First, dinner.
He went indoors, fetched a plate from the cabinet, and dished out man-sized portions of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread. He entered the living room, where he ate every night. For the first time, the room felt empty. The recliner sank with his weight. There was nothing good on TV, so he forced himself to concentrate on a show set on the Alaskan landscape, where a group was searching for gold. An episode he’d seen three times already. By the time the show ended, his mouth and belly were satisfied. His heart was not.
Oh, yeah, Olivia had brought dessert.
Hoping it would counteract his restlessness, Blake got a fresh plate and peeled back the foil. Pecan pie.
He smiled. Was there meaning behind this gesture? He’d like to think so. After cutting a slice big enough for two, he stood against the counter and forked his first bite as he watched darkness swallow the last sliver of daylight out the window. A nutty sweetness melted on his tongue. With each bite, Blake’s motivation to know Olivia grew. Why would a woman with such talent abandon her life and move fifteen-hundred miles away to care for her grandmother?
He fetched a pencil and paper and got to work sketching the remodel she’d detailed for him. In order to start building, he’d have to take measurements. And measurements gave him an excuse to stop by the bakery.
~*~
Lightning flashed across the harbor toward Seal Island. Thunderheads rolled toward the bakery. Olivia quickened her pace sweeping the outdoor patio. The sky was painted a despairing gray, and the ocean matched her mood. Dark blue and churning with turmoil.
Her colleagues had assured her on this morning’s video chat that all of Olivia’s patients were progressing under their care and the practice would be waiting when she returned.
Did she want to go home? After her recovery and Justin’s declaration they should take some time apart to regroup, Stone Harbor had been a temporary solution to her desire to get away. The longer she stayed and invested in the bakery, in Grandma’s care, in this town, the more the term temporary gained its way to permanency.
In some ways, a new life appealed to Olivia. In other ways, she knew parts of herself had died, and she’d never get them back. And that wasn’t OK with her.
The wind skidded over the water and whipped around her. Goosebumps covered her body. The oncoming storm reminded her of last summer when Justin had driven them to southern Indiana for a picnic in the country. The downpour had been an unexpected but welcome interruption, as they’d sought shelter in a nearby barn. The way he’d held her, the longing in his eyes. Then he’d lowered to one knee. It was by far the happiest day of her life.
Followed by the worst.
Now Justin was as lost to her as a leaf caught in a tornado. Another temporary solution that was quickly gaining permanency.
“Are you trying to get soaked?”
Olivia startled at the familiar tenor. Prickles aggravated her skin again for an entirely different reason. She propped the broom against the railing and rubbed the sensation away.
“You scared me.”
“You were deep in thought.”
Blake watched her with such intensity she almost bared her soul. A gust of wind blew the broom sideways, and it smacked the deck with a jarring clank.
He picked it up just as rain started to fall. He placed a palm on her upper back and led her inside the bakery at a jog. Nothing intimate. Something a relative or a friend might do. But it struck a place inside her that started to ache. She’d long forgotten the comfort of human contact. The simple squeeze of a hand for encouragement. A hug on a rotten day.
He severed his touch as soon as the door closed. “It always smells good in here.”
“That’s the point.” She grinned, reaching for the broom in his hand.
Blake looked as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. He thrust it toward her.
“Thanks. What brings you in on such a fine day?”
The place was empty except for the two of them and Grandma and Brittany, who were in the kitchen. The morning had been steady, but late afternoon with this weather promised an early quitting time.
He pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket. “This.”
She perused the sketch, amazed at how well he’d remembered all the details she’d mentioned.
“If I forgot something, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll take some measurements and work on getting materials.”
Olivia studied it again, checking the sketch against the space. “Looks like you’ve got it covered. Thank you.”
He took the offered paper. “Thank you for the lasagna Saturday. Much better than frozen.”
The air crackled between them, causing another round of goosebumps.
Blake cleared his throat. “Maybe next time I can convince you to stay and eat with me.”
Her insides tumbled. Adrenaline rushed. She knew Blake was attracted to her. He’d not tried to hide it. She was attracted to him, too. But things between them couldn’t go any further than that.
“I…well, Saturdays are our busiest days and Grandma, she…tires easy, and it’s hard to—”
“I understand. Doesn’t hurt to ask.” Blake winked and pulled a measuring tape from his coat pocket. His face revealed nothing, but she was familiar with the cold slap of rejection.
Maybe the Italian crème cake she’d planned to make him this Saturday would make up for it.
Blake set to work measuring the length and height of the wall.
From her vantage point behind the counter, she was aware of every move he made. Even if she wasn’t looking. She scrubbed the counter until it shined. Separated the bread and rolls to be sold at discount the following day. Wiped smudges from the glass display case. Emptied the coffee pots. Closed out the register. She couldn’t take another minute of the awkward tension.
Blake inched toward the door. “I think I’ve got everything I need. We’ll talk later.” He turned the knob.
“Wait. About Saturday.” She exhaled a breath full of angst and guilt.
“No worries, Livi.” He opened the door, stepped through, then poked his head back in. “I’ll ask again next week.”
That wicked grin was so boyish and adorable, she couldn’t tamp down her smile. In fact, she was still wearing it when she walked into the kitchen.
“What’s got you beaming?” Brittany dunked the mop into the wheeled bucket. A cloud of lemon-scented bubbles floated to the floor.
“What are you talking about?” Olivia checked the ovens to make sure they’d been turned off.
“The womanly glow brought on from a flirty, hot guy.”
“There was a hot guy here?”
Water whooshed as Brittany pulled the bucket handle to squeeze the mop. “Nice try. I saw Blake through the window.” She pointed to the circular windows in the swinging doors. “If you really hadn’t noticed him, your face wouldn’t be as red as that cake.” Now Brittany indicated the red velvet discs cooling on the rack.
Olivia pressed a hand to her cheek. Flaming.
Brittany giggled and worked the mop beneath the work tables.
Olivia transferred the cakes to the walk-in freezer then turned out the office lights. “Here.” Olivia took the mop from Brittany. “I’ll finish up. Go spend time with your fiancé.”
Now Brittany was beaming. “Thanks. It’s Aaron’s birthday. We’ve got reservations in Bangor.”
“Drive safely.”
The bathroom door down the hall opened, then closed. Grandma entered the kitchen, drying her hands on a paper towel.
“Careful, Grandma, the floor is wet.”
Grandma patted Olivia’s shoulder in response and handed her the paper towel. She shuffled to the CD player and turned it on. Billie Holiday’s The Very Thought of You flowed through the speakers. Grandma closed her eyes and swayed to the bluesy rhythm.
Olivia wrapped her hands around the mop handle and rested her chin on top. The nostalgic tones filled the room with magic from a bygone era. A time of simplicity, though ev
ery generation had their troubles.
In that moment, in the middle of a struggling bakery with half-mopped floors, Olivia witnessed her grandma drift to another time and place. If only Olivia could let go of her sorrow and dance freely.
~*~
Valentine’s Day, 1950
The Tennessee Waltz by Patti Page. That’s the song we were dancing to at Moe’s when tears began running down your cheeks. You’d lost your father right after Christmas, and I had to practically drag you out with me that night. You’d not only lost the first man you’d ever loved, but also your protector. After the song was over, I sank to one knee and asked you to marry me. I wanted to take over as your protector. Become the last man you’d ever love.
Look at that smile on your face, Elizabeth! Tears and all. I told Brian Lueken not to capture the moment unless he saw that smile. You’ve always had the most beautiful smile.
“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” Psalm 126:5. Show me your smile again, my dear. You’ve been sowing long enough.
10
Blake yawned into his fist. “Thanks for dinner, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Are you sure you got enough to eat?”
He patted his full gut. “And then some.” He kissed her cheek, breathing in the citrusy scent of her perfume.
“There’s a bag of leftovers by the door. Take them with you.” She fluffed the puff of blonde curls pinned to her head.
“Thanks.” He looked around the corner into the living room where his dad was reclined, watching basketball. “Bye, Dad.”
No reply. Blake chuckled.
“Kenneth! Blake’s leaving.”
The chair rocked forward. Dad approached him, arm outstretched, his gaze never leaving the big screen. “Bye, son. Drive safe.”
Blake clasped his hand. Lines fanned out from around the man’s eyes and mouth, though he still looked younger than his fifty-nine years. The older Blake got, the more he noticed their similarities in the mirror.
This room held so many memories. Worn carpet from wrestling matches, indoor camp outs, and family movie nights. Nothing had been updated except for the television and the computer in the corner. Same curtains, same furniture, same framed photos lining the mantel. He avoided those snapshots during visits. Too painful.
Blake turned to the door. “Thanks again for the food.”
“There’s a bag of chocolate chip cookies in there. From the bakery.”
Blake stilled, his hand wrapped around the doorknob. Oh, no. She had that I-have-something-to-say-but-I’m-trying-to-be-sneaky-about-it look. Must tread carefully. “Sounds good. ‘Night, Mom.” He picked up the bag and twisted the doorknob.
“I ran into Glenda at the market.” Mom casually tucked her hands into her pants pockets. “She said you were working with the bakery’s new manager, Olivia, on the Mayberry of Maine project.”
He’d almost made it through the door. Blake closed it once again, blocking the chilly air. Cleared his throat. “And out of curiosity you went by the bakery to meet Olivia?”
Mom lifted a bony shoulder. “Well, naturally, I was interested.”
“Meddling.”
“Researching.”
“Ah.” Blake nodded, dreading where this conversation was going. “And what did you learn?”
She stepped closer. “Olivia’s sweet. And very cute.”
“Is she?”
Mom squinted. “As if you didn’t notice.”
Blake scratched his cheek. “What are you getting at?”
“Oh…just that you’re single…she’s single…you’re around the same age.”
“You asked her if she was single?”
“Not outright.”
“Leave the boy alone, Rita,” Dad called from his recliner.
She threw her hands out. “I just want to see my son happy again.”
“I’m happy, Mom.” He patted her cheek and tried again for the door.
“I talked to your brother yesterday.”
Blake’s chin dropped to his chest. The noise from the TV silenced. He inhaled through his nose, trying to damper his smoldering temper. “I have a brother?” He regretted the wince he caused her.
“Honey, I know you’re still upset—and rightfully so—but he’s still your brother.”
“Brotherhood doesn’t mean a thing to him. He’s the one who betrayed me, remember?”
Mom nodded. “I haven’t forgotten. You weren’t the only one hurt.” She blinked rapidly. “He said Madison is well.”
“Oh, good. I’ve been worried about that.”
Dad entered the hall, cold steel in his gaze. Three or thirty, it was meant to put Blake in his place.
Blake released a long breath. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I just don’t understand the point of this conversation.”
Mom swallowed. “They’re engaged.”
Her words were a mammoth bowling ball, and Blake the only pin.
Engaged.
Wouldn’t that make family holidays awkward? Especially once they had kids.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” Her voice trembled. “I know this isn’t easy for you to hear. You’re our sons, and we love you both very much. Even if we’re not happy with your brother’s decisions. They’re able to live with what they’ve done, and…” she sighed, “they love each other. It’s been almost three years. Forgive your brother, Blake. Open your heart to someone else again.”
This time Blake escaped. The night air rolled across his heated skin as he stormed to his truck. Engaged. Engaged. The word tumbled inside his brain like an avalanche. The next thing he knew, he was pulling into his own driveway. Gravel popped beneath the tires. He killed the heat pooling at his feet and ran both hands along his face, remembering the mix of regret and surety on Madison’s face the day she confessed she was leaving Blake for his brother. The urge to punch something roared inside him. His forehead tightened, and he rubbed the tension pounding behind his brows.
Lucas always had a way of getting what he wanted—The older brother, sure of what he wanted in life and determined to get it no matter whom he had to bulldoze. Blake had figured one day Lucas would hit the limit of his selfishness, but that day was yet to come.
The truck door slammed shut behind Blake. His boots devoured the distance to the porch. He paced the length of the railing.
He didn’t want Madison back. Still, all this time, he kept expecting the day when their relationship would crumble and Lucas would admit how stupid he’d been. How wrong. Not that their relationship would ever be the same, but it would’ve brought some comfort to know his brother regretted his behavior. Blake leaned his elbows on the railing and fought to steady his breath, slow his racing pulse.
Scooby whimpered and pressed the side of his wet nose to Blake’s leg. The porch light revealed the dog’s questioning brown eyes.
Blake rubbed Scooby’s head. He’d been rude to his mother tonight, and he felt bad for that. Mom was as torn up about it as Blake was, though in a different way. He hated that for her. As a mother, her position couldn’t be easy. But forgiveness was asking more than Blake could give.
Two years—almost three as Mom had reminded him—had a way of numbing the pain. Until tonight. He was ready to move on, find the woman God had created for him. Build a life together on this land. Raise a family. But he couldn’t get over his brother’s betrayal.
An image of Olivia materialized in his mind. Mom had brought her up, which was most likely why she was there. Like him, Olivia had been the victim of some situation, not the perpetrator. She wore it as tangibly as a winter coat.
Was that what intrigued him? Some invisible common bond? No, it was more than that. Something Blake couldn’t decipher but wanted to. Desperately.
~*~
Olivia glanced at Grandma asleep in the passenger seat, mouth open, snores escaping with every inhale. Grandma had wandered the first floor most of the night. She’d insisted on cooking breakfast at two in the morning, and then had vacuumed
the already vacuumed rugs. Grandma was getting her nights and days confused, one of the more difficult stages for a caregiver to cope with. Especially a caregiver with a bakery to run.
The road blurred before her, and Olivia blinked. It’d been a long day with a visit to Grandma’s doctor, work, and cooking Blake’s dinner. She was grateful she’d prepped the night before. A hot bath and ten hours of sleep were calling her name. Hopefully, the doctor’s suggestion of a nighttime routine with soft music, gentle massages, and no television would help Grandma sleep better at night.
The Hartford Farms sign appeared in the distance. She tapped the brake and slowed the car to make the right turn into Blake’s driveway. She’d gone all out, making fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, green beans, and Italian crème cake for him to enjoy. Alone. The niggling guilt hadn’t ceased since he’d asked her to join him, and she’d refused. Ridiculous, since him dining alone was part of their agreement in the first place.
Still, Blake was a great guy, and he’d managed to weasel more smiles out of her since they’d met than in the entire past year. She was beginning to enjoy his company. Or maybe it was her lack of Zs talking.
She parked, unbuckled her seatbelt, and got out of the car, deciding it best not to wake Grandma. The temperature was finally warm enough to make Olivia believe spring was close, which gave her spirit a little energy. She shouldn’t be long, but she draped a throw blanket they kept in the backseat over Grandma and collected the food, bumping the door closed with her hip.
Blake was kneeling in the mulched pad in front of his porch, yanking up what she suspected were rosebushes. With gloved hands, he yanked and tore, ripping up the ground, sending thorny branches sailing into the air. The muscles in his back and arms rolled with every angry strike at the plants.
“I have your dinner.”
Blake jumped and spun to face her, dark eyes narrowed, sweat beading his forehead. A thin line of red smeared his arm where he’d rolled up his sleeves and a thorn had gotten revenge.
Fierce. And handsome. Olivia stepped back, weak-kneed.
Blake swallowed. His features relaxed. “I didn’t hear you pull up.” His voice was deeper than usual. Strained.
How to Stir a Baker's Heart Page 6
