“Is Rana going to make her haw—her hasa—her meat dumpling things?” asked Zeke, stumbling over the word.
“Hawawshi, and yes,” replied Marianne. “And I’m going to talk to the other restaurants in town, and maybe Gretel over at the toy store to see if there’s something she can do for the kids.”
“I think the old maypole is still around somewhere,” said Joe. “If I recall, we last used it in, oh, ’73? Or, ’74? The ribbons might be dust, but the pole was good strong wood, and I’m sure it’s just moldering in the back of city hall somewhere.”
“Can you find out?” asked Marianne. “That would be amazing to have that piece of history with us.”
“We haven’t had a May Day festival since the seventies,” said Joe. “I think maybe the town needs a way to celebrate.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The final shimmer of sunshine disappeared behind the steeple of the Congregational Church on Chestnut Street as Marianne stumbled out of the crowd of dancers to drop onto a bench at the edge of the green. The bonfire burned bright across the park, and in the center stood the maypole woven with dozens of ribbons of every color, the same one she’d danced around every spring of her childhood. Above, the stars dazzled, a sliver of moon barely visible above city hall to the west. Marianne breathed in the woodsmoke and laughter and let a smile steal across her lips.
This was her town, the town she’d fled only to come right back, and she loved it deep in her bones. She could leave, but she’d always find her way there again in the end. Swanley was in her blood, in the flour ground under her nails, in the bright smiles of kids whose grandparents she’d known for half a century. And it was in the new people, too, the ones who’d found this little, beautiful, strange town and fought their way into its soul.
Rana slid from the crowd and sank onto the bench beside her, tilting her head back to watch the sky with Marianne.
Marianne tried not to stare at her, at her thick black hair shining in the moonlight, at her sparkling eyes, at the flush on her cheeks. She hadn’t seen Rana much since the trial, too busy with figuring out the old accounts and finally organizing all the files her grandfather and father had apparently never put in order. She’d also been to city hall to make sure the new survey would be conducted soon—she didn’t want any confusion about her property ever again. But she had been starting to wonder if Rana was avoiding her. She was glad for this evidence to the contrary.
“Beautiful night,” Rana said quietly, breathing a little hard. “I danced with Ray’s granddaughter and Zeke’s nieces for an hour.”
“People are happy,” said Marianne. “It’s because of you.”
Rana turned back to her. “Me? You’re the one who figured it out.”
“No, I’m not. You put the pieces together. You had to risk everything when Leventi tried to kick you out. You could have left, but you didn’t. You stayed and realized something was wrong. If you hadn’t come to Swanley, we wouldn’t be celebrating tonight.” Marianne reached out and put her hand on Rana’s, a little shiver of excitement fluttering through her. “You’re the reason for all of this.”
Rana turned her hand upward, fingers lacing with Marianne’s. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For this night. And everything else.”
Marianne squeezed her hand, watching Zeke lift one of his sister’s kids high in the air, laughing. His face was open and delighted, a mirror to the little girl in his arms, and her heart ached for him just the slightest. At least the door was opening, if slightly, to the possibility of reconciliation. His sisters were on his side now. He and Joe had had them over at the shop, when they came into town to show their kids the May Day they’d grown up with, and they’d had a long talk about Zeke and about the family. They apparently hadn’t realized how bad it was with his parents. They’d thought it was his choice to move out. But now they knew, so he had them. And he had Joe, of course—but Joe was turning ninety-nine soon. Joe wouldn’t be around forever. And Zeke, for all his maturity, was only seventeen. Marianne worried about him, but she knew that even if things with his family never got better, she’d take him in. Or Rana. Or even Kevin, if it came down to it.
That was the thing she loved about Swanley. Everybody had someone who loved them. Even people like the Leventis—people knew them and had cared for them once. She was glad Luke had been knocked from his position, all of his properties under investigation as he waited for his bail hearing, but she still wondered what Simon had been like as a kid, as the best friend her father had trusted so much. Had all of it changed after Josie? Or had it been a slower change, one that her father missed through all Simon’s familiar charm? Had the loss of his girlfriend turned him into someone willing to take advantage of his oldest friend, or had he been that way all along?
Janie emerged from the crowd, eyes searching, and lit up when she spotted Marianne. “Mom!” she called. “Come dance with me.” Her eyes flicked to Rana and to their joined hands. “Bring your friend!”
“Want to come dance with my daughter and I?” asked Marianne.
Rana smiled. “I would love to.”
Marianne let Janie’s joy tug them both back into the fray, laughing as she followed.
They danced for three songs, jumping and swaying in a way she hadn’t since at least the nineties, and as the music switched to a slower song, Marianne slid back out of the crowd to catch her breath. Rana had the same idea, it seemed, and both women made their way by silent agreement to the stand of maple trees just out of the brightly lit party.
The music was quieter here, out of the direct line of the speakers. Marianne and Rana stood alone on the grass, the streetlights dim in the distance, the Milky Way almost too bright above them in the clear night sky. They stood in silence for a moment, looking up at the stars.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Marianne, finally. “The restaurant is yours if you want to stay.”
“I’m not sure,” said Rana. “After all this, I might try to find my own building.” She smiled. “Not that I don’t trust you as a landlord. I think I want to own my own place.”
“Oh,” said Marianne. She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“I was looking at a building over on Chestnut,” said Rana.
“Chestnut Street? In Swanley?”
Rana looked at Marianne like she had two heads. “Yes, in Swanley. Where else?”
“I thought you said—I thought you meant you were leaving. That this town had been too much trouble.”
Rana stepped closer and took both Marianne’s hands in hers, her soft, warm skin smooth against Marianne’s fingers. “I want to stay,” she said. “I thought there might be some awkwardness if you became my landlord permanently. I’d rather we be friends. I’d like to stay in Swanley if you’ll have me.”
“Me, as a representative of the town, or me, Marianne?”
Rana leaned closer, until her lips brushed Marianne’s jaw in a whisper below her ear. Marianne shivered. “You, Marianne Windmere. Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes,” whispered Marianne. “Please. Stay.” Marianne felt Rana’s lips curve into a smile against her skin and their warmth spread through her.
Rana’s hands dropped hers, sliding to curl around Marianne’s waist, warm and inviting and familiar to Marianne despite only being this close to her for one night months ago. She reached up and wove her own fingers into Rana’s thick, wavy hair, one hand cupping her cheek while the other curved around the back of Rana’s neck. She pulled her head back slightly until she could press her nose into the hollow below Rana’s jawline, the soft skin smelling of pie and cumin and warmth. Her lips brushed Rana’s neck at her pulse, feeling the beating quicken beneath thin skin.
“Do you want this?” whispered Rana, her voice barely audible—if Marianne had been more than millimeters away, she wouldn’t have heard her.
“What is this?” she whispered back, kissing her throat again as a warm spring breeze blew across the park.
“I don’t know,” said
Rana. “But I think I like it.”
Marianne hesitated. “I’m not sure what I want,” Marianne said. “I don’t really want sex most of the time.”
“That’s not what I want from you,” Rana said into her ear, the words a low rustle. “It’s you I want, not what you can do for me.” She gave a little laugh. “Though you’ve done plenty for me already.”
“You know, my apartment’s just around the corner.” Marianne pressed a kiss to the flat of Rana’s cheekbone, feeling Rana’s eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “We could go there if you’d like. It’s a nice place.”
“I hear the neighbor is a real pain,” said Rana, tipping her head back up until her lips barely brushed Marianne’s. “Very nosy.”
Marianne grinned against Rana’s mouth. “I think I can handle her.”
“Then, yes,” said Rana. “I’d love to.”
Marianne pulled away, missing Rana’s warmth against her instantly and wrapped her fingers around Rana’s, pulling her back across the street to the bakery. They slipped in the side door so they wouldn’t have to cut through the store and hurried up the steps to her warm dark apartment. In the living room, Marianne flicked on a lamp and turned to face Rana, taking a moment to just study her in the light.
Rana shifted under the scrutiny, a blush rising in her cheeks, her eyes flicking from Marianne’s face down across her body and back up.
The easy, dreamy feel of their touches in the park had faded, leaving her the slightest bit anxious as she stood steps from where they’d fallen asleep together on that long ago, snowy night.
“Hi,” she said, feeling a little silly. She was a grown woman who’d been married for nearly thirty years and given birth to three children. She was a business owner running her own bakery. And she’d just managed to overthrow the self-appointed dictator of a small town. How could she be so terrified of this gorgeous woman in front of her?
“Hi,” said Rana. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” said Marianne, her nervousness melting away as Rana stepped toward her and pressed her soft, full lips to Marianne’s.
*
By the time they made it back to the festivities around ten o’clock, the party had wound down, most of the celebrants wandering home while Marianne and Rana had disappeared to the bakery. Marianne, Ray, Zeke, and Rana were among the stragglers, picking up stray ribbons, lost napkins, and the occasional coat that had been tossed aside and forgotten. With the fire finally down to the barest embers, only the dim glow of the streetlights around the park lit their work.
“I’m going to give Mr. Mitchell here a ride home,” said Ray, yawning. Zeke followed behind him, arms weighed down by folding chairs borrowed from Ray’s, frankly astonishing, stash of patio furniture. “Rana, would you like to come along? I’ll drop you on my way, if you’d like.”
“It’s not too far, thank you,” said Rana. She glanced toward Marianne, meeting Marianne’s eyes for a moment. Something warm and sweet glimmered in her gaze, and Marianne felt her face warming. “I can walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Rana stretched up and hugged Ray, kissed Zeke’s cheek, and returned to picking up scattered paper plates from the grass.
Marianne watched the exchange with a smile, adding her tied bag of trash to the small pile they’d gathered in one corner of the park. In the morning, Michi would be by with the public works truck to pick the trash all up and take it to the dump. She could leave it there for one night, as much as it pained her to abandon the garbage like that.
Ray shook Marianne’s hand as he passed, saying, “You did good,” in her ear on his way by. She smiled at him and then returned Zeke’s one-armed hug.
“Good party,” he told her with a smile.
“Opening late tomorrow,” she reminded him. “I’ll see you at ten.”
He gave her a thumbs-up and followed Ray to his truck, packing the chairs in the bed.
As the two of them slammed the doors to the truck, a hand landed on Marianne’s shoulder. She turned slightly to see Rana beside her, cheeks pink in the low light and rapidly cooling wind. “Are you ready to go?” Rana asked her.
Marianne reached out a tentative hand, curling her fingers around Rana’s own.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The bell above the door jingled and Marianne looked up, smiling at the young couple as they oohed and aahed over the display case.
“This town is so cute,” gushed the taller, more femme girl, eyeing a turnover. “The lady at the shawarma shop was right—these look amazing.”
Her shorter, more goth counterpart smiled at Marianne. “I’ll take one of those apple muffins.”
Marianne pulled the muffin out and bagged it along with the other girl’s mini pumpkin pie. “You had lunch at the Cairo Cafe?”
The tall one nodded. “That falafel was so good.” She paused. “Wait, should I not talk about that place while I’m buying stuff here?”
The door opened again as Marianne laughed, and Rana shut it gently behind herself. The girls both turned to look at her and then turned back to Marianne, twin looks of confusion spreading over their faces.
“I’m glad you liked your lunch,” said Rana, cheeks flushed from the brisk walk down the block.
She wasn’t in Marianne’s building anymore; instead, in the next building over in a space better suited to her business. She’d even hired two of Zeke’s friends to help out, and they were finally competent enough to be left alone. The space she’d vacated next door was under renovation with a contract in place for a frozen yogurt place set to open in July.
Rana waved at Zeke in the corner before kissing Marianne on the cheek. “Hello, love. The work next door looks wonderful.” She handed Marianne a foil-wrapped pita. “I left the last few customers with Stevie and Mahshid, but I brought you the end of the basturma. Do you mind if I stay here and do my budgets?” She held up her computer bag.
“You’re just angling for another slice of pie,” said Marianne, already cutting the slice of cherry as Zeke took drink orders and then poured the girls two coffees.
“A lesbian bakery!” whispered the small goth to her partner. “Oh my god, we have to move here.”
“Bisexual bakery, actually,” said Rana.
“All around queer,” Zeke agreed.
Marianne laughed.
Both girls grinned. “Even better!” The tall one paid for both pastries and then followed her partner out, whispering animatedly.
“I’m out,” called Zeke as he untied his apron. “I have class in an hour, and I have to finish the reading. Jamie should be here in an hour or so.”
“Rinse the muffin tins before you go, and I won’t tell Joe you didn’t do your homework.” Marianne wagged a finger at him. “At least not this time.” She glanced at the clock. She couldn’t quite leave her new employee, Charlie, Carol’s brother’s grandchild, alone in the store yet, but they and Zeke had been running the store without her every Tuesday for the last month. Zeke had taken on responsibility for training them, and Marianne had known he’d be a fantastic teacher. The two of them behind the counter together, laughing and serving customers and handling the business as well as she or her father could have warmed her to her core. She hadn’t realized how hard she’d been running herself with her seventy-hour weeks and no life outside the bakery until she’d suddenly had an extra fifteen hours a week.
“You drive a hard bargain,” replied Zeke. “But all right, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, guys.” He grinned suddenly. “I’ll bring a pride flag by if that’s what’s going to sell muffins.” He pushed through the doors into the kitchen, whistling.
“You know, my daughter says the young gay kids are looking for new places to shop,” said Rana speculatively. “Maybe that’s your niche.”
Marianne grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, pressing her face into Rana’s sweet-smelling hair. “I could live with that,” she said. “And now they’ve even got a place to park.”
Rana pulle
d back just enough to look her in the face, her expression turning serious. “There’s a problem there.”
“There is?”
“I think we need more bike racks if that’s the crowd we’re hoping to win.”
“We can do that.”
“And I was thinking,” continued Rana. “A collaboration? I think I could make something wonderful with your bread and my meats. Shawarma croissants?”
“I think that sounds delicious,” said Marianne. She laughed. She had hopes for the future, plans for expanding the bakery, and a vision of retirement someday. She even had a secret hope, one that seemed more realistic every day: that in ten years or so, she would wander into the bakery as a customer and let Zeke pamper her. She hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to ask him yet, but she thought he might like the idea, too, once he finished his degree.
Rana smiled at her, dimples framing her smile. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I’m happy.” Marianne pulled Rana close, kissing her cheek. “I didn’t expect it.”
“The best things aren’t expected,” said Rana. “You should know that by now.”
“I guess I do.” Marianne let herself laugh, enjoying the warmth of the bakery, and Rana, and the easy shape of her life.
Acknowledgements
This book wouldn’t have been possible without my community of writers and friends and family. A first thanks as always to Mike, partner extraordinaire, who read this book many many times over the last two years and made it better every time.
To my writing group: Felicia Davin and Kristin Collins for letting me text them constantly with plot holes (and helping to shovel content into them!); Courtney Collins for fixing all my legal issues and using her law degree for good; Jeff Hudecek for scrubbing the heck out of my first few chapters and making them shine; Wren Wallis and Brian White and all the other Panera writers for being badass writing buddies and eating so much soup with me. We all deserve whiskey and stickers.
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