A Recipe for Reunion
A Recipe for Reunion
Vicki Essex
Second time's the charm! Nothing about working with his former high school crush, Stephanie Stephens, is ideal. Still, if Aaron Caruthers intends to save his grandmother's bakery, he must. Good thing he has a lot of ideas he can't wait to implement. He never imagines Stephanie would have her own ideas for the business. Or that they would clash with his!It doesn't take working with her long for Aaron to realize his impression of Stephanie as a helpless ex-cheerleader is way off. And the more of her kindness and strength he sees, the more attracted he is! Now to convince her…
Second time’s the charm!
Nothing about working with his former high school crush, Stephanie Stephens, is ideal. Still, if Aaron Caruthers intends to save his grandmother’s bakery, he must. Good thing he has a lot of ideas he can’t wait to implement. He never imagines Stephanie would have her own ideas for the business. Or that they would clash with his!
It doesn’t take working with her long for Aaron to realize his impression of Stephanie as a helpless ex-cheerleader is way off. And the more of her kindness and strength he sees, the more attracted he is! Now to convince her…
It was freezing out here.
Maybe Aaron had trapped Stephanie on the porch deliberately so that she’d agree to his terms quickly. “What’s your grandmother’s stake in the business?”
“She owns the whole shebang. I’m basically acting as her business manager.”
“So only she can fire me.”
Aaron opened his mouth to form an objection, but then closed it. “Yes. She’s our boss.”
It must’ve killed him not to have seniority over her. If anything, she should have seniority over him.
“All right,” she said, holding out her hand. “Consider me your new assistant manager.”
Relief flooded Aaron’s stormy eyes. As he squeezed and pumped her hand, a pulse of something thick and hot blew through her.
Oh, no. Hell, no. She was not attracted to Aaron Caruthers. They weren’t just out of each other’s leagues; they were playing different sports.
Dear Reader (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06),
Welcome back to Everville, New York, the town where my second book, Back to the Good Fortune Diner (Mills & Boon Superromance, January 2013), was set. I’ve gone back in time to a few months before Tiffany arrived to tell the story of how the county’s best roadside bakeshop became the very popular Georgette’s Bakery and Books.
Everville’s motto is The Town That Endures. To me, enduring means accepting change. As the wife of a civics nut, I enjoy learning about what makes communities work. As the town evolves, so, too, do the lives of Aaron Caruthers and Stephanie Stephens—the bookworm and the cheerleader who never thought they could be a match.
I love to hear from readers! Visit me on Facebook, Twitter (@VickiEssex (https://twitter.com/vickiessex)) and my website, vickiessex.com (http://www.vickiessex.com), and watch out for more stories from Everville!
Happy reading!
Vicki Essex
A Recipe for Reunion
Vicki Essex
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
VICKI ESSEX likes eating baked goods, but isn’t great at baking them. She loves books, and isn’t a bad hand at writing them. To be showered with cookies, say hello to her at vickiessex.com (http://www.vickiessex.com), find her on facebook.com/vickiessexauthor (https://www.facebook.com/vickiessexauthor) and follow her on Twitter: @VickiEssex (https://twitter.com/vickiessex).
I’d like to thank my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for being awesomely supportive and for really grokking me. *cookies*
Thanks to my editor, Karen Reid, whose insights are always, always helpful.
And as always, thank you to my darling, brilliant husband, John, whose magnificent brain inspired Aaron’s eclectic tastes and polymathic genius. I couldn’t do this without you, magoo.
Contents
Cover (#u4d008f8a-1daa-5065-a6b5-029ecc412c7d)
Back Cover Text (#u74a420f3-95a3-5921-901d-405b35aae8d3)
Introduction (#uff8d453f-6c47-5679-af1d-1be4c688aa31)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#u62f5e4a8-e571-5aae-97d5-986075ec7f43)
About the Author (#u08915275-8918-5967-bf5f-a35a4a4620b8)
Dedication (#u41ea3c1c-1454-5ea4-8f2f-3ce1ef69a78e)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06)
Two months ago...
NO ONE WAS eating her goodies.
Stephanie racked her brain trying to figure out why. She’d baked all the treats herself, tailoring each recipe to meet her friends’ varied preferences and dietary restrictions: gluten-free chocolate cupcakes and dairy-free carrot muffins; nut-free cookies, a plate of soy-free bite-size brownies and three different pies because Lilian didn’t like lemon meringue, Susan loathed pecan and Karen thought apple was “boring.”
The last time she’d seen all her high school girlfriends together had been Christmas four years ago. Yet, instead of being excited, a weird sense of disappointment had dogged her all evening. While everyone else was busy chatting, talking over each other like a gaggle of geese, she got the feeling that if she waded into the fray, she’d be nibbled and pecked to death.
But she had volunteered to host this holiday shindig, so she couldn’t hide behind the food forever. Steph brightened her smile and picked up a plate of sugar cookies, painstakingly frosted in B. H. Everett High’s blue and gold. Brandishing the treats and armed with good cheer, she circulated. She might not be the best convocation...conservation...talker, but she was a damned good baker.
“Well, it’s not like I don’t want to come back to Everville,” she heard Janny say wistfully. “But Mark’s job is in Cleveland, and my business is flourishing. I wouldn’t have clients here.”
“Yes, nice as it is to come home, I’d never move back,” Cristina proclaimed. “Rumor is the property values in town are taking a dive. I’m not sure about the new mayor, either—I mean, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Bob Fordingham, but at least we knew what to expect from him.”
“Cookie?” Steph thrust the plate out. Janny and Cristina each politely took one.
“Steph, we were just talking about the new mayor,” Cristina said. “Cheyenne Welks, right? What’s she like?”
She shrugged. “What’s to tell? She comes to Georgette’s every day at eight for a large black coffee and usually gets a plain croissant.”
“But I mean what are her policies like?” Cristina clarified. “I’ve heard that she’s been spending a lot on infrastructure—like that big water main project.”
“Oh, I don’t really follow politics,” she said. She’d noticed all the construction in town, of course, but she didn’t have to drive through it on her way to work so she didn’t pay it much attention. “But she’s really nice.”
Cristina touched her arm. “Thanks for hosting, by the way. It’s nice of your parents to let us hang out here, considering all the times we’ve trashed their home.”
“As long as we don’t throw up in the pool again,” Janny added jokingly.
“Like old times, eh? Glad to know some things’ll never change.” Steph found herself inexplicably irritated as Cristina bit into her cookie. “Mmm. This is good. Catered?”
Steph perked up. “I baked them.”
“Oh.” Her long lashes flickered. “Still working at Georgette’s then?”
“Yeah.”
Silence dropped between them as heavily as an anchor. “She’s still...around?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know anyone who’s as energetic as she is at her age. She’ll outlive us all.” She laughed a little too loudly. This was the third time she’d answered this question today. In fact, if her friends’ queries were any indication, her life could be summed up in three statements.
I work at Georgette’s.
I’ve been there five years now.
Yes, Georgette’s still alive.
“So, what are you guys up to?” she asked to relieve the silence that stretched between them like yeasty dough.
Cristina launched into the story of her life—college, husband, career in interior design, a vacation in Hawaii, plans for kids. Janny’s story was nearly as glamorous—two daughters, a house and a massage therapy practice in Cleveland.
Steph took it all in with a smile, clutching the plate of cookies as she suppressed her envy. Years ago she would’ve lightly punched her friends in the arm and exclaimed, “So jealous!” It was hard to joke about it now.
As she moved off, she reminded herself it’d been her choice to stay in Everville, that her family was here and that she loved the town and working for Georgette. Okay, so she wasn’t living in the big corner house on King Street that Mr. Merkl owned, the way she’d always dreamed, with three kids, a dog, a cat and a swing set. But it hadn’t been her fault that Dale hadn’t kept his promise to marry her after college. Still, everything she needed was right here in her hometown. She should be happy.
She was happy.
“I’m catching the red-eye back to LA,” she overheard Cindy say as she approached. “With the wedding coming, my condo renos and my practice on the go, I’ve got way too much happening to stick around here.”
“You’re going to have a heart attack if you keep up this pace,” Teri warned.
Cindy snickered. “I live for interesting times. I can sleep when I’m dead.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Steph interjected, passing the cookies around. “I like my sleep way too much.”
Cindy tipped her head side to side, declining a cookie. “You have to keep moving if you want to stay on top. LA’s not like Everville.”
Steph quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, c’mon. You’ve been all over the place. You know that small-town upper New York State isn’t exactly a busy cultural and business hub. Frankly, I’d go nuts if I had to come back here permanently. I mean, everything here opens at ten and closes at six.”
“I’m up at four every morning to bake,” Steph said stiffly, belatedly realizing her schedule had nothing to do with the rest of the town’s business hours.
Cindy’s smile was toothy and unflinching. “Good for you.”
It was her tone that had grated on her, Steph concluded much later, after everyone had gone home and she was left to clean up the half-empty wineglasses and leftovers. Everyone had con...condo...condensation...
Given me that pitying attitude, she huffed. They’d all used that tone that said, “You poor thing, working like a dog, stuck in Everville and not even married!”
It was ridiculous, she knew, to even think any of her friends thought that about her. She couldn’t know for sure what any of them felt.
And she hadn’t expected those strange, sorry looks. The girls of the cheerleading squad whom she’d once considered sisters had all grown up, branched out and moved on. They’d changed, and they saw her as still living in the past. She’d always thought she was a good judge of character, but she didn’t know them anymore, and they didn’t know her. Why had she insisted on this reunion? Nostalgia? Loneliness?
“Leave those.” Helen Stephens nodded at the empty glasses in her hand. “I’ll call Lucena and have her clean up.”
“I can do it, Mom.” Stephanie loaded the stemware into the dishwasher. “I’m not dragging Lucena in on her day off. I had the party here, so I’ll be the one to clean.”
Helen’s brow furrowed as if she was worried her only daughter might trip and fall on a wineglass. “I just don’t want you to wear yourself out.” Her expression eased as she beamed around the house. “You did such a lovely job with all the decorations and food—” she gestured toward the console table in the foyer “—but you forgot to hand out your treat bags.”
Steph sucked in her lower lip. As everyone was leaving, there’d been so much chaos as her friends scrambled for their coats and purses that Steph had nearly forgotten all about her take-home party favors. Many of her friends had refused anyway because they were on diets or “couldn’t have those around the house.” The statement baffled her. Who couldn’t have cookies around the house? But she didn’t press the matter. She wasn’t about to admit she’d taken their rejection personally, either.
“I’ll bring them to the seniors’ home tomorrow,” Steph said. Then she pictured the residents reaching for the plates only to remember their blood pressure, their sugar intake, their weak stomachs and numerous food allergies. The nurses probably would have to throw out the treats to ensure no one tried their luck.
Steph had spent three whole days baking twelve dozen cookies, all of them her original recipes.
They were her life’s work—and they’d been rejected. Dismissed.
Like Steph.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Helen laid a hand on her daughter’s arm, and Steph snapped out of her haze.
“Nothing.” She looked away to hide her sudden tears. “Maybe I am a little tired.”
Helen drew her away from the table. “Then leave this all for tomorrow. Lucena can take care of it—that’s what we pay her for.” She urged Steph toward the stairs. “Go take a nice hot shower and get some rest. You don’t want bags under your eyes.”
“But, Mom...” She nearly tripped as her mother hustled her along.
“Go on, baby.” She stopped abruptly and cupped Steph’s cheek, an almost manic look of love shining in her face. “As long as you live under this roof, you don’t have to worry about a thing.” The words were uttered in a low coo, but Steph felt something more behind them this time, as if her mother knew exactly what was wrong and would fix everything.
That’s what she did. She fixed everything.
Helen shooed her up the stairs the same way she had throughout Steph’s high school years. As fast as Steph climbed, though, she felt as though she were sinking deeper into the rut of her life. In the seven-hundred-square-foot suite that was her bedroom, she shut the door behind her and leaned against the door frame.
Cold winter light gleamed off all the surfaces. Her mom had filled the suite with mirrored furniture, saying how she loved the way it made her daughter look like a queen standing in her diamond palace. Steph had loved it, too, but right now she thought the room looked sterile, the light casting weird shadows across the walls and distorting her image in every reflection.
It used to be easy to simply go to her room and whittle away her worries with a manicure while watching a DVD, followed by a shopping trip into town. That’s what she’d done since she was a teen.
But she wasn’t a teen anymore. She was thirty...and still living at home with a closet full of designer clothes, the latest in home fashions and anything else she could ever want or ask for. She had a job to give her days meaning and show the world she wasn’t just a princess waiting for her prince to sweep her away. She volunteered at the old folks’ home and at many charity events her parents supported. She had a well-padded bank account, a pretty nice car, a loving family and not a care in the world.
But it wasn’t enough.
Something had to change.
Now.
* * *
“I’M SEVENTEEN MINUTES AWAY,” Aaron Caruthers declared over the hands-free cell phone, keeping the rumbling U-Haul truck at a steady forty-five miles per hour along the gray, slush-slickened road. His life’s possessions rattled around the interior, and he winced every time he hit a pothole. He hoped he’d used enough bubble wrap.
“Oh, Aaron, you didn’t need to call me to tell me that. I’d rather you have all your focus on the road.” Georgette Caruthers’s tone held a note of anxiety only her grandson could detect above her voice’s buttery warmth.
“I didn’t want you worrying. Traffic was heavier than expected out of Boston, and I stopped to help a lady change her tire just outside the city.”
“Well, aren’t you the superhero?” His grandmother chuckled, each word curling with the slight English inflection she’d never shaken. “Was she pretty? Did you get a phone number?”
He laughed. “She was married and very pregnant. I actually stopped because her baby bump flagged me down.”
“You’re a good boy, Aaron. Thanks for calling. I’ll have a nice cup of coffee and your favorite bran muffin waiting.”
“You’re the best, Gran. See you soon.” He hung up and focused on driving, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Even though the road here had been paved and widened, with additional barriers, signs and reflective markers delineating the solid cliff face rising up on the turn, Aaron always took this particular stretch slowly. He never took chances here—or anywhere, for that matter. He brought the truck down to thirty, leaned on his horn as he made the turn to alert any oncoming drivers, then sped up once more as he caromed around the corner.
His shoulders gradually slackened, the tension draining away as he moved past the spot where his parents had been killed in a car accident. He hated that stretch of the highway. He could’ve taken the long route to avoid it, but frankly, that road wasn’t any safer. At least he knew exactly what to expect on this route to Everville and how to deal with any emergency that might crop up.
Fourteen minutes later, the truck rumbled past a new hand-painted sign that said Welcome to Everville: The Town That Endures. He slowed as downtown hove into view. The buildings were painted blue-gray by the early evening light, prettily framed between wrought iron latticework streetlamps and small piles of flecked snow. As he pulled onto Main Street, the pavement gave way to gray-brown mud and gravel that splashed and scattered beneath his tires. Bright orange pylons and construction signs jutted from the ground like oversize, mutated flowers in a post-apocalyptic small-town Americana landscape. His gran had said the town was undergoing a massive renovation as the old sewer mains and pipes were replaced. It was a good thing his grandmother’s bakery was on the road outside town; he couldn’t imagine how this construction affected businesses in the area.
Change is good, he reminded himself. Even if it was a little scary.
Gran’s house was just off Main Street. He pulled the truck onto the curb as Georgette opened the door to the bungalow. Warm light spilled into the street. He hopped out of the cab.
“It’s so good to see you...and all in one piece.” She opened her arms.
“You shouldn’t be out in the cold in your condition,” he said, hugging her.
“Pshaw. I’m not that frail, Aaron. Come inside. There’s plenty of time to unpack later. I asked some friends to come help.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Since Gran was in no shape to carry anything heavier than a plate of biscuits, he was grateful for assistance, even if he wasn’t wild about near-strangers poking into his personal belongings. Pretty soon, everyone would know he was back. It’d been a while since he’d been home. The fishbowl of small-town living was something he’d have to get used to all over again.
The bungalow Aaron had grown up in hadn’t changed since he’d first moved in when he was barely eight years old. The immaculate carpets were still that odd shade of pink-gray, which went with the floral wallpaper and powder-white floral-themed light fixtures throughout the house. The place had always reminded him of a wedding cake. Gran still had the same furniture, too, meticulously kept despite those years of having a school-age boy living under the same roof. Then again, Aaron had always been a neat freak. He hated messes.
Georgette slipped off her shawl, and Aaron flinched. Gran had always been dancer thin, but seeing how her clothes hung off her now shocked him. And she moved so much more slowly. He followed her into the kitchen, insisting on getting his own coffee though she fussed over it. Nothing in here had changed, either, from the glass-fronted cabinets to the chintz-pattern china. The aroma of coffee and baking permeated the air.
Aaron made her sit while he took out the cream and sugar. Everything was exactly where it had been all those years ago. Muscle memory took control as he poured coffee into the mugs he’d always thought of as his and Gran’s. The promised muffins were warming in the oven, and he put two on chipped saucers for each of them.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat.
“Tired. I’ve got a headache most days. Nothing serious.”
“Of course it’s serious.” He took her hands. “You’ve probably already heard this enough from everyone else, but I’m going to say it again. There’s nothing minor about a minor stroke.” She wouldn’t quite meet his eye, which made him worry. “Are you having any loss of sensation still?”
“In my left hand.” She flexed it, just barely, and he frowned. “The physical therapist will decide whether or not I need to work on it.”
“Of course you need to work on it. I’ll make sure they give you something.”
She tucked her hand beneath the table. “Aaron, really, I’m fine. You didn’t have to pick up your life and move back here.”
“I wanted to. And I couldn’t let you be on your own.”
She waved a hand, but not as vigorously as her protest might have warranted. “I just don’t want you worrying over me. You have a life in Boston.”
“It was time for a change.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Besides, it’s worth coming home for your baking.” He grinned as he broke the bran muffin and bit into the warm, moist pastry. People had laughed when at ten years old he’d declared bran muffins were his favorite thing Gran made. He hadn’t been into sugary treats, which apparently was heresy for the grandson of a baker.
Gran had understood. Aaron was simply more practical when it came to his diet. He was practical when it came to everything, and moving home to take care of Georgette was the best and most practical solution to her long-term care. He would never abandon her to a facility full of strangers. She’d taken him in and raised him after his parents’ deaths. He owed her, and he was happy to do whatever necessary to make her happy and comfortable.
For however long she had.
He washed the suddenly dry bite of muffin down with a sip of coffee. “So how’s the bakery doing?” he asked, bracing for a fight. Gran had lived and breathed that bakery for years. She and Grandpa had opened it right after they’d married, and she’d kept it running since his death more than twenty-five years ago.
“The bakery’s fine,” Georgette replied. “I have help these days, and I’m delegating more responsibility. Otherwise, I’d be there right now.”
Gran had always been a bit of a control freak and workaholic. For her to give up any part of the business was major. Aaron put down his mug and leaned forward. “Financially speaking, how are you doing?”
His grandmother’s eyes flicked around the room like a trapped bird searching for an escape. It was a moment before she responded. “We had a good Christmas season. Valentine’s was a little slower this year, but...” She shrugged.
Aaron sighed. He would have to look at the books himself. Gran rarely shared her problems with him. He hadn’t realized until high school how tight things had been, and then he’d done whatever he’d been able to help get the business out of the red. After he’d finished college he’d learned the reason for all that debt had been that his grandmother had been putting aside everything she could for tuition.
“Really, I am happy to see you.” Georgette touched his arm. “But I feel terribly guilty for taking you away from your life. What are you going to do for a job in Everville? I’m not sure there’s much call for real-estate lawyers here.”
“Well, I did say I was ready for a change.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. He was good at what he did, and probably would’ve slaved away at his firm for the rest of his life had that phone call from the hospital not come. But the moment it had, he’d been prepared. Part of him had always been prepared with a plan B, an exit strategy.
Things happened all the time. You had to be ready for them. That was how he’d known what he would do the moment he had to return to Everville.
He set his coffee down. “I’m thinking of opening a bookstore.”
Georgette blinked. “Really? Here?”
“I’ve always wanted to. A well-stocked bookshop is exactly what the town needs, and attaching it to the bakery will make it a destination. See, I was thinking of renovating the bakeshop’s dining room. It hardly gets used, and it’s such a big space. We could minimize the eating area with just a few café tables, then add a patio for the warmer months. Most of your eat-in business comes in during the summer anyhow.”
“So...you’re staying in Everville?”
“Of course I am. How will I take care of you otherwise?” He didn’t see why Gran should be so astonished. “I’ve been thinking about this for years. Did all my research and everything.” He had a binder in the truck with all the information he needed to put his plan into action. He’d started it the day he’d realized Gran was getting older. “I was just waiting for the right opportunity to jump in.”
Georgette’s eyes grew wet, and her smile crimped in at the edges. She squeezed his arm. “You didn’t go to school so you could stay here. You always wanted to get away.”
True. But that had only been for a handful of reasons, and those reasons were gone now. “Things change. I want to be here. With you.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “I mean, if you want to keep the dining room at the bakery, I can work something else out, and I can get my own place if you want your privacy, but I can’t take care of you if—”
“Nonsense. You’ll stay here, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She leaned forward. “Now, about this bookshop.”
He outlined his business plan for her, with his vision for the store itself. He had his own seed money, but he’d also be taking out a small loan to do the renovations. The more he talked about it, the more excited he became.
He was about to get the binder with his notes from the truck when the doorbell rang.
“That will be the moving team,” Georgette said, rising slowly.
“Take it easy, Gran. I’ll get it.” He put on a smile for whoever had volunteered to help with his move, excited to also tell them about the bookstore and get some momentum going.
He opened the door.
And came face-to-face with the second-to-last person he wanted to see.
CHAPTER TWO (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06)
“HI, AARON.” STEPHANIE’S voice sounded brighter than she’d intended. Aaron Caruthers had grown up quite a lot and... Well, wow. “Remember me?”
His expression shuttered so quickly, she swore she heard doors slamming. “You’re still here.” His tone was flat, almost angry.
That wasn’t exactly the response she’d been expecting from a guy who used to have a crush on her. “Yup. Still here. And I brought friends.” He stiffened as she introduced the burly men behind her. “This is Devon and Manny. Devon runs the computer shop on Main, and Manny—well, he does everything. They owe me and Georgette a few favors.”
“But we came for the pie,” Manny said, rubbing his hands.
“Is Georgette around?” Steph tried to peer past Aaron.
“I’m right here. Thank you so much for coming.” The elderly woman stood in the kitchen entryway clutching the door frame.
Steph went straight to her, taking her hands. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?” She started to lead her toward the sofa.
“No need to fuss around me in my own home, dear. Just tell me, how have things been at the bakery?”
“Everything’s going smoothly. The new girl, Kira, is working out great.”
“And you’re handling the orders fine?”
“Piece of cake.” She winked. “How are you?”
“Bored.” She sighed. “And I miss all my grandchildren.”
Steph smiled. Georgette called everyone under the age of forty her grandchildren. She’d been Everville’s self-appointed grandmother since before Steph was born.
“She works for you?” Aaron’s strident tone made Steph’s hackles rise.
“Stephanie’s been working at the bakery for... What has it been now?”
“Five years.” She challenged him with the brightest grin she could manage. His face ticked—just like her girlfriends’ had at Christmas. The corners of his mouth turned down.
“How about we start moving stuff in?” Devon suggested.
“Of course.” The two frequent customers had been promised treats in exchange for their help, and in this chilly weather with darkness creeping in at barely five in the evening, she wanted to get this job done quickly, too.
The three men went out to the truck. Aaron unloaded boxes and directed Devon and Manny to carry them to their assigned rooms while Steph ensured no one tripped over anything. She was grateful to be inside, though Aaron’s reception had been colder than the February weather. Not that she’d expected a hug or anything. She just didn’t think he’d be so surprised to see her, considering how long she’d been working for his grandmother. She knew he visited at least once a year at Christmas. Georgette always talked about him and what he’d been up to. Had she not mentioned anything about her longtime employee to him?
Then again, why would she? It wasn’t as if Aaron should care about her after all these years. They’d barely known each other back in high school.
She peeked out the window as the last of the boxes was hauled out. Aaron closed the truck’s door, his long, lean form stretching to reveal a flat stomach and lean hips beneath his sweater. He was still kind of geeky-looking with his tousled brown hair and long limbs, but gone completely was the chubbiness of his high school days. He looked like a young professor, or maybe a grown-up Harry Potter in jeans and loafers. Mercifully, he didn’t have those big wire-framed glasses anymore, though she’d noticed a pair tucked in his breast pocket. A certain type of girl might find that brainy look attractive, she decided.
The guys came in, and Steph helped Georgette set out the coffee and treats. Most of the boxes had been placed inside the empty guest bedroom, which she supposed had once been Aaron’s. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised not to find a trace of him there, though it made little sense for Georgette to keep his room intact after all these years. Packing up everything and leaving home for good was an alien concept to Steph. After she’d moved out just last month, Mom and Dad had promised to keep her room exactly as she’d left it so she wouldn’t have to worry about finding storage space for what couldn’t fit into her tiny apartment. They hadn’t been happy about her leaving the nest, but she’d made it clear they couldn’t stop her. And they hadn’t.
After the coffee and spinach-and-goat-cheese pastries were laid out, Steph went into Aaron’s room and started unpacking. She didn’t feel as though she’d earned a treat yet, considering all she’d done was shuffle boxes around.
Three boxes into her digging, she discovered pretty much all Aaron owned was books. She exhumed the heavy law textbooks from the first box—the spines thoroughly bent and the pages marked with multicolored Post-it notes—and placed them on the bottom of the big brown bookshelves. The next box had an assortment of trade paperbacks, a lot of them with long titles about things she didn’t know anything about. Peak oil, electric cars, global economics, science, history...
“What are you doing?” Aaron asked from the doorway.
“Just thought I’d help you shelve some of this stuff.” She hefted one of the boxes, letting out an “oof!” It was a lot heavier than she’d thought.
Aaron rushed toward her. “Good God, you’re going to break your back doing that.”
“What, lifting this?” She bent her knees and jiggled the box. “Nah. I carry fifty-pound sacks of flour all the time.” She’d always been at the bottom of cheer pyramids, too. Mom had never liked that other girls were standing on her, but she hadn’t minded.
Georgette’s grandson gave her a stern look. “Still.” He gently slipped the box from her grasp and set it down with ease. “You don’t need to do this.”
“It’s no problem.” She flexed her aching fingers discreetly.
His eyes narrowed. “No, seriously. I’ll do it myself.”
“Really, it’s no problem.”
He frowned. “I’m particular about how I shelve my books.”
The steel in his voice had her reconsidering. “Oookay.” She took a step back, hands raised. “How about your clothes? I can fold them and put them—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with everything later. Really.”
Was there something he was hiding? Or did he simply not want her help? She hid her soreness at being dismissed by dusting her hands together as she left the room. “All right. You’ll be at it all night, though.”
He closed the bedroom door firmly behind him, and they rejoined the others in the kitchen.
“Not letting you help him unpack, is he?” Georgette chuckled when they entered. Devon and Manny were digging into their pastries with gusto. “Aaron’s always been fussy about his things. He never even let me clean his room.”
“That’s because I can do it myself.” Something about Aaron’s tone irked Steph, as if he were implying she couldn’t put things away herself. No. She shouldn’t read into what other people said—Mom told her she got defensive sometimes without proving...provoke...provocation. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to react so strongly to Aaron.
He shook hands with Manny and Devon. “I appreciate the help today, guys,” he said.
“Anything for Georgette’s spinach pies,” Manny said, toasting him with his coffee.
“Oh, Aaron, you should talk to Devon about getting Wi-Fi installed at the bakery. I think he’s done it for other businesses in town.”
“Why do you need Wi-Fi?” Steph asked.
Georgette beamed. “Aaron’s going to renovate the bakery’s dining room and turn it into a bookstore.”
Steph stared, her feet suddenly cold. She tried to hide her shock and simply look interested in what was being said, as she’d been taught, but she felt her whole future and everything she’d been working toward slipping from her grasp as readily as the smile from her face.
“But...where will the customers eat?” she managed to ask.
“I’ll still keep a few tables in the main part of the bakery, but most of the business has always been takeout anyhow,” Aaron explained. “Plus, I’m adding a patio for the warmer months.”
What did he even know about what business was like at Georgette’s? He hadn’t worked there in the five years she’d been there. “When were you going to do all this?”
“As soon as possible. I’m meeting a few contractors on Monday. I want renovations done by the end of April so we can be open for patio weather.”
And when, exactly, had they planned on telling her about these changes? After all she’d done for Georgette’s, wasn’t she owed at least an explanation?
Sure, Steph was only an employee, but she was a damned good one. She was the only person Georgette had trusted with her recipes, the only person capable of running things solo since Georgette’s stroke a few weeks ago. She’d hoped the elderly baker would sell the business to her when she retired—clearly the eighty-two-year-old couldn’t run it by herself anymore.
But now Aaron Caruthers was here, nosing in and ruining all her plans.
Her throat tightened and her tongue felt thick as objections tumbled one on top of the other. She was so frustrated she couldn’t spit out a single word of protest.
They were still talking, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. She was drowning in words, all of them mashed into a messy jumble by her building anxiety. She wanted to tell them this wasn’t what she wanted, that this wasn’t what she’d planned, but she couldn’t say it without sounding petulant.
“I’m hoping the two of you will work together,” she heard Georgette say. “Steph knows everything about how the bakery runs. I don’t mind change, you know, but I do want some parts of what your grandfather and I built to remain intact.”
A lifeline. Steph smiled gratefully with the knowledge that Georgette had secured her place in the world.
“Of course, Gran.” Aaron hugged her shoulders briefly. “I promise you’ll be included in all the big decisions.”
And just like that, Aaron had cut Steph out of the business, despite being ordered to work with her. He hadn’t even looked at her. Her blood rushed through her veins, swift and hot, so that the sting of dismissal vibrated across her nerves. She’d been certain Georgette had been grooming her to take over one day. What did Aaron even know about baking?
She took a deep, calming breath. There was no sense in complaining and being indite...indignant about it now. She’d just have to show Georgette she was not only indispensable, but also the right person to take over the bakery.
* * *
AARON LISTENED WITH half an ear as the contractor led him through the estimate on the dining room renovations. He was already aware of some of the larger costs, knew where he could save money by doing the work himself. It was the woman behind the counter who was distracting him.
Stephanie Stephens. He couldn’t believe she was still in Everville. She hadn’t changed a bit, outwardly—she still had that perfect brass-blond hair that she kept tied in a high ponytail and that fantastic cheerleader’s figure with curves and muscles in all the right places.
He shook himself. He wasn’t that kid anymore, lusting after a football player’s trophy girlfriend. Never again would he humiliate himself over Stephanie Stephens.
He silently listed all the reasons they weren’t right for each other and never had been. Sure, he’d fantasized about tutoring her, about how lending her his notes might actually lead to something more meaningful. And he’d lent her pens whenever she hadn’t had one, which was frequently. How many pens had she borrowed and never returned?
Twenty-three.
Yes, he’d counted. Nearly a whole box of his favorite roller balls that he’d never asked she return. Except that one time. He’d learned his lesson then not to trust anything with her—not even a pen.
And here she was, working at his grandmother’s bakery, losing who knew how many pens’ worth of income a day.
He refocused on the contractor’s words as the man gave him estimated completion dates. The guy’s rates were reasonable and he was friendly enough, but Aaron was interviewing one more contractor that afternoon. This was going to be his business, after all, and he had to get the best rates wherever he could. He was nothing if not thorough.
The part-timer, Kira, a lean high schooler with short dark hair and thick-framed glasses, was busy serving a customer while Steph blabbed away with a woman holding a baby. Two other people waited patiently behind them.
Aaron scowled. Did the woman have any sense? She should be working, not chatting with her friends.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said to the contractor, then marched over to Steph. The woman she was chatting to handed her the baby, and Aaron was taken aback a moment as she bounced the drooling, babbling bundle of joy and cooed at her.
“Um, Steph?”
“Oh, hey, Aaron.” Her demeanor was a touch cooler than it had been with her friend. She nodded. “Isabel, this is Aaron Caruthers, Georgette’s grandson. He’s come back to...take care of things.”
“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. “How’s Georgette doing?”
“Better, thanks for asking.” He didn’t want to be rude, but customers were still waiting. He turned to Steph. “Would you mind looking after those folks there, Steph?”
She stared at him, her cheeks tinting darker and darker. The baby patted her hair as if reminding her to breathe. She handed the squirming child back to Isabel. “Excuse me.”
“I’d better get going.” The mother paused. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to distract Stephanie.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, feeling bad now for interrupting. Isabel was a customer, too, after all. But time was money...
He glanced at Steph. She moved slowly, as if she were picking flowers in a field rather than filling orders. If that was her usual pace, he could imagine how much business the bakery lost on a daily basis. And now, Steph was chatting up the next person in line and—
Was she giving out free cookies?
Aaron didn’t have time to ask, though, because the contractor had come up and was telling him he had to leave on his next call. Aaron thanked him and saw him out the door, but not before Steph ducked out lickety-split from behind the counter and handed him a coffee and a brown bag. Why couldn’t she move that fast to serve paying customers? Aaron thought irritably.
“Fresh doughnut and coffee for you,” she told the man happily. “No one leaves Georgette’s empty-handed.”
The contractor’s face brightened “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Of course you can.” She pushed the treats at him. “It’s cold out there. You need to keep warm, and this is just the thing to do it.”
The man chuckled. “I hope I get this job if this is the daily take-home.” He shook Aaron’s hand. “Give me a call. We can play with some numbers if we have to.”
He left. Aaron turned to tell Steph to stop handing out freebies, but her look froze his tongue. “Excuse me, I have customers.”
He might have snapped back at her, but that would’ve been unprofessional. Still, Georgette’s wouldn’t survive if this was how business was conducted every day. Who knew how much Stephanie was costing his grandmother? He wasn’t about to throw any accusations around, though. Not without evidence. After all, he was nothing if not thorough.
* * *
SWEAT DRIPPED OFF the tip of Steph’s nose as she polished the countertops and fumed.
Aaron had always been a stick-in-the-mud, but now he’d become a grade-A prick. Embarrassing her in front of Isabel. Really! Where did he get off telling her what to do? He didn’t own Georgette’s. He wasn’t her boss. He’d only arrived yesterday.
“I’m done here,” Kira said, removing her apron. “Is it okay if I take off? I have a lot of homework.”
“Sure thing.” She put on a smile for Kira’s benefit. The timid but eager girl didn’t need to be exposed to her bad mood. “Thanks. You did great today.”
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Kira moved closer and glanced at the closed office door where Aaron counted the till. “Is Aaron taking over for Georgette?”
Steph sucked in her lower lip. “I don’t know.” I hope not. “He’s got plans to open a bookstore where the dining room is. I’m not sure how that’ll work with the bakery attached.”
Kira wrinkled her nose. “If they do renos it’s going to make a huge mess. How’re you gonna bake?”
Steph hadn’t thought of that, but Kira was right. They’d lose all kinds of business while Aaron worked on his precious bookshop, and Georgette’s couldn’t afford that. They were barely breaking even as it was.
She had no choice. She had to talk to Georgette. Aaron would ruin the business with these plans of his, and it was up to Stephanie to stop him.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a7495287-376c-51c1-bdbd-0789d80362ea)
“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, exactly?” Georgette peered up at Aaron over her plate of spaghetti.
“I just want to know if you’ve ever noticed any discrepancies at the register.” There was no way to broach the topic lightly. He was concerned by what he’d seen today. The till had been short nearly fifty dollars, and the ledgers for the past two months showed a steady decline in revenue. How was Gran keeping up with the bills?
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, cutting her noodles with her spoon. Aaron had noticed she had a little difficulty chewing—he’d have to ask the doctor about that at her next appointment.
“So you’re always short at the till?” he prodded.
“Short, over, both. It all works out in the end.” She shrugged. “I assume it’s simply my old eyes counting wrong.”
“Does Steph ever count the till?”
“Occasionally. She certainly would’ve while I’ve been away.”
From what he’d seen, the same pattern had emerged, with tills under and over by some amount at closing time, but made up for the next day. The receipts roughly matched the takings by week’s end, though, so at least they weren’t dealing with sticky fingers...he hoped.
It wasn’t as if Stephanie needed the money—her family was filthy stinking rich. If she was stealing, it had to be for the thrill of it. Somehow, that didn’t strike him as Steph’s style, but what did he know?
“How did your meetings with the contractors go?” Georgette asked, changing the subject.
“Good. I’ve decided to go with Ollie White. He gave the best rate, and he seems like an upstanding guy.”
“Ollie’s good,” Georgette agreed. “But I do wish you’d considered hiring Jimmy Tremont.”
“Gran, he’s not a licensed contractor.” She’d brought him up when Aaron had started talking renos. The guy had lost his job at a processing plant last month. “I’m not paying some random guy for a big job like this.”
Georgette moved the food around her plate demurely. “He’s hit hard times, Aaron. We try to help each other out around here.”
“He’s not even insured. And I’d end up paying him under the table.”
“But you’d keep food on his family’s table,” she said, studiously eating her cut-up spaghetti.
Aaron sighed. Gran was a softie, taking in strays and playing patron saint to the hungry and down-on-their-luck. Not that he didn’t appreciate her generous spirit—he’d been one of those poor lost souls once. “I’ll see if there are any small jobs he can handle,” he said. He’d already planned to do the painting himself: Jimmy could help him with that and a few other finishing touches.
“By the way, Stephanie called me. She was concerned about how the renovations would affect business. She’s worried about the mess it would make.”
“I’ve already consulted Ollie about this. He even talked to Ben, the health inspector in town. We can keep the bakery open. Everything’s going to be isolated in the dining room. As long as we seal it off and keep a ventilation fan pointed outside, we should be fine. Knocking down the dividing wall and tearing up the flooring will take less than a day. It’s the electrical and drywall and finishing touches that take time.”
“It takes weeks for plaster dust to settle, Aaron. Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited for this project of yours, and I wouldn’t think of stopping you. But...I’m hoping you’ll reassure Stephanie.”
Aaron stuffed a forkful of noodles in his mouth and chewed to hide the tick in his cheek. “She’s got nothing to worry about.”
“She’s a sensitive girl. She doesn’t handle change easily.”
Well, that’s too bad. But he knew it was unfair to be so coldhearted. Gran liked her and had hired her, and that should be enough for him to at least give her a chance.
Privately, he admitted he’d been rude to her. Not because of what she’d done to him in high school, and not because he suspected she was costing his grandmother hundreds if not thousands of dollars. It was because her very presence upset his equilibrium. Made him lose focus. As far as he could tell, she was still the same girl she’d been in high school: flaky, flighty and so self-centered that she was oblivious to what was going on around her.
And he was still attracted to her. It made no sense. At all.
She wasn’t his type—not anymore. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for her. But the line between grudge and the burning regret that accompanied unrequited love was blurring rapidly. He hated that her reappearance in his life should give rise to such angst.
He was a grown man, dammit. And he had adult things to take care of.
“I’ll talk to Stephanie,” he said shortly.
“Good. It means a lot to me that you’re both trying so hard to keep the bakery going. Your grandfather would be proud.” She put her spoon down carefully. “I think I’m done here.”
“You barely ate.”
“I haven’t had much appetite.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably the medications.”
He frowned. “When’s your next appointment? I’ll go with you and we can ask the doctor to switch your prescription.”
“Don’t worry about it, dear. You need to focus on this book business.”
“No, I need to focus on you. The bookstore is second. Anyhow, once the renos begin, I can’t do much on-site. I’ll be contacting publishers and ordering inventory, but I can do that from home.” When Georgette looked as if she was going to argue, he said, “I’m your grandson. You took care of me. Let me take care of you, okay?”
She patted his arm with a rueful twist of the lips. “You’re a good boy, Aaron.”
Not good enough if he couldn’t keep Gran happy and healthy and make sure the bakery survived.
* * *
“AARON CARUTHERS...” Helen Stephens drew the name out over the phone later that week as if it were taffy. “No, I can’t honestly say I remember him. Did he come to your graduation party?”
“It wasn’t a grad party, it was an end-of-school party.” Despite the fact that she hadn’t graduated with the rest of her class, her parents had let her throw the bash anyhow, complete with a DJ, catering and decorations. They’d even bought the beer kegs. The football team and cheerleaders had had a wild night, vomiting everywhere but in the toilet and breaking one of Mom’s favorite vases. Helen hadn’t been that upset. She’d just wanted her only daughter to be happy. “Aaron definitely wasn’t there.”
“Are you sure? There were so many kids I couldn’t keep their names straight.”
“Trust me, Mom, he wasn’t there.” Back then, Steph wouldn’t have been caught dead inviting someone like Aaron to her party. He’d been one of those nerdy, intense kids who nobody had understood whenever he’d opened his mouth. She was seriously regretting not being nicer to him now.
“In any case, it doesn’t sound like he’s doing anything unreasonable. He left his life behind to take care of his grandmother. That’s quite a sacrifice for a man to make.”
“But he’s taking over,” she said, an exasperated whine pitching her voice. She cut herself off ruthlessly, pressing a fist against her lips. At the moment she was a particular kind of frustrated—the kind that couldn’t be placated with a few kind words—and she was having a hard time communicating that to her mother. “I’ve worked there five years. I’m the one who knows how everything works. I’m the one who knows all of Georgette’s recipes. He’s been there a week and he acts like he owns the place.”
“He’s entitled to it. Blood is thicker than batter, and he’s Georgette’s grandson. Why, we’ll be lucky if the place doesn’t shut down after she kicks the bucket.”
“Mom!” Steph gasped.
“I don’t mean that in a mean way, dear. I don’t want to see her go any more than you do. Where else would we get our croissants?”
Stephanie set her teeth. Mom wasn’t shallow, but she did have a habit of trivializing bad things to avoid thinking about them. “Georgette’s not going to die. Not anytime soon.” Not before Steph could convince her to sell the bakery to her, and not for a long time after, either. Steph would take care of Georgette herself if it came down to it. She loved her as if she were her own grandmother.
“Everyone dies, dear. All the more reason to find a special someone and give me some grandchildren as soon as possible.”
Not this again. “Mom.” A headache gathered between Steph’s eyes. “I told you, I’m trying to find myself right now. I don’t want to be involved with anyone until I figure out who I am.” Thank God for daytime talk shows. One of the many Stop Controlling My Life! episodes had given her those words to practice.
“I know who you are.” Helen’s sweet voice was tinged with a sour bite. “You’re my daughter. You’re a sweet, beautiful, kind, lovely young woman.”
“But I’m more than that. At least, I know I can be. I’ve spent too much time stuck in a rut. I want more.”
“Like living on your own in a tiny little apartment when you could be comfortable here at home?” Whenever Helen was miffed she made a noise through her nose that sounded like a pig whistling through a teakettle, as she did now. “I understand that you want to spread your wings, but wouldn’t it be better if you went away—on a trip? We could send you to Europe. Shake off your wanderlust before you decide to settle down. Maybe you’ll even meet someone abroad.”
Steph massaged her temples. Her mother had a one-track mind. “This isn’t about wanderlust.” They’d had this argument every time she’d called since moving out. After the reunion, she’d made it her mission to move on and up in life. Moving out of her parents’ house had been the first big step. “And I can’t settle down. Not right now.”
“Listen to me, baby. I thought the same thing when I was twenty-five. Your father and I were still young and we thought we had all the time in the world. But when we were ready for kids, we tried and tried... We wanted four kids, you know that?”
She closed her eyes. “I know, Mom.”
“It wasn’t until very late in the game that we finally had you. But there were complications. I was sick for weeks afterward, and the doctor said I couldn’t risk having any more children. I still thank God every day I have you, our perfect little angel.”
Every time Helen told this story guilt pooled in Steph’s gut. “That’s sweet of you to say, Mom, but—”
“You’re thirty, dear.” She made it sound like a curse. “Don’t you want to have kids?”
“Of course, but—”
“Then you need to think about that.” Her words were precise, final, loaded with prim admonishment.
Stephanie mouthed a curse at the ceiling. This was exactly why she’d needed to move out. Living at home, she’d accepted her mother’s wishes that she go forth and multiply as if that were her only purpose in life. And, for a while, she’d believed it. After Dale, she’d dated a lot, including men her parents had found for her, but no one had held her interest long enough to sound the wedding bells. Her Mom once had accused her of being picky, and they’d gotten into a big argument. That’d been around the same time Steph had started working for Georgette.
“You’re coming next weekend, aren’t you?” Helen asked, her tone switching back to honey-sweet.
“For Dad’s birthday party? Of course. Once all the morning baking’s done, Kira should be able to handle the counter. And Aaron will be there, I guess.” She grudgingly accepted that he’d take care of things at the bakery and make sure his grandmother got her rest. She’d almost canceled on her mom, but Georgette wouldn’t hear of her missing Terrence Stephens’s sixtieth birthday.
“Good. Because there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Steph suppressed a sigh. “You’re not trying to set me up again, are you?”
“You’ll like him,” Helen insisted. “You really will. He’s a rancher we met at the club last week—”
“I’ll come to the party, but don’t expect anything.” Steph would be polite, but she made no promises. She was determined to become the best Stephanie Stephens she could be, and for now, that meant no dating.
* * *
AARON RUBBED THE crust from his eyes, cursing the cold, dark February morning. Six o’clock was way too early to be up and driving, but he’d wanted the contractors to get the dining room sealed before the bakery opened at seven.
Only one other car was in the lot—a rather nice Mercedes mini SUV. As he got out of his Gran’s station wagon, his foot met a patch of ice. With a yelp, he snagged the door before he slid under the chassis, then regained his footing, cursing. The slick parking lot was a lawsuit waiting to happen. He’d have to take care of that.
Unlocking the door to Georgette’s, his mood was temporarily dispelled by the sweet smell of baking.
He inhaled, thinking of happier times. Mom and Dad taking him to visit his grandmother; carefully choosing the one treat he’d take home with him in the car—it was almost always a bran muffin, though he’d sometimes choose an oatmeal cookie; enjoying the long, winding drive out of Everville to see the fall colors...
His walk down memory lane came to an abrupt halt as he entered the kitchen and tripped on an open bag of flour. He managed to right it before it spilled onto the ground.
Steph glanced up from a mixing bowl. Her brassy hair was tied up in two pigtails, and a hairnet hung off them like a saggy black spiderweb. Her white apron was stained with smears of chocolate and batter, and there was a dusting of flour on her cheek, but she glowed with sunny cheer. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly. “Two cups of brown sugar.” He was confused for a moment as she emptied a measuring cup into a large bowl. “Watch your step, there.”
He grabbed the bag and dragged it out of his path. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked irately.
“Uh...baking? I’ve been here since four.”
Duh. Of course. He so wasn’t a morning person. “You didn’t salt the parking lot.”
Her smile faltered. “Huh?”
“The parking lot. It’s covered in black ice. I slipped out there. Could’ve broken my tailbone.”
The rays of happiness wreathing her face disappeared as if clouds had gathered around her. “A pound of butter,” she muttered as she dumped the cubes into the mixing bowl. She stirred, her arm working hard. “Sorry to hear that,” she said to him.
She wasn’t. And she wasn’t taking him seriously. Just another indication of how thoughtless and self-absorbed she was. She hadn’t changed a bit. “I’d appreciate it if you could have taken a minute to make sure other people weren’t getting hurt by your carelessness. If someone broke a leg out there—”
She slammed her spatula onto the worktable. “Look, if you’re not going to be helpful, I need you to get out of my way. I have a lot to bake still and I have three cake orders to fill today. You do what you need to do, but I don’t have time to deal with icy parking lots or whatever your problem is.”
For a moment, Aaron was shocked by her flash of temper. More surprising was the shame he felt. Barging in and acting like a tyrant wasn’t his style. He needed to get a grip.
“I’m sorry. I apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I...” He shook his head. “I need coffee.”
With a glare, she pointed toward the door. “On the counter up front. A quarter teaspoon of salt.” Her dismissal was clear, even if her instructions to herself were perplexing.
He pushed out of the kitchen, went to the carafe and filled a mug. His first big gulp scalded his tongue, bringing tears to his eyes. He deserved that. He’d been an asshat to Steph for no reason except that he was cranky and had slipped on some ice.
She clearly resented his presence at Georgette’s. Maybe she’d thought she was going to inherit the bakery. He hadn’t considered that before, but it would explain that hunted look she often bore, as if she were expecting him to kick her out any minute. He might not do that, but there was no way Aaron would allow Stephanie Stephens to run his grandmother’s legacy into the ground, either. He may never have woken up at four in the morning to bake, but he knew how to run the business. Besides, he was family. His grandmother would never choose a former cheerleader over her own kin.
Family or no, Georgette would not be pleased to hear they’d already started off on the wrong foot. He needed to smooth things out with Steph.
He took a few minutes to scatter deicer and sand over the front steps, around the lot and along the walkway. When he got back inside, he was shivering, but the bracing cold had cleared his head a little. He took a deep breath and pushed back into the kitchen.
“Stephanie.” She flicked him the briefest of glares, and he continued. “Look, I was out of line. It was rude of me to talk to you that way. I appreciate that you’re busy. It can’t be easy doing all the baking on your own.”
The chill in her storm-blue eyes thawed some, but she didn’t stop moving as she spooned batter into muffin tins. “It’s not.”
“What can I do to help?”
She gave him a pensive frown. “Aren’t your contractors coming?”
“I already moved the tables and chairs and stuff out of the dining room, so all I can do now is wait. Guess they’re a bit behind.” The recent snowfall had made the roads treacherous. “Did you prep the croissants yet?”
She blinked. “No. They’re—”
“Ready-made in the freezer. Eight to a tray at 425 degrees, right?” He smiled lopsidedly. “I remember a few things from working with Gran.”
The puzzled look on her face wasn’t entirely hostile, so that was progress.
He got to work laying the frozen premade pastries onto baking sheets. Georgette always made large batches of croissants and froze them for use in the bakery, but people also ordered boxes of them frozen to bake at home. As he worked, he could hear Stephanie muttering to herself under her breath. At first he thought she was grumbling about him, but then he realized she was reciting the recipes she was working on. How odd.
He popped the trays into the oven as the contractors arrived. After a round of coffee, he worked with Ollie for the rest of the morning as they sealed the dining room with thick sheets of plastic taped across the entryway. They decided the workmen could access the area from a rarely used side entrance in the dining room. When they were done closing off the work space, the bakery felt a whole lot smaller.
The sun, a pale gold button against a silvery sky, peeked in through the shop’s wide, lace-curtained windows. Stephanie came out and started loading trays of goodies into the display cases, then made a fresh pot of coffee. She frowned at the rippling translucent bubble of plastic as the door in the dining room was propped open. The cozy warmth was quickly sucked from the bakery.
“Is it going to be like this all month?” she asked, hastily pulling on a zip-up hoodie.
“I’ll see about getting some space heaters in here.” Aaron rubbed his arms.
She blew out a breath and mumbled something as she went back into the kitchen. Aaron followed her. “Listen, Steph. We need to talk. I realize I’ve kind of barged in here without any real warning. These renos must’ve come out of left field to you.”
She gave him a flat look, confirming his suspicions. She wasn’t displeased; she was pissed. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep things running smoothly, but we need to get this right the first time. I want to make this bookstore work for my grandmother’s sake and make sure the bakery stays afloat.”
She regarded him doubtfully. “That all sounds great, but I’m not sure you really know what’s best.”
He scowled. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re starting a new business while Georgette’s still recovering from a stroke.” She propped a hand against her hip. “That’s the opposite of being by her side and taking care of her. If it were me, I’d be with her 24/7.”
His temperature spiked, and he clenched his fists. “If it were you—” He cut himself off. He didn’t appreciate her criticism. She could hardly claim to know what was best... But he refused to argue about this. She was entitled to her opinions, even if they were damned wrong. Calmly, he said, “I have things under control. My grandmother wouldn’t want me around her constantly, and I’d only make her feel worse if I hung around the house all day, watching her, waiting for something bad to happen. This bookstore is for the future, to make sure what she built endures.”
“And it’s your own pet project.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Of course it is. I can’t give up my whole life for one person. In all honesty, yes, this is as much for me as it is for Gran. And it’s my way of giving back to the town.”
She looked away. It took her a moment to respond. “Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t be criticizing you. I’m sure you love your grandmother very much and want to do what’s best.”
Mollified, he straightened. “I do. And I will.” He firmly believed in his business plan, and so had the bank. Everville hadn’t had a bookstore since Mr. Williamson’s shop had closed when Aaron was fifteen. It’d been a major loss to Aaron personally. Reading had been his one great solace in the years following his parents’ deaths. The library was all right, but the town hadn’t had the money to keep it well stocked and up to date.
This bookshop was more than his fresh start. It was his way of making sure kids like him had a place to find and lose themselves. Being able to keep Gran’s bakery going was icing on the cake.
“Don’t worry, Stephanie,” he said. “I promise I’ll be a better boss.”
Spite flashed in her eyes, hard and glittering. She didn’t say anything as she marched back into the kitchen. The swinging door slapped the air behind her, and a chill seeped through his sweater and into his bones.
For crying out loud. What had he said now?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c73319e6-64d8-5350-a23b-9d0488dfd0e6)
STEPH’S PAYCHECK DIDN’T allow for extravagances like bottles of good French merlot, but today, she seriously needed to indulge.
Her friend Maya Hanes watched as she dumped the last three inches from the bottle into the bowl of her oversize wineglass. “Should you be drinking so much with your early start tomorrow?”
“I don’t see how I couldn’t be driven to drink considering the ignor...arro...arrogance of that man.” Stumbling over the word in front of Maya only added to her frustration, but her friend kindly ignored it. She’d told Maya about how Aaron had made it clear where they stood: he was going to be her boss, and she had no say in the matter.
Maya reached for another one of Steph’s chocolate-dipped macaroons. “Maybe this is a good thing. I mean, if he hadn’t come back and something happened to Georgette—”
“Why does everyone keep thinking the worst? Georgette’s fine. She’s had a stroke, sure, but she’s nowhere near...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it.
“All I’m saying is that Aaron means well, and he’s doing what he thinks is best. It’s not as if he’s fired you.”
“He might, though. I don’t know what he has planned.” She took a bracing gulp. “He could replace me.”
“Hon, c’mon. I know you’re upset, but I doubt Aaron would go that far. You’re the only one apart from Georgette who knows her recipes.”
“He doesn’t like me. He’s had it in for me since high school.” She sat back and stared into her wine, brooding. “I wasn’t very nice to him.”
“That was a long time ago. I’d think—or at least I’d hope—you’d both have grown beyond that.”
Maybe. Sometimes, everything about Steph’s life felt stalled, as if she still had one foot stuck in high school. Aaron’s return brought that home. It seemed fitting somehow that the past should come back to ruin her future.
“You need to give this time to work itself out,” Maya said. “See how Aaron handles things. You said it yourself—he’ll be busy with the bookstore side of the business. That probably means you’ll be free to run the bakery by yourself.”
“As an employee, maybe. But I want to own Georgette’s and run it on my terms.”
Maya tilted her chin. “Why’s that so important to you?”
“You own your own business. I want the same things you have—to be my own boss and make my own hours.” Steph didn’t know how to explain that in her eyes, Georgette’s was the epi...epistle...epitome of independence. Owning the bakery had been a longtime fantasy before the elderly baker had gotten sick, but now that dream was within her grasp. And she felt ashamed for thinking that way.
“I’m kinda surprised you haven’t opened your own shop,” Maya said, holding up a macaroon. “Your recipes are fantastic. I bet your folks would lend you the start-up money, too.”
Steph shook her head emphatically. “Oh, hell, no. I don’t want my parents to have a stake in any business of mine. Anyhow, I would never go into competition with Georgette. She taught me everything she knows. I can’t stab her in the back.”
Maya chuckled. “If you want to own a business, you have to be a little mercenary sometimes.” Maya would know. She’d bought the consignment shop on Main Street for a song about nine months ago. She now specialized in vintage clothing and wore the most awesome outfits. She’d even helped dress all Helen’s friends for a Mad Men party she had thrown. “Do you even know what it takes to keep the bakery going?” Maya asked, peering at Steph through her cat’s-eye glasses.
“Of course I do,” she said, then faltered. “I mean, I’ve worked there a long time...”
“Well, you baked and did all the front counter stuff, sure, but you didn’t handle the background responsibilities. Making sure the shop complied with health regulations, filling out tax forms...”
“I can learn to do all that if Georgette gives me a chance. Or I can hire someone.”
She knew Maya was only trying to make her see the reality of the situation. Even so, Steph couldn’t help but feel affronted, as if Maya didn’t think much of her abilities or ambitions. People were always waiting for Steph to make a mistake and give up.
“So what are you going to do?” Maya prodded. “Quit?”
“And do what? Go home a failure?” She gulped her wine and exhaled a heady cloud of vapor. “No way. Aaron can’t scare me away. And neither can my parents or you, for that matter.”
Maya grinned. “Good. I hate it when you play helpless little rich girl.” She toasted her. “Sorry to act all mean, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t...”
“Being a flake?” Steph supplied.
Maya’s lips quirked. “Your words.”
She knew she could rely on Maya for the honest truth. They hadn’t been close in high school, but Steph appreciated her bluntness—and patience—now. She needed a regular dose of reality, something that had been lacking in her life, living at home with parents who gave her anything and everything she wanted. No one had ever criticized her, either, or if they had, it had never been to her face.
Or maybe she’d simply ignored it. She’d been frustrated by her grades, of course, but so many other parts of her life had been great, like her relationship with Dale, cheerleading and all the clubs she’d been in. Her parents hadn’t minded the Cs and Ds on her report cards, though they had frowned at the handful of Fs she’d earned. In hindsight, she wished her parents had been a little tougher on her, but she knew her poor academic performance was all on her.
She understood now that if she really wanted something, she had to earn it, the way she had with her job and her apartment. Hard work and discipline had been the key to her independence, and now that she’d had a taste, she wasn’t about to give up any of it. She had to win Georgette’s favor if she was ever going to take over the bakery.
“So, what are you going to do about Aaron?” Maya prompted.
“I’d like to pour a bowl of batter over his head.” That was the wine talking, of course. She heaved a sigh. “I’ll stay on, I guess. What else can I do?”
“Well, if things get intolerable, quitting is always an option.”
“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t quit?”
“You shouldn’t quit without really thinking about it, is what I meant. But I wouldn’t want you staying there if you were miserable, either. No one would judge you for leaving if you were unhappy.”
Steph didn’t believe that for a moment, because she’d judge herself. Working at Georgette’s wasn’t just a job to her. It represented everything she was working toward—financial independence, security, stability and professional pride. Maybe to some people her job looked like a way for a rich girl to pass time. But Georgette’s Bakery was an institution. One that would fall apart in Aaron Caruthers’s hands if she didn’t make sure she was involved.
And to do that, she was going to have to play nice.
* * *
AARON ARRIVED AT Georgette’s at quarter after nine. He would have been there when the bakery opened, but he’d wanted to go with his grandmother to her doctor’s appointment and hear what the specialist had to say. Georgette would be visiting a physical therapist once a week to work on her mobility issues, and she would need to do daily exercises to get back the strength in her hands. The doctor assured them she was well on the road to recovery, but Aaron was going to keep a close eye on her.
He entered the bakery and found Steph chatting up a customer. She excused herself and brought him a steaming mug. “Fresh coffee?” She smiled brightly.
“Uh...thanks.” He took the mug and headed to the office. Steph followed.
“Listen—” she lingered in the doorway “—I want to say I’m sorry if I’ve acted nastily toward you. I think it’s great that you’re back for Georgette.”
He blinked. She sounded like she meant it, but then he wasn’t sure she’d ever given anyone a smile that wasn’t carefully calculated to extrude the maximum result.
Oh, hey, Aaron, can I borrow a pen? Can I borrow your notes?
Can I borrow your heart so I can stomp all over it?
“Okay,” he responded noncommittally. He’d apologized plenty for his poor behavior already. Still, it didn’t feel right not to reciprocate. But with each second that passed, it got harder and harder to jump into that conversation. They lapsed into an awkward stalemate.
He picked up the binder of invoices his grandmother kept for supply orders and set up his laptop. He didn’t realize until he looked up that Steph was still standing in the doorway watching him. “Something you want?” He cursed his curt tone. Tell her you’re sorry and that you appreciate her, too, idiot.
She smiled faintly. “Just curious about what you’re up to.”
He patted the binder, glad for something else to talk about. “I’m looking at cutting some costs, getting quotes from other suppliers.”
Steph gasped. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t...change things.” She gestured emptily, her movements shaky. “We have long, established relationships with our suppliers.”
“If that’s true, they should be offering you a better deal for what you order.”
“They already do.” Her voice rose, almost threateningly.
Aaron struggled to keep his tone even. “Not good enough. Not after nearly fifty years in business.” Was she going to question and fight him on every decision? “Look, all I’m trying to do is make sure the bakery stays in the black, but it’s dangerously close. We need to reduce our expenses.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re going to cut our hours?”
That wasn’t what he’d said—her reaction was typically self-centered. He opened his mouth to reassure her that her job was safe, but realized he couldn’t make any promises. Not until he’d gotten a real handle on the financial situation. “You should get back to the front,” he said instead, glancing past the door and not feeling particularly sorry to end this conversation. “There are customers.”
She looked as though she was going to say something else, but then whirled and made a quiet huffing noise.
Five minutes later, though, she was back. “I’m sorry...again. I’m used to doing things a certain way and...you’re right,” she admitted with effort. She rubbed a palm up and down her hip and grudgingly added, “Cutting costs is good for business.”
He studied her. She was really trying. To what end, he wasn’t sure. But Gran had wanted him to work with her, so he had to make the effort, as well. “Sit down. I want to hear your thoughts. You must have some ideas on how to make things more efficient. You’d know where best to make cuts.”
She sat gingerly, gripping her knees. “Well...I’m not really sure. We can’t change the recipes.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He knew how proprietary Gran was of her recipes. She kept them in a binder in her safe at home. She wouldn’t even type them up on the computer, afraid a hacker would somehow steal her life’s work. He’d tried to explain that it didn’t work that way since she didn’t have internet access at home—something he’d soon change—but she was a bit of a Luddite.
Stephanie paused. “I’ve always thought it would save us a little work to prepackage some of the bestselling cookies during the summer months for the tourists, to help move them through more quickly.”
“That’s a good idea.” He wrote it down.
“Labels for the bagged goodies would be nice, too. Like pretty stickers we could put on bags and tie with some gold ribbon.”
That would cost money, and wouldn’t necessarily translate into sales, but he noted it.
She rattled off a few more ideas—most of them were more about how the bakery looked rather than how it functioned, but he agreed the place could use a new coat of paint and maybe a change of curtains. “These are good ideas,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He put his pen down. Now that he had her attention, he needed to make an effort to be friendly. “So what happened to you after high school?” he asked. “We haven’t really talked.”
“You first,” she insisted. “You went to college, right?”
“Harvard Law School,” he confirmed, not without a little pride. He’d received a handsome scholarship and had worked part-time to feed and clothe himself. He’d been inching his way up the corporate ladder at the firm, but when Gran had gotten sick, he’d dropped everything. The truth was, he’d never really been into his job. He was an entrepreneur at heart.
Steph prodded, “No girlfriend?”
That was an awfully personal question. “Nope.”
“No one? Not even someone you’d categorize as ‘It’s complicated’?”
“That sounds exhausting.”
She rested her chin in a hand. “I take it that means no. How about a dog? Cat? Hamster?”
“I’m allergic to animal fur.” Irked by her pitying frown, he added, “I’m not lonely. I date occasionally. I have friends.” And then he felt stupid for getting defensive.
The truth was most of the women he’d been with hadn’t captured his attention. Not the way Steph did, perched on the edge of her chair, her focus on him. She’d always been like that, making you feel as if you were the only person in the world she wanted to talk to. But she’d been manipulative, too, knowing she could get what she wanted if she made you feel special enough.
It infuriated him that he should feel a twinge of attraction now.
“So, what about you?” he asked, turning the questioning back onto her. “Did you go to college?”
Her chin dipped. “No.”
“Oh. I’d have thought you could study anywhere in the world.”
“I didn’t have the grades. Actually, I never finished high school.”
Aaron sucked in a breath. He knew she hadn’t graduated with the rest of their class, but he’d assumed an extra semester would have solved that problem. “How many credits did you have left?”
She picked at her apron strings. “Just one.”
He caught his jaw before it dropped. “And all this time later, you still haven’t completed it?”
“Why bother?” She scowled.
“Why—” He wiped a palm down his face. “You need a high school diploma. That’s a basic requirement for any job.”
“Says who?” She tipped her nose in the air. “I didn’t need one to work here.”
“But...basic math skills...” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say anything about that.
Steph’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘basic math skills’? You think I can’t add or something?”
“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve made some mistakes on the till, is all. I thought maybe...” Lord, he hadn’t intended to bring this up now. He’d had some suspicions, but he hardly knew what to say. Unable to veer off this course, he asked, “You had a hard time in math, didn’t you?”
“Really? We’re going to compare report cards now?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Since you’re asking, I had a hard time in lots of things.” She sniffed. “But I don’t need a piece of paper to prove I can bake.”
“You could at least have gotten your high school equivalency diploma. Don’t you care what people think?”
“Are you judging me?”
“No, of course not.” But he’d taken a second too long to answer, and now she pierced him with a dagger-eyed look.
“You think I’m dumb, don’t you?” Her voice was dangerously low.
Uh-oh. “I never said that. Maybe you have...issues.”
Her expression shifted from angry to stone cold. “What the hell do you mean by issues?”
He hastened to correct himself, not wanting to go into that territory. Not now. “All I meant to say was that a diploma is important.” He struggled to put into words why it was so important—to him at least—but instead he said, “It seems silly to me that you didn’t finish your credits when you were so close.”
“So now I’m silly and stupid.”
He cringed. “What I meant—”
“I’m a good person, y’know. I have skills. Lots of people don’t have diplomas and do fine, Mr. Harvard Law School.”
“Of course you’re a good person.” He fought to keep his exasperation in check. “All I meant was that you could’ve gone to any school...” He took a deep breath. The fact that he’d had to work so hard to get what he wanted while she’d squandered her opportunities made him bitter and frustrated, but that didn’t give him any right to judge her. “Education is important. Basic language and math skills, sciences, geography—”
“Stop explaining things to me like I’m a child!” She shot out of her chair. “I don’t have any issues. I know what I want and I work hard. But you’re never going to see that, are you? You’re always going to look at me like I’m a dumb blonde cheerleader who dropped out of school and will never amount to anything.”
She was being deliberately obtuse, hearing what she wanted to hear so she could be mad at him. He raked his hands through his hair. With a brittle, maddened laugh, he uttered, “One credit and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“That’s right. One credit. And you’re acting like it gives you the right to pick on me. Well, I hope your law degree taught you enough to run this place on your own—” she tore off her apron “—because I quit.”
“What?” Aaron’s heart stopped. He jumped out of his seat. “W-wait a minute—”
She threw her apron against his chest and stalked out of the office. He followed, calling her name. Two customers stared as she grabbed her purse and jacket and marched out.
“Steph, I didn’t mean—”
Her one-fingered salute shut him up.
Aaron stood on the bakery steps as she threw herself into her mini SUV and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up icy gravel in her wake. The cold air seeped through his clothes and into his skin, slowly freezing his blood.
Crap. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_e83d50b2-e071-5ebe-96f2-9734fee4cd63)
STEPHANIE CLENCHED HER JAW, sick to her stomach, heart pounding. As she drove away from Georgette’s, she felt as if someone were digging spadefuls of hurt and bile straight out of her gut.
Twenty minutes later she pulled over, realizing she’d been driving aimlessly, blinded by her need to escape. What was it her old babysitter used to say? Running away won’t solve your problems, Stephanie.
It was too soon to regret, she told herself. This wasn’t her fault. Walking out was the only way to show Aaron she needed to be taken seriously. She wouldn’t stand to be mocked and bellied...belittled.
That, at least, was what she’d tell herself until reality sank in.
She sat in the SUV, hands loose in her lap, the emergency blinkers on. She picked up her cell phone. Calling Maya was out of the question. After the pep talk they’d had, Steph didn’t want to disappoint her. She didn’t want to head back to her apartment yet, either. Stewing at her place alone would only bring the grief home quicker once she acknowledged she was out of a job.
There was only one place she could think of to go. She dialed, and after a brief conversation, turned her SUV back onto the road.
It was half an hour before she arrived. Mom and Dad lived in one of the big houses on the shores of Silver Lake. They had a great view of the water, and they owned a private strip of beach, which was why all the parties back in high school had been at the Stephenses’.
Though it was anything but, today the house looked low and small and sad against the gray-and-white world. The lawn was covered in thin patches of melting snow. Steph pulled into the long, paved driveway and parked in the four-car garage. Her mother met her in the interior doorway, beaming.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” Helen opened her arms in welcome. Steph leaned in for a brief hug, smelling cloves and Chanel No. 5 in her mother’s hair. “I’ve got so much to do, and I could really use your help before your father’s party.”
Steph didn’t reply. She hadn’t mentioned it over the phone, but she had a feeling Mom already had heard about her falling-out with Aaron. Gossip was a professional sport in Everville, and Helen was one of its MVPs. “I’ve got a headache coming on,” Steph said, not in the mood to be interrogated. Sometimes faking it was Steph’s only way to ensure her mother left her alone. “Would you mind...?”
“Of course, baby. Go right up to your room. Lucena’s already put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in your bathroom. Get some rest and I’ll check on you later to see if you want dinner.” She ushered her up the stairs.
Steph shut the bedroom door, and the cold, massive space closed around her. She waited three heartbeats to feel better, to feel safe, to feel that everything was going to be all right.
All she felt, though, was a leaden sense of failure.
* * *
“I’M SCREWED.” ACTUALLY, screwed wasn’t the word he was thinking of, but he was trying to shield Kira’s delicate ears from saltier language. He didn’t want to drive off his only other employee.
“Can’t Georgette come and bake tomorrow’s orders?” she asked hopefully.
Aaron gulped his black coffee and stared at the long list of standing orders. He hadn’t realized how many local businesses they supplied with pastries and desserts. They’d lose a lot of cash if they had to cancel. “My grandmother’s still recovering. I don’t want to trouble her.” He scanned what was left behind the counter. “Pack up what you can from the display case to fill these orders.” He handed her the list. “We’ll make what we have to once we see what we have on hand.”
“What about stock for tomorrow?”
“I’ll deal with it. I don’t suppose you can come in for the rest of the week?”
She bit her lip. “I have classes...”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, then. Come when you can, but don’t you dare skip school.” He paused. “Wait...it’s barely noon. Why aren’t you in school now?”
“I only go part-time.”
He began to ask her why, but decided it wasn’t his business. There were lots of reasons a young person might have for not going to school full-time, and right now having Kira here was a blessing.
He went back to the office and hesitantly picked up the phone. How was he going to explain this to Gran? She’d be furious, and then she’d insist on coming to fill the orders.
He put down the handset. No. He wasn’t going to tell her. Not until he’d found a replacement. The doctor had said it was vital that Gran rest and keep her blood pressure down.
He took a deep breath to calm his own hammering heart. He’d spent his youth in the bakery working alongside Gran, though she hadn’t let him in on her secrets. But he knew where everything was in the kitchen—at least he thought he did. All he needed were the recipes.
Which were in the safe at home. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. Georgette would know right away that something was wrong if he showed up at the house now. He would have to get the binder of recipes tonight after Gran had gone to bed. Well, no problem. He had his smartphone and a great data plan. He’d get some recipes off the internet and make those. They wouldn’t be Gran’s, but they’d be close enough, he was sure. A chocolate chip cookie was a chocolate chip cookie.
He glanced at his watch. If he started now, he could make a few batches. He rolled up his sleeves and headed to the kitchen. He could do this. Stephanie Stephens had, after all. How hard could it possibly be?
* * *
THE SATURDAY OF her father’s birthday party, Steph was tasked with serving punch and cake, even though Helen had hired wait staff for the day. Steph suspected her mom had put her behind the big crystal punch bowl by the window to make sure she was seen by all the guests, including those who knew some eligible bachelors.
She smiled wanly as Helen, dressed in a salmon-colored two-piece suit, picked up a glass of punch. “I still don’t see why you couldn’t have made Georgette’s coconut cake,” she murmured. “It’s for your father, after all. You know he loves her coconut cake.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t make Georgette’s desserts for anyone unless they pay for them.”
“If this was about money, I would’ve paid you.” Helen sniffed.
“And if you’d wanted the cake, you should’ve ordered it from the bakery before I quit. It’s her recipe, and I don’t work for Georgette anymore, so I can’t use it.” She didn’t know why her mother argued with her about this all the time. Helen knew very well Steph had signed a nondisclosure agreement that kept her from sharing her employer’s recipes. In one of her more melodramatic moods, Helen had once claimed her own daughter wouldn’t give her Georgette’s recipes to save her life. To her mother’s everlasting shock, Steph had agreed.
Leaving their argument dangling, Helen trotted away to greet some guests. Steph stifled a yawn. She’d woken up before the crack of dawn, still attuned to her baking schedule. She’d never slept much, but now that her internal clock was thrown off she had a hard time coping.
Truthfully, she worried about what was happening at Georgette’s. She’d stormed out before she’d gotten any of the next day’s baking done. But she snuffed out the impulse to call, because the next thing she knew, she’d be driving there to put a pan of date squares together. She firmly reminded herself that the bakery was no longer her concern. Aaron would have to figure things out himself.
Damn that stupid, stupid man. Calling her on poor math skills? Hitting her where it hurt? What kind of guy did that? He knew she’d struggled through school. Everyone knew. Telling her she had issues...
Well, she didn’t. She’d asked her parents about it once, and they’d assured her absolutely nothing was wrong. She’d simply been a little slower on the uptake.
Slow. As if she really wanted a reminder of how people saw her. Stupid and useless. But not to everyone: Georgette had seen what she could do.
Steph shifted restlessly. She hadn’t called her yet to explain why she’d left. The truth was she was too cowardly. Disappointing Georgette was worse than disappointing anyone else she knew. And she’d done it anyway.
“Pardon me.” A tall man grinned down at her, interrupting her brooding. The sun made his grass-green eyes shine and caught in his gold-brown hair, distilling it to bourbon in its roots. “I’m looking for Helen and Terrence Stephens.”
Steph smiled back. “They should be around here somewhere. I’m their daughter, Stephanie.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He held out a big, weathered hand. “Wyatt Brown. Your folks were kind enough to invite me over to meet the neighbors.” He had the slightest accent, one she couldn’t place.
“Wyatt.” Helen hurried over. “So glad you could come. I see you’ve met my lovely daughter, Stephanie. You can call her Steph.”
Ah. Now Steph understood. This must be the rancher her mother had mentioned.
She gave him a once-over and decided her mother’s taste wasn’t terrible. In a pair of khakis, a green Ralph Lauren sweater and mud-stained loafers, he looked like a model out of a magazine. More Sears catalog than GQ, though. He was one of those big guys whose bodies were built for hard work. Thick muscles bulged as he shifted, stretching his clothes in interesting ways. Compared to the rancher, Aaron was a stick. Not that she was comparing the two.
Helen handed the rancher a glass of punch. “Stephanie, come out from behind there and show Wyatt around the house, won’t you? I’ll go get your father.” With that, she flitted off.
Real subtle, Mom. “Sorry about that. She can get overly enthusiastic at times.”
“I don’t mind.” His relaxed air put her at ease. He didn’t push, which was nice, but he wasn’t backing off, either. “Your mother’s talked a lot about you. Good things only, I promise.”
She was sure her mom hadn’t ever had a bad thing to say about her daughter to anyone.
She led Wyatt on a tour of the house with its many guest rooms, offices and her mother’s craft room. It had always seemed too big for the three of them, but they had friends stay over frequently. She and Wyatt chatted as they made their way back to the party. “My mom mentioned you’re a rancher and that you just moved here.”
“My folks have an operation in Australia, but we’re from Montana originally. I wanted to branch out, so I bought a nice piece of land not too far from here. We’re getting our first heads of cattle next week.”
“That sounds interesting.”
He chuckled. “You don’t have to be polite. Most people glaze over the moment I start talking shop.”
She stifled a laugh. Mom had always told her to look interested even if she had no idea what a person was saying, but she was glad she didn’t have to pretend too hard. Wyatt went on, “You’re a baker, right?”
“Well...I was.” She looked down.
“What happened?”
“I kind of...quit.” Ugh. She sounded like a total flake.
“What made you leave?”
“It’s a long story.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up, revealing a dimple. “I’ve got time.”
She shuffled her feet, embarrassed she’d even brought it up. “Well, it’s this guy...my boss, I guess you could say. He’s taking over Georgette’s Bakery—”
His eyes lit up. “That’s the place everyone keeps telling me to visit.”
“Oh, yeah. Bar none, the best baked goods in a hundred miles. People come in droves on the weekend and—” She stopped suddenly. This was the first weekend she hadn’t worked in months. Years, even. At this time of day, she’d be baking for Sunday. Regret gnawed at her and she worried her lower lip. “Anyhow, we don’t agree on some things.”
“About the business?”
“Well, that, and he thinks I’m stupid.”
His face darkened. “He said that?”
She winced, drawing out her response. “Not exactly.” She hugged her elbows. “But I know he thinks it. We went to high school together and he used to have a crush on me...” Good Lord, why was she even telling him this?
Wyatt’s crooked smile was knowing. “I take it you didn’t return the feeling?”
“I had a boyfriend at the time. Aaron was nice and all, but he was...” The word that automatically came to mind was pathetic. Dale had called him that a lot—a pathetic loser. Aaron had always been kind of intense around her, breathing down her neck to make sure she copied and returned his notes instead of letting her take them home, and looming over her to return those pens that one day. “Well, he wasn’t my type.”
Wyatt smirked. “So you think he’s getting back at you now?”
“Maybe.” She released another huff. “No. I don’t think he’s being mean intentionally. I think he thinks because I didn’t graduate and I’m still here in Everville and never went to college...” She was babbling. Mom had always warned her about boring people. She tossed her hair and gave a weak laugh. “I’m overthinking it. I’m sure it must sound silly to you.”
“It’s not silly to want to do something with your life that makes you happy,” he said seriously. “And from what I gather, this job made you happy.”
“It did.” Her shoulders slumped. “I screwed that up.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “If you love something enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”
She dipped her head self-consciously. Wyatt was only being nice, she told herself, though awfully touchy-feely considering they’d just met. “Thanks. I guess I need time to process it.”
“Oh, look at you two!” Helen bustled up, face radiant. “I’m so glad you’re hitting it off. Didn’t I say she’d like you, Wyatt? You two are perfect for each other!”
Steph dropped the rancher’s hand as if it were a live grenade, blushing furiously. She wasn’t feeling anything beyond the beginnings of a friendship with Wyatt. He was a nice guy who’d been patient enough to listen to her ramble. That was all.
“Leave those two alone, Helen. You’ll scare the poor man off.” Steph’s father strode up and vigorously shook Wyatt’s hand in greeting. Steph had inherited his sturdy height and kind eyes, as well as his brass-blond hair, though his was going a distinguished silver at the temples. A splash of barbecue sauce glistened on his white shirt collar. When Helen spotted it, she exclaimed loudly and attacked him with a napkin.
“Happy birthday, Terrence,” the rancher said above Helen’s head. “You have a lovely home and a wonderful family. You’re a lucky man.”
“It’s true.” He gently extricated himself from his wife’s fussing. “Come on, I want you to meet some people.” He led him off, leaving Steph with her mother.
Helen crushed her fingers in her grip. “He’s nice, right? Didn’t I say he was?”
Steph shook her off. “He’s fine. But stop pushing for something that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? Didn’t he tell you about his ranch? The man owns three hundred acres south of Everville, prime real estate. He’s worth upwards of a hundred million, you know.”
“Mom!” Steph was appalled. Her mother wasn’t usually this shallow. “How can you talk about him like some kind of...gold digger?”
Helen gave her a pooh-pooh look. “Nice is nice, but honey sweetens the pot. I’m simply looking out for you, baby.”
Steph glared. She grabbed her mother’s arm and tugged her into the empty den, temper reaching the boiling point. “I’ve told you, I’m not ready for a serious relationship.”
Her mother folded her arms. “I don’t see why not. You’ve quit your job. How else are you going to fill your time?”
Steph stared, so exasperated her mind had gone totally blank. She counted backward from five before she settled both trembling hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Mom. I’m an adult. I know you mean well, but you need to stay out of my personal life.”
Her mother inhaled sharply. She drew herself up and lifted her soft chin high. “I’d think you’d be more grateful for all the opportunities we’ve given you.”
Steph took two steps back, fingers curling. There was that tone again, the one everyone used to imply she was obligated to live up to their standards. She wanted to yell at her mother, but it was her father’s birthday, and she didn’t want to make a scene.
“I can’t talk to you right now.” Before she could say anything she’d regret, she hastened out onto the back deck and dug her nails into the wood railing, suppressing the scream climbing up her throat.
Gradually, her fury drained out of her as a damp gust of wind penetrated her dress and sapped away the heat of her anger. The lake glistened cold and silver beneath the pale orb of the sun. Its struggle to shine through the cloud cover was a flickering promise of warmer spring days ahead, but at the moment all she could see were the dirty, desolate snow drifts and ice-crusted puddles of mud.
The door closed quietly behind her. “Everything all right?” It was Wyatt. She didn’t really want to talk to him right now, not while her mother was pushing him at her. Any indication of interest—of which she could honestly say she had little—would only encourage Helen to drag out the pageant. They’d invite him over for dinner, then force him to spend time alone with her under some pretense. It’d happened before.
“I needed some fresh air.” She tried to keep her tone cool without being rude. He didn’t need to know about her argument with Mom. But either Wyatt didn’t get her message or was too gentlemanly to leave her alone. He pulled his sweater over his head and—good Lord, he was all muscles beneath his shirt—draped it across her shoulders. It smelled like leather and lemons.
“Thanks.” It seemed rude to refuse it.
Wyatt leaned against the railing. “Look, I want to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I think I came on too strong. To your parents.”
Steph blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He rubbed his chin and chuckled ruefully. “This...this is going to sound crazy.” He sucked in a breath as if steeling himself. “I’ve spent my whole life helping my folks on their ranch to the exclusion of everything else, which is how I found myself at age forty-two single and childless. I don’t mean to sound like a sad and lonely cowboy...but I haven’t gone on a lot of dates.” He peeked over at her. “This is the part where you start to get suspicious.”
A handsome, rich cowboy like Wyatt didn’t date? “Suspicious, no. Surprised, yes.”
“There’ve been women. Just not women I was really all that into, or who were more into my family’s money than they were into me.” He scratched the side of his nose. “When I met your parents at the country club and got to know them, they seemed like really great people. They mentioned you a lot. They didn’t know I was single at the time...but after a bit, I told them I wanted to meet you.”
A prickly feeling climbed up her arms, as if the sweater were creeping over her skin. She furtively shrugged it off her shoulders so it clung loosely to her elbows. “Um. Okay.”
“Look, I don’t want to sound weird. We’ve just met, but...I like you.”
“That’s...” Clumsy words weighed down her tongue. Too many confusing thoughts assailed her, first and foremost being that this was not something she wanted to hear right now. But instead of saying so, she said, “Thank you. I like you, too.”
Smile lines carved pleasant valleys into his sun-weathered face. “I’d like for us to get to know each other better.”
“Oh. Well...” Her pointed words of warning to back off wouldn’t come as easily with Wyatt as they had with her mother. She knew she should tell him she wasn’t interested, but the guy was too damned nice. The worst part was that despite his other attractive qualities, nice was the only word that kept coming to mind.
“I know I’m moving too fast.” He took a step back, hands raised. “But I’ll admit I like what I see and hear. And frankly, I’m not the kind of man who has the time or patience to play games.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Might as well go for broke.” He blew out a breath and looked her full in the face. “My parents are getting older. I’m looking for someone to settle down with, and I mean to start my family as soon as possible.”
Steph choked on a breath she tried to inhale and swallow at the same time. She supposed she should appreciate how up-front he was being, but alarm bells sounded a warning in the back of her mind. Maybe at some other point in her life, she would have loved hearing those words, but not now and not from Wyatt.
She coughed and cleared her throat. “Look, Wyatt...you seem like a great guy. Really.” The corners of her mouth strained as she tried to lift her lips. “But I’ve told my mother the same thing I’m going to tell you. I’m still trying to find myself. And I don’t think I can do that if I’m with another person right now.”
“I’m not hearing an absolute no.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I need time to figure things out for me.”
He tilted his chin down, thinking. “All right. I’ll give you time.” He pushed off the railing and touched his forelock as if he were wearing a broad-brimmed cowboy hat. “If you wouldn’t mind some advice...?”
Warily, she said, “Go on.”
“They say do what you love, the rest will follow. But if that were true, I’d be sleeping and eating Wagyu beefsteaks at all hours of the day.” He chuckled. “If you want to be a success, you gotta do what you have to do before you get to do what you love. Pay your dues, as it were. It isn’t always pretty or fun, but it’ll make what you love all that much sweeter in the end.”
He was talking about her job. It was almost a relief to hear after their intense relationship talk. He wasn’t even being condo...condescending. And his advice made sense.
A little salt to bring out the sweetness—that was something Georgette had taught her early on when it came to baking. “Thanks. That’s helpful, actually.”
“I’m glad. I’ll let you think about that,” he said, then flashed a grin. “But I suspect you’ll see more of me soon.”
He went back indoors, leaving her alone on the deck once more. Steph’s chills deepened. She started to pull the sweater around her, but then stopped herself. She took it off and headed back into the party.
The rancher was right. She had to make things happen for herself. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted by wishing for it. Everything came at a price, and she had to be willing to pay it. It looked as though she was going to have to eat crow if she was ever going to own Georgette’s.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_20aaf2bd-01e1-5dbc-a231-8909bd977324)
“MRS. LAWLER CALLED and said the chocolate chip cookies she ordered on Friday weren’t the ones we usually sell.” Georgette’s tone over the phone had all the pointedness of an awl gouging into Aaron’s good intentions.
He broke out in a sweat, pressing himself into the office chair as if he could disappear in the crumb-filled seams of the vinyl upholstery. He’d tried to keep this conversation from happening since Stephanie had left two days ago, but his time and luck had run out. “I know. I used a different recipe.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” Gran asked sharply.
“We were out of cookies. I had to whip up something I could make—”
“But those aren’t Georgette’s cookies. People don’t come to the bakery to get something they can make from an online recipe.”
“I know, I know.” He hadn’t thought his cookies had turned out that bad, even if they were a little hard and lacked the smooth, melt-in-your-mouth texture his grandmother’s were famous for.
He hadn’t had time to make another batch, though. All day Friday and well into the evening he’d thrown together recipes from the internet to fill the standing orders while Kira took care of the customers out front. By Saturday, all the premade pastries and batters had been used up and he found himself saying, “Sorry, we’re sold out” more often than “Thank you. Come again.”
Worse yet, he hadn’t been able to get the recipe binder from the safe—Gran had changed the code, and he couldn’t ask her for it without telling her why. Now they were almost completely out of stock, and he was scrambling to prep inventory for Monday. Flour dusted his running shoes and batter was caked on his jeans. He ached head to toe, and the lack of sleep after only two days was taking its toll.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t ask Stephanie to make more cookies.” Georgette waited for his explanation, and Aaron finally relented with a sigh.
“Stephanie quit on Friday.”
“Yes. I know.”
He sank deeper into the chair. He hadn’t really expected to keep such a huge secret in small-town Everville, but he’d hoped... “So you heard.”
“Betty told me when she came for tea yesterday. She said Stephanie stormed out in quite a mood. I thought I’d wait to hear the truth from you.” Every word lashed him with razor-sharp reproof. “How long were you planning to keep it from me?”
“I didn’t think you needed to know. I can handle it. You should be resting and recovering.”
“Don’t give me that,” she snapped. “That is my business, Aaron. I’m grateful that you want to take care of things. I put a lot of faith in you, waiting as long as I have to see how you’d solve this problem. But I told you from the start, didn’t I? You need Stephanie. You were supposed to work together.”
“Things didn’t work out.”
His grandmother’s stony silence on the other end of the line told him that was not a satisfactory explanation.
“And what, exactly, are you going to do for inventory?” she asked.
“Well, since renos are happening anyhow, we could close up for a week or two. It’ll give me time to interview for a replacement baker.”
“A replacement?” She said it as if he’d proposed they grind bones for flour. “Absolutely not!”
“Gran, be reasonable.”
“You don’t understand. I trained Stephanie. I trusted her with my secrets. I’m not going to hand over my recipes willy-nilly to some stranger. We’ve no guarantee they won’t take everything they’ve learned and start their own bakeshop in town.”
“You didn’t have that guarantee with Stephanie,” he pointed out.
He could almost feel her imperious glare through the handset. “Loyalty isn’t something you can teach, Aaron. It’s bred into you. Stephanie would’ve stayed if I’d asked her to.”
Would she have? Aaron wasn’t so sure. He’d been rude and downright patronizing toward her. He hadn’t meant to insult her. He simply couldn’t stand it when things were left unfinished.
One credit. That was all she’d needed. And he’d made a huge deal of it instead of dropping it and appreciating what she could do. Like keep the bakery in business.
Boy, had he ever screwed this up. He never would have anticipated Steph quitting over his stupid comments. He wanted to blame her for being overly sensitive and taking his words too personally. He’d only meant to be helpful, after all. Making suggestions that would increase efficiency and cut costs had served him well in his old job, but that tactic didn’t work here. Steph was a person, not a business. She’d taken his criticism personally because it was personal. And he’d completely disregarded her pride.
He heard something thump on the other end of the line. “I’ll have to come in tomorrow morning to fill the orders.”
“Gran, you should be resting.”
“I can’t relax knowing my bakery is falling apart and my customers aren’t happy. I’m likely to have another stroke worrying and not doing anything about it.”
“Your blood pressure’s still too high. What if you fall or hurt yourself? You can’t lift all those heavy bowls and sacks of flour on your own.”
“And you can’t bake to save your life,” she shot back. “Listen to this. You hear it?” There was a loud tapping noise on the other end of the line. “Those are the cookies you sold Mrs. Lawler. God forbid I let you fill Monday’s orders. I may be old and my brain might be weary, but I still remember I’ll need to make three pies for Bartlett’s, two cakes for Sealy’s Bistro, and a flan for Mrs. Hendrick’s birthday. Do you know how to make flan?”
Aaron conceded that he did not.
“I’m going to bed now,” Georgette said waspishly. “I’ve an early start tomorrow, and you’re going to drive me to work.” She hung up, her anger and disappointment echoing in his ears.
He rested his head in his hands. He was supposed to be making Gran’s life easier, but instead he’d made a mess.
Kira appeared at his office door. “Hey, Aaron?”
“What’s up?”
Her fingers curled around the door frame. “Something’s come up. Would it be okay if I left early?”
He frowned. “I really need you here, Kira. What’s so important that you have to leave right now?”
“Family emergency.” She glanced at her toes. “Please, I really have to go. I’m sorry.”
The anxious look on her face said she wasn’t kidding around, so he waved her off. They were closing soon and no one was coming in anyhow. She thanked him and dashed out, backpack slung over one shoulder, her hairnet still clinging to her head.
He rubbed his temples. If Gran wasn’t going to trust her recipes to a replacement baker, he didn’t have any choice. He needed to get Stephanie back. He had a feeling it would cost him more than his ego, though.
* * *
AFTER HER FATHER’S birthday party, Stephanie returned to her apartment. She’d had enough coddling from her mother and was eager to be back in her own space. She was going to suck it up and get back her job at Georgette’s.
First things first: she had to organize herself. Making to-do lists would line up all her priorities. When she was a kid her babysitter, Kitty, had been all about lists, and she’d gotten her into the habit. She took out her phone and started typing, saying the words out loud as if it would commit her to the cause.
“One. Buy school supplies.” She’d left most of her old notebooks and the like back at her parents’ place. She might be able to dig them up, but she’d be more motivated to work if she had all new stuff. It was like working out in new gym clothes. Besides, it was an easy task, and Kitty had always said accomplishing small things would help get the ball rolling on bigger projects. She could get the basics downstairs at the pharmacy...or maybe she’d drive to a big-box store and get some new jeans while she was there.
She typed in her second goal: “Two. Buy jeans.” It was important that she treat herself now and again, after all, and she’d had a rough couple of days.
Number three on her list was a little more complicated. “Get high school diploma.” She typed it slowly and stared at the item.
Simple. Yeah. She wouldn’t even have to finish that one credit Aaron had harped on about. She could do a high school equivalency test and shove that piece of paper in his face.
She sucked a breath between her teeth. No, she was going to be mature about this. Getting her diploma wasn’t about Aaron. It wasn’t. And he hadn’t forced her out of Georgette’s, either. She’d walked out on her own. If she really wanted her job back, she was going to have to be honest with herself and her employer about it.
That was number four. She typed it out as she declared it to the empty room. “Get...job...back.”
Right. She looked at her list and decided now was as good a time as any to get things done. Carpet denim, or whatever that saying was.
She drove to the Target in the next town, picked up a package of lined paper, a couple of binders, a pretty notebook, some gel pens, pencils, erasers and a stylish pencil case, along with a sharp new teal-blue backpack. Oh, she’d missed back-to-school shopping.
She spent some time picking out a pair of jeans, and then added a couple of new spring tops and a pair of espadrilles.
She walked out of the store and started the drive home. Two out of four things done on her list. Pretty productive, if she did say so herself.
Before heading back to her apartment, Steph stopped at Maya’s consignment shop. She’d told her briefly about meeting Wyatt, but still hadn’t said anything about quitting Georgette’s. She hoped to get her job back before Maya found out.
The bell above the door jangled. The familiar mixed scents of old leather, patchouli and mothballs were strangely comforting.
Steph made a beeline for the back room, where she found Maya steam-ironing a silk blouse. “Hey, you.” The shopkeeper hung up the steam wand. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“I took a day off to get some errands done.” The lie came too easily, pricking Steph’s conscience. “Actually, I came to ask you a favor. I want to get my diploma—my GED or whatever it’s called now. But I’m not sure how to do it.”
“That’s great.” Maya’s tentative smile should’ve made Steph feel indignant rather than sad. It’d always galled her when people told her what she could and couldn’t do. But Maya had witnessed her give up on a lot of projects: learning to play the guitar, rock-climbing lessons and knitting classes, to name a few. She had a right to be cautiously optimistic. “I’m sure you can find lots of study guides and stuff online.”
“I haven’t looked yet. I only made the decision today. What I meant was...”
“You need someone to help you study.”
Steph ducked her chin down. “I know you’re busy, but this is something I really want.”
“Of course I’ll help.” Maya squeezed her friend’s shoulders. “You should totally go for your diploma. To be honest, though, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I wasn’t exactly a straight-A student.”
“But you know how to get things done, and I need that more than anything.” Steph knew she lost focus easily and would give up in frustration when things got too hard. “I need you to breathe down my neck and make sure I do my homework. It’ll only be one night a week to make sure I stay on track. I promise to keep you in cookies and pies until I pass.”
Maya gave a snort of laughter. “Wow, my hips won’t thank you for that. But if you promise to stick with it, then you can count on me to scream at you like a drill sergeant.”
“Thank you.” She hugged her tight. “I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You know I can be a taskmaster.” She held her away. “Topic change. You owe me some gossip. Has this Wyatt guy called you yet?” Maya prodded slyly.
“It’s only been, like, two days. Don’t guys usually wait at least three?”
“From what you told me, it sounded like he was raring to go.” Maya snickered. “I bet he’ll ask you out sometime this week.”
Steph shrugged. “Well, he’s nice, but...”
“Nice butt is all I need to hear.” Maya slipped on her cat’s-eye glasses as she hung the blouse on a rack. “Tell me honestly—is he hideous or something?”
“No, he’s pretty good-looking. Great body. Kinda like if Bradley Cooper and Hugh Jackman had a love child.”
Maya gaped and fluttered her lashes. “You’re sure you don’t want to date him? ’Cause if you don’t, I will.”
“You’re welcome to him. Honestly, I’ve got other things on my mind.”
Maya peered closely at her. “Like getting your diploma? Does this have something to do with Aaron Caruthers?”
Steph flinched. “No.”
Maya waited, crossing her arms over her chest. Steph exhaled gruffly.
“Okay, maybe. I want him to stop thinking I’m stupid.”
Her friend frowned severely. “You’re not stupid, Steph. You have to stop saying that about yourself.”
Steph grimaced. The truth was there were times she felt dumb. Sometimes she had trouble understanding what people were saying. She’d think she was listening only to realize that she wasn’t, and was too embarrassed to ask for clarification. In her freshman year of high school, she’d asked her geography teacher, Mr. Wiltshire, to repeat something she hadn’t understood. He’d called her a “bimbo” and an “airhead” who should stick to cheerleading.
She got that some people, teachers included, had a hate-on for the “popular kids,” the ones who got special treatment because of their status on sports teams. But Mr. Wiltshire had been exceptionally judgmental. For a moment there, Aaron had reminded her of him, with his disapproving looks and buttoned-up facade. He’d made her remember the difference between her and the other kids in school.
Maybe that was why she’d left Georgette’s, even after she’d told herself she wouldn’t. She’d thought he was making fun of her, so she’d bolted. It’d always been easier to give up than risk failure and utter humiliation.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/vicki-essex/a-recipe-for-reunion/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Vicki Essex
Second time's the charm! Nothing about working with his former high school crush, Stephanie Stephens, is ideal. Still, if Aaron Caruthers intends to save his grandmother's bakery, he must. Good thing he has a lot of ideas he can't wait to implement. He never imagines Stephanie would have her own ideas for the business. Or that they would clash with his!It doesn't take working with her long for Aaron to realize his impression of Stephanie as a helpless ex-cheerleader is way off. And the more of her kindness and strength he sees, the more attracted he is! Now to convince her…
Second time’s the charm!
Nothing about working with his former high school crush, Stephanie Stephens, is ideal. Still, if Aaron Caruthers intends to save his grandmother’s bakery, he must. Good thing he has a lot of ideas he can’t wait to implement. He never imagines Stephanie would have her own ideas for the business. Or that they would clash with his!
It doesn’t take working with her long for Aaron to realize his impression of Stephanie as a helpless ex-cheerleader is way off. And the more of her kindness and strength he sees, the more attracted he is! Now to convince her…
It was freezing out here.
Maybe Aaron had trapped Stephanie on the porch deliberately so that she’d agree to his terms quickly. “What’s your grandmother’s stake in the business?”
“She owns the whole shebang. I’m basically acting as her business manager.”
“So only she can fire me.”
Aaron opened his mouth to form an objection, but then closed it. “Yes. She’s our boss.”
It must’ve killed him not to have seniority over her. If anything, she should have seniority over him.
“All right,” she said, holding out her hand. “Consider me your new assistant manager.”
Relief flooded Aaron’s stormy eyes. As he squeezed and pumped her hand, a pulse of something thick and hot blew through her.
Oh, no. Hell, no. She was not attracted to Aaron Caruthers. They weren’t just out of each other’s leagues; they were playing different sports.
Dear Reader (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06),
Welcome back to Everville, New York, the town where my second book, Back to the Good Fortune Diner (Mills & Boon Superromance, January 2013), was set. I’ve gone back in time to a few months before Tiffany arrived to tell the story of how the county’s best roadside bakeshop became the very popular Georgette’s Bakery and Books.
Everville’s motto is The Town That Endures. To me, enduring means accepting change. As the wife of a civics nut, I enjoy learning about what makes communities work. As the town evolves, so, too, do the lives of Aaron Caruthers and Stephanie Stephens—the bookworm and the cheerleader who never thought they could be a match.
I love to hear from readers! Visit me on Facebook, Twitter (@VickiEssex (https://twitter.com/vickiessex)) and my website, vickiessex.com (http://www.vickiessex.com), and watch out for more stories from Everville!
Happy reading!
Vicki Essex
A Recipe for Reunion
Vicki Essex
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
VICKI ESSEX likes eating baked goods, but isn’t great at baking them. She loves books, and isn’t a bad hand at writing them. To be showered with cookies, say hello to her at vickiessex.com (http://www.vickiessex.com), find her on facebook.com/vickiessexauthor (https://www.facebook.com/vickiessexauthor) and follow her on Twitter: @VickiEssex (https://twitter.com/vickiessex).
I’d like to thank my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for being awesomely supportive and for really grokking me. *cookies*
Thanks to my editor, Karen Reid, whose insights are always, always helpful.
And as always, thank you to my darling, brilliant husband, John, whose magnificent brain inspired Aaron’s eclectic tastes and polymathic genius. I couldn’t do this without you, magoo.
Contents
Cover (#u4d008f8a-1daa-5065-a6b5-029ecc412c7d)
Back Cover Text (#u74a420f3-95a3-5921-901d-405b35aae8d3)
Introduction (#uff8d453f-6c47-5679-af1d-1be4c688aa31)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#u62f5e4a8-e571-5aae-97d5-986075ec7f43)
About the Author (#u08915275-8918-5967-bf5f-a35a4a4620b8)
Dedication (#u41ea3c1c-1454-5ea4-8f2f-3ce1ef69a78e)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06)
Two months ago...
NO ONE WAS eating her goodies.
Stephanie racked her brain trying to figure out why. She’d baked all the treats herself, tailoring each recipe to meet her friends’ varied preferences and dietary restrictions: gluten-free chocolate cupcakes and dairy-free carrot muffins; nut-free cookies, a plate of soy-free bite-size brownies and three different pies because Lilian didn’t like lemon meringue, Susan loathed pecan and Karen thought apple was “boring.”
The last time she’d seen all her high school girlfriends together had been Christmas four years ago. Yet, instead of being excited, a weird sense of disappointment had dogged her all evening. While everyone else was busy chatting, talking over each other like a gaggle of geese, she got the feeling that if she waded into the fray, she’d be nibbled and pecked to death.
But she had volunteered to host this holiday shindig, so she couldn’t hide behind the food forever. Steph brightened her smile and picked up a plate of sugar cookies, painstakingly frosted in B. H. Everett High’s blue and gold. Brandishing the treats and armed with good cheer, she circulated. She might not be the best convocation...conservation...talker, but she was a damned good baker.
“Well, it’s not like I don’t want to come back to Everville,” she heard Janny say wistfully. “But Mark’s job is in Cleveland, and my business is flourishing. I wouldn’t have clients here.”
“Yes, nice as it is to come home, I’d never move back,” Cristina proclaimed. “Rumor is the property values in town are taking a dive. I’m not sure about the new mayor, either—I mean, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Bob Fordingham, but at least we knew what to expect from him.”
“Cookie?” Steph thrust the plate out. Janny and Cristina each politely took one.
“Steph, we were just talking about the new mayor,” Cristina said. “Cheyenne Welks, right? What’s she like?”
She shrugged. “What’s to tell? She comes to Georgette’s every day at eight for a large black coffee and usually gets a plain croissant.”
“But I mean what are her policies like?” Cristina clarified. “I’ve heard that she’s been spending a lot on infrastructure—like that big water main project.”
“Oh, I don’t really follow politics,” she said. She’d noticed all the construction in town, of course, but she didn’t have to drive through it on her way to work so she didn’t pay it much attention. “But she’s really nice.”
Cristina touched her arm. “Thanks for hosting, by the way. It’s nice of your parents to let us hang out here, considering all the times we’ve trashed their home.”
“As long as we don’t throw up in the pool again,” Janny added jokingly.
“Like old times, eh? Glad to know some things’ll never change.” Steph found herself inexplicably irritated as Cristina bit into her cookie. “Mmm. This is good. Catered?”
Steph perked up. “I baked them.”
“Oh.” Her long lashes flickered. “Still working at Georgette’s then?”
“Yeah.”
Silence dropped between them as heavily as an anchor. “She’s still...around?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know anyone who’s as energetic as she is at her age. She’ll outlive us all.” She laughed a little too loudly. This was the third time she’d answered this question today. In fact, if her friends’ queries were any indication, her life could be summed up in three statements.
I work at Georgette’s.
I’ve been there five years now.
Yes, Georgette’s still alive.
“So, what are you guys up to?” she asked to relieve the silence that stretched between them like yeasty dough.
Cristina launched into the story of her life—college, husband, career in interior design, a vacation in Hawaii, plans for kids. Janny’s story was nearly as glamorous—two daughters, a house and a massage therapy practice in Cleveland.
Steph took it all in with a smile, clutching the plate of cookies as she suppressed her envy. Years ago she would’ve lightly punched her friends in the arm and exclaimed, “So jealous!” It was hard to joke about it now.
As she moved off, she reminded herself it’d been her choice to stay in Everville, that her family was here and that she loved the town and working for Georgette. Okay, so she wasn’t living in the big corner house on King Street that Mr. Merkl owned, the way she’d always dreamed, with three kids, a dog, a cat and a swing set. But it hadn’t been her fault that Dale hadn’t kept his promise to marry her after college. Still, everything she needed was right here in her hometown. She should be happy.
She was happy.
“I’m catching the red-eye back to LA,” she overheard Cindy say as she approached. “With the wedding coming, my condo renos and my practice on the go, I’ve got way too much happening to stick around here.”
“You’re going to have a heart attack if you keep up this pace,” Teri warned.
Cindy snickered. “I live for interesting times. I can sleep when I’m dead.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Steph interjected, passing the cookies around. “I like my sleep way too much.”
Cindy tipped her head side to side, declining a cookie. “You have to keep moving if you want to stay on top. LA’s not like Everville.”
Steph quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, c’mon. You’ve been all over the place. You know that small-town upper New York State isn’t exactly a busy cultural and business hub. Frankly, I’d go nuts if I had to come back here permanently. I mean, everything here opens at ten and closes at six.”
“I’m up at four every morning to bake,” Steph said stiffly, belatedly realizing her schedule had nothing to do with the rest of the town’s business hours.
Cindy’s smile was toothy and unflinching. “Good for you.”
It was her tone that had grated on her, Steph concluded much later, after everyone had gone home and she was left to clean up the half-empty wineglasses and leftovers. Everyone had con...condo...condensation...
Given me that pitying attitude, she huffed. They’d all used that tone that said, “You poor thing, working like a dog, stuck in Everville and not even married!”
It was ridiculous, she knew, to even think any of her friends thought that about her. She couldn’t know for sure what any of them felt.
And she hadn’t expected those strange, sorry looks. The girls of the cheerleading squad whom she’d once considered sisters had all grown up, branched out and moved on. They’d changed, and they saw her as still living in the past. She’d always thought she was a good judge of character, but she didn’t know them anymore, and they didn’t know her. Why had she insisted on this reunion? Nostalgia? Loneliness?
“Leave those.” Helen Stephens nodded at the empty glasses in her hand. “I’ll call Lucena and have her clean up.”
“I can do it, Mom.” Stephanie loaded the stemware into the dishwasher. “I’m not dragging Lucena in on her day off. I had the party here, so I’ll be the one to clean.”
Helen’s brow furrowed as if she was worried her only daughter might trip and fall on a wineglass. “I just don’t want you to wear yourself out.” Her expression eased as she beamed around the house. “You did such a lovely job with all the decorations and food—” she gestured toward the console table in the foyer “—but you forgot to hand out your treat bags.”
Steph sucked in her lower lip. As everyone was leaving, there’d been so much chaos as her friends scrambled for their coats and purses that Steph had nearly forgotten all about her take-home party favors. Many of her friends had refused anyway because they were on diets or “couldn’t have those around the house.” The statement baffled her. Who couldn’t have cookies around the house? But she didn’t press the matter. She wasn’t about to admit she’d taken their rejection personally, either.
“I’ll bring them to the seniors’ home tomorrow,” Steph said. Then she pictured the residents reaching for the plates only to remember their blood pressure, their sugar intake, their weak stomachs and numerous food allergies. The nurses probably would have to throw out the treats to ensure no one tried their luck.
Steph had spent three whole days baking twelve dozen cookies, all of them her original recipes.
They were her life’s work—and they’d been rejected. Dismissed.
Like Steph.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Helen laid a hand on her daughter’s arm, and Steph snapped out of her haze.
“Nothing.” She looked away to hide her sudden tears. “Maybe I am a little tired.”
Helen drew her away from the table. “Then leave this all for tomorrow. Lucena can take care of it—that’s what we pay her for.” She urged Steph toward the stairs. “Go take a nice hot shower and get some rest. You don’t want bags under your eyes.”
“But, Mom...” She nearly tripped as her mother hustled her along.
“Go on, baby.” She stopped abruptly and cupped Steph’s cheek, an almost manic look of love shining in her face. “As long as you live under this roof, you don’t have to worry about a thing.” The words were uttered in a low coo, but Steph felt something more behind them this time, as if her mother knew exactly what was wrong and would fix everything.
That’s what she did. She fixed everything.
Helen shooed her up the stairs the same way she had throughout Steph’s high school years. As fast as Steph climbed, though, she felt as though she were sinking deeper into the rut of her life. In the seven-hundred-square-foot suite that was her bedroom, she shut the door behind her and leaned against the door frame.
Cold winter light gleamed off all the surfaces. Her mom had filled the suite with mirrored furniture, saying how she loved the way it made her daughter look like a queen standing in her diamond palace. Steph had loved it, too, but right now she thought the room looked sterile, the light casting weird shadows across the walls and distorting her image in every reflection.
It used to be easy to simply go to her room and whittle away her worries with a manicure while watching a DVD, followed by a shopping trip into town. That’s what she’d done since she was a teen.
But she wasn’t a teen anymore. She was thirty...and still living at home with a closet full of designer clothes, the latest in home fashions and anything else she could ever want or ask for. She had a job to give her days meaning and show the world she wasn’t just a princess waiting for her prince to sweep her away. She volunteered at the old folks’ home and at many charity events her parents supported. She had a well-padded bank account, a pretty nice car, a loving family and not a care in the world.
But it wasn’t enough.
Something had to change.
Now.
* * *
“I’M SEVENTEEN MINUTES AWAY,” Aaron Caruthers declared over the hands-free cell phone, keeping the rumbling U-Haul truck at a steady forty-five miles per hour along the gray, slush-slickened road. His life’s possessions rattled around the interior, and he winced every time he hit a pothole. He hoped he’d used enough bubble wrap.
“Oh, Aaron, you didn’t need to call me to tell me that. I’d rather you have all your focus on the road.” Georgette Caruthers’s tone held a note of anxiety only her grandson could detect above her voice’s buttery warmth.
“I didn’t want you worrying. Traffic was heavier than expected out of Boston, and I stopped to help a lady change her tire just outside the city.”
“Well, aren’t you the superhero?” His grandmother chuckled, each word curling with the slight English inflection she’d never shaken. “Was she pretty? Did you get a phone number?”
He laughed. “She was married and very pregnant. I actually stopped because her baby bump flagged me down.”
“You’re a good boy, Aaron. Thanks for calling. I’ll have a nice cup of coffee and your favorite bran muffin waiting.”
“You’re the best, Gran. See you soon.” He hung up and focused on driving, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Even though the road here had been paved and widened, with additional barriers, signs and reflective markers delineating the solid cliff face rising up on the turn, Aaron always took this particular stretch slowly. He never took chances here—or anywhere, for that matter. He brought the truck down to thirty, leaned on his horn as he made the turn to alert any oncoming drivers, then sped up once more as he caromed around the corner.
His shoulders gradually slackened, the tension draining away as he moved past the spot where his parents had been killed in a car accident. He hated that stretch of the highway. He could’ve taken the long route to avoid it, but frankly, that road wasn’t any safer. At least he knew exactly what to expect on this route to Everville and how to deal with any emergency that might crop up.
Fourteen minutes later, the truck rumbled past a new hand-painted sign that said Welcome to Everville: The Town That Endures. He slowed as downtown hove into view. The buildings were painted blue-gray by the early evening light, prettily framed between wrought iron latticework streetlamps and small piles of flecked snow. As he pulled onto Main Street, the pavement gave way to gray-brown mud and gravel that splashed and scattered beneath his tires. Bright orange pylons and construction signs jutted from the ground like oversize, mutated flowers in a post-apocalyptic small-town Americana landscape. His gran had said the town was undergoing a massive renovation as the old sewer mains and pipes were replaced. It was a good thing his grandmother’s bakery was on the road outside town; he couldn’t imagine how this construction affected businesses in the area.
Change is good, he reminded himself. Even if it was a little scary.
Gran’s house was just off Main Street. He pulled the truck onto the curb as Georgette opened the door to the bungalow. Warm light spilled into the street. He hopped out of the cab.
“It’s so good to see you...and all in one piece.” She opened her arms.
“You shouldn’t be out in the cold in your condition,” he said, hugging her.
“Pshaw. I’m not that frail, Aaron. Come inside. There’s plenty of time to unpack later. I asked some friends to come help.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Since Gran was in no shape to carry anything heavier than a plate of biscuits, he was grateful for assistance, even if he wasn’t wild about near-strangers poking into his personal belongings. Pretty soon, everyone would know he was back. It’d been a while since he’d been home. The fishbowl of small-town living was something he’d have to get used to all over again.
The bungalow Aaron had grown up in hadn’t changed since he’d first moved in when he was barely eight years old. The immaculate carpets were still that odd shade of pink-gray, which went with the floral wallpaper and powder-white floral-themed light fixtures throughout the house. The place had always reminded him of a wedding cake. Gran still had the same furniture, too, meticulously kept despite those years of having a school-age boy living under the same roof. Then again, Aaron had always been a neat freak. He hated messes.
Georgette slipped off her shawl, and Aaron flinched. Gran had always been dancer thin, but seeing how her clothes hung off her now shocked him. And she moved so much more slowly. He followed her into the kitchen, insisting on getting his own coffee though she fussed over it. Nothing in here had changed, either, from the glass-fronted cabinets to the chintz-pattern china. The aroma of coffee and baking permeated the air.
Aaron made her sit while he took out the cream and sugar. Everything was exactly where it had been all those years ago. Muscle memory took control as he poured coffee into the mugs he’d always thought of as his and Gran’s. The promised muffins were warming in the oven, and he put two on chipped saucers for each of them.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat.
“Tired. I’ve got a headache most days. Nothing serious.”
“Of course it’s serious.” He took her hands. “You’ve probably already heard this enough from everyone else, but I’m going to say it again. There’s nothing minor about a minor stroke.” She wouldn’t quite meet his eye, which made him worry. “Are you having any loss of sensation still?”
“In my left hand.” She flexed it, just barely, and he frowned. “The physical therapist will decide whether or not I need to work on it.”
“Of course you need to work on it. I’ll make sure they give you something.”
She tucked her hand beneath the table. “Aaron, really, I’m fine. You didn’t have to pick up your life and move back here.”
“I wanted to. And I couldn’t let you be on your own.”
She waved a hand, but not as vigorously as her protest might have warranted. “I just don’t want you worrying over me. You have a life in Boston.”
“It was time for a change.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Besides, it’s worth coming home for your baking.” He grinned as he broke the bran muffin and bit into the warm, moist pastry. People had laughed when at ten years old he’d declared bran muffins were his favorite thing Gran made. He hadn’t been into sugary treats, which apparently was heresy for the grandson of a baker.
Gran had understood. Aaron was simply more practical when it came to his diet. He was practical when it came to everything, and moving home to take care of Georgette was the best and most practical solution to her long-term care. He would never abandon her to a facility full of strangers. She’d taken him in and raised him after his parents’ deaths. He owed her, and he was happy to do whatever necessary to make her happy and comfortable.
For however long she had.
He washed the suddenly dry bite of muffin down with a sip of coffee. “So how’s the bakery doing?” he asked, bracing for a fight. Gran had lived and breathed that bakery for years. She and Grandpa had opened it right after they’d married, and she’d kept it running since his death more than twenty-five years ago.
“The bakery’s fine,” Georgette replied. “I have help these days, and I’m delegating more responsibility. Otherwise, I’d be there right now.”
Gran had always been a bit of a control freak and workaholic. For her to give up any part of the business was major. Aaron put down his mug and leaned forward. “Financially speaking, how are you doing?”
His grandmother’s eyes flicked around the room like a trapped bird searching for an escape. It was a moment before she responded. “We had a good Christmas season. Valentine’s was a little slower this year, but...” She shrugged.
Aaron sighed. He would have to look at the books himself. Gran rarely shared her problems with him. He hadn’t realized until high school how tight things had been, and then he’d done whatever he’d been able to help get the business out of the red. After he’d finished college he’d learned the reason for all that debt had been that his grandmother had been putting aside everything she could for tuition.
“Really, I am happy to see you.” Georgette touched his arm. “But I feel terribly guilty for taking you away from your life. What are you going to do for a job in Everville? I’m not sure there’s much call for real-estate lawyers here.”
“Well, I did say I was ready for a change.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. He was good at what he did, and probably would’ve slaved away at his firm for the rest of his life had that phone call from the hospital not come. But the moment it had, he’d been prepared. Part of him had always been prepared with a plan B, an exit strategy.
Things happened all the time. You had to be ready for them. That was how he’d known what he would do the moment he had to return to Everville.
He set his coffee down. “I’m thinking of opening a bookstore.”
Georgette blinked. “Really? Here?”
“I’ve always wanted to. A well-stocked bookshop is exactly what the town needs, and attaching it to the bakery will make it a destination. See, I was thinking of renovating the bakeshop’s dining room. It hardly gets used, and it’s such a big space. We could minimize the eating area with just a few café tables, then add a patio for the warmer months. Most of your eat-in business comes in during the summer anyhow.”
“So...you’re staying in Everville?”
“Of course I am. How will I take care of you otherwise?” He didn’t see why Gran should be so astonished. “I’ve been thinking about this for years. Did all my research and everything.” He had a binder in the truck with all the information he needed to put his plan into action. He’d started it the day he’d realized Gran was getting older. “I was just waiting for the right opportunity to jump in.”
Georgette’s eyes grew wet, and her smile crimped in at the edges. She squeezed his arm. “You didn’t go to school so you could stay here. You always wanted to get away.”
True. But that had only been for a handful of reasons, and those reasons were gone now. “Things change. I want to be here. With you.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “I mean, if you want to keep the dining room at the bakery, I can work something else out, and I can get my own place if you want your privacy, but I can’t take care of you if—”
“Nonsense. You’ll stay here, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She leaned forward. “Now, about this bookshop.”
He outlined his business plan for her, with his vision for the store itself. He had his own seed money, but he’d also be taking out a small loan to do the renovations. The more he talked about it, the more excited he became.
He was about to get the binder with his notes from the truck when the doorbell rang.
“That will be the moving team,” Georgette said, rising slowly.
“Take it easy, Gran. I’ll get it.” He put on a smile for whoever had volunteered to help with his move, excited to also tell them about the bookstore and get some momentum going.
He opened the door.
And came face-to-face with the second-to-last person he wanted to see.
CHAPTER TWO (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06)
“HI, AARON.” STEPHANIE’S voice sounded brighter than she’d intended. Aaron Caruthers had grown up quite a lot and... Well, wow. “Remember me?”
His expression shuttered so quickly, she swore she heard doors slamming. “You’re still here.” His tone was flat, almost angry.
That wasn’t exactly the response she’d been expecting from a guy who used to have a crush on her. “Yup. Still here. And I brought friends.” He stiffened as she introduced the burly men behind her. “This is Devon and Manny. Devon runs the computer shop on Main, and Manny—well, he does everything. They owe me and Georgette a few favors.”
“But we came for the pie,” Manny said, rubbing his hands.
“Is Georgette around?” Steph tried to peer past Aaron.
“I’m right here. Thank you so much for coming.” The elderly woman stood in the kitchen entryway clutching the door frame.
Steph went straight to her, taking her hands. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?” She started to lead her toward the sofa.
“No need to fuss around me in my own home, dear. Just tell me, how have things been at the bakery?”
“Everything’s going smoothly. The new girl, Kira, is working out great.”
“And you’re handling the orders fine?”
“Piece of cake.” She winked. “How are you?”
“Bored.” She sighed. “And I miss all my grandchildren.”
Steph smiled. Georgette called everyone under the age of forty her grandchildren. She’d been Everville’s self-appointed grandmother since before Steph was born.
“She works for you?” Aaron’s strident tone made Steph’s hackles rise.
“Stephanie’s been working at the bakery for... What has it been now?”
“Five years.” She challenged him with the brightest grin she could manage. His face ticked—just like her girlfriends’ had at Christmas. The corners of his mouth turned down.
“How about we start moving stuff in?” Devon suggested.
“Of course.” The two frequent customers had been promised treats in exchange for their help, and in this chilly weather with darkness creeping in at barely five in the evening, she wanted to get this job done quickly, too.
The three men went out to the truck. Aaron unloaded boxes and directed Devon and Manny to carry them to their assigned rooms while Steph ensured no one tripped over anything. She was grateful to be inside, though Aaron’s reception had been colder than the February weather. Not that she’d expected a hug or anything. She just didn’t think he’d be so surprised to see her, considering how long she’d been working for his grandmother. She knew he visited at least once a year at Christmas. Georgette always talked about him and what he’d been up to. Had she not mentioned anything about her longtime employee to him?
Then again, why would she? It wasn’t as if Aaron should care about her after all these years. They’d barely known each other back in high school.
She peeked out the window as the last of the boxes was hauled out. Aaron closed the truck’s door, his long, lean form stretching to reveal a flat stomach and lean hips beneath his sweater. He was still kind of geeky-looking with his tousled brown hair and long limbs, but gone completely was the chubbiness of his high school days. He looked like a young professor, or maybe a grown-up Harry Potter in jeans and loafers. Mercifully, he didn’t have those big wire-framed glasses anymore, though she’d noticed a pair tucked in his breast pocket. A certain type of girl might find that brainy look attractive, she decided.
The guys came in, and Steph helped Georgette set out the coffee and treats. Most of the boxes had been placed inside the empty guest bedroom, which she supposed had once been Aaron’s. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised not to find a trace of him there, though it made little sense for Georgette to keep his room intact after all these years. Packing up everything and leaving home for good was an alien concept to Steph. After she’d moved out just last month, Mom and Dad had promised to keep her room exactly as she’d left it so she wouldn’t have to worry about finding storage space for what couldn’t fit into her tiny apartment. They hadn’t been happy about her leaving the nest, but she’d made it clear they couldn’t stop her. And they hadn’t.
After the coffee and spinach-and-goat-cheese pastries were laid out, Steph went into Aaron’s room and started unpacking. She didn’t feel as though she’d earned a treat yet, considering all she’d done was shuffle boxes around.
Three boxes into her digging, she discovered pretty much all Aaron owned was books. She exhumed the heavy law textbooks from the first box—the spines thoroughly bent and the pages marked with multicolored Post-it notes—and placed them on the bottom of the big brown bookshelves. The next box had an assortment of trade paperbacks, a lot of them with long titles about things she didn’t know anything about. Peak oil, electric cars, global economics, science, history...
“What are you doing?” Aaron asked from the doorway.
“Just thought I’d help you shelve some of this stuff.” She hefted one of the boxes, letting out an “oof!” It was a lot heavier than she’d thought.
Aaron rushed toward her. “Good God, you’re going to break your back doing that.”
“What, lifting this?” She bent her knees and jiggled the box. “Nah. I carry fifty-pound sacks of flour all the time.” She’d always been at the bottom of cheer pyramids, too. Mom had never liked that other girls were standing on her, but she hadn’t minded.
Georgette’s grandson gave her a stern look. “Still.” He gently slipped the box from her grasp and set it down with ease. “You don’t need to do this.”
“It’s no problem.” She flexed her aching fingers discreetly.
His eyes narrowed. “No, seriously. I’ll do it myself.”
“Really, it’s no problem.”
He frowned. “I’m particular about how I shelve my books.”
The steel in his voice had her reconsidering. “Oookay.” She took a step back, hands raised. “How about your clothes? I can fold them and put them—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with everything later. Really.”
Was there something he was hiding? Or did he simply not want her help? She hid her soreness at being dismissed by dusting her hands together as she left the room. “All right. You’ll be at it all night, though.”
He closed the bedroom door firmly behind him, and they rejoined the others in the kitchen.
“Not letting you help him unpack, is he?” Georgette chuckled when they entered. Devon and Manny were digging into their pastries with gusto. “Aaron’s always been fussy about his things. He never even let me clean his room.”
“That’s because I can do it myself.” Something about Aaron’s tone irked Steph, as if he were implying she couldn’t put things away herself. No. She shouldn’t read into what other people said—Mom told her she got defensive sometimes without proving...provoke...provocation. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to react so strongly to Aaron.
He shook hands with Manny and Devon. “I appreciate the help today, guys,” he said.
“Anything for Georgette’s spinach pies,” Manny said, toasting him with his coffee.
“Oh, Aaron, you should talk to Devon about getting Wi-Fi installed at the bakery. I think he’s done it for other businesses in town.”
“Why do you need Wi-Fi?” Steph asked.
Georgette beamed. “Aaron’s going to renovate the bakery’s dining room and turn it into a bookstore.”
Steph stared, her feet suddenly cold. She tried to hide her shock and simply look interested in what was being said, as she’d been taught, but she felt her whole future and everything she’d been working toward slipping from her grasp as readily as the smile from her face.
“But...where will the customers eat?” she managed to ask.
“I’ll still keep a few tables in the main part of the bakery, but most of the business has always been takeout anyhow,” Aaron explained. “Plus, I’m adding a patio for the warmer months.”
What did he even know about what business was like at Georgette’s? He hadn’t worked there in the five years she’d been there. “When were you going to do all this?”
“As soon as possible. I’m meeting a few contractors on Monday. I want renovations done by the end of April so we can be open for patio weather.”
And when, exactly, had they planned on telling her about these changes? After all she’d done for Georgette’s, wasn’t she owed at least an explanation?
Sure, Steph was only an employee, but she was a damned good one. She was the only person Georgette had trusted with her recipes, the only person capable of running things solo since Georgette’s stroke a few weeks ago. She’d hoped the elderly baker would sell the business to her when she retired—clearly the eighty-two-year-old couldn’t run it by herself anymore.
But now Aaron Caruthers was here, nosing in and ruining all her plans.
Her throat tightened and her tongue felt thick as objections tumbled one on top of the other. She was so frustrated she couldn’t spit out a single word of protest.
They were still talking, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. She was drowning in words, all of them mashed into a messy jumble by her building anxiety. She wanted to tell them this wasn’t what she wanted, that this wasn’t what she’d planned, but she couldn’t say it without sounding petulant.
“I’m hoping the two of you will work together,” she heard Georgette say. “Steph knows everything about how the bakery runs. I don’t mind change, you know, but I do want some parts of what your grandfather and I built to remain intact.”
A lifeline. Steph smiled gratefully with the knowledge that Georgette had secured her place in the world.
“Of course, Gran.” Aaron hugged her shoulders briefly. “I promise you’ll be included in all the big decisions.”
And just like that, Aaron had cut Steph out of the business, despite being ordered to work with her. He hadn’t even looked at her. Her blood rushed through her veins, swift and hot, so that the sting of dismissal vibrated across her nerves. She’d been certain Georgette had been grooming her to take over one day. What did Aaron even know about baking?
She took a deep, calming breath. There was no sense in complaining and being indite...indignant about it now. She’d just have to show Georgette she was not only indispensable, but also the right person to take over the bakery.
* * *
AARON LISTENED WITH half an ear as the contractor led him through the estimate on the dining room renovations. He was already aware of some of the larger costs, knew where he could save money by doing the work himself. It was the woman behind the counter who was distracting him.
Stephanie Stephens. He couldn’t believe she was still in Everville. She hadn’t changed a bit, outwardly—she still had that perfect brass-blond hair that she kept tied in a high ponytail and that fantastic cheerleader’s figure with curves and muscles in all the right places.
He shook himself. He wasn’t that kid anymore, lusting after a football player’s trophy girlfriend. Never again would he humiliate himself over Stephanie Stephens.
He silently listed all the reasons they weren’t right for each other and never had been. Sure, he’d fantasized about tutoring her, about how lending her his notes might actually lead to something more meaningful. And he’d lent her pens whenever she hadn’t had one, which was frequently. How many pens had she borrowed and never returned?
Twenty-three.
Yes, he’d counted. Nearly a whole box of his favorite roller balls that he’d never asked she return. Except that one time. He’d learned his lesson then not to trust anything with her—not even a pen.
And here she was, working at his grandmother’s bakery, losing who knew how many pens’ worth of income a day.
He refocused on the contractor’s words as the man gave him estimated completion dates. The guy’s rates were reasonable and he was friendly enough, but Aaron was interviewing one more contractor that afternoon. This was going to be his business, after all, and he had to get the best rates wherever he could. He was nothing if not thorough.
The part-timer, Kira, a lean high schooler with short dark hair and thick-framed glasses, was busy serving a customer while Steph blabbed away with a woman holding a baby. Two other people waited patiently behind them.
Aaron scowled. Did the woman have any sense? She should be working, not chatting with her friends.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said to the contractor, then marched over to Steph. The woman she was chatting to handed her the baby, and Aaron was taken aback a moment as she bounced the drooling, babbling bundle of joy and cooed at her.
“Um, Steph?”
“Oh, hey, Aaron.” Her demeanor was a touch cooler than it had been with her friend. She nodded. “Isabel, this is Aaron Caruthers, Georgette’s grandson. He’s come back to...take care of things.”
“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. “How’s Georgette doing?”
“Better, thanks for asking.” He didn’t want to be rude, but customers were still waiting. He turned to Steph. “Would you mind looking after those folks there, Steph?”
She stared at him, her cheeks tinting darker and darker. The baby patted her hair as if reminding her to breathe. She handed the squirming child back to Isabel. “Excuse me.”
“I’d better get going.” The mother paused. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to distract Stephanie.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, feeling bad now for interrupting. Isabel was a customer, too, after all. But time was money...
He glanced at Steph. She moved slowly, as if she were picking flowers in a field rather than filling orders. If that was her usual pace, he could imagine how much business the bakery lost on a daily basis. And now, Steph was chatting up the next person in line and—
Was she giving out free cookies?
Aaron didn’t have time to ask, though, because the contractor had come up and was telling him he had to leave on his next call. Aaron thanked him and saw him out the door, but not before Steph ducked out lickety-split from behind the counter and handed him a coffee and a brown bag. Why couldn’t she move that fast to serve paying customers? Aaron thought irritably.
“Fresh doughnut and coffee for you,” she told the man happily. “No one leaves Georgette’s empty-handed.”
The contractor’s face brightened “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Of course you can.” She pushed the treats at him. “It’s cold out there. You need to keep warm, and this is just the thing to do it.”
The man chuckled. “I hope I get this job if this is the daily take-home.” He shook Aaron’s hand. “Give me a call. We can play with some numbers if we have to.”
He left. Aaron turned to tell Steph to stop handing out freebies, but her look froze his tongue. “Excuse me, I have customers.”
He might have snapped back at her, but that would’ve been unprofessional. Still, Georgette’s wouldn’t survive if this was how business was conducted every day. Who knew how much Stephanie was costing his grandmother? He wasn’t about to throw any accusations around, though. Not without evidence. After all, he was nothing if not thorough.
* * *
SWEAT DRIPPED OFF the tip of Steph’s nose as she polished the countertops and fumed.
Aaron had always been a stick-in-the-mud, but now he’d become a grade-A prick. Embarrassing her in front of Isabel. Really! Where did he get off telling her what to do? He didn’t own Georgette’s. He wasn’t her boss. He’d only arrived yesterday.
“I’m done here,” Kira said, removing her apron. “Is it okay if I take off? I have a lot of homework.”
“Sure thing.” She put on a smile for Kira’s benefit. The timid but eager girl didn’t need to be exposed to her bad mood. “Thanks. You did great today.”
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Kira moved closer and glanced at the closed office door where Aaron counted the till. “Is Aaron taking over for Georgette?”
Steph sucked in her lower lip. “I don’t know.” I hope not. “He’s got plans to open a bookstore where the dining room is. I’m not sure how that’ll work with the bakery attached.”
Kira wrinkled her nose. “If they do renos it’s going to make a huge mess. How’re you gonna bake?”
Steph hadn’t thought of that, but Kira was right. They’d lose all kinds of business while Aaron worked on his precious bookshop, and Georgette’s couldn’t afford that. They were barely breaking even as it was.
She had no choice. She had to talk to Georgette. Aaron would ruin the business with these plans of his, and it was up to Stephanie to stop him.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a7495287-376c-51c1-bdbd-0789d80362ea)
“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, exactly?” Georgette peered up at Aaron over her plate of spaghetti.
“I just want to know if you’ve ever noticed any discrepancies at the register.” There was no way to broach the topic lightly. He was concerned by what he’d seen today. The till had been short nearly fifty dollars, and the ledgers for the past two months showed a steady decline in revenue. How was Gran keeping up with the bills?
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, cutting her noodles with her spoon. Aaron had noticed she had a little difficulty chewing—he’d have to ask the doctor about that at her next appointment.
“So you’re always short at the till?” he prodded.
“Short, over, both. It all works out in the end.” She shrugged. “I assume it’s simply my old eyes counting wrong.”
“Does Steph ever count the till?”
“Occasionally. She certainly would’ve while I’ve been away.”
From what he’d seen, the same pattern had emerged, with tills under and over by some amount at closing time, but made up for the next day. The receipts roughly matched the takings by week’s end, though, so at least they weren’t dealing with sticky fingers...he hoped.
It wasn’t as if Stephanie needed the money—her family was filthy stinking rich. If she was stealing, it had to be for the thrill of it. Somehow, that didn’t strike him as Steph’s style, but what did he know?
“How did your meetings with the contractors go?” Georgette asked, changing the subject.
“Good. I’ve decided to go with Ollie White. He gave the best rate, and he seems like an upstanding guy.”
“Ollie’s good,” Georgette agreed. “But I do wish you’d considered hiring Jimmy Tremont.”
“Gran, he’s not a licensed contractor.” She’d brought him up when Aaron had started talking renos. The guy had lost his job at a processing plant last month. “I’m not paying some random guy for a big job like this.”
Georgette moved the food around her plate demurely. “He’s hit hard times, Aaron. We try to help each other out around here.”
“He’s not even insured. And I’d end up paying him under the table.”
“But you’d keep food on his family’s table,” she said, studiously eating her cut-up spaghetti.
Aaron sighed. Gran was a softie, taking in strays and playing patron saint to the hungry and down-on-their-luck. Not that he didn’t appreciate her generous spirit—he’d been one of those poor lost souls once. “I’ll see if there are any small jobs he can handle,” he said. He’d already planned to do the painting himself: Jimmy could help him with that and a few other finishing touches.
“By the way, Stephanie called me. She was concerned about how the renovations would affect business. She’s worried about the mess it would make.”
“I’ve already consulted Ollie about this. He even talked to Ben, the health inspector in town. We can keep the bakery open. Everything’s going to be isolated in the dining room. As long as we seal it off and keep a ventilation fan pointed outside, we should be fine. Knocking down the dividing wall and tearing up the flooring will take less than a day. It’s the electrical and drywall and finishing touches that take time.”
“It takes weeks for plaster dust to settle, Aaron. Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited for this project of yours, and I wouldn’t think of stopping you. But...I’m hoping you’ll reassure Stephanie.”
Aaron stuffed a forkful of noodles in his mouth and chewed to hide the tick in his cheek. “She’s got nothing to worry about.”
“She’s a sensitive girl. She doesn’t handle change easily.”
Well, that’s too bad. But he knew it was unfair to be so coldhearted. Gran liked her and had hired her, and that should be enough for him to at least give her a chance.
Privately, he admitted he’d been rude to her. Not because of what she’d done to him in high school, and not because he suspected she was costing his grandmother hundreds if not thousands of dollars. It was because her very presence upset his equilibrium. Made him lose focus. As far as he could tell, she was still the same girl she’d been in high school: flaky, flighty and so self-centered that she was oblivious to what was going on around her.
And he was still attracted to her. It made no sense. At all.
She wasn’t his type—not anymore. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for her. But the line between grudge and the burning regret that accompanied unrequited love was blurring rapidly. He hated that her reappearance in his life should give rise to such angst.
He was a grown man, dammit. And he had adult things to take care of.
“I’ll talk to Stephanie,” he said shortly.
“Good. It means a lot to me that you’re both trying so hard to keep the bakery going. Your grandfather would be proud.” She put her spoon down carefully. “I think I’m done here.”
“You barely ate.”
“I haven’t had much appetite.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably the medications.”
He frowned. “When’s your next appointment? I’ll go with you and we can ask the doctor to switch your prescription.”
“Don’t worry about it, dear. You need to focus on this book business.”
“No, I need to focus on you. The bookstore is second. Anyhow, once the renos begin, I can’t do much on-site. I’ll be contacting publishers and ordering inventory, but I can do that from home.” When Georgette looked as if she was going to argue, he said, “I’m your grandson. You took care of me. Let me take care of you, okay?”
She patted his arm with a rueful twist of the lips. “You’re a good boy, Aaron.”
Not good enough if he couldn’t keep Gran happy and healthy and make sure the bakery survived.
* * *
“AARON CARUTHERS...” Helen Stephens drew the name out over the phone later that week as if it were taffy. “No, I can’t honestly say I remember him. Did he come to your graduation party?”
“It wasn’t a grad party, it was an end-of-school party.” Despite the fact that she hadn’t graduated with the rest of her class, her parents had let her throw the bash anyhow, complete with a DJ, catering and decorations. They’d even bought the beer kegs. The football team and cheerleaders had had a wild night, vomiting everywhere but in the toilet and breaking one of Mom’s favorite vases. Helen hadn’t been that upset. She’d just wanted her only daughter to be happy. “Aaron definitely wasn’t there.”
“Are you sure? There were so many kids I couldn’t keep their names straight.”
“Trust me, Mom, he wasn’t there.” Back then, Steph wouldn’t have been caught dead inviting someone like Aaron to her party. He’d been one of those nerdy, intense kids who nobody had understood whenever he’d opened his mouth. She was seriously regretting not being nicer to him now.
“In any case, it doesn’t sound like he’s doing anything unreasonable. He left his life behind to take care of his grandmother. That’s quite a sacrifice for a man to make.”
“But he’s taking over,” she said, an exasperated whine pitching her voice. She cut herself off ruthlessly, pressing a fist against her lips. At the moment she was a particular kind of frustrated—the kind that couldn’t be placated with a few kind words—and she was having a hard time communicating that to her mother. “I’ve worked there five years. I’m the one who knows how everything works. I’m the one who knows all of Georgette’s recipes. He’s been there a week and he acts like he owns the place.”
“He’s entitled to it. Blood is thicker than batter, and he’s Georgette’s grandson. Why, we’ll be lucky if the place doesn’t shut down after she kicks the bucket.”
“Mom!” Steph gasped.
“I don’t mean that in a mean way, dear. I don’t want to see her go any more than you do. Where else would we get our croissants?”
Stephanie set her teeth. Mom wasn’t shallow, but she did have a habit of trivializing bad things to avoid thinking about them. “Georgette’s not going to die. Not anytime soon.” Not before Steph could convince her to sell the bakery to her, and not for a long time after, either. Steph would take care of Georgette herself if it came down to it. She loved her as if she were her own grandmother.
“Everyone dies, dear. All the more reason to find a special someone and give me some grandchildren as soon as possible.”
Not this again. “Mom.” A headache gathered between Steph’s eyes. “I told you, I’m trying to find myself right now. I don’t want to be involved with anyone until I figure out who I am.” Thank God for daytime talk shows. One of the many Stop Controlling My Life! episodes had given her those words to practice.
“I know who you are.” Helen’s sweet voice was tinged with a sour bite. “You’re my daughter. You’re a sweet, beautiful, kind, lovely young woman.”
“But I’m more than that. At least, I know I can be. I’ve spent too much time stuck in a rut. I want more.”
“Like living on your own in a tiny little apartment when you could be comfortable here at home?” Whenever Helen was miffed she made a noise through her nose that sounded like a pig whistling through a teakettle, as she did now. “I understand that you want to spread your wings, but wouldn’t it be better if you went away—on a trip? We could send you to Europe. Shake off your wanderlust before you decide to settle down. Maybe you’ll even meet someone abroad.”
Steph massaged her temples. Her mother had a one-track mind. “This isn’t about wanderlust.” They’d had this argument every time she’d called since moving out. After the reunion, she’d made it her mission to move on and up in life. Moving out of her parents’ house had been the first big step. “And I can’t settle down. Not right now.”
“Listen to me, baby. I thought the same thing when I was twenty-five. Your father and I were still young and we thought we had all the time in the world. But when we were ready for kids, we tried and tried... We wanted four kids, you know that?”
She closed her eyes. “I know, Mom.”
“It wasn’t until very late in the game that we finally had you. But there were complications. I was sick for weeks afterward, and the doctor said I couldn’t risk having any more children. I still thank God every day I have you, our perfect little angel.”
Every time Helen told this story guilt pooled in Steph’s gut. “That’s sweet of you to say, Mom, but—”
“You’re thirty, dear.” She made it sound like a curse. “Don’t you want to have kids?”
“Of course, but—”
“Then you need to think about that.” Her words were precise, final, loaded with prim admonishment.
Stephanie mouthed a curse at the ceiling. This was exactly why she’d needed to move out. Living at home, she’d accepted her mother’s wishes that she go forth and multiply as if that were her only purpose in life. And, for a while, she’d believed it. After Dale, she’d dated a lot, including men her parents had found for her, but no one had held her interest long enough to sound the wedding bells. Her Mom once had accused her of being picky, and they’d gotten into a big argument. That’d been around the same time Steph had started working for Georgette.
“You’re coming next weekend, aren’t you?” Helen asked, her tone switching back to honey-sweet.
“For Dad’s birthday party? Of course. Once all the morning baking’s done, Kira should be able to handle the counter. And Aaron will be there, I guess.” She grudgingly accepted that he’d take care of things at the bakery and make sure his grandmother got her rest. She’d almost canceled on her mom, but Georgette wouldn’t hear of her missing Terrence Stephens’s sixtieth birthday.
“Good. Because there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Steph suppressed a sigh. “You’re not trying to set me up again, are you?”
“You’ll like him,” Helen insisted. “You really will. He’s a rancher we met at the club last week—”
“I’ll come to the party, but don’t expect anything.” Steph would be polite, but she made no promises. She was determined to become the best Stephanie Stephens she could be, and for now, that meant no dating.
* * *
AARON RUBBED THE crust from his eyes, cursing the cold, dark February morning. Six o’clock was way too early to be up and driving, but he’d wanted the contractors to get the dining room sealed before the bakery opened at seven.
Only one other car was in the lot—a rather nice Mercedes mini SUV. As he got out of his Gran’s station wagon, his foot met a patch of ice. With a yelp, he snagged the door before he slid under the chassis, then regained his footing, cursing. The slick parking lot was a lawsuit waiting to happen. He’d have to take care of that.
Unlocking the door to Georgette’s, his mood was temporarily dispelled by the sweet smell of baking.
He inhaled, thinking of happier times. Mom and Dad taking him to visit his grandmother; carefully choosing the one treat he’d take home with him in the car—it was almost always a bran muffin, though he’d sometimes choose an oatmeal cookie; enjoying the long, winding drive out of Everville to see the fall colors...
His walk down memory lane came to an abrupt halt as he entered the kitchen and tripped on an open bag of flour. He managed to right it before it spilled onto the ground.
Steph glanced up from a mixing bowl. Her brassy hair was tied up in two pigtails, and a hairnet hung off them like a saggy black spiderweb. Her white apron was stained with smears of chocolate and batter, and there was a dusting of flour on her cheek, but she glowed with sunny cheer. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly. “Two cups of brown sugar.” He was confused for a moment as she emptied a measuring cup into a large bowl. “Watch your step, there.”
He grabbed the bag and dragged it out of his path. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked irately.
“Uh...baking? I’ve been here since four.”
Duh. Of course. He so wasn’t a morning person. “You didn’t salt the parking lot.”
Her smile faltered. “Huh?”
“The parking lot. It’s covered in black ice. I slipped out there. Could’ve broken my tailbone.”
The rays of happiness wreathing her face disappeared as if clouds had gathered around her. “A pound of butter,” she muttered as she dumped the cubes into the mixing bowl. She stirred, her arm working hard. “Sorry to hear that,” she said to him.
She wasn’t. And she wasn’t taking him seriously. Just another indication of how thoughtless and self-absorbed she was. She hadn’t changed a bit. “I’d appreciate it if you could have taken a minute to make sure other people weren’t getting hurt by your carelessness. If someone broke a leg out there—”
She slammed her spatula onto the worktable. “Look, if you’re not going to be helpful, I need you to get out of my way. I have a lot to bake still and I have three cake orders to fill today. You do what you need to do, but I don’t have time to deal with icy parking lots or whatever your problem is.”
For a moment, Aaron was shocked by her flash of temper. More surprising was the shame he felt. Barging in and acting like a tyrant wasn’t his style. He needed to get a grip.
“I’m sorry. I apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I...” He shook his head. “I need coffee.”
With a glare, she pointed toward the door. “On the counter up front. A quarter teaspoon of salt.” Her dismissal was clear, even if her instructions to herself were perplexing.
He pushed out of the kitchen, went to the carafe and filled a mug. His first big gulp scalded his tongue, bringing tears to his eyes. He deserved that. He’d been an asshat to Steph for no reason except that he was cranky and had slipped on some ice.
She clearly resented his presence at Georgette’s. Maybe she’d thought she was going to inherit the bakery. He hadn’t considered that before, but it would explain that hunted look she often bore, as if she were expecting him to kick her out any minute. He might not do that, but there was no way Aaron would allow Stephanie Stephens to run his grandmother’s legacy into the ground, either. He may never have woken up at four in the morning to bake, but he knew how to run the business. Besides, he was family. His grandmother would never choose a former cheerleader over her own kin.
Family or no, Georgette would not be pleased to hear they’d already started off on the wrong foot. He needed to smooth things out with Steph.
He took a few minutes to scatter deicer and sand over the front steps, around the lot and along the walkway. When he got back inside, he was shivering, but the bracing cold had cleared his head a little. He took a deep breath and pushed back into the kitchen.
“Stephanie.” She flicked him the briefest of glares, and he continued. “Look, I was out of line. It was rude of me to talk to you that way. I appreciate that you’re busy. It can’t be easy doing all the baking on your own.”
The chill in her storm-blue eyes thawed some, but she didn’t stop moving as she spooned batter into muffin tins. “It’s not.”
“What can I do to help?”
She gave him a pensive frown. “Aren’t your contractors coming?”
“I already moved the tables and chairs and stuff out of the dining room, so all I can do now is wait. Guess they’re a bit behind.” The recent snowfall had made the roads treacherous. “Did you prep the croissants yet?”
She blinked. “No. They’re—”
“Ready-made in the freezer. Eight to a tray at 425 degrees, right?” He smiled lopsidedly. “I remember a few things from working with Gran.”
The puzzled look on her face wasn’t entirely hostile, so that was progress.
He got to work laying the frozen premade pastries onto baking sheets. Georgette always made large batches of croissants and froze them for use in the bakery, but people also ordered boxes of them frozen to bake at home. As he worked, he could hear Stephanie muttering to herself under her breath. At first he thought she was grumbling about him, but then he realized she was reciting the recipes she was working on. How odd.
He popped the trays into the oven as the contractors arrived. After a round of coffee, he worked with Ollie for the rest of the morning as they sealed the dining room with thick sheets of plastic taped across the entryway. They decided the workmen could access the area from a rarely used side entrance in the dining room. When they were done closing off the work space, the bakery felt a whole lot smaller.
The sun, a pale gold button against a silvery sky, peeked in through the shop’s wide, lace-curtained windows. Stephanie came out and started loading trays of goodies into the display cases, then made a fresh pot of coffee. She frowned at the rippling translucent bubble of plastic as the door in the dining room was propped open. The cozy warmth was quickly sucked from the bakery.
“Is it going to be like this all month?” she asked, hastily pulling on a zip-up hoodie.
“I’ll see about getting some space heaters in here.” Aaron rubbed his arms.
She blew out a breath and mumbled something as she went back into the kitchen. Aaron followed her. “Listen, Steph. We need to talk. I realize I’ve kind of barged in here without any real warning. These renos must’ve come out of left field to you.”
She gave him a flat look, confirming his suspicions. She wasn’t displeased; she was pissed. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep things running smoothly, but we need to get this right the first time. I want to make this bookstore work for my grandmother’s sake and make sure the bakery stays afloat.”
She regarded him doubtfully. “That all sounds great, but I’m not sure you really know what’s best.”
He scowled. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re starting a new business while Georgette’s still recovering from a stroke.” She propped a hand against her hip. “That’s the opposite of being by her side and taking care of her. If it were me, I’d be with her 24/7.”
His temperature spiked, and he clenched his fists. “If it were you—” He cut himself off. He didn’t appreciate her criticism. She could hardly claim to know what was best... But he refused to argue about this. She was entitled to her opinions, even if they were damned wrong. Calmly, he said, “I have things under control. My grandmother wouldn’t want me around her constantly, and I’d only make her feel worse if I hung around the house all day, watching her, waiting for something bad to happen. This bookstore is for the future, to make sure what she built endures.”
“And it’s your own pet project.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Of course it is. I can’t give up my whole life for one person. In all honesty, yes, this is as much for me as it is for Gran. And it’s my way of giving back to the town.”
She looked away. It took her a moment to respond. “Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t be criticizing you. I’m sure you love your grandmother very much and want to do what’s best.”
Mollified, he straightened. “I do. And I will.” He firmly believed in his business plan, and so had the bank. Everville hadn’t had a bookstore since Mr. Williamson’s shop had closed when Aaron was fifteen. It’d been a major loss to Aaron personally. Reading had been his one great solace in the years following his parents’ deaths. The library was all right, but the town hadn’t had the money to keep it well stocked and up to date.
This bookshop was more than his fresh start. It was his way of making sure kids like him had a place to find and lose themselves. Being able to keep Gran’s bakery going was icing on the cake.
“Don’t worry, Stephanie,” he said. “I promise I’ll be a better boss.”
Spite flashed in her eyes, hard and glittering. She didn’t say anything as she marched back into the kitchen. The swinging door slapped the air behind her, and a chill seeped through his sweater and into his bones.
For crying out loud. What had he said now?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c73319e6-64d8-5350-a23b-9d0488dfd0e6)
STEPH’S PAYCHECK DIDN’T allow for extravagances like bottles of good French merlot, but today, she seriously needed to indulge.
Her friend Maya Hanes watched as she dumped the last three inches from the bottle into the bowl of her oversize wineglass. “Should you be drinking so much with your early start tomorrow?”
“I don’t see how I couldn’t be driven to drink considering the ignor...arro...arrogance of that man.” Stumbling over the word in front of Maya only added to her frustration, but her friend kindly ignored it. She’d told Maya about how Aaron had made it clear where they stood: he was going to be her boss, and she had no say in the matter.
Maya reached for another one of Steph’s chocolate-dipped macaroons. “Maybe this is a good thing. I mean, if he hadn’t come back and something happened to Georgette—”
“Why does everyone keep thinking the worst? Georgette’s fine. She’s had a stroke, sure, but she’s nowhere near...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it.
“All I’m saying is that Aaron means well, and he’s doing what he thinks is best. It’s not as if he’s fired you.”
“He might, though. I don’t know what he has planned.” She took a bracing gulp. “He could replace me.”
“Hon, c’mon. I know you’re upset, but I doubt Aaron would go that far. You’re the only one apart from Georgette who knows her recipes.”
“He doesn’t like me. He’s had it in for me since high school.” She sat back and stared into her wine, brooding. “I wasn’t very nice to him.”
“That was a long time ago. I’d think—or at least I’d hope—you’d both have grown beyond that.”
Maybe. Sometimes, everything about Steph’s life felt stalled, as if she still had one foot stuck in high school. Aaron’s return brought that home. It seemed fitting somehow that the past should come back to ruin her future.
“You need to give this time to work itself out,” Maya said. “See how Aaron handles things. You said it yourself—he’ll be busy with the bookstore side of the business. That probably means you’ll be free to run the bakery by yourself.”
“As an employee, maybe. But I want to own Georgette’s and run it on my terms.”
Maya tilted her chin. “Why’s that so important to you?”
“You own your own business. I want the same things you have—to be my own boss and make my own hours.” Steph didn’t know how to explain that in her eyes, Georgette’s was the epi...epistle...epitome of independence. Owning the bakery had been a longtime fantasy before the elderly baker had gotten sick, but now that dream was within her grasp. And she felt ashamed for thinking that way.
“I’m kinda surprised you haven’t opened your own shop,” Maya said, holding up a macaroon. “Your recipes are fantastic. I bet your folks would lend you the start-up money, too.”
Steph shook her head emphatically. “Oh, hell, no. I don’t want my parents to have a stake in any business of mine. Anyhow, I would never go into competition with Georgette. She taught me everything she knows. I can’t stab her in the back.”
Maya chuckled. “If you want to own a business, you have to be a little mercenary sometimes.” Maya would know. She’d bought the consignment shop on Main Street for a song about nine months ago. She now specialized in vintage clothing and wore the most awesome outfits. She’d even helped dress all Helen’s friends for a Mad Men party she had thrown. “Do you even know what it takes to keep the bakery going?” Maya asked, peering at Steph through her cat’s-eye glasses.
“Of course I do,” she said, then faltered. “I mean, I’ve worked there a long time...”
“Well, you baked and did all the front counter stuff, sure, but you didn’t handle the background responsibilities. Making sure the shop complied with health regulations, filling out tax forms...”
“I can learn to do all that if Georgette gives me a chance. Or I can hire someone.”
She knew Maya was only trying to make her see the reality of the situation. Even so, Steph couldn’t help but feel affronted, as if Maya didn’t think much of her abilities or ambitions. People were always waiting for Steph to make a mistake and give up.
“So what are you going to do?” Maya prodded. “Quit?”
“And do what? Go home a failure?” She gulped her wine and exhaled a heady cloud of vapor. “No way. Aaron can’t scare me away. And neither can my parents or you, for that matter.”
Maya grinned. “Good. I hate it when you play helpless little rich girl.” She toasted her. “Sorry to act all mean, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t...”
“Being a flake?” Steph supplied.
Maya’s lips quirked. “Your words.”
She knew she could rely on Maya for the honest truth. They hadn’t been close in high school, but Steph appreciated her bluntness—and patience—now. She needed a regular dose of reality, something that had been lacking in her life, living at home with parents who gave her anything and everything she wanted. No one had ever criticized her, either, or if they had, it had never been to her face.
Or maybe she’d simply ignored it. She’d been frustrated by her grades, of course, but so many other parts of her life had been great, like her relationship with Dale, cheerleading and all the clubs she’d been in. Her parents hadn’t minded the Cs and Ds on her report cards, though they had frowned at the handful of Fs she’d earned. In hindsight, she wished her parents had been a little tougher on her, but she knew her poor academic performance was all on her.
She understood now that if she really wanted something, she had to earn it, the way she had with her job and her apartment. Hard work and discipline had been the key to her independence, and now that she’d had a taste, she wasn’t about to give up any of it. She had to win Georgette’s favor if she was ever going to take over the bakery.
“So, what are you going to do about Aaron?” Maya prompted.
“I’d like to pour a bowl of batter over his head.” That was the wine talking, of course. She heaved a sigh. “I’ll stay on, I guess. What else can I do?”
“Well, if things get intolerable, quitting is always an option.”
“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t quit?”
“You shouldn’t quit without really thinking about it, is what I meant. But I wouldn’t want you staying there if you were miserable, either. No one would judge you for leaving if you were unhappy.”
Steph didn’t believe that for a moment, because she’d judge herself. Working at Georgette’s wasn’t just a job to her. It represented everything she was working toward—financial independence, security, stability and professional pride. Maybe to some people her job looked like a way for a rich girl to pass time. But Georgette’s Bakery was an institution. One that would fall apart in Aaron Caruthers’s hands if she didn’t make sure she was involved.
And to do that, she was going to have to play nice.
* * *
AARON ARRIVED AT Georgette’s at quarter after nine. He would have been there when the bakery opened, but he’d wanted to go with his grandmother to her doctor’s appointment and hear what the specialist had to say. Georgette would be visiting a physical therapist once a week to work on her mobility issues, and she would need to do daily exercises to get back the strength in her hands. The doctor assured them she was well on the road to recovery, but Aaron was going to keep a close eye on her.
He entered the bakery and found Steph chatting up a customer. She excused herself and brought him a steaming mug. “Fresh coffee?” She smiled brightly.
“Uh...thanks.” He took the mug and headed to the office. Steph followed.
“Listen—” she lingered in the doorway “—I want to say I’m sorry if I’ve acted nastily toward you. I think it’s great that you’re back for Georgette.”
He blinked. She sounded like she meant it, but then he wasn’t sure she’d ever given anyone a smile that wasn’t carefully calculated to extrude the maximum result.
Oh, hey, Aaron, can I borrow a pen? Can I borrow your notes?
Can I borrow your heart so I can stomp all over it?
“Okay,” he responded noncommittally. He’d apologized plenty for his poor behavior already. Still, it didn’t feel right not to reciprocate. But with each second that passed, it got harder and harder to jump into that conversation. They lapsed into an awkward stalemate.
He picked up the binder of invoices his grandmother kept for supply orders and set up his laptop. He didn’t realize until he looked up that Steph was still standing in the doorway watching him. “Something you want?” He cursed his curt tone. Tell her you’re sorry and that you appreciate her, too, idiot.
She smiled faintly. “Just curious about what you’re up to.”
He patted the binder, glad for something else to talk about. “I’m looking at cutting some costs, getting quotes from other suppliers.”
Steph gasped. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t...change things.” She gestured emptily, her movements shaky. “We have long, established relationships with our suppliers.”
“If that’s true, they should be offering you a better deal for what you order.”
“They already do.” Her voice rose, almost threateningly.
Aaron struggled to keep his tone even. “Not good enough. Not after nearly fifty years in business.” Was she going to question and fight him on every decision? “Look, all I’m trying to do is make sure the bakery stays in the black, but it’s dangerously close. We need to reduce our expenses.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re going to cut our hours?”
That wasn’t what he’d said—her reaction was typically self-centered. He opened his mouth to reassure her that her job was safe, but realized he couldn’t make any promises. Not until he’d gotten a real handle on the financial situation. “You should get back to the front,” he said instead, glancing past the door and not feeling particularly sorry to end this conversation. “There are customers.”
She looked as though she was going to say something else, but then whirled and made a quiet huffing noise.
Five minutes later, though, she was back. “I’m sorry...again. I’m used to doing things a certain way and...you’re right,” she admitted with effort. She rubbed a palm up and down her hip and grudgingly added, “Cutting costs is good for business.”
He studied her. She was really trying. To what end, he wasn’t sure. But Gran had wanted him to work with her, so he had to make the effort, as well. “Sit down. I want to hear your thoughts. You must have some ideas on how to make things more efficient. You’d know where best to make cuts.”
She sat gingerly, gripping her knees. “Well...I’m not really sure. We can’t change the recipes.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He knew how proprietary Gran was of her recipes. She kept them in a binder in her safe at home. She wouldn’t even type them up on the computer, afraid a hacker would somehow steal her life’s work. He’d tried to explain that it didn’t work that way since she didn’t have internet access at home—something he’d soon change—but she was a bit of a Luddite.
Stephanie paused. “I’ve always thought it would save us a little work to prepackage some of the bestselling cookies during the summer months for the tourists, to help move them through more quickly.”
“That’s a good idea.” He wrote it down.
“Labels for the bagged goodies would be nice, too. Like pretty stickers we could put on bags and tie with some gold ribbon.”
That would cost money, and wouldn’t necessarily translate into sales, but he noted it.
She rattled off a few more ideas—most of them were more about how the bakery looked rather than how it functioned, but he agreed the place could use a new coat of paint and maybe a change of curtains. “These are good ideas,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He put his pen down. Now that he had her attention, he needed to make an effort to be friendly. “So what happened to you after high school?” he asked. “We haven’t really talked.”
“You first,” she insisted. “You went to college, right?”
“Harvard Law School,” he confirmed, not without a little pride. He’d received a handsome scholarship and had worked part-time to feed and clothe himself. He’d been inching his way up the corporate ladder at the firm, but when Gran had gotten sick, he’d dropped everything. The truth was, he’d never really been into his job. He was an entrepreneur at heart.
Steph prodded, “No girlfriend?”
That was an awfully personal question. “Nope.”
“No one? Not even someone you’d categorize as ‘It’s complicated’?”
“That sounds exhausting.”
She rested her chin in a hand. “I take it that means no. How about a dog? Cat? Hamster?”
“I’m allergic to animal fur.” Irked by her pitying frown, he added, “I’m not lonely. I date occasionally. I have friends.” And then he felt stupid for getting defensive.
The truth was most of the women he’d been with hadn’t captured his attention. Not the way Steph did, perched on the edge of her chair, her focus on him. She’d always been like that, making you feel as if you were the only person in the world she wanted to talk to. But she’d been manipulative, too, knowing she could get what she wanted if she made you feel special enough.
It infuriated him that he should feel a twinge of attraction now.
“So, what about you?” he asked, turning the questioning back onto her. “Did you go to college?”
Her chin dipped. “No.”
“Oh. I’d have thought you could study anywhere in the world.”
“I didn’t have the grades. Actually, I never finished high school.”
Aaron sucked in a breath. He knew she hadn’t graduated with the rest of their class, but he’d assumed an extra semester would have solved that problem. “How many credits did you have left?”
She picked at her apron strings. “Just one.”
He caught his jaw before it dropped. “And all this time later, you still haven’t completed it?”
“Why bother?” She scowled.
“Why—” He wiped a palm down his face. “You need a high school diploma. That’s a basic requirement for any job.”
“Says who?” She tipped her nose in the air. “I didn’t need one to work here.”
“But...basic math skills...” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say anything about that.
Steph’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘basic math skills’? You think I can’t add or something?”
“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve made some mistakes on the till, is all. I thought maybe...” Lord, he hadn’t intended to bring this up now. He’d had some suspicions, but he hardly knew what to say. Unable to veer off this course, he asked, “You had a hard time in math, didn’t you?”
“Really? We’re going to compare report cards now?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Since you’re asking, I had a hard time in lots of things.” She sniffed. “But I don’t need a piece of paper to prove I can bake.”
“You could at least have gotten your high school equivalency diploma. Don’t you care what people think?”
“Are you judging me?”
“No, of course not.” But he’d taken a second too long to answer, and now she pierced him with a dagger-eyed look.
“You think I’m dumb, don’t you?” Her voice was dangerously low.
Uh-oh. “I never said that. Maybe you have...issues.”
Her expression shifted from angry to stone cold. “What the hell do you mean by issues?”
He hastened to correct himself, not wanting to go into that territory. Not now. “All I meant to say was that a diploma is important.” He struggled to put into words why it was so important—to him at least—but instead he said, “It seems silly to me that you didn’t finish your credits when you were so close.”
“So now I’m silly and stupid.”
He cringed. “What I meant—”
“I’m a good person, y’know. I have skills. Lots of people don’t have diplomas and do fine, Mr. Harvard Law School.”
“Of course you’re a good person.” He fought to keep his exasperation in check. “All I meant was that you could’ve gone to any school...” He took a deep breath. The fact that he’d had to work so hard to get what he wanted while she’d squandered her opportunities made him bitter and frustrated, but that didn’t give him any right to judge her. “Education is important. Basic language and math skills, sciences, geography—”
“Stop explaining things to me like I’m a child!” She shot out of her chair. “I don’t have any issues. I know what I want and I work hard. But you’re never going to see that, are you? You’re always going to look at me like I’m a dumb blonde cheerleader who dropped out of school and will never amount to anything.”
She was being deliberately obtuse, hearing what she wanted to hear so she could be mad at him. He raked his hands through his hair. With a brittle, maddened laugh, he uttered, “One credit and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“That’s right. One credit. And you’re acting like it gives you the right to pick on me. Well, I hope your law degree taught you enough to run this place on your own—” she tore off her apron “—because I quit.”
“What?” Aaron’s heart stopped. He jumped out of his seat. “W-wait a minute—”
She threw her apron against his chest and stalked out of the office. He followed, calling her name. Two customers stared as she grabbed her purse and jacket and marched out.
“Steph, I didn’t mean—”
Her one-fingered salute shut him up.
Aaron stood on the bakery steps as she threw herself into her mini SUV and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up icy gravel in her wake. The cold air seeped through his clothes and into his skin, slowly freezing his blood.
Crap. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_e83d50b2-e071-5ebe-96f2-9734fee4cd63)
STEPHANIE CLENCHED HER JAW, sick to her stomach, heart pounding. As she drove away from Georgette’s, she felt as if someone were digging spadefuls of hurt and bile straight out of her gut.
Twenty minutes later she pulled over, realizing she’d been driving aimlessly, blinded by her need to escape. What was it her old babysitter used to say? Running away won’t solve your problems, Stephanie.
It was too soon to regret, she told herself. This wasn’t her fault. Walking out was the only way to show Aaron she needed to be taken seriously. She wouldn’t stand to be mocked and bellied...belittled.
That, at least, was what she’d tell herself until reality sank in.
She sat in the SUV, hands loose in her lap, the emergency blinkers on. She picked up her cell phone. Calling Maya was out of the question. After the pep talk they’d had, Steph didn’t want to disappoint her. She didn’t want to head back to her apartment yet, either. Stewing at her place alone would only bring the grief home quicker once she acknowledged she was out of a job.
There was only one place she could think of to go. She dialed, and after a brief conversation, turned her SUV back onto the road.
It was half an hour before she arrived. Mom and Dad lived in one of the big houses on the shores of Silver Lake. They had a great view of the water, and they owned a private strip of beach, which was why all the parties back in high school had been at the Stephenses’.
Though it was anything but, today the house looked low and small and sad against the gray-and-white world. The lawn was covered in thin patches of melting snow. Steph pulled into the long, paved driveway and parked in the four-car garage. Her mother met her in the interior doorway, beaming.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” Helen opened her arms in welcome. Steph leaned in for a brief hug, smelling cloves and Chanel No. 5 in her mother’s hair. “I’ve got so much to do, and I could really use your help before your father’s party.”
Steph didn’t reply. She hadn’t mentioned it over the phone, but she had a feeling Mom already had heard about her falling-out with Aaron. Gossip was a professional sport in Everville, and Helen was one of its MVPs. “I’ve got a headache coming on,” Steph said, not in the mood to be interrogated. Sometimes faking it was Steph’s only way to ensure her mother left her alone. “Would you mind...?”
“Of course, baby. Go right up to your room. Lucena’s already put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in your bathroom. Get some rest and I’ll check on you later to see if you want dinner.” She ushered her up the stairs.
Steph shut the bedroom door, and the cold, massive space closed around her. She waited three heartbeats to feel better, to feel safe, to feel that everything was going to be all right.
All she felt, though, was a leaden sense of failure.
* * *
“I’M SCREWED.” ACTUALLY, screwed wasn’t the word he was thinking of, but he was trying to shield Kira’s delicate ears from saltier language. He didn’t want to drive off his only other employee.
“Can’t Georgette come and bake tomorrow’s orders?” she asked hopefully.
Aaron gulped his black coffee and stared at the long list of standing orders. He hadn’t realized how many local businesses they supplied with pastries and desserts. They’d lose a lot of cash if they had to cancel. “My grandmother’s still recovering. I don’t want to trouble her.” He scanned what was left behind the counter. “Pack up what you can from the display case to fill these orders.” He handed her the list. “We’ll make what we have to once we see what we have on hand.”
“What about stock for tomorrow?”
“I’ll deal with it. I don’t suppose you can come in for the rest of the week?”
She bit her lip. “I have classes...”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, then. Come when you can, but don’t you dare skip school.” He paused. “Wait...it’s barely noon. Why aren’t you in school now?”
“I only go part-time.”
He began to ask her why, but decided it wasn’t his business. There were lots of reasons a young person might have for not going to school full-time, and right now having Kira here was a blessing.
He went back to the office and hesitantly picked up the phone. How was he going to explain this to Gran? She’d be furious, and then she’d insist on coming to fill the orders.
He put down the handset. No. He wasn’t going to tell her. Not until he’d found a replacement. The doctor had said it was vital that Gran rest and keep her blood pressure down.
He took a deep breath to calm his own hammering heart. He’d spent his youth in the bakery working alongside Gran, though she hadn’t let him in on her secrets. But he knew where everything was in the kitchen—at least he thought he did. All he needed were the recipes.
Which were in the safe at home. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. Georgette would know right away that something was wrong if he showed up at the house now. He would have to get the binder of recipes tonight after Gran had gone to bed. Well, no problem. He had his smartphone and a great data plan. He’d get some recipes off the internet and make those. They wouldn’t be Gran’s, but they’d be close enough, he was sure. A chocolate chip cookie was a chocolate chip cookie.
He glanced at his watch. If he started now, he could make a few batches. He rolled up his sleeves and headed to the kitchen. He could do this. Stephanie Stephens had, after all. How hard could it possibly be?
* * *
THE SATURDAY OF her father’s birthday party, Steph was tasked with serving punch and cake, even though Helen had hired wait staff for the day. Steph suspected her mom had put her behind the big crystal punch bowl by the window to make sure she was seen by all the guests, including those who knew some eligible bachelors.
She smiled wanly as Helen, dressed in a salmon-colored two-piece suit, picked up a glass of punch. “I still don’t see why you couldn’t have made Georgette’s coconut cake,” she murmured. “It’s for your father, after all. You know he loves her coconut cake.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t make Georgette’s desserts for anyone unless they pay for them.”
“If this was about money, I would’ve paid you.” Helen sniffed.
“And if you’d wanted the cake, you should’ve ordered it from the bakery before I quit. It’s her recipe, and I don’t work for Georgette anymore, so I can’t use it.” She didn’t know why her mother argued with her about this all the time. Helen knew very well Steph had signed a nondisclosure agreement that kept her from sharing her employer’s recipes. In one of her more melodramatic moods, Helen had once claimed her own daughter wouldn’t give her Georgette’s recipes to save her life. To her mother’s everlasting shock, Steph had agreed.
Leaving their argument dangling, Helen trotted away to greet some guests. Steph stifled a yawn. She’d woken up before the crack of dawn, still attuned to her baking schedule. She’d never slept much, but now that her internal clock was thrown off she had a hard time coping.
Truthfully, she worried about what was happening at Georgette’s. She’d stormed out before she’d gotten any of the next day’s baking done. But she snuffed out the impulse to call, because the next thing she knew, she’d be driving there to put a pan of date squares together. She firmly reminded herself that the bakery was no longer her concern. Aaron would have to figure things out himself.
Damn that stupid, stupid man. Calling her on poor math skills? Hitting her where it hurt? What kind of guy did that? He knew she’d struggled through school. Everyone knew. Telling her she had issues...
Well, she didn’t. She’d asked her parents about it once, and they’d assured her absolutely nothing was wrong. She’d simply been a little slower on the uptake.
Slow. As if she really wanted a reminder of how people saw her. Stupid and useless. But not to everyone: Georgette had seen what she could do.
Steph shifted restlessly. She hadn’t called her yet to explain why she’d left. The truth was she was too cowardly. Disappointing Georgette was worse than disappointing anyone else she knew. And she’d done it anyway.
“Pardon me.” A tall man grinned down at her, interrupting her brooding. The sun made his grass-green eyes shine and caught in his gold-brown hair, distilling it to bourbon in its roots. “I’m looking for Helen and Terrence Stephens.”
Steph smiled back. “They should be around here somewhere. I’m their daughter, Stephanie.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He held out a big, weathered hand. “Wyatt Brown. Your folks were kind enough to invite me over to meet the neighbors.” He had the slightest accent, one she couldn’t place.
“Wyatt.” Helen hurried over. “So glad you could come. I see you’ve met my lovely daughter, Stephanie. You can call her Steph.”
Ah. Now Steph understood. This must be the rancher her mother had mentioned.
She gave him a once-over and decided her mother’s taste wasn’t terrible. In a pair of khakis, a green Ralph Lauren sweater and mud-stained loafers, he looked like a model out of a magazine. More Sears catalog than GQ, though. He was one of those big guys whose bodies were built for hard work. Thick muscles bulged as he shifted, stretching his clothes in interesting ways. Compared to the rancher, Aaron was a stick. Not that she was comparing the two.
Helen handed the rancher a glass of punch. “Stephanie, come out from behind there and show Wyatt around the house, won’t you? I’ll go get your father.” With that, she flitted off.
Real subtle, Mom. “Sorry about that. She can get overly enthusiastic at times.”
“I don’t mind.” His relaxed air put her at ease. He didn’t push, which was nice, but he wasn’t backing off, either. “Your mother’s talked a lot about you. Good things only, I promise.”
She was sure her mom hadn’t ever had a bad thing to say about her daughter to anyone.
She led Wyatt on a tour of the house with its many guest rooms, offices and her mother’s craft room. It had always seemed too big for the three of them, but they had friends stay over frequently. She and Wyatt chatted as they made their way back to the party. “My mom mentioned you’re a rancher and that you just moved here.”
“My folks have an operation in Australia, but we’re from Montana originally. I wanted to branch out, so I bought a nice piece of land not too far from here. We’re getting our first heads of cattle next week.”
“That sounds interesting.”
He chuckled. “You don’t have to be polite. Most people glaze over the moment I start talking shop.”
She stifled a laugh. Mom had always told her to look interested even if she had no idea what a person was saying, but she was glad she didn’t have to pretend too hard. Wyatt went on, “You’re a baker, right?”
“Well...I was.” She looked down.
“What happened?”
“I kind of...quit.” Ugh. She sounded like a total flake.
“What made you leave?”
“It’s a long story.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up, revealing a dimple. “I’ve got time.”
She shuffled her feet, embarrassed she’d even brought it up. “Well, it’s this guy...my boss, I guess you could say. He’s taking over Georgette’s Bakery—”
His eyes lit up. “That’s the place everyone keeps telling me to visit.”
“Oh, yeah. Bar none, the best baked goods in a hundred miles. People come in droves on the weekend and—” She stopped suddenly. This was the first weekend she hadn’t worked in months. Years, even. At this time of day, she’d be baking for Sunday. Regret gnawed at her and she worried her lower lip. “Anyhow, we don’t agree on some things.”
“About the business?”
“Well, that, and he thinks I’m stupid.”
His face darkened. “He said that?”
She winced, drawing out her response. “Not exactly.” She hugged her elbows. “But I know he thinks it. We went to high school together and he used to have a crush on me...” Good Lord, why was she even telling him this?
Wyatt’s crooked smile was knowing. “I take it you didn’t return the feeling?”
“I had a boyfriend at the time. Aaron was nice and all, but he was...” The word that automatically came to mind was pathetic. Dale had called him that a lot—a pathetic loser. Aaron had always been kind of intense around her, breathing down her neck to make sure she copied and returned his notes instead of letting her take them home, and looming over her to return those pens that one day. “Well, he wasn’t my type.”
Wyatt smirked. “So you think he’s getting back at you now?”
“Maybe.” She released another huff. “No. I don’t think he’s being mean intentionally. I think he thinks because I didn’t graduate and I’m still here in Everville and never went to college...” She was babbling. Mom had always warned her about boring people. She tossed her hair and gave a weak laugh. “I’m overthinking it. I’m sure it must sound silly to you.”
“It’s not silly to want to do something with your life that makes you happy,” he said seriously. “And from what I gather, this job made you happy.”
“It did.” Her shoulders slumped. “I screwed that up.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “If you love something enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”
She dipped her head self-consciously. Wyatt was only being nice, she told herself, though awfully touchy-feely considering they’d just met. “Thanks. I guess I need time to process it.”
“Oh, look at you two!” Helen bustled up, face radiant. “I’m so glad you’re hitting it off. Didn’t I say she’d like you, Wyatt? You two are perfect for each other!”
Steph dropped the rancher’s hand as if it were a live grenade, blushing furiously. She wasn’t feeling anything beyond the beginnings of a friendship with Wyatt. He was a nice guy who’d been patient enough to listen to her ramble. That was all.
“Leave those two alone, Helen. You’ll scare the poor man off.” Steph’s father strode up and vigorously shook Wyatt’s hand in greeting. Steph had inherited his sturdy height and kind eyes, as well as his brass-blond hair, though his was going a distinguished silver at the temples. A splash of barbecue sauce glistened on his white shirt collar. When Helen spotted it, she exclaimed loudly and attacked him with a napkin.
“Happy birthday, Terrence,” the rancher said above Helen’s head. “You have a lovely home and a wonderful family. You’re a lucky man.”
“It’s true.” He gently extricated himself from his wife’s fussing. “Come on, I want you to meet some people.” He led him off, leaving Steph with her mother.
Helen crushed her fingers in her grip. “He’s nice, right? Didn’t I say he was?”
Steph shook her off. “He’s fine. But stop pushing for something that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? Didn’t he tell you about his ranch? The man owns three hundred acres south of Everville, prime real estate. He’s worth upwards of a hundred million, you know.”
“Mom!” Steph was appalled. Her mother wasn’t usually this shallow. “How can you talk about him like some kind of...gold digger?”
Helen gave her a pooh-pooh look. “Nice is nice, but honey sweetens the pot. I’m simply looking out for you, baby.”
Steph glared. She grabbed her mother’s arm and tugged her into the empty den, temper reaching the boiling point. “I’ve told you, I’m not ready for a serious relationship.”
Her mother folded her arms. “I don’t see why not. You’ve quit your job. How else are you going to fill your time?”
Steph stared, so exasperated her mind had gone totally blank. She counted backward from five before she settled both trembling hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Mom. I’m an adult. I know you mean well, but you need to stay out of my personal life.”
Her mother inhaled sharply. She drew herself up and lifted her soft chin high. “I’d think you’d be more grateful for all the opportunities we’ve given you.”
Steph took two steps back, fingers curling. There was that tone again, the one everyone used to imply she was obligated to live up to their standards. She wanted to yell at her mother, but it was her father’s birthday, and she didn’t want to make a scene.
“I can’t talk to you right now.” Before she could say anything she’d regret, she hastened out onto the back deck and dug her nails into the wood railing, suppressing the scream climbing up her throat.
Gradually, her fury drained out of her as a damp gust of wind penetrated her dress and sapped away the heat of her anger. The lake glistened cold and silver beneath the pale orb of the sun. Its struggle to shine through the cloud cover was a flickering promise of warmer spring days ahead, but at the moment all she could see were the dirty, desolate snow drifts and ice-crusted puddles of mud.
The door closed quietly behind her. “Everything all right?” It was Wyatt. She didn’t really want to talk to him right now, not while her mother was pushing him at her. Any indication of interest—of which she could honestly say she had little—would only encourage Helen to drag out the pageant. They’d invite him over for dinner, then force him to spend time alone with her under some pretense. It’d happened before.
“I needed some fresh air.” She tried to keep her tone cool without being rude. He didn’t need to know about her argument with Mom. But either Wyatt didn’t get her message or was too gentlemanly to leave her alone. He pulled his sweater over his head and—good Lord, he was all muscles beneath his shirt—draped it across her shoulders. It smelled like leather and lemons.
“Thanks.” It seemed rude to refuse it.
Wyatt leaned against the railing. “Look, I want to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I think I came on too strong. To your parents.”
Steph blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He rubbed his chin and chuckled ruefully. “This...this is going to sound crazy.” He sucked in a breath as if steeling himself. “I’ve spent my whole life helping my folks on their ranch to the exclusion of everything else, which is how I found myself at age forty-two single and childless. I don’t mean to sound like a sad and lonely cowboy...but I haven’t gone on a lot of dates.” He peeked over at her. “This is the part where you start to get suspicious.”
A handsome, rich cowboy like Wyatt didn’t date? “Suspicious, no. Surprised, yes.”
“There’ve been women. Just not women I was really all that into, or who were more into my family’s money than they were into me.” He scratched the side of his nose. “When I met your parents at the country club and got to know them, they seemed like really great people. They mentioned you a lot. They didn’t know I was single at the time...but after a bit, I told them I wanted to meet you.”
A prickly feeling climbed up her arms, as if the sweater were creeping over her skin. She furtively shrugged it off her shoulders so it clung loosely to her elbows. “Um. Okay.”
“Look, I don’t want to sound weird. We’ve just met, but...I like you.”
“That’s...” Clumsy words weighed down her tongue. Too many confusing thoughts assailed her, first and foremost being that this was not something she wanted to hear right now. But instead of saying so, she said, “Thank you. I like you, too.”
Smile lines carved pleasant valleys into his sun-weathered face. “I’d like for us to get to know each other better.”
“Oh. Well...” Her pointed words of warning to back off wouldn’t come as easily with Wyatt as they had with her mother. She knew she should tell him she wasn’t interested, but the guy was too damned nice. The worst part was that despite his other attractive qualities, nice was the only word that kept coming to mind.
“I know I’m moving too fast.” He took a step back, hands raised. “But I’ll admit I like what I see and hear. And frankly, I’m not the kind of man who has the time or patience to play games.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Might as well go for broke.” He blew out a breath and looked her full in the face. “My parents are getting older. I’m looking for someone to settle down with, and I mean to start my family as soon as possible.”
Steph choked on a breath she tried to inhale and swallow at the same time. She supposed she should appreciate how up-front he was being, but alarm bells sounded a warning in the back of her mind. Maybe at some other point in her life, she would have loved hearing those words, but not now and not from Wyatt.
She coughed and cleared her throat. “Look, Wyatt...you seem like a great guy. Really.” The corners of her mouth strained as she tried to lift her lips. “But I’ve told my mother the same thing I’m going to tell you. I’m still trying to find myself. And I don’t think I can do that if I’m with another person right now.”
“I’m not hearing an absolute no.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I need time to figure things out for me.”
He tilted his chin down, thinking. “All right. I’ll give you time.” He pushed off the railing and touched his forelock as if he were wearing a broad-brimmed cowboy hat. “If you wouldn’t mind some advice...?”
Warily, she said, “Go on.”
“They say do what you love, the rest will follow. But if that were true, I’d be sleeping and eating Wagyu beefsteaks at all hours of the day.” He chuckled. “If you want to be a success, you gotta do what you have to do before you get to do what you love. Pay your dues, as it were. It isn’t always pretty or fun, but it’ll make what you love all that much sweeter in the end.”
He was talking about her job. It was almost a relief to hear after their intense relationship talk. He wasn’t even being condo...condescending. And his advice made sense.
A little salt to bring out the sweetness—that was something Georgette had taught her early on when it came to baking. “Thanks. That’s helpful, actually.”
“I’m glad. I’ll let you think about that,” he said, then flashed a grin. “But I suspect you’ll see more of me soon.”
He went back indoors, leaving her alone on the deck once more. Steph’s chills deepened. She started to pull the sweater around her, but then stopped herself. She took it off and headed back into the party.
The rancher was right. She had to make things happen for herself. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted by wishing for it. Everything came at a price, and she had to be willing to pay it. It looked as though she was going to have to eat crow if she was ever going to own Georgette’s.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_20aaf2bd-01e1-5dbc-a231-8909bd977324)
“MRS. LAWLER CALLED and said the chocolate chip cookies she ordered on Friday weren’t the ones we usually sell.” Georgette’s tone over the phone had all the pointedness of an awl gouging into Aaron’s good intentions.
He broke out in a sweat, pressing himself into the office chair as if he could disappear in the crumb-filled seams of the vinyl upholstery. He’d tried to keep this conversation from happening since Stephanie had left two days ago, but his time and luck had run out. “I know. I used a different recipe.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” Gran asked sharply.
“We were out of cookies. I had to whip up something I could make—”
“But those aren’t Georgette’s cookies. People don’t come to the bakery to get something they can make from an online recipe.”
“I know, I know.” He hadn’t thought his cookies had turned out that bad, even if they were a little hard and lacked the smooth, melt-in-your-mouth texture his grandmother’s were famous for.
He hadn’t had time to make another batch, though. All day Friday and well into the evening he’d thrown together recipes from the internet to fill the standing orders while Kira took care of the customers out front. By Saturday, all the premade pastries and batters had been used up and he found himself saying, “Sorry, we’re sold out” more often than “Thank you. Come again.”
Worse yet, he hadn’t been able to get the recipe binder from the safe—Gran had changed the code, and he couldn’t ask her for it without telling her why. Now they were almost completely out of stock, and he was scrambling to prep inventory for Monday. Flour dusted his running shoes and batter was caked on his jeans. He ached head to toe, and the lack of sleep after only two days was taking its toll.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t ask Stephanie to make more cookies.” Georgette waited for his explanation, and Aaron finally relented with a sigh.
“Stephanie quit on Friday.”
“Yes. I know.”
He sank deeper into the chair. He hadn’t really expected to keep such a huge secret in small-town Everville, but he’d hoped... “So you heard.”
“Betty told me when she came for tea yesterday. She said Stephanie stormed out in quite a mood. I thought I’d wait to hear the truth from you.” Every word lashed him with razor-sharp reproof. “How long were you planning to keep it from me?”
“I didn’t think you needed to know. I can handle it. You should be resting and recovering.”
“Don’t give me that,” she snapped. “That is my business, Aaron. I’m grateful that you want to take care of things. I put a lot of faith in you, waiting as long as I have to see how you’d solve this problem. But I told you from the start, didn’t I? You need Stephanie. You were supposed to work together.”
“Things didn’t work out.”
His grandmother’s stony silence on the other end of the line told him that was not a satisfactory explanation.
“And what, exactly, are you going to do for inventory?” she asked.
“Well, since renos are happening anyhow, we could close up for a week or two. It’ll give me time to interview for a replacement baker.”
“A replacement?” She said it as if he’d proposed they grind bones for flour. “Absolutely not!”
“Gran, be reasonable.”
“You don’t understand. I trained Stephanie. I trusted her with my secrets. I’m not going to hand over my recipes willy-nilly to some stranger. We’ve no guarantee they won’t take everything they’ve learned and start their own bakeshop in town.”
“You didn’t have that guarantee with Stephanie,” he pointed out.
He could almost feel her imperious glare through the handset. “Loyalty isn’t something you can teach, Aaron. It’s bred into you. Stephanie would’ve stayed if I’d asked her to.”
Would she have? Aaron wasn’t so sure. He’d been rude and downright patronizing toward her. He hadn’t meant to insult her. He simply couldn’t stand it when things were left unfinished.
One credit. That was all she’d needed. And he’d made a huge deal of it instead of dropping it and appreciating what she could do. Like keep the bakery in business.
Boy, had he ever screwed this up. He never would have anticipated Steph quitting over his stupid comments. He wanted to blame her for being overly sensitive and taking his words too personally. He’d only meant to be helpful, after all. Making suggestions that would increase efficiency and cut costs had served him well in his old job, but that tactic didn’t work here. Steph was a person, not a business. She’d taken his criticism personally because it was personal. And he’d completely disregarded her pride.
He heard something thump on the other end of the line. “I’ll have to come in tomorrow morning to fill the orders.”
“Gran, you should be resting.”
“I can’t relax knowing my bakery is falling apart and my customers aren’t happy. I’m likely to have another stroke worrying and not doing anything about it.”
“Your blood pressure’s still too high. What if you fall or hurt yourself? You can’t lift all those heavy bowls and sacks of flour on your own.”
“And you can’t bake to save your life,” she shot back. “Listen to this. You hear it?” There was a loud tapping noise on the other end of the line. “Those are the cookies you sold Mrs. Lawler. God forbid I let you fill Monday’s orders. I may be old and my brain might be weary, but I still remember I’ll need to make three pies for Bartlett’s, two cakes for Sealy’s Bistro, and a flan for Mrs. Hendrick’s birthday. Do you know how to make flan?”
Aaron conceded that he did not.
“I’m going to bed now,” Georgette said waspishly. “I’ve an early start tomorrow, and you’re going to drive me to work.” She hung up, her anger and disappointment echoing in his ears.
He rested his head in his hands. He was supposed to be making Gran’s life easier, but instead he’d made a mess.
Kira appeared at his office door. “Hey, Aaron?”
“What’s up?”
Her fingers curled around the door frame. “Something’s come up. Would it be okay if I left early?”
He frowned. “I really need you here, Kira. What’s so important that you have to leave right now?”
“Family emergency.” She glanced at her toes. “Please, I really have to go. I’m sorry.”
The anxious look on her face said she wasn’t kidding around, so he waved her off. They were closing soon and no one was coming in anyhow. She thanked him and dashed out, backpack slung over one shoulder, her hairnet still clinging to her head.
He rubbed his temples. If Gran wasn’t going to trust her recipes to a replacement baker, he didn’t have any choice. He needed to get Stephanie back. He had a feeling it would cost him more than his ego, though.
* * *
AFTER HER FATHER’S birthday party, Stephanie returned to her apartment. She’d had enough coddling from her mother and was eager to be back in her own space. She was going to suck it up and get back her job at Georgette’s.
First things first: she had to organize herself. Making to-do lists would line up all her priorities. When she was a kid her babysitter, Kitty, had been all about lists, and she’d gotten her into the habit. She took out her phone and started typing, saying the words out loud as if it would commit her to the cause.
“One. Buy school supplies.” She’d left most of her old notebooks and the like back at her parents’ place. She might be able to dig them up, but she’d be more motivated to work if she had all new stuff. It was like working out in new gym clothes. Besides, it was an easy task, and Kitty had always said accomplishing small things would help get the ball rolling on bigger projects. She could get the basics downstairs at the pharmacy...or maybe she’d drive to a big-box store and get some new jeans while she was there.
She typed in her second goal: “Two. Buy jeans.” It was important that she treat herself now and again, after all, and she’d had a rough couple of days.
Number three on her list was a little more complicated. “Get high school diploma.” She typed it slowly and stared at the item.
Simple. Yeah. She wouldn’t even have to finish that one credit Aaron had harped on about. She could do a high school equivalency test and shove that piece of paper in his face.
She sucked a breath between her teeth. No, she was going to be mature about this. Getting her diploma wasn’t about Aaron. It wasn’t. And he hadn’t forced her out of Georgette’s, either. She’d walked out on her own. If she really wanted her job back, she was going to have to be honest with herself and her employer about it.
That was number four. She typed it out as she declared it to the empty room. “Get...job...back.”
Right. She looked at her list and decided now was as good a time as any to get things done. Carpet denim, or whatever that saying was.
She drove to the Target in the next town, picked up a package of lined paper, a couple of binders, a pretty notebook, some gel pens, pencils, erasers and a stylish pencil case, along with a sharp new teal-blue backpack. Oh, she’d missed back-to-school shopping.
She spent some time picking out a pair of jeans, and then added a couple of new spring tops and a pair of espadrilles.
She walked out of the store and started the drive home. Two out of four things done on her list. Pretty productive, if she did say so herself.
Before heading back to her apartment, Steph stopped at Maya’s consignment shop. She’d told her briefly about meeting Wyatt, but still hadn’t said anything about quitting Georgette’s. She hoped to get her job back before Maya found out.
The bell above the door jangled. The familiar mixed scents of old leather, patchouli and mothballs were strangely comforting.
Steph made a beeline for the back room, where she found Maya steam-ironing a silk blouse. “Hey, you.” The shopkeeper hung up the steam wand. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“I took a day off to get some errands done.” The lie came too easily, pricking Steph’s conscience. “Actually, I came to ask you a favor. I want to get my diploma—my GED or whatever it’s called now. But I’m not sure how to do it.”
“That’s great.” Maya’s tentative smile should’ve made Steph feel indignant rather than sad. It’d always galled her when people told her what she could and couldn’t do. But Maya had witnessed her give up on a lot of projects: learning to play the guitar, rock-climbing lessons and knitting classes, to name a few. She had a right to be cautiously optimistic. “I’m sure you can find lots of study guides and stuff online.”
“I haven’t looked yet. I only made the decision today. What I meant was...”
“You need someone to help you study.”
Steph ducked her chin down. “I know you’re busy, but this is something I really want.”
“Of course I’ll help.” Maya squeezed her friend’s shoulders. “You should totally go for your diploma. To be honest, though, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I wasn’t exactly a straight-A student.”
“But you know how to get things done, and I need that more than anything.” Steph knew she lost focus easily and would give up in frustration when things got too hard. “I need you to breathe down my neck and make sure I do my homework. It’ll only be one night a week to make sure I stay on track. I promise to keep you in cookies and pies until I pass.”
Maya gave a snort of laughter. “Wow, my hips won’t thank you for that. But if you promise to stick with it, then you can count on me to scream at you like a drill sergeant.”
“Thank you.” She hugged her tight. “I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You know I can be a taskmaster.” She held her away. “Topic change. You owe me some gossip. Has this Wyatt guy called you yet?” Maya prodded slyly.
“It’s only been, like, two days. Don’t guys usually wait at least three?”
“From what you told me, it sounded like he was raring to go.” Maya snickered. “I bet he’ll ask you out sometime this week.”
Steph shrugged. “Well, he’s nice, but...”
“Nice butt is all I need to hear.” Maya slipped on her cat’s-eye glasses as she hung the blouse on a rack. “Tell me honestly—is he hideous or something?”
“No, he’s pretty good-looking. Great body. Kinda like if Bradley Cooper and Hugh Jackman had a love child.”
Maya gaped and fluttered her lashes. “You’re sure you don’t want to date him? ’Cause if you don’t, I will.”
“You’re welcome to him. Honestly, I’ve got other things on my mind.”
Maya peered closely at her. “Like getting your diploma? Does this have something to do with Aaron Caruthers?”
Steph flinched. “No.”
Maya waited, crossing her arms over her chest. Steph exhaled gruffly.
“Okay, maybe. I want him to stop thinking I’m stupid.”
Her friend frowned severely. “You’re not stupid, Steph. You have to stop saying that about yourself.”
Steph grimaced. The truth was there were times she felt dumb. Sometimes she had trouble understanding what people were saying. She’d think she was listening only to realize that she wasn’t, and was too embarrassed to ask for clarification. In her freshman year of high school, she’d asked her geography teacher, Mr. Wiltshire, to repeat something she hadn’t understood. He’d called her a “bimbo” and an “airhead” who should stick to cheerleading.
She got that some people, teachers included, had a hate-on for the “popular kids,” the ones who got special treatment because of their status on sports teams. But Mr. Wiltshire had been exceptionally judgmental. For a moment there, Aaron had reminded her of him, with his disapproving looks and buttoned-up facade. He’d made her remember the difference between her and the other kids in school.
Maybe that was why she’d left Georgette’s, even after she’d told herself she wouldn’t. She’d thought he was making fun of her, so she’d bolted. It’d always been easier to give up than risk failure and utter humiliation.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/vicki-essex/a-recipe-for-reunion/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Vicki Essex
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Second time′s the charm! Nothing about working with his former high school crush, Stephanie Stephens, is ideal. Still, if Aaron Caruthers intends to save his grandmother′s bakery, he must. Good thing he has a lot of ideas he can′t wait to implement. He never imagines Stephanie would have her own ideas for the business. Or that they would clash with his!It doesn′t take working with her long for Aaron to realize his impression of Stephanie as a helpless ex-cheerleader is way off. And the more of her kindness and strength he sees, the more attracted he is! Now to convince her…