by Piper Rayne
His warm brown eyes, so much like Emma’s, sparkle. “I met Miss Vera's niece!”
“Oh?” She must have made quite the impression for him to have such a pep in his step.
“Yeah! She’s super nice,” he peers around to make sure no one can hear before whispering, “She's smokin’ hot too.”
Pretty sure this kid’s developed an advanced case of teenage hormones even though he’s only eleven. “Clay Baker, what have I told you about that?” My disappointed dad mask slips on, showing my displeasure. I want my sons to see more in girls than just their looks.
“What? She is…” he comments with a shrug, unaffected by my reprimand.
“All troops present and accounted for, captain,” Vera Kay chimes in as she greets Harper with a hug.
“I don't know what I'd do without you.” My broken record of gratitude plays again.
She blows it off like it isn’t a big deal, tsking me. “It's my pleasure. These kids give me life,” she finishes, taking a sip of the iced coffee that was waiting for her in her favorite mug.
“I heard your niece made it in.” And now has an 11-year-old smitten with her.
She nods as a brand new warmth settles into her eyes. “Got there in time for dinner and to meet some of these wily rascals.”
Thinking back to Clay’s reaction, I wince. “Did they scare her away?”
“Not yet. Besides, she's used to a classroom with 30 seven-year-olds. A handful of Baker kids isn't going to faze her.”
One might not, but two handfuls might make her throw in the towel before she pours the first cup of coffee since they’re here so much. I busy myself, restacking the dishes that never seem to stay clean long as she enjoys her coffee. “Think she’d be available to work this week?”
Porcelain meets porcelain as she sets it down in the saucer she prefers to have under her cup. “As soon as you're ready for her, she’ll come in.”
“Would the day after tomorrow be too soon?” I ask, knowing the answer is probably a no.
“She'll be here with bells on,” Vera adds nonchalantly. “I’ll talk to her tonight, but I guarantee she’s ready to go. Nova hates to be idle too long.” Likes to stay busy. Another point in her favor. “How'd that new biscotti recipe turn out?”
“Haven't got to try it yet. Want to be the Guinea pig when it’s ready?”
“I'll never turn down one of your biscottis. Neither will Millie Haberdasher.” As she cranes her neck to examine the bowl, her eyes squint, then widen at the sight of what’s sitting beside it. “Do I see a lemon over there?”
If there’s one thing of the many things I’ll always remember about Vera Kay, it’s her love of all things lemon. “Figured I might make one that goes well with that summertime tea blend that’s been popular with the customers.”
“Well, I think it'll be a hit,” she says as a wink that seals her judgment. The cookie dough biscotti she’s eating steals her attention, giving her something to look at other than me as she inquires, “Thought any more about entering the Christmas Spirit Soiree?”
“Nah. Too busy around here.” One glance around the shop told Vera Kay that wasn't the total truth. However, the shops who win that award and the prizes alongside it are usually decorated to the gills and have various offerings. When Emma and I started this shop, we had barely had the time and money to get the bare bones in place before we adopted the first five kids. With rent, a loan to pay off, and a growing family who likes to eat more than once or twice a day, it just wasn’t in the budget to invest in the shop more than we already had. Maybe someday, we’d always say. Someday never came, though.
With another glimpse around, she cocks an eyebrow at me. “I think you can manage.”
I think of a short but truthful response as I swipe the wet terry cloth rag across the counters. “Honestly, I don't have the time, the money, or the manpower for it, Miss Vera.”
The cloth stops moving when she closes her hand over mine. I look up to see determination staring back at me. “Trust me, Scott... With Nova here to help and me pitching in, not only will you have time, but you'll win that contest.”
To hear her tell it, her niece is somewhat of a fairy godmother. I wonder if she leaves a trail of pixie dust wherever she roams. If so, Baked & Brewed could use a sprinkle or two of magic. “Is she that efficient of a worker?”
“And then some. She's very inventive and double majored in marketing and education in college. I tell ya, that girl can spin straw into gold. Runs in the family,” she laughs, garnering a smile from me. “Maybe she could show you some of the secret recipes she used at the coffee shop she worked at? Coffee’s her forte, but she’s a pretty decent baker too.”
“Couldn't hurt,” I admit with a shrug, glancing around the room. “Emma would be so ashamed that I’ve let the place go down as it has.”
Short, snow-white curls bounce as she shakes her head back and forth. “Emma would be proud that you kept her dream alive while raising ten children by yourself.”
“Can't take all the credit,” I say, giving her a knowing look. “I've had a lot of help along the way.”
“You've also done most of the heavy lifting on your own. Nothing wrong with accepting help, honey. Especially when that help loves those kids,” her eyes travel to the corner booth, where ten Bakers sit, all different ages and personalities intermeshed.
“If only I could restore it to how it was before she…” I exhale, keeping the façade I’ve worked so hard to build up intact. Over the last year especially, it’s finally sunk in that my wife is gone, but I want how I run the shop and raise our kids to make her proud, even if she can’t be here to see it for herself.
Vera Kay glances down at her coffee mug, deep in thought for a moment. “What if it's meant to be something different now?” Her voice wavers a touch.
“Maybe,” I concede, although my heart and mind can’t figure out what that new something’s supposed to be. Sensing a change in topic is sorely needed, I turn it back to something I know will spark some joy in us both. “How’d the kids fare at practice tonight?”
“Our boy Griffin almost got a home run.”
“No way!” My eldest boy’s coming into his own on the field.
“Maybe with Nova here, you'll get to go see it yourself when he finally hits that homer. Grey said he's going to be a star come spring.”
It’s so wonderful that Griffin has a good guy like Grey Kasen to show him the ropes. “He's doing a great job with that fall ball league.”
“He surely is. Mason's been working with Clay as well,” she nods to the jokester of the family, who’s currently making weird faces at Harper and Griffin, both of whom are doing their best to ignore him.
It was a surprise when Grey announced that his twin would be helping out this season. “I wonder what made him pitch in and start coaching.” Mason’s a local police officer here with a reputation for being a bit hot and cold with people. He’s the most guarded of the Kasen family, and you can tell he takes his job seriously.
“Don’t know to tell you the truth. You should see those brothers at it, though.” Her eyes glimmer with mischief. “Different as night and day, but they work so well together. It's like watching a well-oiled machine. Easy on the eyes, too,” she cackles as I shake my head. Woman’s incorrigible sometimes.
“Shame Grey didn't get to go into the big leagues.” Grey was a talented player in his younger days, with college scouts looking at him during his junior year in high school. He had a scholarship lined up until a fight put the brakes on that, from what I gather. Even though he took over running Kasen Construction when his father Charles had a heart attack, he still finds time to give back to the community, including coaching.
“Something tells me he doesn't regret it all that much,” she says with a knowing smirk.
What’s that about? “So, when's the next game?”
“Hemshire had to cancel this weekend, so next Saturday. Why don't you plan on going to the game? I'll stay back and wa
tch the shop,” she suggests. “Nova will be with me, so we’ll have it covered.”
“I can't do that to you all,” I concede, much to my chagrin.
She hops down from the stool she was perched on and walks her cup and saucer to the sink. “You deserve to watch your kids be kids while you still can. It'll be good for them to see their dad there, cheering them on.”
It’d do me some good too. “We'll see how the week goes.”
“I'll take that.” We shake hands, sealing an unofficial deal. Her head cocks towards the glass case that holds all the baked goods. “And I'll also take two more of those biscottis, wrapped to go, please.”
Millie Haberdasher isn’t the only one with a thing for my handiwork. “Think the new ones might be a hit?”
“I'm thinking more like a Grand Slam if they’re as amazing as all the others.” She takes a moment to survey the shop, then looks at me again. “You seriously need to think about entering that contest. It’d be good publicity for the town now that there’s a movement to start bringing in some tourism. I’m sure people would be happy to help.”
Self-sufficiency is encoded into my DNA, but if Vera Kay believes it’s a possibility, maybe I should change my mindset a little. “I’ll think about it. Anything I need to know about Nova?”
“Yeah.” The wax-coated paper bag crinkles as I hand her the biscottis, a perfect match for the softly crinkled lines around those mischievous eyes that appear so often. “She's got a lot of her aunt Vera Kay in her.”
Knowing how much my kids and I adore her, I assure her, “Then, I'm sure she's gonna fit in around here just fine.”
5
Nova
I’m not supposed to show up until tomorrow, but I hate not to meet my new boss before I begin working in his shop. Small businesses are the pride and joy of their owners, so making a good first impression is essential. From what little bit Vera Kay told me about him, Scott Baker is a hardworking man who runs a tight ship. With five kids, he'd have to if he didn't want it to sink.
The shop is a quaint blend of charming and utilitarian: not too many frills, yet still full of warmth. Entering the coffee house feels a little like coming home. After years of working a part-time job in a place just like this during college, I can't help but feel a little nostalgic. The owner of the Righteous Brew Café took me under her wing and showed me the ropes. I learned how to brew the perfect cup of coffee, be imaginative with new creations, and even picked up some baking skills. Maybe I'll get to dust off that knowledge and learn a few new tricks from him as well.
Despite its warm façade, the shop is eerily quiet with only one patron, a sweet little granny typing away at her laptop. Wonder what she's writing? Probably an email to her grandkids telling them about her most recent luncheon with a few girlfriends. Considering she's got a book beside her, maybe it's about her book club’s latest read—a sweet, small-town romance or if they’re feeling lively, a thriller. As if reading my thoughts, she peers up from the screen and offers me a kind smile.
“Looking for someone, honey?” she asks, time well-written onto her features. The small table before her has an empty plate scattered with crumbs, a lovely blue teapot, and a cup that’s nearly full sitting on a saucer. It’s a beautiful contrast of modern times and days gone by, all witnessed by the woman before me.
“Yes. I’m looking for the owner, Scott Baker?” I look around, noting that no one seems to be around but this lady and me, and check my phone. It’s well after time for school to be out, yet the place is almost empty. Maybe it’s a fluke. “Do you know him?”
She waves off the question. “Oh, everyone knows Scott. Should be back around in just a minute. Went to go get the mail.” Her weathered hand motions to the seat opposite of her. “Would you care to join me?”
“That’d be great. Thank you,” I beam, grateful for her kindness. “I’m Nova, by the way.”
She returns my handshake with a two-handed one, cupping mine between hers, so soft to be so worn. “Millie Haberdasher, darling. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise.” After getting adjusted, I notice a paperback next to her laptop. “Good read?”
“Oh, yes! She picks it up and holds it to her chest in a hug. “That Lisa Kleypas knows what she's doing.” Her brows waggle, which garners a giggle from me. “Ever read her?”
“Can't say that I have,” I admit, holding back more laughter at her excitement. This woman’s a pip.
“Well, why don't you just take this with you and enjoy,” she adamantly declares, sliding the book my way.
I shake my head, amusement warming my heart. “Oh, I couldn’t take your book.”
“Nonsense! I've read it ten times already,” she insists. “It’s one of my favorites of hers.”
What a sweet, little old lady. Giving her my thanks, I take in the beautiful cover as she continues gushing about it. “That lady knows how to write some steamy historical romance. I could tell you in detail exactly what that railroad magnate’s trouser snake looks like.” She nonchalantly motions to the small teapot sitting on a trivet as my mouth drops. “Care for some tea?”
“P-pardon?” I sputter, caught off guard a little—actually a lot—by her confession.
“Tea, dear,” she says pragmatically. That is until she takes in the undoubtedly comical reaction displayed on my face. “Oh! You mean trouser snake? You know, honey, a man’s—” her words cut off as the soft bell chimes. “Well, speak of the devil.” She nods over my shoulder as I sit there, still in shock and half-wondering what’s going to be standing near that door when I chance a glance.
“Thanks for watching things, Miss Millie,” a mystery man answers in a gracious tone, his voice a perfect blend of deep and welcoming. The shuffle of his feet grows louder as he walks past the table, hurrying towards the coffee bar area. A few letters hit the back counter with a click; then a well-worn apron finds its way around his body—a body I’m not checking out or anything, by the way. Not even those well-defined forearms that are peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves, or the slacks that hug his toned legs and sculpted behind.
We’re done with men, remember? Thankfully, my brain remembers the goal here and tells whatever is stirring in my libido to cut it out. There’s no way this is the middle-aged man Vera Kay described to me. I had imagined someone much older, but this guy?
“Wanna come meet our guest, Scott?” Millie’s high voice pulls me from my stupor. The knowing grin on her face proves she saw me checking him out, yet she doesn’t look annoyed by it. She seems relieved.
Interesting.
“I’m sorry,” he absently apologizes as he approaches the table, looking down at his phone. “Where are my—” he pauses as we lock eyes, his face blooming a lighter shade of red.
“Manners?” I nervously laugh, wondering where these jitters came from.
“Yeah, those.” His light gray eyes level at me, framed by even darker brows. His dark brown hair lays short with some length in the front, tousled to perfection.
Wow. Aunt Vera forgot to mention how hot he is.
Reign it in, Nova.
He shakes out of his stupor, clearing his throat, and extends his hand. “Scott Baker, owner.”
I take his hand, surprised by the little sparks that jolt silently where my hand touches his. “Nova Whitmore, future employee.” His hand cradles mine for several moments as we continue to shake, and I can’t help but find it hard to take my eyes from him.
Realizing our handshake has now reached a point of awkwardness, he pulls back, rubbing his palm against his outer right thigh. Okay, then. “So, you’re Miss Vera’s niece?”
“The one and only,” I remark with a friendly grin, hoping it’ll dispel some of the nerves coursing through my veins.
The clicking of computer keys tears my attention away from him. Whatever inspiration Miss Millie just found seems to be more pressing than...whatever just happened between us.
Nothing happened. You met a guy. Not a big deal.
Willing my internal monologue to quieten, I return my glance to him. “I just wanted to stop in and see if you needed anything from me before tomorrow.”
He eyes the door then returns his beautiful gaze to mine. “Just the normal information for pay stubs. We’re pretty low-key here.” I nod, as he glances at his phone again. “I’ve got a few spare minutes. I can show you around if you like.”
“That’d be great.” I stand and acknowledge the preoccupied lady who invited me to her table. “Thank you for keeping me company, Miss Millie.”
“My pleasure, Nova. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other from here on out,” she comments, never taking her eyes from the screen.
Scott heads to the bar as I gather my things and put the chair back where it belongs. I catch up to him as he’s righting a few things around the back, returning them to what seems to be their respective places. He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it even further. “Vera mentioned you have experience in a coffeehouse.”
“Worked in one all through college and part of my senior year of high school as well.” Taking in the layout of the kitchen area as well as how simplified everything from the machinery to the decor is, I assume my skill set might be a bit more advanced for what’s needed. This space has a lot of potential, though. We come back out into the main shop area and peruse the coffee bar. As Scott shows me where everything’s located, I notice a ceramic container that seems to have its own space carved out for it on the countertop. “That’s a beautiful bowl.”
As his eyes connect with the basin that boasts a rich robin’s eye blue, his thumb reaches out to it. “It’s very special to us all,” he notes as he caresses the rim, a melancholy expression on the half of his face I can see.
