Muffins & Moonbeams: An Arcadia Valley Romance (Baxter Family Bakery Book 2)

by Elizabeth Maddrey

  “Figured you’d show up today.” Malachi signed. He was done talking. If people didn’t want to learn how to communicate with him, they could just leave him be.

  Ruth quirked an eyebrow at him and responded in kind. “Eat lunch yet?”

  He shook his head. He’d had three muffins after sending the newsletter and had been tempted to go for a fourth, but Jonah’s pointed look had sent him back into the office. On the positive side, people were, so far, responsive to the email. He’d passed on the special orders as they came in, although they were going to need to work out something for planning to match special orders with usual pick up or delivery days. Malachi had been playing with the database all morning, trying to get it to print a report that made sense.

  “Good. I packed something for us. Founders Park?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Walk or drive?”

  Malachi shrugged again.

  Ruth frowned. “I’ll drive. Let’s go.”

  Malachi stared out the window as she drove the few blocks to the park. They could’ve walked. It was a nice, if warm, summer day. But someone would’ve had to carry the cooler Ruth had wedged in the back seat, and given the size of the thing, it was probably heavy. And she wouldn’t have been the one toting it.

  Ruth pulled into a parking spot and touched his arm. “Grab the lunch, would you?”

  Exactly. He sighed and pushed open the door, got out, and closed it. Why did she bring a cooler this size? Was it the only one she had? If that was the case, he knew what he was getting her for her birthday. Or Christmas. Or as a wedding gift. He’d take whatever came first. He grunted as he hefted the thing and followed behind Ruth as she scouted out the perfect spot under a tree.

  Malachi set down the cooler and pried up the lid. A blanket sat on top. He took it out and shook it, letting it fall to the ground. He tugged the corners until it was basically straight and then sat.

  “Not going to help?” Ruth smirked and sat next to the food. She reached in and unloaded several small containers of food, as well as two plates and some silverware.

  Malachi let out a breath. He’d been half-afraid this was some kind of ambush and that Ruth had invited Ursula to join them. Or, worse, that she’d leave him here when Ursula showed up. If she even would. And that was a big, big if. The woman was steamed.

  “Grab what’s near you, load up your plate, and spill it.”

  In spite of himself, he smiled. “You have a way with words.”

  “It’s a gift.” Ruth reached across and squeezed his hand. “Micah and Jonah are worried about you. Which means I am, too. What happened?”

  The whole story came pouring out, including some of his thoughts from last night. When he finished, he dropped his hands in his lap and looked down at the plate in front of him, his appetite gone.

  “Wow.” Ruth forked up a bite of pasta salad and nudged his plate closer to him.

  Malachi shook his head.

  She tapped his leg and waited ‘til he looked up. “You need to eat, Mal.”

  “Fine.” He picked up a pickle spear and bit into it, offering her an overly bright smile as he chewed.

  “Better. What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing to do.”

  Ruth frowned. “You’re not going to fight for her?”

  “Why? She made herself very clear. I think, at this point, I need to just leave it be and see if Jonah or Micah can convince her to keep us as a client. Maybe if they promise she won’t have to deal with me, she’ll agree.”

  “Malachi.” Ruth touched his leg.

  Hot tears burned the back of his eyes but he had no intention of letting them fall. He didn’t need any random passers-by labeling him the crybaby deaf guy. Bad enough that he was Arcadia Valley’s newest oddity. “You don’t understand.”

  “I think, maybe, I do. It’s hard to move somewhere new. To be the person that everyone knows doesn’t belong. I don’t know what it’s like to be different on top of that, true. But Mal, the people here have been so welcoming. You know they’re glad you’re here, right?”

  Did he? Grace Fellowship was a warm, welcoming church. But they still stared when Ruth signed the sermon for him. Some of the older members of the congregation frowned. Probably because it distracted them to have her hands moving. But he couldn’t help that. It was either have the sermon interpreted or go without. And if he was going without, he’d just stay home. Maybe that was the better solution. Despite what Ruth said, it was doubtful anyone would notice. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any way to know unless I leave.”

  “No!” Ruth looked stricken. She grabbed his hand, clutching so hard it hurt. “You can’t leave. Where would you go? Not over something like this. Please.”

  Malachi pried his fingers out of Ruth’s grasp and picked up his plate. He poked the pasta salad. She’d put olives in it. Ruth didn’t, as a rule, care for olives in her pasta salad. But she knew they were his favorite. He looked more closely at the food on the blanket. They were all his favorites. His shoulders slumped and he set the food down so he could sign. “I’m not. I just wish I could. But since you wouldn’t come with me, there’s no point. You, Micah, and Jonah are all that matter.”

  “And Ursula?”

  “I thought—hoped—she could matter too. I was wrong. I’ll be okay.” But he wouldn’t. Not really. Scarlet Fire had been his ideal woman for too long. To meet her and realize that the reality was even better than the online persona and then have them both ripped away? How did he recover from that? And what would be the point? If Ursula, who understood him better than anyone who wasn’t one of his siblings, could kick him out of her life so easily, no one else was going to want to keep him. He was too flawed. Damaged. Unlovable.

  Ruth bit her lip. He could see her struggling not to unleash a litany of why that wasn’t good enough. After a minute she nodded. “We’ll leave it there for now. I love you. You know that, right?”

  Malachi nodded. “Same goes.”

  12

  Ursula stepped out of the airport doors and was slapped back by the wall of hot, humid air that embodied mid-August in South Carolina. Dragging her roller bag behind her, she crossed the street to the rental car lot and walked down the aisle, looking for the number that matched her key. She could’ve called her parents. They would’ve picked her up if she’d let them know she was coming, but she hadn’t been convinced she was. She’d stayed home, brooding, on Monday and most of yesterday. Then she’d gone online and bought a ticket home.

  There it was. She clicked the key fob to unlock the doors and pop the trunk. After hefting in her bag and settling her laptop case next to it, she got in and took a deep breath. The roads were basically empty. Not a surprise for the middle of the day on Wednesday. Would her parents even be home? They were retired, but they lived an active, full life. Had Dad dragged Mom off on a road trip to find more forgotten cemeteries? Surely he would’ve mentioned that when she’d played with him online the last two days. Malachi had never logged in. Not that she had been watching for him. Not really. It had been...idle curiosity. At best.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Her heart ached from the loss of him.

  Still. It didn’t matter. She’d asked him to go, rightfully. It was good he was respecting her wishes and leaving her alone. She didn’t have room in her life for a liar. Ursula shut down the quiet whispers in the back of her mind that wanted to argue about whether or not he’d really lied. Omission counted. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She was done crying over Malachi Baxter.

  Columbia was one of those cities where it seemed like nothing ever changed. And yet, there were differences from the last time she’d been home. New houses going in, shopping centers that changed colors and stores. Just enough to prove life moved on, no matter where she lived. She pulled off the highway at the north end of town and wound around to the big subdivision where her parents had moved six years ago, downsizing to a more reasonably sized home for the reti
rement years. The single-story rambler had three bedrooms and vaulted ceilings in the master and living rooms. Her mother alternated between loving and hating them, depending on how well the fans worked to keep the air moving. Ursula pulled her rental up to the curb in front of the house and got out. She’d leave her bags for now.

  Dad had planted brightly colored flowers in the beds that lined the walk to the door. She smiled. Mom probably argued for some kind of green groundcover. Low maintenance and unobtrusive. But Dad liked to putter in the garden when it wasn’t hotter than surface of the sun outside, and so Mom tended to let him have his way. Mom certainly wasn’t going to be digging in the garden anytime soon.

  Ursula pushed the doorbell.

  “Can you get that? I’m up to my elbows in soapy water.”

  Ursula smiled. Her mom never wanted to answer the door. Dad’s grumble wasn’t as clear, but she heard a chair roll on the wood floor and footsteps stomp toward the door.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Urs? Hey there, baby.” Her father flung open the door and pulled her into his arms, squeezing her hard. “Did we know you were coming? You mother says I’m getting forgetful. Maybe I am. I’ll have to start taking that gecko extract she keeps trying to force on me.”

  Ursula chuckled. “Ginkgo, Dad? And no, you didn’t know I was coming. I didn’t know I was coming until last night.”

  He studied her face. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Her eyes filled and she shook her head. “Can we talk about it later, maybe?”

  “Of course. Come on, your mother’s going to be so thrilled you’re here. Is that your car? You know we would’ve come to get you.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” She turned the corner to the kitchen and cleared her throat. “Surprise.”

  Her mother dropped the pan she was scrubbing and hurried over, leaving a trail of sudsy water on the floor. “Ursula! Oh, you’re here. What on earth...oh, fiddlesticks.”

  Laughing, Ursula’s mom grabbed the towel off the kitchen island and dried her arms before dragging Ursula into another tight hug. “Did you and your father plan this?”

  Dad held up his hands. “I didn’t know she was coming either.”

  “What happened?” Her mother’s piercing gaze locked onto Ursula’s.

  “I just...needed to come home for a bit. I’m headed back on Saturday.” She cleared her throat. The round trip ticket had been cheaper. Even if she wasn’t positive heading back to Arcadia Valley was the right move. She’d have to go back to pack up and get Triton anyway, if it came to that.

  “Well. You know you’re always welcome. Let me go check on the guest room. I think it might need new sheets on the bed. I can’t think the last time it was used, so they’re probably full of dust. Did you eat lunch?”

  “Mom. It’s okay. Finish what you were doing. I know how to change a bed. I...maybe I could lie down for a little bit?”

  Her parents exchanged a glance.

  Dad held out his hand. “Gimme your keys, I’ll go get your bags.”

  “I’ll help you with the sheets. You know it’s always easier with two people.” Her mother smiled and slid an arm around her shoulders. “Then you take a little rest. It’s nearly time for my own afternoon siesta.”

  Ursula leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Anytime, baby. Anytime.”

  Ursula lay on her side tucked under the quilt her grandma had made and stared at the closed door of her parents’ guest room. Mom and Dad were talking about her in voices that they clearly thought were whispers. It should be amusing. Maybe in a few days it would be. She hadn’t meant to upset them—worry them—by coming home. She’d just needed to be there. Even if it wasn’t the house she’d grown up in, it was filled with familiar things. With them.

  She should get up, wash her face, and go out there. Explain. Her insides tightened. What if they disagreed with her? If she was honest, she came home because she wanted—needed—them to tell her that she wasn’t that bad. That what she’d done was reasonable. That there wasn’t something so inordinately flawed in her that Malachi’s behavior was okay. Justified, even. Because she was struggling to believe any of that. This kept happening time after time. So-called friend after so-called friend. And she was the only common denominator.

  Forcing her muscles to cooperate, Ursula pushed back the quilt and stood. She stretched her arms above her head, working out the stiffness from the plane and nap, before padding to the door and pulling it open. Dad had fixed the squeaking hinge since she’d last been there. She managed a slight smile and aimed for the hall bathroom. The shower called to her, but there’d be time for that later. She splashed water on her face and blotted it dry with a hand towel, then scrutinized her reflection.

  The dark circles under her eyes were still there, but she looked a little less pale, a tad less hollow. She pulled the rubber band out of her hair, ran her fingers through it, and then gathered it back into a ponytail. She didn’t look great, but it would have to do.

  “Oh, good. You’re up. I was just coming to check on you.” Mom smiled and pulled Ursula into another hug. “Want some cocoa?”

  “Cocoa? It’s nine hundred degrees outside, Mom.”

  “It’s only ninety-six. And with the new-fangled central air we have, it’s a pleasant seventy-six in the living room.” Mom shook her head. “Honestly. Just say no. Iced tea?”

  Ursula’s mouth watered. Her mother’s sweet tea was worth a visit on its own merits. The key was adding the sugar while the tea was hot so it got super-saturated. And yet...it never tasted as good in Arcadia Valley. “Yes, please.”

  “Come on in and have a seat in the living room and I’ll bring it out.”

  “You don’t...” Ursula watched her mother hurry off and shrugged. Fine. She didn’t get waited on all that often, even when she visited. Dad was in the recliner with his feet up. His glasses were perched on the tip of his nose while he read the latest spy thriller he’d borrowed from the library. “Any good?”

  He tucked a bookmark in and set the book aside. “It’s okay. Already figured out who’s behind the plot, so it’s just a matter of watching it play out. A little more predictable than I like. But it’s set in London, and that at least makes the scenery interesting. Feeling a little better?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Should I have called first to make sure it was okay to come?” Ursula tucked her feet under her and tugged a blanket off the back of the couch, tossing it over her legs. Between the A/C and the ceiling fan, it was a little cool.

  “What kind of question is that? Honestly.” Her mom handed her a glass of iced tea and set a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of her. “You’re welcome here any time. With no notice at all. Especially when you’re hurting. Won’t you tell us what happened?”

  Ursula took a long drink, the sweetness on her tongue relaxing. “I told you, a little, about Malachi. Right?”

  Her parents nodded.

  She walked them through the situation. From finding out he was deaf—something apparently everyone but she knew—to the whole Orion’s Quest issue.

  “So he just left? Without saying anything in his defense?” Dad frowned, shaking his head.

  “Now, Jim, what was the boy supposed to do? Ursula asked him to go, and he did. As he should. You wouldn’t like someone who tried to stay, either.” Mom sighed. “He hasn’t said anything since, though? No texts or emails?”

  Ursula shook her head.

  “See?” Her dad shot a triumphant look at her mom. “He’s not worth your time, baby. You’ll find someone who’ll fight for you. Just hang in there.”

  “I don’t want someone who’s going to fight for me, Dad. There’s something wrong with me. Honestly, at this point I’m just glad it happened early on, before we were serious about each other. Better to realize now that he already saw whatever it is about me that poisons every relationship.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Her mother bristled. “Ursula Marie Franks, e
xplain yourself.”

  She hunched her shoulders. Why was it that even at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, when Mom trotted out her full name, her insides quivered? Her tongue darted between her lips. “Look at history, Mom. Go back to middle school. Friend after so-called friend has done something along these lines. Remember Laura? Genny? What about Brian or Mark or even Jamal? I know you think it’s on them. But seriously? I’m the only thing in common with the situation. There has to be something about me that’s unlovable long-term, as a friend or in a romantic sense. Better to find out now with Malachi, don’t you think? And really, having this happen again...it solidifies that my decision not to put myself out there was the right one. Why give people the chance to remind me how worthless I am?” A tear slipped down her cheek. Ursula brushed it away and stood, her stomach churning. “I’m going back to my room. Don’t feel like you have to hold dinner.”

  Ursula ran down the hall, closed the door behind her, and flung herself on the bed before heaving sobs wracked her body. Why did God bother to make her if she was so repugnant to everyone around her that they had to lie about or to her? It wasn’t as if she had some grand purpose. She wasn’t in the mission field, bringing people to Jesus. She wasn’t a doctor who saved lives. She was one of a zillion freelance web designers trying to scratch out a living for herself doing something she enjoyed. Whoopee. Was it even fair to her clients to work with them if she was the horrible person the people she thought were friends made her out to be? No, she did darn good work. That was the one thing no one could fault her on.

  She could have loved Malachi.

  The thought was unbidden. And sobering. Gingerly, she turned it over in her head. Even the first day they’d met in person, when he’d faded into the background after his family came, she’d been drawn to him. Heck, she’d been curious enough to seek him out. She hadn’t needed to in order to do her job. It had felt like she’d known him for a while, which, she supposed, was true. She just hadn’t realized it. Had he known from the start and planned to use it somehow for...what? No. That was ridiculous even to her. But when he figured it out, he should’ve said something. How hard was it to say, “Hey, I play this online game, do you?”