The Cupcake Diaries Read Online Free Page B

Hawaiian bathing trunks and his long, sun-streaked hair. Very attractive. Too bad they hadn’t met under better circumstances.
    The surfer traded the change for another cone, and Stacey leaned toward the service window. “Excuse me, but I was told I could set up my cupcake stand at this location.”
    “I’ll be right with you,” the owner of the ice cream truck called out. He didn’t look at her but wiped the counter, turned to replenish a container of plastic spoons, and slammed a receipt into the cash register drawer.
    She found his attire . . . interesting. He wore white pants and a white shirt with a black bow tie, along with a white boat-shaped soda jerk paper hat, like someone out of the 1950s who worked at an old-fashioned soda fountain. Except he didn’t sound old.
    A man twice her size stepped up to the counter, blocking her view, and placed an order.
    “Can I speak to you for just a second?” Stacey asked, trying to peek around the large customer to get the vendor’s attention.
    “You’ll have to wait your turn,” he said, scooping ice cream out of a deep bucket. “These other people were before you.”
    “But I—”
    The ice cream vendor stretched out a muscular arm and pointed. “The line starts back there.”
    Muttering uncivil things about him under her breath, she trudged back to the end of the line, which had grown even longer since she’d arrived. From this angle she faced the side of the truck—and could read his sign.
    D AVE’S I CE C REAM . And beneath it in smaller letter: I CE C REAM D ONE W RIGHT .
    The gasp she let out drew several glances from the people in front of her. Dave Wright? She’d thought something about his voice sounded familiar. And those arms . She should have known, but his work uniform threw her off.
    He didn’t recognize her. If he had, he would have helped her right away. Should she give him a hint? Would he care? Business before pleasure , she reminded herself, and fifteen minutes later she stepped up to the counter a second time.
    “How can I help you?” he asked.
    Suddenly, her stomach grew queasy, and her throat felt dry. “I—I think you’re in my spot. I was told by the town officials I could set up my cupcake stand on the west end of Second Street by the beach entrance.”
    Dave grinned. “They told me the same thing. This spot is open to all vendors on a first come, first served basis, and I got here first.” He cocked his head, and his gaze locked with hers. “Don’t I know you?”
    She smiled and nodded her head.
    “You’re the backpacker from Idaho with the MREs and the survival knife.”
    He did recognize her. At least this time her clothes were coordinated. No more mismatched patterns for her now that she had a uniform to wear.
    He glanced at the pink apron over her white short-sleeved blouse and shorts and frowned. “Creative Cupcakes? The same cupcake shop that shut down a Zumba dance studio, put a French pastry chef out of business, captured ‘The Cupcake Bandit,’ and unmasked a Grinch?”
    Stacey hesitated, not liking the way his tone had changed, as if their success were bad. “Yes . . . that cupcake shop.”
    His expression hardened. Was he afraid they’d put him out of business, too?
    “We’re not interested in ice cream,” she assured him.
    “Good to know,” he drawled, “because I am not interested in cupcakes.”
    The unfriendly manner in which he spoke made her think he wasn’t interested in her either. Oh, no.
    Dread rose like a wave from inside her, like her own personal tsunami. “Can’t you move your truck over so I can park here, too?”
    “I’m in the middle of selling. Tomorrow maybe.”
    “What will I do today?”
    “Go down a few blocks to the end of Ocean Avenue and set up there.”
    “But—”
    “You’re a tough gal, Idaho,” he said, giving her a wry grin. “I’m sure you’re used to roughing it.”
    Stacey frowned. Her name wasn’t “ Idaho .” She’d only lived there five months