Читать книгу The Sweetheart Deal - Syndi Powell - Страница 9

PROLOGUE

MEGAN SWEET RAN down the sidewalk past the shops on Lincoln Street and opened the door to the Sweetheart bakery. Stepping inside, she took a deep breath and savored for a moment the scents of yeast and sugar that filled the air. Grammy stood behind the counter refilling the glass display case with cookies. She glanced up at Megs and paused in her work. “Honey, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Megs shook her head, unable to put into words the mix of emotions that flooded her heart. “Kenny, he’s...” She hung her head and closed her eyes. “Grammy, he’s dead.”

Grammy came around the counter and enveloped her in a tight hug. Megs rested her head against her grandmother’s ample chest and felt the first tears start to leak from her eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d heard yet.” Grammy stroked her hair. “Are you okay?”

Megs raised her head and stared into Grammy’s hazel-brown eyes, much like her own. “How can I be? He was my best friend. And now he’s gone. What am I going to do?”

The front door opened, and two customers walked in. Grammy greeted them, then escorted Megs into the kitchen. She pulled out a stool and motioned to Megs to sit down. “I’ll help these ladies, then I’ll be right back.”

Megs hopped up on the stool and stared at her hands folded in her lap. She should have kept her mouth shut. She should have let the bully say and do what he wanted. But no, she’d had to stand up to him, and now Kenny was dead.

The swinging doors opened, and Grammy stepped into the kitchen. Megs expected her to talk, to assure her that everything would be okay. Instead, she pulled out an old recipe ledger and flipped through the pages. She finally settled on a page and pointed it out to Megs. “Here we are. This cookie helps to soothe a worried soul.” Grammy chose an apron from a shelf and tossed it at Megs. “Put it on. You’re going to make these on your own.”

Megs raised an eyebrow at this. She’d helped her grandmother make cookies before, but it had never been suggested that she bake them solo. She slipped the apron over her head, then wound the strings around her waist before tying them in front. “But I don’t know this recipe.”

“You can’t always rely on what you know.” Grammy nudged the ledger toward her. “Follow the recipe. Trust in yourself. It will guide you.”

She started to gather the ingredients: flour, sugar, butter and eggs. And the tin of dark cocoa. Megs lifted the lid and took a deep breath. Ambrosia.

As Grammy watched, she carefully measured and sifted, creamed and mixed. She referred back to the ledger when she doubted the next step, and later suppressed a smile when the dough formed into a ball exactly like it should. She glanced at her grandmother, who beamed at her. “You’re a natural, Megs. Like me.”

The next step was to let the dough firm up in the refrigerator for a half hour, so Megs put the mixing bowl in the walk-in cooler and returned to the warm kitchen. Grammy held out a mug of tea to her. “I know that Kenny’s death doesn’t make sense. Suicide never does. But he’ll always have a special place in your heart. And as long as you hold on to that, at least he can live on in your memories.”

Megs cupped her hands around the mug and let the warmth extend down her fingers toward her arms. “I’m afraid that I wasn’t a very good friend to him lately.”

Grammy wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “I doubt that. You’re the best friend any person could ask for.” She tweaked the end of her nose. “After all, you’re the best granddaughter. One of them, at least.”

When the half hour was over, Megs rolled out the dough, then used a knife to cut it into strips. She twisted them into shapes before placing them on a buttered cookie sheet, then slipped them into the oven. She leaned against the marble worktable and crossed her arms over her chest. “Will it ever stop hurting like this?”

Grammy nodded. “One day, it won’t hurt as much. But you’ll always miss him.” She gave a soft smile. “I still miss your grandfather. And your dad.”

“Me, too.”

“But the pain’s gotten easier, isn’t that right?” She put a hand on Megs’s shoulder. “It will be the same with Kenny.”

When the timer went off, Megs used a pot holder to bring out the sheet of twists and placed it on the counter. She grabbed a metal spatula to hold out one of the cookies. Grammy took it and bit into it. Megs watched as she chewed, then relaxed when she smiled.

“You did good.” Grammy finished the cookie and peered at Megs. “One day, this place will belong to you. All my recipes and the business, too. And you will learn to feed people’s souls as well as their bodies. Just like me.”

At that moment, there was nothing Megs wanted more.