by Sabrina York
What were the odds? Lately it seemed like he was always thinking about her. “What are you doing?” he asked instead.
“Well,” she began, “I was up all night thinking about what you guys said and...” She held up a tape measure. “I thought I’d get a feel for the dimensions. You know, to see how feasible it is to run two businesses here. The bookstore means too much to Gram. I couldn’t just take over.”
“Of course not.”
“But now that I’m down here, I realized how silly it is to do this alone, and Gram is still asleep. Could you help?”
He grinned even wider. “Help you chase this dream? Hell, yeah, I’ll help.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help grinning at his eagerness.
For the next hour or so, he followed her lead as she measured and recorded nearly every square inch of the little store. As they worked, she shared some of the ideas she’d had and they talked them out. He especially liked her idea of giving away samples in advance of the launch. Everyone loved baked goods, and free baked goods were even better!
He really liked her idea of paying him for his labor in cookies.
Ah, but there was a method to her madness. Once she had him installed upstairs at her kitchen table—with a couple of cookies and a glass of milk—she pulled out a rough sketch she’d made of the store and scribbled in the measurements they’d taken.
“What do you think?” she said, sliding the paper over so he could see it better. “This section by the door and along this wall is underused. Gram only uses it for checkout. I could see this whole side refurbished like a café.”
Mark nodded. “If you move these bookshelves over here, there would even be room for some tables. Or better yet, add built-in bookshelves along the walls here and here.”
The excitement on her face when she looked at him stole his breath. Made his chest hurt a little, too. “Oh, Mark,” she said. “That’s perfect.”
He forced a smile so she wouldn’t realize how much her approval had affected him. It made him want to wrap her in his arms and howl with joy. Instead, he fixed his attention on the layout, even though he didn’t really see anything but a blur. “It wouldn’t be that difficult to make these changes, either,” he said. “Luke loves to build things. I bet he’d be all over that.”
Why he referred to his brother and his prowess with a hammer at that moment, Mark didn’t know, but he was glad he had when her smile widened. “It is possible, isn’t it?” she asked.
Her excitement was catching. He put his hand over hers and nodded. “Of course it’s possible,” he said, ignoring the thudding in his ears. “Anything is possible, if you just don’t give up. And like we said yesterday, we’re all here to help you.”
She set her other hand on his; it was warm. “You’re right.” And then she leaned closer, causing his heart to skip, because she might have been leaning in to give him a kiss. But she didn’t. She said, “I can do this. I can. Thank you, Mark.”
Something caught in his throat. “You’re welcome.”
She returned her gaze to the plans and her smile blossomed. “Oh, Mark. This is going to be so much fun!”
Chapter Five
After Mark headed back to the ranch, Roni was filled with excitement and ideas for the bakery, and, thanks to his suggestion, she decided to talk to Luke to see if he would be willing to help her with some of the carpentry work. He’d seemed supportive yesterday, but he hadn’t said much at all. His had been a discernable silence within a tornado of chatter...at least to her. Granted, he’d always been a little different from the rest of the family, although she couldn’t put her finger on why. She felt called to reconnect with him and reestablish the friendship they’d had as kids, and to see if he was interested in helping with the bakery; she hoped the spare pan of brownies she’d decided to bring him would serve as an effective bribe.
His place wasn’t hard to find, since it was just down the street from the church. It was a humble one-story abode. The yard was spotless and the trim had been recently painted. As she stepped up the stairs to the entry, she heard the strains of Mozart playing.
Mozart? She almost didn’t knock, because Luke didn’t seem like the kind of guy who went for classical music, so maybe she had the wrong place. She was glad she did when he came to the door. He stared at her for a second, as though it took that long for him to place her, or he was surprised to see her. Then his face broke into a slow grin.
“Roni,” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”
She thrust the pan at him. “I brought you brownies. I noticed they were your favorites last night.”
Again, he stared at her a moment too long. “Wow. Thank you so much.” He opened the door wider and waved her in. “Come in.”
His living room was, in a word, tidy. Not a thing out of place. But that made sense. He’d been a Marine. In the military, order was everything. Her entire life, she’d never seen a cigarette butt on the ground on any base where she’d lived. Litter was unheard of. It was just the culture.
“This is a nice place,” she said. And then, when he went to turn off the music, she added, “Please. Leave it on. I love Mozart.”
His eyes lit up. “Do you?”
She nodded. “It’s great for building new pathways in the brain. I used to play all kinds of classical music when I was teaching. The kids loved it.”
He chuckled. “Probably because it’s in so many cartoons.”
“What’s the deal with that?” she asked rhetorically, because no one really knew.
“I started listening as part of my mood therapy after...” His voice trailed off and he shrugged. “Got hooked. Hey, can I offer you a cup of coffee—” he glanced at the pan “—and a brownie?”
“I’d love a cup of coffee. To be honest, the brownies are a bribe.”
His brows rose. “Really?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She wandered around as he made the coffee, taking in the things he treasured, scattered as they were on the mantel—photos of him in uniform with another man, books on philosophy, a Purple Heart. “I’ve been thinking about what we were all talking about last night. You know, how everyone liked the idea of turning the bookstore into a bakery. I’d love to have your help, if you’re interested. Mark says you’re an excellent carpenter.”
“Huh.” He poured them both a cup of coffee, got the cream from the fridge and brought it over. “Well, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
“Thank you.” She reached out and touched his arm. When he jerked back, she could tell it was an instinctual move. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. It was just a surprise.”
“PTSD?”
He blinked. “I, ah...”
“I recognize the look.” As a military brat, she was familiar with post-traumatic stress disorder. Besides, she’d learned to live with it herself.
His expression sobered and he nodded. “I see it in your eyes, too. Some kind of...pain.”
She forced a grin. “Do you mean as though life has knocked me on my ass and I’m still trying to figure out how to get back up?”
His smile was warm, sincere. “Something like that.”
“I’ve been through the mill,” she admitted. “So have you, I understand.”
He grunted. “Heard about that, did you?”
“Not much. Sam mentioned you were injured in the Marines.”
“Yeah. An IED got me.” He gestured to his left flank, his arm, his leg. “Here. And here.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “They said I’d never walk again.”
She caught and held his gaze. “Me, too.”
His expression made clear he understood completely, though he took a minute to respond. “Not an IED, I’m guessing.”
She hesitated, then confess
ed, “No. A man.”
He went still. His jaw flexed. “I’ll kill him.”
Her heart pinged. How wonderful did it feel to have a big strong Marine like Luke Stirling offer to avenge her? Even though vengeance was a moot point. What really mattered was having his support.
When she hugged him, it was awkward at first, because he resisted. He clearly wasn’t used to spontaneous emotion, or being touched, that much was clear. Well, neither was she. Both of them ignored the tears in their eyes.
When she stepped back, he left his arm around her. It lacked the little sparks she felt when Mark touched her, but it was very comforting.
Was this what having a brother was like?
She and Luke had been friends almost as long as she and Mark had—ever since the day she learned Luke was struggling with his reading, and had helped him with the alphabet. Come to think of it, that’s probably when she decided that teaching was what she wanted to do with her life. Funny how one little interaction could set a lifetime course.
He chuckled. “Next thing you know we’ll be showing each other our scars.”
“Oh?” She turned to face him with a teasing grin. “Is that a Marine thing?”
“Kinda. See?” He stepped back and pulled up his T-shirt, revealing a savage speckling of puckered skin along his flank. “Shrapnel.”
“Ouch!” she said. Then, when he looked at her expectantly, she blurted a laugh. “I’m not showing you my scars.” She’d never shown anyone who wasn’t wearing a white coat and a stethoscope. “But in the interest of friendly competition...” She drew a line along the upper arm of her sweater. “Plate glass shower door.”
“Yikes.” Though the smile stayed in place on his face, she noticed that the muscles around it tightened. “So where is this Prince Charming? Not that I plan to find him and beat his face into a pulp or anything.”
She loved that he didn’t ask the terrible question, the one she’d learned to dread. Why did you stay? There was no real answer to that. “He’s in Walla Walla.”
“Really?” Luke’s brow furrowed. His smile was wicked. “My favorite prison town. How long does he have?”
She shot him a matching smirk. “Two to five.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Two to five years? Is that all?”
“Two counts of assault and battery. Yep.” She didn’t mention the count of involuntary manslaughter, because she really didn’t want to talk about that...ever. She had no idea how she managed to be so blasé, other than the fact that she was talking to Luke, who, bless him, empathized without a lick of pity.
Because he’d been there.
She wished she could be sure that Mark would react the same way to the savagery of her truth. But she was too afraid to take that risk, which was why she’d do whatever it took to put off this conversation with him for as long as possible.
Forever, preferably.
* * *
Later that evening, Roni had just hung up from her check-in with Gretchen—who was very pleased with her progress—when her phone rang again. It rang so infrequently it was almost a surprise.
She accepted the call with a smile. “Hey, Sam!”
“Hey, Roni. How are you doing?”
“Great.”
“I was wondering if you’d be interested in getting together for a girls’ night out tonight.”
“Sure, if we can do it here. I need to keep an eye on Gram.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Gram bellowed from the next room.
Sam heard that and laughed. “We can absolutely come there—”
Roni’s heart jerked. “We?” Hopefully her voice wasn’t too sharp, but if Sam was planning a party, she’d have to opt out.
“Just me and Crystal. We’ll bring dinner and wine. All you have to worry about is dessert.”
She grinned. “I think I can manage that.”
“Great. See you in a bit!”
As she hung up the phone, happiness trilled through her and Roni had to grin. She had friends!
“Sam’s coming over,” she said as Gram came into the kitchen.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Roni frowned. Had she misunderstood? “Sam’s bringing dinner.”
“I said, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Gram...”
“I know what Gwen and Max think. They think I’m losing it. But I’m not.”
“Gram, you keep reorganizing the bookstore.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I enjoy my books.”
“It’s bad for business.”
“I don’t care about business. I just enjoy my books.”
“You see why Gwen is worried about that, right? You own the only bookstore in town but don’t care about making money?”
She sent Roni the look—the one Roni remembered from childhood when someone had irritated Gram. “I didn’t open the bookstore for money. I just wanted something to do.”
“Something to do?”
“Yes.” She nodded so definitively the gray curls on her head bounced. “And I love books, so a bookstore made sense. Retired people who have nothing to do are more prone to depression and dementia. I read that in my AARP magazine. Oh, I know you kids think I’m all used up, but I’m not.”
“No. Of course you’re not.”
“And at my age, why shouldn’t I do what I want?”
An excellent point. “Hmm. Sit down.” She pulled out a chair and Gram settled herself at the table. “Do you remember what we talked about at the Stirlings’? About me possibly opening a bakery? How would you feel about that?”
Gram blinked. “Where?”
“Downstairs. In the shop. That side of the store without shelves, by the register, is underused. And that back room full of junk, well, it’s big enough to be used as a kitchen. It just needs ovens, a fridge, a freezer. Mark and I have been working on ideas for—”
“Oh. You’re doing it with Mark?” Her eyes brightened.
“Well, he’s helping. All the Stirlings are. Lizzie’s an accountant and she says it’s a good prospect, considering the lack of competition. So, what do you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know...”
Roni’s mood drooped at the hesitancy in her voice. Without Gram’s approval, none of this would happen.
Then she shot Roni a glance under her lashes. “What’s in it for me?”
Wait. Was this blackmail?
“Um, what do you want?”
Gram looked at her shrewdly. “I like molasses cookies.”
She was bargaining? Okay. “If I have a bakery, I’d probably make them more often.”
Gram pouted. “I’d think you would make them every day, if you had a bakery to stock.”
Roni swallowed a laugh. “Ah—sure, I could make them every day.” Yeah. That was doable.
“Well, then,” Gram said. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Roni pulled out the plans she and Mark had been working on, and she and Gram discussed them in detail until Sam and Crystal showed up bearing homemade lasagna.
She’d met Crystal before, at the B&G, but there hadn’t been a chance to get to know her in that hectic environment. Now, over lasagna, garlic bread and wine, she could truly appreciate why she and Sam were friends. Both were funny as all get-out—even Gram laughed at some of their antics—and she knew all kinds of tidbits about the locals, which kept the conversation interesting.
And when it turned to darker topics—after dinner, after Gram had left the table and deep into the second bottle of wine—it became clear that they’d both suffered terrible losses.
Crystal had lost her husband, a soldier just like Roni’s dad. He’d died tragically overseas leaving her to raise their son all alone. Like Roni, she didn’t have any other family to rely on. Like Roni, she was alone in the world.
Just as Roni was starting to feel maudlin, Gram, wearing her jammies, came into the living room—where they’d migrated after dessert—and kicked them out because her show was on.
Roni bit back a smile. Maybe she wasn’t all alone in the world after all. She had Gram. She had Mark. She had friends.
And soon...she’d have a bakery.
* * *
The next few weeks were busy and exciting for Roni. The more she thought about the idea of adding a bakery/café to the bookstore, the more she liked it. She could tell the Stirlings did, too—especially when she started testing recipes. One or another of them would stop in to the bookstore every day to say hello and to sample her latest creation. Her favorite days were the ones when Mark came by, although it wasn’t nearly as often as she would have liked. She found herself missing him when she didn’t see him. Though she knew he had wanted more of her than simple friendship, he never brought up the subject again. He certainly never said or did anything that made her uncomfortable. As a result, their relationship flourished, as it was free from any sexual tension.
Well, there might have been a little sexual tension, but it never got in the way. The fact that said tension didn’t all come from Mark was something she tried to ignore. But she couldn’t completely disregard the fact that being around him seemed to have awakened something within her. In her efforts to push aside those feelings, she poured all her passion into her work and was happy to do it. Perfectly happy.
And those dreams she was having about Mark? Those were just a result of spending so much time with him. She was certain of it.
Lizzie came by on a regular basis to talk with her about financing, insurance, equipment depreciation and all kinds of other things that made Roni’s head spin. Fortunately, Lizzie was used to boiling the details down to their simplest form.
Because Gram owned the building, Roni’s biggest expenditures would be renovations, appliances—at least two double ovens and a gas range—baking supplies and advertising. Lizzie drafted a sample budget that even Roni could parse out. It explained how much she needed to bring in to pay off the bank loan, which Roni insisted on getting. She was not taking money from her friends, and that was that.
