,” Alice said innocently. “And you do agree that the topic will interest a great many of our viewers. Who all happen to be women, by the way.”

“Well, yes…” Felicity threw Alice meaningful glance after meaningful glance but they didn’t seem to affect her in the least. “But some parts of that conversation were
private
.”

Alice eyed her for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t think our viewers will mind. After all, that’s exactly the reason they like watching our channel so much. A real live look into the real lives of two real girls. That’s what Flour Girl is all about, right?”

“No, Flour Girl is about baking!”

“Same difference.”

Oh, God. Alice was actually going to post their rambling discussion on YouTube, actually exposing her comments on men in general and Rick Dawson in particular to a potential audience of millions! If she had that meat cleaver at hand now, she would have gladly used it!

“Alice!” she hissed.

But then she felt Rick’s eyes studying her intently. The man probably thought she was a raving lunatic. First the incident at Rafi’s, then the eggs and the meat cleaver, and now this.

Alice gave her a sweet smile. “I’ll just take care of this, shall I? No sense in keeping our one hundred subscribers waiting. You have a nice chat about the ins and outs of journalism with Rick now, you hear?” And with those words, she quickly strode off before Felicity could throttle her.

Felicity stared after her, but then became aware of Rick, and snapped out of it. She would simply have to take down the video later, when Rick had left. For now there was nothing she could do but listen as the star reporter launched into an explanation of the structure of the average newspaper article. So she sank onto one of the kitchen stools, and gave him her full and undivided attention.

CHAPTER 10

“So you want to be a reporter, huh?” Rick eyed the woman now sitting opposite him, trying to gauge her mood. She’d gone from homicidal to homely in the blink of an eye and he wondered what would be next.

“That’s right,” she said, though she didn’t really sound all that enthusiastic. She hesitated, then added, “The thing is…Stephen—he edits the Happy Bays Gazette—wants me to write a story about what happened at Rafi’s. The holdup? But I have no idea where to begin. The only thing I’ve ever written is my baking column. And my diary entries, though I doubt whether they’re of any use.”

“You’d be surprised. Diaries are quite the thing. Bridget Jones ring a bell?”

“Sure. Of course.” She gave him a wan smile. “I hardly think my scribblings are in Miss Jones’s league.”

“Only one way to find out. Let’s have a look.” When she gave him a dark frown, he quickly added, “Just kidding. I have no interest in reading your diary.” He grinned. “At all.”

Her frown deepened, and he wondered if it was something he said. “Do
you
keep a diary Rick?”

“No,” he admitted. “Can’t say that I do. Though I do from time to time submit my personal views on such things as the weather, the state of the world, or womanhood to my blog.” He shrugged. “I find it very liberating.”

“And what are your views on womanhood?”

He had the distinct impression that the atmosphere in the room was getting frostier by the second in spite of the oven emitting a steady stream of hot, delicious, air. “Ah, well, I must say I haven’t formulated a definitive opinion yet, apart from a few random thoughts on the subject.”

“Please enlighten me. What
are
your random thoughts?”

A warning bell sounded at the back of his mind. He quickly dismissed it. His reporter’s blood had been stirred. He loved discussing his favorite topics at length. “Well, first I’d like to state clearly that I have nothing whatsoever against the modern girl.”

“Duly noted,” she said sweetly. She’d placed her chin on her hands and was gazing at him like a cat about to devour a mouse.

“That said, I do think that things have gotten out of hand.”

“Is that right?”

“The pendulum of history often overbalances before settling at some form of equilibrium, and in the case of the modern girl I feel this is what has happened.”

“For instance?”

“Well, take karaoke.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Karaoke? What do you mean, karaoke?”

“It’s this thing where people climb up on stage and make total fools of themselves by pretending to be Taylor Swift or Freddie Mercury or—”

“I know what karaoke is. What I don’t understand is what it has to do with your views on the modern girl.”

He sighed. He’d explained himself on the subject many times. Mostly in bars. To colleagues. Under the influence of alcohol. Now he would have to do it without the aid of alcohol, to an audience that was, if his sixth sense wasn’t fooling him, notably hostile.

Still, he decided to give it his best shot.

He picked up a fork and placed it next to a spoon. “Imagine this is a woman,” he said, pointing to the spoon, “and this—” He gestured to the fork, “a man. Now suppose that the man went into a karaoke bar and start singing
Voulez-Vous
.” He held up the fork and wiggled it a bit. “Now suppose a woman entered the bar and watched the man massacre that timeless ABBA classic.”

“I can just see it before me,” Felicity said dryly.

“Well, how do you think a woman would have reacted in the old days? She would have jumped to the man’s defense and clapped her hands, ignoring the man’s obvious lack of talent, even if the rest of the room was ruthlessly mocking him. Now take the modern girl. Not only would she hiss and boo and laugh her ass off at the sucker on stage, she would probably record his performance on her smartphone, post it on the internet, take the thing viral and turn the man into the laughing stock of the whole wide world.”

Felicity was frowning. “So what you’re saying is that the modern girl, instead of boosting a man’s ego, takes him down a peg and teaches him some humility?”

“No, what I’m saying is that woman, through her gentle nature, is well equipped to assuage the bruised soul but that modern age has turned her heart to stone and her soul to ice.”

“I think you’re cuckoo. Just because she doesn’t like his singing doesn’t mean she has a heart of stone.”

“Well, I beg to differ.”

“Tough luck.”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean. A fellow can’t catch a break.”

“Really Rick, you can’t expect a girl to be a doormat. Those days are over. If a guy can’t sing, we give it to him straight. And if he can’t take it, tough luck.”

His lips thinned. It was exactly as he had feared. “There’s entirely too much cruelty in the world, Felicity. All I ask is a little kindness. A little humanity. A little sweetness and light.”

“If sweetness and light means women have to suffer fools who can’t sing and pretend they can, I say the old days are over and a good thing too.”

“Suit yourself,” he said curtly and slipped off his stool. Not only did he feel very strongly about the issue, he felt he’d done all he’d come here to do and would do no more. He’d apologized for confusing this woman with a crazed crook and in return had been hit in the face with eggs and threatened with a meat cleaver. If she thought he’d stand here and take it like a man who couldn’t sing
Voulez-Vous
, she had another thing coming.

“You’re not going already?”

“I have nothing more to say.”

“But you were going to teach me about journalism.”

“That was before I deduced a fatal flaw in your character.”

“Fatal flaw in
my
character?” she huffed, now also rising. He threw a nervous glance at the block of knives which was positioned entirely too close to her hand for comfort. “I think it’s
your
character that is showing fatal flaws.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be friends after all. A woman of your character—”

She folded her hands across her chest. “And what character is that, exactly?”

“Not the sweet-natured one I’d expected after watching you bake.”

“So you thought I was a wimp, huh? Just because I like to bake I can’t be a strong and independent woman?”

“That’s not what I meant. What I meant to say was that you have a…”

“Well? Spit it out!”

“You have a mean streak about you and I for one don’t like it. Good day.”

He quickly made his way to the door before she had the opportunity to take her pick from the knives. There was something sinister about this woman and he was glad to discover that his first impression of her had been the right one after all. When he’d seen her wielding that gun at Rafi’s Deli he’d taken her for one of those hard-hearted girls and he’d been exactly right.

He pulled the door closed behind him with a sigh of relief and started down the street. He knew he’d had a narrow escape. Felicity Bell, he decided right then and there, was one woman he never hoped to meet again.

CHAPTER 11

Felicity stared at the door through which Rick Dawson had just negotiated his hasty escape and hitched up a lower jaw that had dropped at the sight of the reporter’s disappearing heels. Of all the jelly-bellied men…

Just at that moment, Alice returned to the kitchen, the satisfied smile on her face of one who has just uploaded a new video for one hundred subscribers. She searched around the room for a moment and her smile faded. “What happened to Rick? Don’t tell me you chopped him into little pieces and fed him to Gaston?”

As if aware they were talking about him, the red cat strode in, a plaintive meow on his pink lips. Absently, Felicity petted him and dumped some fresh kibble into his bowl. Gaston purred and hunkered down to devour the tasty morsels.

“I don’t know what happened but he simply ran from the room as if his pants were on fire,” she said, still trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

Alice gave her a hard stare. “You kicked him out, didn’t you?”

“I did not! We were having a nice discussion—”

“About what?”

“About the modern girl.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Oh, God.”

“What do you mean, ‘Oh, God?’”