Читать книгу A Recipe for Reunion - Vicki Essex - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“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?