Valhalla Cupcakes Page 2

  “I suppose I could cut some corners here and there,” she said, hoping this meant he was going to give her some time. “But, really, not the ingredients. Then they’d be no different from a grocery store cupcake, and there’d be no reason to pay so much for them.” She pointed to her artistic wood burned price sign. “Look how expensive they’re going to be. I swear if you give me some time, I can pay you back.”

  “Look, kid, you seem like a sweet girl, and you can cook, that’s for sure. I can see you’re a victim in this.”

  “I am, I totally am. I don’t know what Charlie did with the other eighty thousand, but of course if I came by the twenty in an improper manner, I want to pay it back.”

  They laughed again, cupcake crumbs flying out of their mouths. “Oh, honey, you have to pay back the whole hundred, don’t get me wrong. I feel sorry for you, so I’m gonna give you a month to come up with it all. How’s about you pay the first installment of twenty a week from today. You have to understand though, I have a boss who gets down on me when I’m too nice, and it’s already taken us this long to find you.” He winked his droopy, scarred eye and chucked her under the chin. “I’ll probably come around to check in on you now and then, so don’t get any cute ideas about packing up and leaving.”

  She shook her head, stunned into silence at last. Where would she go? Certainly not her mother’s, not wanting to risk bringing them down on her, and except for this place, she had nothing. Her whole life was wrapped up in this dream, which now seemed tainted and closer to a nightmare. There was to be no more arguing or pleading or reasoning, it seemed, as they took their bakery boxes and left.

  “Good luck with the opening,” the only one who’d remained quiet the entire time said on his way out the door. His flat well wish sounded more threatening than the promise to return to check on her, and she shivered as she met his empty eyes.

  The bell tinkled merrily as he slammed it behind him, everything about their departure suggesting they didn’t care either way how her opening went. Maria dropped to the ground and Audrey rushed around to check on her, seeing the one thug had left her phone on the counter. She clenched her fists and restrained herself from crying, as Maria was already bawling enough for both of them.

  “Should we call the police?” she sobbed. “I thought they were going to break our kneecaps.”

  “I know. Me too,” Audrey said. “They’ll probably end up breaking mine, because I have no idea how I’m going to come up with a hundred thousand dollars in a month. That’s a hell of a lot of cupcakes.”

  “We definitely have to call the police.” She leaned against the wall and wiped her brow, pale and shaken.

  “I don’t know, Maria. My uncle was a shady character himself, what if it opens a bigger can of worms? He obviously squandered all that money before he died, and who knows how he got it in the first place. I never should have used it. I should have—” she stopped. There was nothing she could have done that wouldn’t have brought this situation about. It was all firmly her uncle’s fault, and blaming herself didn’t help anything. “Let’s not panic yet,” she said, even though she was very much panicking already on the inside. She wanted to stay outwardly calm for Maria, afraid she’d lose her. “You can’t leave me because of this, okay? I’m sure you’re perfectly safe.”

  “I won’t,” she sniffled, blowing her nose in one of their expensive pink logo napkins.

  That would definitely be a cost she could cut. As soon as they ran out, it would be plain, stiff, brown paper napkins all the way. She looked up, wondering if she should turn some of the lights off and put some candles on the tables instead. She could sell her car, maybe get six grand for it if she was lucky, and all her other earthly belongings would get her … still miles short of the mark.

  The tears were getting harder to hold back and she told Maria to take the rest of the day off. The mobsters had cleaned them out of most of their samples on top of scaring the bejesus out of them. There was no reason to keep the place open. All she wanted to do was drag herself upstairs and collapse into bed until it was time to make the cupcakes for the next day.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, right?” she asked, hugging Maria before she let her go.

  “I’ll be here,” she promised, wrinkling her nose. “Though I don’t know how we can call it morning. Four o’clock is still night to me.”

  “You wanted to live the glamorous life of a baker,” Audrey said.

  As soon as Maria was gone, she sat in the middle of the floor and tried to get her thoughts straight, finally crawling over to the painting and wrestling it around to face her, not wanting to be alone after such an ordeal. She’d never been threatened in her life before, and it still hadn’t fully hit her how much trouble she was in. Even though he was just a painting, she could use a friendly face. She stuck her tongue out at his extremely unfriendly sneer when she got the painting turned around.

  “Any ideas?” she asked, thinking even though he still looked as irate as ever, there was a softness in those blue eyes, as if she was getting to know him and understand him better.

  She wondered ruefully if those thugs had scared her into actually losing her mind, speaking to the picture and waiting patiently for answers as she was. She patted the portrait and forced herself to go clean up the morning mess in the kitchen, have it sparkling and ready for when they made the dozens of cupcakes for the next day. After that, she made several batches of frosting to keep herself from thinking too much. The only thing she knew for certain was she had to keep going. Shriveling up in despair wasn’t going to make her any money.

  When she finished, she saw she had three missed calls from Maria and her stomach turned over. She covered the last bowl of frosting and placed it carefully in the fridge before resolutely calling her back. Instead of a hello, she was greeted with a torrent of wails and apologies, and her heart sank.

  “I’m so sorry, Audrey, but my husband doesn’t want me going back there. He’s afraid for me and the kids. I told him you don’t have anyone else, but he’s so worried, he got me scared again, too. What if those psychos find out where my kids go to school?”

  Audrey managed to calmly tell her she understood, and she did understand. If she had children, she’d probably be on the first plane to Canada, no matter what she’d been warned about staying put.

  “It’s fine,” she said for the tenth time, trying to believe it herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you updated, and when this blows over, you’ll come back.”

  “Of course I will,” Maria said, finally hanging up.

  Audrey lay down on the cool tile of the kitchen and let the tears roll down her cheeks. She was finished. She couldn’t make all the cupcakes herself, run the register, make coffee, keep everything clean, do the books, and arrange advertising all on her own. It had already seemed daunting with a helper. Now it seemed impossible. But if she didn’t open as planned, she had no recourse to pay back Uncle Charlie’s dirty loan, let alone her bank loan and her mother’s generosity. She was going to be bankrupt and kneecapless at twenty-six.

  The cold floor seeped through her clothes and she cried harder at finding herself lying on the floor in the nice skirt and blouse she’d put on to greet all the people who never showed up that day. She pulled off her darling pink logo apron, another thing that she’d loved but now seemed like an unnecessary frivolity, and threw it onto the counter. Stomping into the dining area, she saw all the furniture and decorations she’d so lovingly chosen as if everything had a price tag on it.

  “Come on, you,” she said to the painting. “Let’s get you hung up. At least you didn’t cost me anything.”

  The frame alone weighed as much as she did, and she finally gave up, letting the huge canvas crash flat to the floor. She leaned over it, out of breath, her hands resting on his powerfully muscled thighs.

  “Sorry,” she said, feeling stupid for being embarrassed, and even more so for apologizing.

  He just looked so realistic, and she wished someone l
ike him had been around when those thugs came in. Yes, a man like Harrold here would have torn them to shreds with his hammer and axe.

  She closed her eyes and took a moment to imagine it, stopping when things got too gruesome, pretty sure the health department would frown on an axe slaying taking place in the dining area. A few last tears fell and she hurriedly wiped them off his fur vest, the expert brushstrokes almost evoking a feeling of soft warmth under her fingers.

  “I wish you were real,” she said, leaning back in defeat. “I could really use some help.”

  She knew she should be frantically making calls to find a replacement for Maria, but a deep tiredness stole into her bones. Dragging herself upstairs, she fell into her lumpy bed, asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 3

  Erik Agnarsson could move again, for the first time in over five hundred years. He could see more than what was directly in front of him, and his nostrils were filled with a sweet scent, reminding him of the pastries his grandmother made. Just to smell anything again filled his heart with a sweeping joy.

  It was short lived. Stepping away from his prison, he kicked it aside and clenched his fists, ready to tear the first person he saw to pieces. Everyone he knew was gone, everything he cared about was hundreds of years in the past, thanks to that witch. He’d find her, if it took another five hundred years. If it took to the end of the world, he’d find her.

  He slowly relaxed and took a moment to relish his freedom, being able to move his muscles again almost blotting out his rage. He knew he wasn’t in the spot he’d been for the last twenty or so years. He’d been in a dark, quiet space for a long time, a sign that he would soon find himself in a different location. He turned in a slow circle, stretching his long arms out at his sides, reveling in the feel of the cool, dry air, and filling his lungs with it. He could breathe again.

  A showily carved sign read Welcome to Valhalla and as he slowly sounded out the English words in his mind, he laughed. While his long confinement had felt worse than death to him, he knew he was still very much alive, and this strangely decorated room filled with small wooden tables was not Valhalla. Odin wouldn’t be so cruel.

  He ambled around, enjoying the feel of his feet hitting the floor, inspecting his surroundings. He recalled a woman kneeling over him and wondered where she was. It had been an awfully long time since he’d had his hands on a woman.

  He thought of the witch who’d imprisoned him, longing to wrap his hands around her neck. He needed to figure out where he was first, assess what he’d need. He’d seen many things from his different vantage points over the last centuries, and he knew for one thing the clothes he’d been wearing when he was cursed would bring unwanted attention to him. He knew he’d need the currency of the time and place he was now in to get anywhere. As much as he wanted to race out the door, he had to be smart and get some answers first. If only someone was around that he could question.

  “Hello,” he shouted in the last language he’d heard spoken.

  Sometimes he listened to what the people around him had to say, sometimes he drifted off in his own world. Five hundred years was an unbearably long time, and he’d been unable to do anything but listen and stare straight ahead. It was long past time for action. He thundered halfway up the stairs and bellowed his greeting again, more forcefully this time.

  He heard a door open and feet padding along the floor above him and smiled, moving to the center of the room and crossing his arms in front of him, feet wide apart, ready to greet whoever appeared.

  There she was, that woman who’d fallen on him earlier, coming down the stairs. He liked the looks of her much better than when his vision had been restricted. His eyes were clear again, and he let them roam appreciatively down her body. She wore a form fitting skirt and a shirt that clung to her breasts, her feet were bare and her dark russet hair was rumpled as if she’d been asleep. The moment she saw him, she stopped dead on the stairs, her rosy full lips parted in shock, her deep green eyes wide. Every inch of visible skin looked soft enough to want to run his fingers over.

  “Don’t be afraid.” He smiled invitingly at her, thinking luck had finally got back on his side, being freed by such a beautiful woman. This was going to be fun.

  Until she wrenched an antler off the wall and flung it at his head, screaming loud enough to frighten a kraken.

  ***

  Audrey closed her mouth and sat down on the stairs, hard enough to let her know she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Harrold?” she choked out.

  He stood in the middle of the room, smiling welcomingly as if he owned the place, and she was right about one thing. He was as gorgeous as she thought he’d be without that murderous scowl. In fact, right now, the smile seemed infinitely more dangerous. Feeling an overwhelming urge to scuttle down the rest of the steps and let him do all the mischievous things to her that her mind conjured up, she pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t still asleep.

  Ouch, nope, she was awake. It was a shame, because she thought she deserved a dream in which a hot Viking swept her off her feet. As soon as she got over her disappointment, she realized she had a far bigger problem than her lack of any good sex lately.

  There was a giant Viking standing in the middle of her bakery. Completely blank, she stood up and screamed again.

  He actually laughed, making his way to her in two strides. He clapped his hand over her mouth before easily picking her up under one arm and hauling her down the stairs.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he rumbled, dropping her onto the floor and holding out his hands placatingly. “My name is Erik Agnarsson, not Harrold.”

  “How in the hell are you even here?”

  Even though she’d just been squashed against his extremely hard body, confirming that he was not a figment of her imagination, she jumped forward and hit him in the chest with both palms. Yes, extremely hard. Definitely real.

  “Unless I lost my mind?” she wondered aloud, unable to tear her eyes off him. She had an idea and closed her eyes, counting to ten. When she opened them, he’d be gone, and then she’d call a doctor. “Five, six …”

  “You didn’t lose your mind.”

  She opened her eyes, not making it all the way to ten, and swore. “Do you want a cupcake?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. A mysterious Viking on top of everything else. It was impossible. Surely pausing for baked goods would fix things.

  “No thank you. I want the first thing I eat in five hundred years to be juicy red meat.”

  “Five hundred years,” she repeated, staggering to a chair. That was an awfully long time.

  He hurried to pull one out for her, kneeling in front of her. Way too close, her mind screamed. He put his hands gently on her knees and her breath hitched at the warm touch that jolted up her thighs. Oh, crap.

  She jerked the chair away and jumped back up, edging around him for the kitchen. She had to get things under control, figure out what was going on, and she definitely had to keep him from turning into the crazed barbarian he’d been portrayed as, though his expectant smile was just as nerve wracking. Answers. She needed answers.

  “Really, have a cupcake.” Again, Audrey? That was all she could think to say?

  His eyes changed from merry to confused, then his smile faltered for a moment. “Fine,” he finally said, standing stiffly and crossing his arms.

  She put the remaining cupcakes the mobster jerks had left behind on a plate and brought them out to him, still standing sentinel where she’d left him. He didn’t look nearly as cheerful as he had when she first came down the stairs and she tried to think what had put him off. Having a happy, flirtatious Viking was bad enough. What if he went completely berserk and tore the place apart?

  “Have a seat,” she said, placing the cupcakes on a table and sitting down herself.

  He looked like he went through an intense mental battle with the variety of scowls that passed over his handsome face, before taking a seat across from her.r />
  “Eat up,” she said encouragingly.

  Her cupcakes could put anyone in a good mood, especially a man who hadn’t eaten in five hundred years. He glared at her before taking a huge bite of a chocolate one. A little frosting clung to his lip and she insanely wanted to lick it off. Before she could control herself, she reached over and wiped it off for him with her thumb. The smile returned and he relaxed, taking another bite and nodding his approval.

  “So, tell me about the painting,” she said, almost cracking up at the ridiculousness of it. Making small talk with the man who’d been a portrait an hour ago. His smile faded and he dropped the cupcake.

  “I was cursed by a witch and imprisoned in that painting for over five hundred years.”

  Oh, wow, he really hadn’t wanted his picture taken. Still not quite able to believe it, she reached across and touched him again, running her hand down his shoulder. The fur of his vest was slightly matted and his bicep twitched under her fingertips. She had never seen, or felt, a man as big as him. Squeezing his arm, she moved closer, almost against her will. He felt real, there was no getting around that. Embarrassed at how much she enjoyed having her hand on him, she leaned back demurely and apologized. She felt her cheeks heat up when he raised an eyebrow at her obvious lack of restraint.

  “Uh, you speak English really well. I hardly hear an accent.” She wanted to ask him if he deserved to be cursed, but didn’t think she’d get an honest answer. Besides existing, which he couldn’t help, he hadn’t done anything so far to alarm her.

  “The painting moved around over the years. Besides English, I speak Japanese, German, French, Portuguese, and of course, my mother tongue, Norwegian.” When she looked astounded, he shrugged. “Five hundred years is a long time and I had nothing better to do than listen.”

  She felt more comfortable around him by the minute, and while he seemed plenty dangerous, she didn’t think he was dangerous to her. He’d picked her up and carried her down the stairs like a sack of grain, but he was a Viking from five hundred years ago after all, and he did put her down quickly enough. He’d pulled out a chair for her when she thought her legs would give way, and knelt down, presumably to comfort her, before she flipped out and ran for cupcakes. And now he sat across from her, quite civilly carrying on a conversation. If he wanted her neck snapped, it would have been snapped by now.