The Forget-Me-Not Bakery

by Caroline Flynn

  About the Author

  Caroline Flynn is a Canadian writer from Northern Ontario. She doesn’t have to imagine what small town life is like – she lives it every day. Caroline loves everything book related, whether it’s reading them or writing them, and she is the dog-mom of an eccentric brindle boxer named Jazz (who makes an appearance in The Forget-Me-Not-Bakery!). Caroline uses her coffee addiction to fuel her writing passion, and she can’t imagine devoting her life to being anything other than an author.

  She loves connecting with readers! You can find her at @flynnromance on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

  The Forget-Me-Not Bakery

  CAROLINE FLYNN

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

  Copyright © Caroline Flynn

  Caroline Flynn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © July 2020 ISBN: 9780008409012

  Version: 2020-06-17

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue: Cohen

  Chapter 1: Paige

  Chapter 2: Cohen

  Chapter 3: Paige

  Chapter 4: Cohen

  Chapter 5: Paige

  Chapter 6: Cohen

  Chapter 7: Paige

  Chapter 8: Cohen

  Chapter 9: Paige

  Chapter 10: Cohen

  Chapter 11: Paige

  Chapter 12: Cohen

  Chapter 13: Paige

  Chapter 14: Cohen

  Chapter 15: Paige

  Chapter 16: Cohen

  Chapter 17: Paige

  Chapter 18: Cohen

  Chapter 19: Paige

  Chapter 20: Cohen

  Chapter 21: Paige

  Chapter 22: Cohen

  Chapter 23: Paige

  Chapter 24: Cohen

  Chapter 25: Paige

  Chapter 26: Cohen

  Chapter 27: Paige

  Epilogue: Cohen

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader …

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  For the real Caroline …

  I miss you every day, Grandma.

  Prologue

  Cohen

  Eight Years Ago …

  There are days that change everything. Change our lives. Change us.

  Cohen Beckett didn’t understand the razor-sharp truth of that statement. Until now. Now that he stood at the edge of the room, surrounded by all the people he knew and just as many that he didn’t, aching with the painful loneliness of a man stranded on foreign ground without a soul in sight. Now that he was left behind, to carry on living a life he didn’t know how to live alone. Now that his family of three, content and constant and perfect, was only a family of two.

  Cohen didn’t remember who he was before Stacey. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon up recollections of his time before he’d met her by chance at university, all wide-eyed and beautiful and ready to take on the world. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet those days, in the beginning, as he careened over the edge and fell madly in love with her, were etched in his brain with a sharp vividness that made them seem like only yesterday. He prayed that haunting vividness would never dull.

  Before that, though? Nothing. The realization left him cold, and scared of what it truly meant. The thought niggled at him that he hadn’t yet begun to live, to do and be anything worth remembering, until he’d met the woman he would call his wife. And if that was the case, he wasn’t just scared. He was petrified. Because he would never be that man again, the one he saw reflecting back at him in Stacey’s pretty emerald eyes.

  Stomach in knots, shoulders tight with the facade of strength he fought to wear nobly, Cohen ached for another glimpse of his beloved wife’s stare in his direction. The smile on her face that forced her long-lashed eyelids to squint with the sheer authenticity of it in the gold-rimmed picture frame beside her matching casket, the smile that seemed to follow him from across the room no matter where he stood, was a poor substitute for the beauty now housed in that closed box. No picture could do Stacey Beckett’s smile justice. No memory, regardless of its clarity, would ever do her justice.

  He’d found his one. The one who was his best friend and his lover and his rock. It pained him to think about whether he’d managed to be those things for her, adequately and fully. His chest constricted as he hoped with every fiber of his being that he had been. It hurt even more to realize that his love for her hadn’t been enough to save her, hadn’t been enough to protect her in the first place. The rational part of Cohen’s brain understood that he could never have prevented the fluke accident that stole Stacey from him and their young son, but there were moments during the darkness of the seven nights that had followed her death when his rational mind didn’t stand a chance against the grieving, guilt-stricken part that took over and threatened to drown him in his own numb disbelief.

  ‘Dr Cohen?’

  In the distance, as though through a thick veil of cotton but more accurately of dazed distraction, a voice filtered through to him. Cohen turned, and Sonya Ritter stood near him, her back turned to protect him from any oncoming folks intent on bestowing their condolences. Judging by the added lines that marred her forehead and the slight narrowed angle of her eyelids, she had said his name a few times without gleaning a response. Sonya knew nothing of impatience with him, though. As Port Landon’s designated mother hen and knower of all that went on within the town’s limits, the short elderly woman had taken her role more seriously when the tragedy of Stacey’s passing befell their little town and rocked their community to the core. The woman was a fixture in their tiny town, and a friend to all despite her overzealous nature and overbearing personality. But she’d been a godsend to Cohen in the past week. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through any of this without her. Didn’t know how Bryce would have gotten through it.

  Bryce. His son. The last remaining thread to Stacey that he could touch and hold. Only two years old and left without the beautiful mother he adored. Cohen didn’t know how to quantify the torturous pain he was battling, but he was sure it was multiplied a thousand times over with the added weight of the grief he harbored on his young son’s behalf.

  ‘Sorry, Sonya. What were you saying?’ He shook his head, desperate to hold himself together. Not for Sonya; she could handle whatever emotional turmoil Cohen – or anyone else, for that matter – tossed at her. The woman was strong and sturdy as an oak tree despite her age. It wasn’t her he worried about.

  The toddler in her arms was another story. The little boy he now lived solely for. Not because anything or anyone had ever co
me before him in his father’s eyes, but because he was all he had left.

  Sonya looked uncertain of Cohen’s current emotional stability. She wasn’t the only one. But she thankfully kept her sentiments to herself. Cohen didn’t know if he could stand to hear Are you okay? or How are you holding up? one more time. People meant well, but it didn’t make having to form an answer any easier.

  ‘The director says he’s about ready to start the service,’ she informed him. ‘I figured you would want Bryce with you?’

  Bless the woman’s heart. She was giving him an out, phrasing it as a question and allowing him the chance to admit he couldn’t handle sitting in the front row of his wife’s funeral, with his son in his arms asking why Mommy’s picture was on display but she was nowhere to be found. It was going to be hard. Damn hard. There would be tears eventually, though the icy numbness that spread through him like a biting frost hadn’t allowed those tears to fall yet, and there would be moments when Cohen wouldn’t know how he was going to get through them.

  Today was one of those days. One of those moments. That changed everything. Changed him.

  But he couldn’t allow this to swallow him up. He couldn’t let it, as easy as it would be. Bryce needed him now. More than ever. And Cohen needed Bryce just as urgently. He held his hands out, his fingers twitching with the instinctive urgency to feel the solid form of his son against him.

  ‘I wouldn’t want him anywhere else.’ He hugged the boy tight to his chest as Sonya gave Cohen’s jacket lapel a gentle pull to straighten it, then she pressed her lips together and headed back toward the rows of chairs, leaving him with only his thoughts and his son to keep him steady. He had more faith in his two-year-old than his own frazzled mind to level him out.

  ‘You all right, buddy?’ Cohen pressed his thumb into Bryce’s palm, squeezing his fingers gently. The boy’s eyelashes fluttered before his eyes fixed firmly on his father.

  Stacey’s eyes.

  ‘I want Mommy.’ Bryce played with the edge of Cohen’s pocket, flipping the fabric up and down, his gaze flitting from it to Cohen’s face then back again. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for his daddy to fix this.

  Cohen felt desolate, helpless. But, despite his throat constricting, thick with all the things he couldn’t find the strength to say and all the things he couldn’t change, Cohen leaned forward and kissed Bryce’s forehead, his soft skin warm against his lips.

  ‘I know, my boy. Me too.’ He shifted his son in his arms, needing him to focus his waning attention on him, needing him to understand the sincerity of the words he fought to say out loud. ‘But we’re going to be okay, me and you.’ He pressed his forehead to his son’s, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, desperate for his son to believe him more than he believed himself. ‘We’ll get through this,’ he choked out. ‘Together.’

  Cohen just wished he knew how.

  Chapter 1

  Paige

  Present Day …

  Paige Henley had heard a lot of things about Port Landon. Mostly from her cousin, Allison, a long-time resident, and mostly that the tiny town was largely made up of people with big hearts and even bigger mouths. It ran on gossip and small-town gumption, and not always necessarily in that order. Of course, that was just gossip, too, when she really thought about it.

  But she knew one thing for sure. When the folks of Port Landon talked about The Cakery’s grand opening later on that evening, huddled back into their cozy homes with their own personal choice of sugar fix, their recollection of just how well the new bakery’s grand opening had gone would be anything but exaggerated hearsay. It would be the truth.

  ‘I can’t believe this is really happening,’ Paige exclaimed, bending down to pull two chocolate cupcakes with mint frosting from the glass display case. Rising to her full height, she closed the takeout box and met Allison’s gaze. “I guess what I really mean is I still can’t believe you talked me into this.”

  Allison expertly rang the sale through the cash register and bid the customer – Mrs O’Connor from Huntington Street was how she’d introduced her to Paige – a good day before turning to her cousin, eyes gleaming so bright they sparkled. ‘Oh, please. You can pretend you’re still unsure about this whole venture, but you’re not fooling me. Either you’ve laced the baked goods with some damn good stuff that’s making people think it tastes good, or maybe, just maybe, the people of Port Landon have spoken, Paige … and The Cakery is officially a hit!’

  Paige couldn’t hide her smile. Leave it to Allison to decide that the only two plausible options were either real, honest-to-goodness success or the clandestine addition of hallucinogenic drugs.

  She might not have had a clue what she was doing as a first-time business owner, but, by God, she was learning on the fly. And she was doing something right. It felt like the entire population of Port Landon had left their homes and jobs on this cheery sunny day to get a chance at the free coffee and sweet treats being handed out in celebration of Paige’s first official day up and running on the bustling downtown street.

  Or, if Paige was honest, to catch a glimpse of the newest addition to the small portside town they all called home – her. Most customers weren’t even trying to hide that they were just as interested in the New Yorker who had snatched up old Wilhelmina Morrison’s bakery within days of it hitting the real estate market as they were the baked goods that were strategically displayed about the room. It was like they’d never seen a girl from New York before. Like she was something akin to a Yeti from the Himalayan Mountains, something they’d heard of but never truly witnessed.

  Well, they were witnessing her now, a real live city-girl-turned-small-town-entrepreneur, living in what she hoped would remain her natural habitat, her very own dream come true.

  And that’s what this grand opening day was turning out to be – a dream come true. With Allison graciously allowing her own business, the coffeehouse too-conveniently located beside the bakery, to be solely run by her two employees so she could volunteer to help Paige ‘control the impending chaos’ – Allison’s words, not hers – the doors had been unlocked for the very first time at nine o’clock sharp. The coffee Allison had donated for the event had been brewed and piping hot, ready to be sipped by the patrons who attended. Paige had expected there to be a handful of people who would come out, mostly for the free food that had been mentioned in the Port Landon Ledger advertisements, but she never would have expected the line-up of people that waited patiently outside for the heavy glass door to be unlocked, or the way the cupcakes, mini cheesecakes, and scones that had been on display had sold out in a matter of hours, leaving Paige with no choice but to begin cutting the large cakes into individual pieces and sell them by the slice so that everyone would have a chance to try the different frostings and cake flavors she’d boasted about in the ads.

  If this day was any indication, The Cakery was going to need to be better stocked on a daily basis than she ever dreamed. The thought had Paige bursting with pride. Every sliver of fear she’d had about leaving her marketing career back in New York, every not-so-subtle hint from Allison that she should take a chance and follow her dreams of owning her own bakery, every doubt she’d harbored since giving her notice and selling her closet-sized condo in the heart of the city …

  It was worth it. Crazy and reckless, but absolutely worth it. And it made Paige feel more alive than she had in years. Maybe ever. Even if she had to spend her evenings whipping up buttercream frosting just to keep up, she would do it, because this was her dream, and it was coming to fruition in front of her sapphire eyes.

  Yeah, it was definitely worth it.

  ‘Paige, this is Sonya.’ Allison’s voice cut through Paige’s thoughts. She turned to see a slender woman with short, gray hair cut smartly into a bob hairstyle. She wore a black T-shirt identical to Allison’s, with the round Portside Coffeehouse logo on the front. The woman looked to be at least sixty-five, which Paige hadn’t expected by the way Allison talked about her.


  ‘Oh, Allison’s told me so much about you,’ Paige gushed, dusting her hands on her block-patterned apron. ‘You help her to run the coffeehouse, right?’

  ‘I do what I can,’ Sonya replied, nodding as she shook her hand with a surprisingly firm grasp. She leaned forward, a faint grin on her lips as she added in a whisper, ‘Which is pretty much everything.’

  ‘Easy, now. I can hear you plotting your stealthy takeover from here.’ A wider grin crossed Allison’s face as she placed her hands on her hips. This was obviously a running joke between the two of them. ‘Taking a break, are you?’

  Sonya pointed toward the brick wall to the right that divided the bakery from the coffeehouse. ‘I’ve got Adrian running the place for ten minutes while I grab myself a treat. Got anything with peanut butter in it?’

  Paige jumped into action immediately, gesturing toward the other side of the room where a long table with trays of colorful cupcakes and squares were on display. They’d been picked over a bit, but a good selection still remained. ‘I put chocolate fudge cupcakes with peanut butter icing on the treat trays this morning! Help yourself to those. They’re free for the taking.’

  Sonya glanced back at the setup, but she quickly turned back to the front counter where Allison and Paige stood, pulling a crumpled ten-dollar bill from her pocket. ‘Anything with peanut butter in it that I can buy?’ She waved the bill in her hand.

  Paige tilted her head, curious. ‘Of course, but you don’t have to—’

  ‘Look, sweetheart …’ The older woman leaned in as though about to reveal a deep, dark secret. ‘Around here, we shop local. We help each other out as best we can. It’s what we do, in case Allison, here, hasn’t told you. So …’ She slid the bill across the counter, her deep brown eyes never wavering. ‘Sell me ten dollars’ worth of sugary goodness, and let me be on my way, will you?’

  Paige’s cheeks burned hotly at having been put in her place by the older woman, but at the same time, her heart swelled with adoration and respect for Sonya … and for the town. ‘A handful of peanut buttery decadence coming up,’ she announced, pulling a takeout box from the shelf behind her and beginning to place an array of sweet treats into it. She was just about to disappear into the back of the shop where the kitchen was hidden by a wall when another voice broke into the conversation.