Gingerbread Wishes
Page 7
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Two days before Christmas, Tora sat at the bakery computer, sipping on her first cup of strong vanilla bean coffee, and double-checked her list of specialty orders. For the umpteenth time, she was grateful the family three-bedroom apartment made up the second story of the bakery building. All she had to do was shower and stumble downstairs to arrive at work.
Her gaze ran over the list. Fruitcakes for the Delaneys, Sullivans, and Holsts; Black Forest Cakes for Rodriguez, Trenton, Garibaldi, and Wyndham families; twenty assorted cookie trays. Using the new spreadsheet Jordan set up made this task a breeze. So much easier than the three-ring binder she’d inherited from Mama and Gram.
Ping. The chime announced the arrival of an email in her inbox.
Taking another sip, she scrolled through the last items on the list, making sure she could handle the baking and decorating. Knowing she could always call in Annabelle was such a relief.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
What the dickens? After saving her work, she clicked over to the email program and saw that fifty unread messages waited in her box. Her throat tightened. Please don’t let these be last-minute orders. She opened the first one and quickly glanced through the message, looking for key words like cookie, bread, pie, cake.
Not finding those, she went back to the beginning and read an endearing statement about how Rose Marvin remembered the lemon cream cake Mama baked for the Dorado Garden Club annual meeting. Ethel Piper wrote about the peach cobbler Gram had provided to all who came to her son’s high school graduation and to those who stood graveside after his body arrived home from Vietnam. Tiffani Bindle raved about the wedding cake Tora created last summer and how the tart raspberry filling perfectly offset the sweet buttercream frosting.
By the time she’d finished reading, she had a pile of wadded tissues on the desk beside the computer and her coffee was cold. Had the For Sale sign prompted this outpouring of appreciation? Her nose was stuffy, and she bet her eyes were all puffy. She’d have to re-apply her makeup before unlocking the front door at opening time.
Oh my god. The baking. She jumped to her feet, swiping at her mascara with a tissue, and dashed to the sink to wash her hands. Her mind reeled with rearranging the order of the tasks because she was now running thirty minutes behind schedule. The next two hours were such a flurry of activity she didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery behind all the emails. Had the holiday spirit of giving hit everyone at the same time?
At ten o’clock, Tora slumped against the counter and sipped on a cup of fresh coffee. Only one customer seemed disappointed by the lack of a daily specialty bread, and she’d convinced him the orange-cranberry muffins were to die for.
The phone rang and she stretched to grab it. “Sugar & Spice.”
“And I’m sure you’re all that’s nice.”
“Jordan?” At the sound of his deep voice, a shiver ran over her skin. How does he infuse sexiness into common everyday words?
“How’s your morning going?”
For just a second, she flashed on the curious emails and shook away those thoughts. “Racing along. I have to thank you again for the spreadsheet. Checking my orders this morning was a breeze.”
“Told you I was good.”
His words warmed her heart, and her thoughts ran wild with what else he might do well. She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and croaked out a response. “Uh-huh.”
“Just a minute, Tora.”
She heard Jordan’s whispering and then a small voice’s response.
“I’m back. The reason for my call is that Jenna and I would like to invite you to dinner tonight. We want to thank you for all your help with the cooking class. The gingerbread house has held together, although one side leans a bit, and has a place of honor on our kitchen table.”
“I enjoy helping the kids. Repaying me is not necessary.” Besides, I don’t want to make any more ties to this town. Refusing to acknowledge her racing pulse, she took a deep breath.
“But it is. Too many people in this town have taken your efforts for granted. I believe in offering a proper thank you.”
Her mind went to the messages in her email inbox and a ring of familiarity ran through her mind. But she couldn’t pin it down.
“Please say you’ll come. A night out won’t be the same without you.” His tone became muffled and then sounded clear as he spoke again. “We know you don’t have other family in town right now, and Jenna and I are somewhat alone, too.”
A small voice piped up from the background. “Please, Miss Tora.”
At the little girl’s plea, Tora felt her indecision melt away. With a child along, a meal together in a restaurant won’t be a real date. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“Pick you up at six o’clock at the bakery.”