Читать книгу A Baxter's Redemption - Patricia Johns - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

ISABEL TURNED IN a circle, taking in the large kitchen. It was more than she needed, but a full, professional bakery was hard to resist. For the last couple of years, she’d been mulling over a new idea for a small business—a chocolate shop. She’d call it Baxter’s Chocolates, and her father would be enraged at her use of the family name for another one of her business schemes, but it was her name, too. He wasn’t the only one with claim to it.

Gleaming ovens, a ceramic stove top with a huge stainless steel hood hovering above it, vast counter space and everything tiled in brilliant white. A double refrigerator loomed next to the owner, Roger Varga, who stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest as she poked through cupboards and into corners.

“What happened to the business that used to be here?” Isabel asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Roger stroked his fingers over a graying mustache. “Times are tough. They weren’t able to make the money they thought they could.”

She nodded, hiding the worry that built up inside her. That was her fear, too, that her chocolate business wouldn’t take off and she’d be left with another failed business on her hands. Of course, her father could always bail her out—he always had in the past—but this time, it was a matter of pride. This time, she wanted to make it on her own.

“I think the lease is a little high,” she said, angling her steps back over to where he stood. “It doesn’t do you any good to lease the place out for three months, then have it stand empty for another eight if I go under, does it?”

He paused, seemed to be considering her words. “What did you have in mind?”

“Half of the asking price.”

“I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “I’d rather have it stand empty. But I could go down to this—” He jotted a number on the corner of the lease papers.

Isabel considered for a moment. The number was fair, but she had a feeling she could get him lower. She shot him a smile, and only after she pulled the smile-brilliantly-at-your-rival routine, did she remember that she no longer had that card in her deck. She wasn’t going to dazzle him, and she sucked in a deep breath, covering her momentary discomfort by looking down. Could she even negotiate without her go-to feminine wiles?

Do I have a choice?

“How about this—” She jotted another number below his. “And I’ll make you something amazing for your next anniversary with your wife.”

“How amazing?” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

“Trust me. I know what impresses a woman. It will be chocolate, and it will melt her heart. Just be sure to tell everyone who made it.”

He laughed and shook his head and scratched the new number into the lease. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Baxter, but you have yourself a deal. Care to sign now?”

“Not yet,” she said with a shake of her head. “I just need to have my lawyer look over the fine print, and then I’ll drop it by your office.”

“Fair enough.” He shook her hand, and they walked together through the echoing shop and out the front door. The bell tinkled overhead, and Isabel glanced up at it. This was it—she could feel it in her bones—her shop. She’d mentioned this chocolate shop idea to her father before the accident and he’d liked the idea—in New York, at least. He’d suggested that it might keep her entertained until she got married and started having babies. That had been insulting, but he’d paid for her trips to France for chocolate-making classes. It had been a victory, of sorts. His one repeated warning had been, “But you don’t seem to have the sixth sense, Izzy. Entrepreneurs need to have that tingle that tells them where the money is, and you haven’t really got that...”

Was he right? Was this a dumb idea, or was her instinct better than either of them imagined? Well, this wasn’t his business. He bought and sold land with Baxter Land Holdings, but she wanted something different—Baxter’s Chocolates. Truffles, bars, nuggets and cream-centered confections. She’d perfected the art in her own kitchen—polishing up her skills on those vacations to Paris. Her friends thought she’d gone to France to shop, and she had done a fair bit of that, too, but her main reason had been for the private chocolatier classes she took from the best in the world. And after all that personal research and now her trust fund money, the time was ripe.

“Thanks so much,” Isabel said, shaking Roger’s hand firmly. “I’ll be in touch.”

This side street was quiet this time of day. A block away, Main Street was bedecked with hanging planters of fragrant hydrangeas, but Nicholson Avenue was bare. It ran from Main with some businesses on either side of the street—a little bistro across from the closed bakery—and then melted into a residential area of tiny houses from the fifties. Isabel sucked in a breath of fresh air and smiled to herself. This felt right. It was coming together, and after all the changes to her family, after her accident, she needed this.

“Is that you, Isabel?”

Isabel blinked and turned to see Britney teetering across the street toward her, one hand on her belly, the other outstretched to stop a pickup truck as she made a great show of pretending to run across the road, taking tiny steps and laughing at herself. Isabel smiled wanly. Had she ever acted like that? She wasn’t sure she’d like the honest answer.

Roger gave a final wave and headed off in the other direction, leaving Isabel alone on the sidewalk, waiting for Britney to make it across. When Britney stepped up onto the curb, she laughed and shook her head.

“I just can’t run like I used to! My goodness. Babies are heavier than you think.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked around, wide-eyed. “Oh, my...are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“That depends,” Isabel replied drily. “What do you think I’m up to?”

“Something...” She waved her hands in the air as if she were drying a manicure. “I don’t know—something expensive.”

Isabel shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” she replied. “That’s why we have Jimmy.”

Isabel raised a brow. “You mean James Hunter?”

“I call him Jimmy. It just suits him. He’s such a teddy bear.”

Isabel knew that Britney’s gushing shouldn’t bother her, but on some level it did. “Jimmy” wasn’t a teddy bear, he was a lawyer, and she had the feeling that he’d rather have respect than diminutive nicknames. Or was that just her right now?

“So what are you up to?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, just out for some brunch. Eating for two!” She hunched her shoulders and gave a girlish giggle, rubbing a hand over her belly. “I’m just starving these days. Do you want to go find something to nibble?”

“No thanks.” She attempted to infuse some warmth into her tone, but she had a feeling she failed when she saw Britney’s face. “I’m not hungry.”

“So...” Britney leaned to the side to look around Isabel. “What are you doing here? Didn’t this used to be Gordie’s Bakery? I don’t think it lasted long.”

Gordie. Georgie. Jimmy. Did any man who Britney came across have a full name?

She doubted it would even matter if she told Britney about her plans. The money was hers, after all. It was snuggly stashed away in her very own bank account, and nothing Britney or her father said would change anything.

“I’m looking into leasing a storefront,” she replied.

“What for?” Britney’s eyes widened again, but Isabel caught the slight twitch at the corners of her mouth. Britney wasn’t as childish as she put on.

“I’m opening my own business. A chocolate shop.”

“Oh...” Britney squinted. “Where do you buy the chocolate?”

“I make it.”

“Oh!” She pulled her hand through her hair and pursed her lips—Isabel was willing to bet that she’d just caught sight of her own reflection somewhere. “Well, Georgie says—” She blushed and shrugged apologetically. “Your dad says that you’re better off talking this stuff over with Jimmy. He’s good with these things, and we girls don’t even know where to start, you know?”

Isabel cocked her head to one side, regarding her young stepmother. There had been a time when Isabel had used the same tactics. Pretty girls got their way, but pretty and intelligent girls were too intimidating and put men off. She’d learned quickly how to “dumb it down” in order to make people do what she needed, but seeing this same manipulation in Britney was mildly annoying.

“I have a degree in business,” she replied coolly. “I’m pretty sure I know where to begin.”

“Just saying.” Britney shrugged. She pulled a necklace out from under her blouse and ran it idly through her fingers. Isabel’s gaze locked onto the pendant—a princess-cut yellow diamond, surrounded by white diamonds nestled in white gold. Isabel knew this necklace well—it had been her mother’s.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded.

“This?” Britney shrugged. “Your dad gave it to me. Isn’t it pretty? I love it.”

Isabel shot Britney a tight smile. “I see.”

It looked like a lot of things were changing around here, and Isabel didn’t have to like it.

“Well, anyway, I’m meeting up with Carmella, so I’d better go.” The younger woman beamed at Isabel once more. “Baby’s hungry!”

With a flutter of her fingers, Britney pranced away in her two-inch heels, leaving Isabel on the curb with a white-hot feeling searing through her middle. She didn’t use the word hate lightly, but right now, she truly hated Britney Baxter.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she fired off a text to James Hunter: I need your advice on a lease contract. Can we meet?

She dropped the phone back into her purse. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that feelings might get hurt, but business wasn’t about feelings. It was about money, and it was about building something bigger than yourself.

And right now, she’d stick to business. Feelings were a little too volatile to be trusted.

Britney met a woman on the opposite side of the street who paused, shaded her eyes and peered in Isabel’s direction. Isabel knew her well—Carmella, a high school friend. She’d been running into old acquaintances a lot the last few days, and their first reactions had never been very warm. There had been some sympathy over her scars that barely concealed their satisfaction at seeing her brought down a peg or two. Some didn’t bother saying anything—just stared. And a couple of old classmates had crossed the street to avoid her, which made their feelings about her pretty clear. So far, she hadn’t come across people from the wealthier circles she’d used to move in, and they were the ones who intimidated her the most right now.

“Isabel Baxter, is that you?” Carmella hooted across the street. “Get over here, girl!”

Isabel pasted a smile on her face, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “Carmella Biggins?” she called back, and headed across the road.

Sometimes, there was no way around it, and all a woman could do was face it head-on. Like a firing squad.

* * *

JAMES PULLED UP to the curb next to Family Cheese and turned off the engine. Jenny sat on a wooden bench, squinting in the morning sun. Her shoulders were hunched, her plump legs dangling, not quite reaching the ground. A slanted triangle of shade from the building behind her just missed her shoulders, and her blond hair shone like gold in the sunlight. Her eyes, small in her round face, followed the truck as he parked, but she didn’t move.

Every time this happened, Jenny was crushed.

Pushing open his door, James got out and headed over to where she sat. Another car drove past, tooting a horn in hello. James raised his hand in a distracted wave, not even bothering to check to see who it was. He stopped in front of his sister and looked down at her. She looked girlish from a distance, but up close she looked like the adult she was.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”

“Nope.” She heaved a sigh. “No one wants me, Jimmy.” She had a slight lisp, and it still reminded him of when she was a little girl. His heart welled with love.

“I do,” he said.

“You don’t count.” She looked away.

“Ouch,” he said, sinking down to the seat next to her. “I like to think I count a little bit.”

“Sorry,” she retorted.

“So what happened?” he asked. Jenny didn’t answer right away, tears misting her eyes, then she turned toward him, her lips quivering with anger.

“He called me retarded.”

James blinked. “Bob did?”

“No, not Bob.” She shook her head, eyes flashing in exasperation. She put her fingers up to make air quotes. “The customer.” She still wasn’t clear about how to use air quotes, and she tended to use them when she was upset.

“And Bob didn’t stand up for you?” Images of lawsuits danced through his head, but he sucked in a breath to try to calm his anger. “So tell me what happened. Exactly.”

“This little boy was pointing at me and laughing,” Jenny said. “So the boy’s dad said, ‘Don’t do that. It’s not nice. It’s not her fault she’s retarded.’ So I threw cheese at him.”

An image of his sister launching Gouda at a customer’s head struck him as funny, and James stifled a laugh. “You had to know that wasn’t a good idea,” he said.

She shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic.

James attempted to control the smile that tickled the corners of his lips, but he had a burning question. “How was your aim?”

“I have great aim. I hit him in the face. With a nice, old, gooey brie.”

James laughed out loud and shook his head. “Jenny, you’re a nut.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a nut with good aim!” she shot back, but a smile toyed at the corners of her lips. “It was expensive, too.”

“I don’t think we have a leg to stand on to argue this one, Jenny,” he said apologetically. “You can’t throw cheese at people.”

“I know.”

“We’ll find you a different job.” The words came easily enough because he wanted them to be true, but Jenny already had a reputation around this town. She stood up for herself, but she had her own method that didn’t always suit customer service. And what other jobs were there for her?

“Really, Jimmy?” she asked hopefully.

James paused. “I actually don’t know. But we’ll sort something out.”

“I’m not retarded,” she said, her voice low. “I’m a person.”

“I know, Jenny. And you’re a good person, too.”

The problem was that people didn’t understand Jenny the way he did. He’d gotten her a job in his office stuffing envelopes and doing some photocopies, but the pace was too quick for her and he’d felt terrible when he saw how frustrated she was. It would have been perfect to have her close, but what could he do?

His phone blipped and he glanced down at the text message. It was from Isabel. She wanted to meet up.

“Who’s that?” Jenny asked.

“A client,” he replied.

“Do you have to go back to work now?”

He sighed. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take you home first.”

He paused to text Isabel back, his thumbs hopping over the keys: I can meet you around 2, if that works. Let me know where.

Jenny scooted forward until her running shoes hit the ground and glanced up at James. “I wasn’t ladylike.”

James shot her grin. “So? I’m not ladylike, either.”

It was a long-standing joke between them. Jenny grinned and rose to her feet.

“Do you want to stop for a milk shake on the way home?” James asked.

Jenny cocked her head to one side coyly. “I wouldn’t object.”

He chuckled and opened the truck door for her to get in. As he shut the door after her, he wondered what he could do to find a place for Jenny to belong. She’d always be his sister, and this would always be her town, but she needed more than that—she needed the equivalent of what his legal practice was to him. It seemed so simple, but it wasn’t. She needed more than a job. She needed someone who would understand her, and that was one tall order.

His phone blipped again, and he glanced down at the text. It was from Isabel again.

Ruby’s Diner. 2 pm is perfect. Thank you, James.

There was something about the words that struck him as sweet, and he pushed any softening feelings firmly away. For the moment, he had an important appointment with his sister and the ice-cream parlor.