How to Stir a Baker's Heart

by Candice Sue Patterson

  Despite his selfish actions, he was still her daddy. She still wanted his attention, his acceptance. Still needed to hold that special place in his heart.

  “Yes.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Blake squeezed her hand. “Not everyone’s situations are black and white.”

  The tone of his voice lowered on the last word, ending the conversation. He didn’t like her interference into that area of his life, and he was done discussing it with her.

  Rita’s odd and challenging request clicked with sudden clarity. Blake would never be able to have healthy relationships as long as the wrath he had for Lucas continued to burrow into him like a termite on rotten wood. And Olivia wanted the chance to see if they could be great together.

  The remaining distance home passed in a blur. Whether it was from scrambling for how to reproduce their earlier camaraderie or the pressure Blake used on the accelerator, she wasn’t sure.

  He parked the truck at her front door.

  “Thanks for bringing me home.”

  “You’re welcome.” Blake left the truck and let down the tailgate.

  She followed. Her rolling coolers were already on the ground when she reached the back of his truck. Blake grabbed the handles to carry them for her, but she stopped him with a hand to his wrist.

  “It’s OK. You don’t need to walk me in.” She tucked her new book under her arm, lifted onto her toes, and kissed his cheek. His stubble was rough against her lips, but what surprised her more was the rock-hard surface of his jaw. If the man bit down any harder, he’d crack his molars.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve retracted her therapist antennas and minded her own business. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her advice or hired her to help him take the right steps. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She walked to the house, dragging her coolers behind her. She opened the door and bumped it wider with her hip. She looked back at Blake, still standing by his truck, shock evident on his face. When their gazes locked, he stepped forward as if to come after her. She smiled and gently closed the door before either of them said or did anything to ruin the progress they’d made.

  Olivia slipped off her shoes, lined them against the wall, stacked her coolers out of the way, and followed the faint noises coming from the kitchen.

  Grandma sat at the table, fingertips pressed against her forehead.

  Jen stood on tiptoe and pulled a bottle of ibuprofen from the cabinet. She turned and jumped when she saw Olivia.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Elizabeth is having one of her headaches.” Jen untwisted the bottle cap.

  Olivia retrieved a glass of water and set it on the table next to the pills. “Maybe taking her to the festival was a bad idea. Too stimulating. Probably wore her out.”

  “I think it helps to take her places. Especially on beautiful days, like today. Sunshine does the body good.”

  With a little coaxing, Grandma dropped the pills onto her tongue and, with a shaky hand, lifted the water and chased them down.

  Olivia rubbed circles on her back. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Grandma. Let’s get you settled in the recliner.”

  Both women helped Grandma stand, one supporting on each side. Olivia noticed Grandma’s panties on the outside of her pajamas. She gave Jen a questioning glance.

  “This is how she came out of her bedroom. I had trouble convincing her to switch them around. She got sassy with me, and that’s when she started with a headache.”

  Ignoring the trivial plight, they led Grandma to the recliner. Sydney moseyed into the room, blinked as if the commotion had awakened her from a deep sleep, then settled at Grandma’s feet. Jen placed an afghan across Grandma’s lap, while Olivia went after a damp rag for her forehead.

  “Have you talked to the doctor about these headaches?” Jen whispered. “I’ve only been here a few weeks, and she’s already had four. Seems odd to me. Unless she has a history of migraines.”

  “She does. They did a CT scan a couple months back. There was some damage from her last stroke, which we knew about, but other than that, the doctor said everything looked good. A blood thinner, regular check-ups, and close care is about all we can do.”

  The dryer buzzed from the open laundry room door.

  Olivia stood. “I’ll fold and put away. You might as well take a breather while you have the chance.” Warm air rolled across Olivia’s arms as she transferred towels and washcloths from the dryer to a laundry basket. She stood at the countertop that ran adjacent to the appliances and folded. After scooping up a large stack of towels in one arm and washcloths with the other, Olivia carried them upstairs to put away.

  Using her elbow, she turned on the bathroom light. The bathtub called to her, all clean and sparkly with the ledge holding a glass jar of dried lavender Arianne had grown and given her.

  Grandma and Jen were resting.

  She could soak for thirty minutes before finishing up a few chores. She stuffed her load into the linen closet, minus one towel and one washcloth, then retrieved her pajamas and set the water temperature for as hot as she could tolerate. She sprinkled in the lavender and breathed the calming scent deep into her lungs. She sat on the tub’s ledge and pulled off her socks.

  Jen’s panicked voice barreled up the stairs. “Elizabeth’s unresponsive. I think she’s had a stroke.”

  34

  Blake scanned the meager crowd. Checked the aisles between the booths. Ten o’clock. No Olivia.

  Rain had pummeled the coast in the wee hours, encouraging festival-goers to sleep late this morning. Maybe that’s why she was late. She hadn’t been sleeping well for a while now. If she wasn’t answering his texts because she was resting, he was grateful. However, he couldn’t seem to shake the pang in his gut every time he told himself there was a reasonable explanation for her absence.

  He’d been down-right gruff with her yesterday. Any mention of Lucas made his blood surge. None of it was her fault, and he should’ve been gentler with his words. Her intentions were good, like his mother’s, but neither could fully understand.

  To his surprise, Olivia had kissed him anyway, an indication—he’d thought—that she was cutting him slack. Maybe it had meant she was cutting him altogether.

  The rain had cooled the temperature by at least twenty degrees. Blake was glad he’d grabbed a flannel on his way out the door, smiling at the way Olivia would razz him for it.

  But she wasn’t here, so Blake unfolded his lawn chair and settled in for a long day.

  At three, after the already thin crowd started dispersing and with only the soggy grass beneath his boots for company, Blake packed up his space and headed home. With each passing mile, the sense that something was wrong nagged at him. Olivia wasn’t the type to stand someone up without good reason. Should he stop by her house? Call the bakery? Desperation wasn’t an attractive quality, so he ignored his gut and turned into his driveway.

  Thunderheads made an angry backdrop against his house. He’d looked forward to filling the quiet, lonely rooms with Olivia’s company tonight. Instead he’d watch the game with his best buddy and tolerate a can of mush while Scooby devoured his.

  The free-picking fields were empty due to the weather. Just as well. He transferred the unsold quarts of berries from his truck to the over-size fridge he kept in his garage. There weren’t many left. He’d donate them to the local food pantry first thing on Monday.

  Tires on gravel caught his attention. He finished what he was doing then lowered the garage door and walked around to the front of the house.

  Olivia stood on his welcome mat, knocking as though the effort took everything she had.

  At the thud of his boot on the porch steps, she whirled around. Eyes, red and bloodshot. Cheeks, damp. Hair and clothes, disheveled.

  “What happened?”

  She didn’t reply, only watched him while he climbed the rest of the way. Then she plowed into his chest. The force made him rock
on his heels, but he regained balance and wrapped his arms around her.

  Sobs wracked her body. “Grandma had another stroke last night.”

  The disjointed words were difficult to string together, but he made them out. “Did she…?”

  “No.”

  He exhaled. Her grip around his waist grew tighter. The shiver that trembled her body ran through him too. “Here.” Blake removed his flannel shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders, not wanting to break the moment by coaxing her inside. Her shoulders wilted, and she held the front closed, snuggling into its warmth. Blake rubbed his palms up and down her arms. After a few minutes, she inhaled and returned her cheek to his chest. Lightly this time.

  “It’s bad. The doctor said we won’t know the full extent of damage for a few days. There’s a good possibility she’s lost partial to all control of her limbs and motor skills, but we won’t know for sure until she wakes up.” Hot tears soaked into his shirt. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

  Resting his chin on her head, he pulled her closer with one arm and used the other to stoke her hair. “I’m sure it took a lot out of her. She’s just resting. Give her time, she’ll come around.”

  “What if she’s lost everything? What if I lose her? The bakery won’t survive without her. She’s the heart and soul of that place. I can’t lose her.”

  He swallowed, his heart breaking for her. “You know I’ll help as much as I can.”

  “I sound selfish right now.”

  “Don’t. You’re the most unselfish person I know.”

  She arched away enough to scrub the tears with the sleeve of his flannel. The fabric caught her eye, and she looked down at it and chuckled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come here and blubber on you.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She closed her eyes and scrunched her face, as if trying to block it all out. “Crying is such a girl thing to do.”

  “From where I stand, it looks like you qualify.” And the way her curves pressed against him took that statement a step further. “Stop trying to be so brave.”

  Olivia sighed and tucked herself beneath his chin. “My dad’s coming in on the next flight.”

  That one sentence said everything. As hard as her dad’s visit might be, Blake was grateful she wouldn’t have to bear the burden of decision-making alone.

  He pulled back enough to cup her cheeks, wanting so badly to make her world right. Her skin was like cream beneath his big thumbs. “Let me be here for you,” he whispered.

  Her hands trailed down his arms until they covered his own against her face. Her gaze dropped to his lips. That was all the answer he needed.

  Their lips collided with as much gentleness as a bolt of lightning. The hint of her cinnamon chewing gum was the sweetest thing he’d tasted in years. This woman had stolen his heart, and he never wanted it back.

  Her soft lips danced an urgent rhythm with his own. Her hands curled into his shirt. She mewled, and his restraint broke loose. He walked her backward until the porch post stopped them both. She mewled again. The woman was gonna have to stop before it made him crazy.

  His palms had just found her waist when The Beatles “Yesterday” started playing from her back pocket. Her mouth froze against his. She tensed, pulling away slowly enough to almost kill him. Her neck bobbed with a swallow.

  “Are you going to answer that?” Because if not, they should get back to kissing.

  Her palm pressed against her stomach. “I have to go,” she whispered.

  Blake reached for her. She dodged him and jogged down the stairs.

  Scooby blocked her path, tail wagging.

  Stop her, boy. Don’t let her leave.

  But like him, the mutt stood motionless.

  Unsure how to take control of the situation, what to say, Blake watched her go. Within seconds, gravel spewed beneath her tires, then the yard was empty, as if she’d never come. He wiped a hand over his face. What was wrong with him? She’d come to him for help, for comfort. Not to make out on his porch. He hadn’t meant to twist her pain into his pleasure.

  Those probing blue eyes, her curvy form in his shirt, the way she stared at his lips, as if she, too, were curious what they could be together, had made all rational thought flee.

  She should’ve slapped him.

  Scooby padded up the porch steps. Somber brown eyes stared him down, accusing.

  Blake stretched out a hand to the porch post and leaned his weight against it. “I know, boy, I messed up.”

  The dog grunted.

  Hang technology. If her phone hadn’t gone off, she might still be in his arms right now. If anything, they’d have ended the moment mutually and then discussed it like rational adults. If that was the hospital calling to tell her Mrs. Hudson had…he’d never forgive himself.

  Would Olivia have given the hospital a special ring tone? Doubtful. People only went to that kind of trouble for close friends or loved ones. Her song choice struck him as odd, and she’d stiffened like a block of ice when it pealed. Like the Olivia he’d met on the rainy street when her grandma first disappeared.

  ~*~

  The rays of dawn split through Olivia’s sheer curtains, awakening her from the bliss of sleep. She didn’t want to get up. When she was sleeping she wasn’t thinking or feeling. She could remain numb to the stinging reality of life and enjoy peace. She pulled the blankets to her chin and caught the faint scent of cologne. She snuggled deeper into the soft flannel of Blake’s shirt.

  Sitting in the hospital waiting room surrounded by unknowns, she’d craved Blake’s presence, his strength. The moment she’d gotten an opportunity, she’d run to him. As she’d known he would, Blake exchanged her burdens for comfort.

  And, boy, did he have a way of making it all seem bearable. She’d replayed their kiss long into the night, wanting to savor every second, wishing Justin’s call hadn’t sucked the bliss from the moment, hadn’t awakened the sleeping dragon of fear.

  Olivia rolled onto her back, wrapping the oversized shirt tighter around her middle. After she’d fled Blake’s, she’d returned to the hospital to find Grandma’s condition unchanged, and she’d allowed the nurse on duty to talk her into returning home to sleep. Exhaustion wouldn’t help her or Grandma, so Olivia obeyed.

  The lavender bathwater she’d started when Grandma’s stroke hit had been waiting. After draining the cold, stagnant water, she’d scrubbed the bathtub and refilled it with steaming water. In the calming fumes and cloak of bubbles, Olivia had decided that whatever Justin’s call was about—he’d only asked that she call him back—could wait. They’d walked away from each other peacefully. His break from their relationship had turned into ten months of silence. Whatever he needed right now wasn’t on her priority list.

  To her surprise, his voice playing from her inbox invoked no warm, fuzzy feelings. No longing, no regrets. They’d once had something beautiful, but that time had passed. At some point, she had to let go of what she thought should’ve happened and start living what was happening.

  Blake was happening. A good man with a good reputation who wanted to be her rock.

  She wanted to be his. For the first time in a long time, Olivia was sure of what she wanted.

  She peeled off the covers, grabbed a comfortable pair of jeans and a shirt from her closet, and made her way to the bathroom to shower. She’d stop by the bakery to check on things and then return to the hospital.

  The bold aroma of coffee wafted through the vents as Olivia finger-combed her damp hair. Jen was up early this morning. The poor girl was still probably blaming herself, despite Olivia’s constant reassurance that it wasn’t her fault. Jen would have to grow a much thicker skin if she was to make it in the medical field.

  After brushing her teeth, throwing her hair into a bun, and dabbing some concealer over the dark circles under her eyes, Olivia descended the stairs and froze as she stepped into the kitchen. “Dad.”

  “‘Morning, Livi.” Steam lifted from his mug as he poured the dar
k liquid.

  Sydney sniffed at his feet, tail wagging.

  “When did you get here?” She forced her shoulders to relax and took tentative steps to the cabinet for her own mug.

  “About an hour ago. Plane landed in Bangor at four, and I drove the rest of the way.”

  His eyes were shadowed with dark circles too, the puffiness defining the lines. His hair was grayer than when she’d seen him a few months ago. His age had finally started to show.

  And she was taken aback.

  “Sorry if I woke you.” He eased into a chair at the head of the table.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Whose car is that outside?”

  Olivia joined him at the table, mug in hand. “I hired a live-in nurse last month. She’s a local, fresh out of nursing school. I offered free room and board and meals, plus a little cash, in exchange for help with Grandma while she awaits a response to her résumé. So far, everything has worked out great.”

  Dad yawned. Stared into his cup as if he were completely detached from the conversation.

  “Grandma has yet to wake up, in case you were wondering.”

  He frowned at his cup. “That’s what the hospital told me when I called thirty minutes ago.”

  He did care. Good to know.

  The kitchen grew silent. Years stretched between them like a taut and fraying rubber band. Olivia had been praying for her parents, ever since Rita had challenged her to start talking to God again. She didn’t pray for her parents to get back together. After all, she was an adult and relationships were as complex as the human brain. Deeper, more specific prayer was needed, in her life and in theirs. In Blake’s life, too. So she prayed for the tough things like forgiveness, healing, and God’s will despite their own wishes. And, yes, she even prayed for Blake’s future wife.

  With an open heart, the Bible had started speaking to her again. Not that it had ever stopped. The passages never forced themselves upon people. The reader simply had to open the book and read. Sometimes the verses whispered, and sometimes they roared. With a loud, audible voice to her heart, they’d been teaching her that even the best of men can fall.