Finding Forever: A Bluebird Bay Novel

by Christine Gael

“Great to meet you,” Wanda said, beaming and extending a hand over the counter. Max shook it, wondering how the hell the girl managed to look so danged cheery. “Your mom’s talked a lot about you.”

  “I’m flattered,” Max replied. “I, ah, didn’t realize she’d hired someone else.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Wanda glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “Between large orders, and national shipments, she was drowning. She brought me on as an extra pair of hands – part-time for now, but if it goes well, she said I might be able to get up to five shifts a week as soon as fall rolls around.”

  “Wow,” said Max, giving her a wan smile. “Congratulations.” She edged towards the kitchen door, suddenly desperate to escape. “Listen, I’m gonna go see if my mom needs any help down there,” she said, not sure why she felt the need to explain herself, all of a sudden. “Is it cool if I…?”

  “Of course,” Pete replied with a confused look on his face. “If you don’t mind, could you tell her we’re almost out of catering menus? People keep asking for them and I’ve only got a handful left.”

  “No problem,” Max said, tipping him a wave as she pulled open the door in the back. Cee-cee did all of the baking downstairs in the kitchen, where she kept a boatload of industrial equipment, several convection ovens, and a table where she did her decorating. It was a brilliant setup: between that and the fact that her apartment was upstairs, she could spend her whole work week in one place without ever needing to commute.

  Max couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as she let the door swing closed behind her, muffling the sounds of the shop, which was followed by an immediate stab of guilt. Cut it out, she told herself. The champagne might have been her lame excuse for last night, but just because things were tough for her right now, that didn’t give her permission to be bitter. Her mother had worked hard for this – fought for it, in a very literal sense. Fought to find happiness after being cheated on and dumped. Fought for her dream. Heck, she’d even fought to win last year’s Holiday Cupcake. She was a tiger. A strong woman with the drive to succeed. No wonder that business seemed to be booming.

  Max had been so happy when her mom had asked her to be her assistant for that competition. Even if Cee-cee hadn’t won the recognition and cash prize, it would’ve been priceless. That had been at a time when her resentment towards her mother had been at its greatest. The divorce, even though she had understood it in the objective sense, had still taken a toll on her, and after her mother had found Mick, Max had felt left out. In the end, though, that time together had done wonders for their relationship, proving that the bond they had was both unique and irreplaceable.

  That very same bond was the reason Max found herself heading down the basement stairs to talk to Cee-cee now; she was her rock, her port in the storm. And now that her mother’s own life was stable and happy, Max needed to hold on to her while she rode out this particular storm.

  There was something oddly comforting about the fact that no matter how big the bakery got, Cee-cee could almost always be found in the basement doing what she loved best. They had added a second Maine location, and a couple of representatives from QVC had recently reached out about running a feature on the shop, but Cee-cee was a creature of habit. None of that had been able to change her work ethic, and Max had a feeling that nothing would.

  Max stepped into the bright and shiny basement-cum-kitchen, where Cee-cee was busying herself at one of the stainless steel worktables. In spite of her wicked hangover, Max found herself inhaling deeply as she stepped inside, the sweet smells of chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon making her mouth water.

  “What is that?” she asked, stepping up to the worktable and examining the frosting Cee-cee was piping onto the cupcakes. “Oh my god, is that coconut?”

  “Yep,” Cee-cee replied with a grin, not looking up from her work. “German chocolate for the base, with coconut frosting. Filling, too. Help yourself. You can be my taste-tester.”

  “Yum,” Max said as she plucked a finished cake from the tray.

  “Last night was lovely, wasn’t it?” Cee-cee asked, finishing the design she’d been working on with a flourish before meeting Max’s gaze.

  Max shoved the cupcake into her mouth to avoid replying, but there was no disguising the tears that sprang to her eyes.

  “Oh, Maxy, what’s wrong, love?” Cee-cee asked, setting down the frosting bag and reaching across the table to touch Max. “Hey,” she said, rubbing her arm gently. “What’s the matter?”

  Max took a shaky breath, sagging into the chair across from her mother and wiping the tears from her eyes with her sleeve as she chewed and swallowed, the cake tasting about as appealing as ash in her mouth. “Can I help?” she asked in a small voice, feeling like a little kid again.

  “Of course,” Cee-cee replied, handing her the icing bag and then stretching her arms overhead. “Please do, my back is killing me and I could use the break.”

  Max set the rest of her cupcake down and turned her attention to the ones that still needed piping.

  “Spill it, Max. You’re worrying me…”

  That was the last thing she wanted to do. Might as well get it over with, anyway. “Do you know the Thackerys?” she asked, not meeting Cee-cee’s eyes.

  “The real estate Thackerys?” asked Cee-cee carefully. “I mean, of course I’ve heard of them. Why?”

  Max swallowed. “So, um, last night, after the wedding, I stopped by the bookstore. When I got there, I found a notice on the door saying that my lease wasn’t going to be renewed. Turns out, Ian Thackery bought out the whole strip mall. I’m going to lose the bookstore, and it’s all because some rich kid is snatching it out from under me.”

  Cee-cee blinked, looking taken aback. “He can do that? In the middle of your lease?”

  Max sighed, shrugging. “I didn’t think he could, but what do I know? I guess I have to look into it. That’s my goal today, once I get rid of the last dregs of this hangover.”

  “Oh, honey,” said Cee-cee. “It’s okay, let me help. I’ve got just the thing – you stay right there.” Max did as she was told, watching her mother bustle around the kitchen. This was what mothers were for, and there was something in the fact that even at her most successful, Cee-cee would still drop everything to help her daughter. Within minutes, she was back at the table, a steaming mug of tea in her hand. “Here,” she said, “drink this. Chamomile. And some aspirin.”

  Max took the pills with a grateful nod and washed them down with a sip of fragrant tea, feeling herself relax a little at the taste.

  “So,” Cee-cee said, sitting back down, “about this notice you found – can I see it? The fine print is always a good place to start.”

  Max winced, not meeting her mother’s eyes.

  “Uh, yeah, about that. I actually ran into the man himself when I was at the store. We had words. Things were said.” She swallowed hard and shrugged. “I sort of wadded it up and threw it at him…” Cee-cee groaned, leaning back. “I know, I know,” replied Max. “And I can’t even really remember what I said, either. It’s kind of a blur.” But not quite enough of a blur. She sighed. “There should be a rule against getting bad news when you’re drunk.”

  Cee-cee pursed her lips. “Honey,” she said, “I hate to say it, but if you don’t have the letter anymore, then you’re going to have to go talk to this guy in person.” Max opened her mouth, but her mother held up a hand, continuing, “And I’m not talking about a shouting match. You’re going to have to find out where his offices are, make an appointment, and talk this over like two intelligent business people. You’re so charismatic and bright, Maxy – I know you can figure this out. You’ll just need a solid game plan going in. I’ll help you. You know what? Let me call Aunt Anna in, too. She’s great at this kind of thing.”

  She took out her phone and began to tap out a text message, and before Max had even finished her tea, Cee-cee had gotten a response.

  Strategy meeting? Always in for one of those. Just down the st
reet getting groceries. Be there ASAP, so snag me a raspberry chocolate cupcake and a hot cuppa joe.

  Max and Cee-cee busied themselves finishing up with the cupcakes for the next few minutes, and for the first time since last night, Max felt the faintest glimmer of hope. Maybe it was just being around her mom, or the idea that Aunt Anna was on the case. Whatever it was, she no longer felt so alone in this. She still missed Ty – Lord, did she miss him – but being around family seemed to ease the sting of his absence, even if just a little.

  Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

  A short while later, the basement door flew open and Anna entered like a summer storm.

  “I hear we have a business crisis on our hands,” Anna said, her arms full of groceries.

  “Anna, you could have brought those home first,” Cee-cee protested. “It’s not that urgent of a--”

  “Are you kidding me?” Anna demanded, setting the bags down on the counter like it was her own kitchen and breezing over to the worktable. “You’re telling me my niece is getting screwed over by some Harvard business school frat boy and you want me to go home first? Are you crazy? No way.” She shook her head, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “We can brainstorm a list of ideas. Where’s my cupcake? I haven’t eaten all morning,” she asked, glancing around.

  Cee-cee gestured to the counter behind her where a fresh pot of coffee and the requested treat resided.

  “Perfect. Let’s get to it then,” Anna said as she prepped herself a mug of brew while Cee-cee plucked a sheet of paper from a drawer and set it between them. She quickly filled Anna in on the details that she hadn’t shared via text, and also reluctantly told them about the humiliating dress mishap. Their twin gasps of dismay and vicarious embarrassment on her behalf made it slightly less painful.

  Slightly.

  “So Max is going to go meet with this guy in person. We’ll need to come up with some ideas to make sure it goes well.”

  “Got it,” Anna said, nodding. “Well, for one thing, you’ll need to wear a power suit – something that screams ‘badass businesswoman who will eat you for breakfast’.”

  “I don’t want to eat anyone for anything,” Max said. “Last night was contentious enough.”

  “Right, but you want to look like you might. Keep him on his toes. Plus, hopefully it will obliterate the memory of you being decked out like a fairy godmother on the top half and bare-assed on the bottom last night. You want him to realize that, despite your previous interaction, you should be taken seriously.”

  “Fair point,” Max conceded.

  “I’m thinking you could also bring in some sales figures for the bookstore,” suggested Cee-cee. “Show him how you’re doing, and how your business being there could increase foot traffic for the other stores in the area that he might be thinking of opening.”

  “Ooh, yeah, good idea,” Anna agreed. “Write that one down.”

  The two women continued to chat, Anna throwing out ideas while Cee-cee jotted notes. As they discussed what to do about the Ian Thackery situation, Max found herself thinking about the man himself.

  Ian Thackery.

  Her new arch-nemesis.

  He might look like a fallen angel with that dark hair and square jaw, but to her, he was the devil himself. The memory of her dress tearing up the back right in front of him threatened to force its way back into her brain, and her cheeks went hot as she did her best to push the thought from her mind. He may have won yesterday’s battle, but he hadn’t won the war yet. The next time they met, Max decided, she was going to knock his socks off – so much so that he would be begging her to stay in his precious little strip mall. She bit back a snort at the very idea of someone like Ian Thackery begging for anything, but then forced herself back into the present moment, realizing she had zoned out.

  “...then you can ask Mr. Bonomo for a copy of the note. Once you’ve read it over again, the first meeting with Thackery will have to be sort of a recon mission,” Anna was saying. “See how serious he is about enforcing it.”

  “But that means you can’t go in guns blazing,” Cee-cee added. “Not at first, anyway. For now, you’re going to have to play nice.”

  “That makes sense,” conceded Max. “Don’t draw weapons until there’s a need to draw weapons, right?” Although, she was already doubting that Ian Thackery was the type to play nice. Then again, who knew? Maybe he would surprise her.

  Or maybe not. In which case…

  En garde, Mr. Thackery, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Max Burrows is pissed off and ready for battle.

  6

  Max

  For the second time in as many days, Max, once again, found herself in uncomfortable shoes and an outfit that didn’t suit her. Only this time? She didn’t have the luxury of alcohol to take the edge off.

  She cursed as her heel caught in a crack in the asphalt of the parking lot, nearly making her turn her ankle, and wondered – not for the first time – what vengeful deity she had angered that had led to this all. There was nothing for it now, though. She just had to put her head down and charge onward, so that was what she was going to do – uncomfortable shoes or not.

  She took a steadying breath as she crossed the parking lot of the building where Ian Thackery’s offices were located. She’d found it on Google the night before. Shocker, it was in the swanky part of town, full of corporate high-rises and chic gastropubs – exactly the type of environment she’d managed to escape when she’d left her job at the accounting firm more than a year before. Idly, she wondered why someone like Ian would want to buy out a quaint little strip mall like the one where the bookshop was – it didn’t seem nearly flashy or glamorous enough for someone who probably used hundred dollar bills as napkins. Either way, she was here now, in a suit that had fit her better ten pounds ago when the stress of the corporate world had kept her rail-thin, wobbling in the pumps she’d all but boycotted more than a year ago.

  Somehow, Max made it to the front door without tripping. She steeled herself for a moment, arranging her hair and smoothing out her slightly wrinkled skirt before she went inside. In one hand, she clutched a manila folder, which was full of all the sales figures and documentation on the bookshop. Whether it would come in handy was another story.

  In her other hand was a box of raspberry-vanilla cupcakes, courtesy of her mother, which she hoped she could at least use to butter the guy up a little… assuming he liked cupcakes. Or maybe he didn’t – wouldn’t that just be perfect? God knew he was probably the type who didn’t eat sugar. After all, he seemed to have a thing for sucking all the joy out of the world.

  She felt a bit like a kid going in for her first job interview as she stood on the sidewalk, but shoved the sensation aside. So what if she didn’t look like she fit in with the moguls and the trust fund babies? All she wanted to do was keep her livelihood – was that so much to ask?

  She knew very well going in that this might turn out to be a waste of time – Thackery was surely a busy man, and she’d made a less than stellar impression – but worst case, she’d leave a business card and the cupcakes and cross her fingers he had the manners to contact her and set something up for another day.

  “Let’s make it happen.”

  Taking a breath and squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the heavy glass door and walked inside. The lobby was pristine and sterile, with a towering reception desk manned by an immaculately-groomed secretary. The space itself wasn’t all that large, but despite its modest size, she could still tell right off the bat that she would never in a million years be able to afford the rent in a place like this. Not in this part of town, at least. It was all sleek modern furniture, sparsely-decorated with minimalistic modern art pieces that would probably cost someone like Max a month’s salary each.

  Take it easy, she reminded herself as she strode up to the desk, hoping to give off an air of cool confidence. You’re a smart, semi-sorta-successful businesswoman – now act like it.

  Clearing h
er throat, Max straightened up as she stopped in front of the desk. The secretary looked up from her computer and raised her eyebrows. “Can I help you, Ma’am?”

  Ma’am? Max thought, bristling a little. You can’t be more than two years younger than me, lady. Instead of voicing that thought, she forced a smile.

  “I was wondering if I could see Mr. Thackery, please?”

  The woman cocked her head and painted an insincere smile on her lips. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Max met her smile with a syrupy one of her own. “I don’t, actually, but I only need a moment of his time. Would you be so kind as to just check and see if he can squeeze me in?”

  The woman pursed her lips, and for a moment Max wondered if she was going to turn her away without even checking with her boss, but instead she consulted her computer for a moment before saying, “He’s on a conference call, but he should be done shortly. Once he’s off, I’ll let him know you’re here to see him, Ms.…?”

  “Burrows,” Max replied. “Max Burrows. He should recognize the name.”

  Given the fact that he’d seen her mostly-naked butt up close and personal, he’d better.

  “Okay,” said the secretary, nodding. “You can go ahead and have a seat. I’ll let you know if he can spare some time for you, Ms. Burrows.”

  “Thanks,” Max said, turning around and taking a seat at one of the blocky sofas along the far wall. She knew she should be using this opportunity to review her strategy, but she’d done that ad nauseum ever since her strategy meeting with Anna and her mom, and she wasn’t sure there was anything else she could do at this point except stress herself out even more. He would either listen to her or he wouldn’t. Either way, she had to try, and if this didn’t work, she could think about next steps.

  She wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

  By the time footsteps rang in the hallway, a solid twenty minutes of fidgeting in her uncomfortable clothes and stewing had passed. Moments later, the man himself appeared, dressed in what had to be a two-thousand dollar suit, his hair combed just so and his shoes polished to a high shine.