by Nina Crespo
Scott’s phone rang on the dresser and he checked the screen. Wendy. If he didn’t answer again, she’d keep calling. Her tenacity was one of the things that made her a great manager of their father’s company.
As he answered the phone, he picked up the television remote on the dresser and turned on the flat screen above it on the wall. “Hey, boss lady.”
“If I’m the boss, why are you dodging my calls?”
“I’m not dodging you. I was busy.” Scott stretched out on the navy comforter on the bed and leaned against the headboard. “What’s up?”
“You know exactly what’s up. Dad’s getting married in a few weeks. I know it’s a long flight from Hawaii to Florida, but are you sure you can’t fly in just for the weekend?”
Damn. Scott released a long exhale as he flipped through channels. He’d forgotten he hadn’t told her or his father he was already back on the mainland. He could just not mention it.
An image came to his mind of when he was twelve and Wendy was nine. It was right before their parents’ divorce. She’d nicked their right thumbs, pressed them together and made him swear they’d never lie to each other and always have each other’s backs.
“I got back early from Hawaii,” he said. “But now I’m working on a movie in Maryland, and my schedule is still tight.”
“But you’re even closer now. You can’t miss his big day.”
The “big day.” He’d been through three of them with his father already since their parents’ divorce, twice as his father’s best man. “It’s a Nash Moreland film so this is a major production. I have to be available when they need me. I already told Dad a few weeks ago I wouldn’t be there and he understood. He’ll get along fine without me this time. What’s the rush with this marriage, anyway? They’ve only known each other a month?”
“He and Theresa have been together almost three months. And time together doesn’t dictate whether a relationship is right or not. As strange as it sounds, I think this time he’s gotten it right. Dad’s in love.”
Sure he was. That’s what his father had said at the end of the weekend-long bachelor party in Vegas before the third wedding, and he’d believed him. But that trip down the aisle wasn’t the charm. Neither was the fourth.
Scott tossed the remote on the bed. “I’m happy for him, but he said it wasn’t going to be a big thing, just a small ceremony with a few close acquaintances on the beach.”
“And family, which includes you. Are you sure you can’t make it? It won’t be the same for dad or me without you.”
Scott rubbed his right index finger over his thumb where the scar remained. He loved Wendy and his dad, but pretending he was happy that his father was, once again, taking the vow of until death do us part... He just couldn’t.
Chapter Seven
Rina adjusted the pies on the table at the cafe, ready for the 9:00 a.m. meeting with the representative from Gwen’s Garden.
Customers carrying cardboard cups of coffee and large fluffy breakfast pastries glanced toward the side section where Rina stood. Noticing the two special event signs, they found a table up front.
A separate meeting space was something the cafe lacked. Six years ago, when she’d bought the corner building, turning the upstairs into conference rooms instead of an apartment had been a consideration, but she’d needed a place of her own—a true fresh start after the accident instead of continuing to reside at Tillbridge.
The door opened and Linda, the auburn-haired, forty-something buyer for Gwen’s Garden, came in with a younger dark-haired man who was immersed in his phone. Both gave off a corporate vibe in tailored business suits.
Linda had tried an apple pie from Brewed Haven at a friend’s dinner party. She’d been impressed not only with the taste, but also how many of the party attendees, who didn’t live near Bolan, had wished they could have access to the pies on a regular basis. Linda’s enthusiasm when she’d contacted her along with her relaxed professional demeanor was what had encouraged Rina to explore the opportunity.
Rina wiped her palms down her apron, tamping down jitters as she walked over and greeted them.
“Hello.” Linda shook her hand. “It’s good to see you again.” Just as she went to introduce her colleague, a call came in on his phone.
He offered a quick apologetic smile. “Hi, I’m Max. I have to take this. Excuse me a moment.”
As he strolled back out of the cafe, Linda glanced his direction. “Max is our new assistant buyer. He’s up to speed on what we discussed. Actually, he’s already heard of Brewed Haven.”
Was that a good sign?
Rina escorted Linda to the reserved tables, and a few minutes later Max joined them. While Linda tasted the pies and asked questions about ingredients and discussed what would be expected to fulfill the weekly orders, Max remained silent. He seemed more interested in drinking coffee than eating the desserts.
A little over an hour later, the tasting ended. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch,” Linda said.
Max gave a professional smile. “Nice meeting you.”
After they left, as Rina and one of the servers cleared the tables where the tasting had taken place, she paused in picking up Max’s plate. He’d barely sampled the peach pie that sat on it. It was one of the cafe’s bestsellers. Did he not like peaches or pie in general? Linda had mentioned that he knew about Brewed Haven. Was he a fan of her desserts already? Maybe he’d already tasted them as a paying customer and didn’t feel the need to do it now. If not, had she at least impressed Linda?
Anticipation kept her on edge the rest of the morning and afternoon. Every time her cell or the cafe’s phone rang on her desk, she snatched it up, only to end up disappointed when it wasn’t Linda. After oversalting the mashed potatoes for lunch and almost burning the gravy for the meatloaf entrée, she left the cooking to her staff and went to her office. Working on the next order with her main food distributer was a little harder to mess up. If she did, the ordering system on the website would beep at her.
Soon Rina was absorbed in the familiar task as she tapped on the computer keyboard sitting on her L-shaped black desk. A short stack of recipe books that belonged on the wall shelf behind her sat nearby. To her left, a wide window provided a view of the kitchen. The sounds of clinking pots and dishes and sporadic conversation filtering in through the door beside it blended in as background noise she hardly noticed.
Her cell phone rang next to the books. Recognizing the number, she answered right away. “Hey, Philippa.”
“Hi. How did the tasting go this morning?”
“Honestly—” Rina sank back in the black leather desk chair “—I’m not sure. The head buyer seemed to enjoy the pies, but the new assistant buyer that came with her hardly said or ate anything. I couldn’t get a read on him.”
“Or maybe you were reading too much into what he wasn’t saying. It sounds like he was just the new guy tagging along. Stop worrying. You’re just driving yourself crazy. Everybody loves your pies.”
“I probably am making something out of nothing.” And Philippa was right. Worrying didn’t help. Rina went back to working on the order as she talked. “How are things going out there?”
“Busy. These days half the town is eating at the restaurant hoping to get a glimpse of the stars in the film. Too bad you couldn’t stop by today. I saw your sexy stuntman at breakfast early this morning.”
Rina added a case of spaghetti to the order. “He’s not my sexy stuntman. Actually, I’ll see him later. He’s coming back by tonight to fix the sink in the ladies’ room.”
“He’s what? No, reverse that. We’ll get to why he’s fixing the sink in a minute. Tell me about him coming back. When was he there the first time?”
Crap. That bit of info had just slipped out, but Philippa wasn’t the type of friend to let it go. “Scott came in for dinner yesterday. The sink in the ladies’ room s
prang a huge leak while he was here, and he offered to fix it.”
“And you said yes to a stranger. Wait, I guess he’s not a stranger anymore. You’re on a first-name basis now. So you said yes to Scott the sexy stuntman touching one of your precious sinks? Ooh, what’s that all about?”
“Nothing.” As Rina laughed, she glanced at the plastic bag on the dark gray padded chair across the desk with parts for the broken knob. “It’s not a big deal. He feels guilty about smashing the pies and wants to make up for it by helping out. End of story. Time to change the subject.”
“But...”
Another call buzzed in on Rina’s phone. “I’d love to keep talking, but I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Laughing, she ended the call with Philippa who was still objecting and answered the incoming one. “Hello.”
“Hi, Rina. It’s Linda from Gwen’s Garden.”
Rina immediately sat up straighter and dialed down from carefree to professional. “Hello, Linda. It’s good to hear from you.”
“Max and I really appreciate you setting up the tasting for us this morning. Your pies are amazing.”
“Thank you.” Rina fist pumped in her mind. “So what do you see as the next step?”
“Next steps. I’m glad you mentioned that.”
* * *
Scott remained still as a makeup artist touched up the fake scar running from his right temple to his cheek. Coffee and a natural adrenaline rush had kept him going from the first scene of the day to what would now hopefully be his last—the stunt he and Kyle had rehearsed at the barn the day before when he’d run into Rina.
Instead of filming Nash’s part in this scene separately from the stunts, the film’s director, Holland Ainsley, had decided to shoot both at once. There definitely wouldn’t be any interference this time. The area was completely blocked off from anyone except the cast and crew.
Outfitted similarly to him in a black cowboy hat, long dark duster coat, vest, pants and boots, Nash Moreland stood near the barn conferring with Kyle and Holland. At first glance, he and Nash looked alike—close in hair coloring, height and build, but unlike Nash, at age thirty-one Scott’s face reflected a little more of life’s experiences than the twenty-eight-year-old actor’s.
As Holland led the conversation, she slid her mirrored aviators to the top of her hair that was gathered in an afro puff ponytail at the back of her head. Dressed in a black vintage faded Metallica T-shirt, jeans and tan Lugz boots, she appeared casual, but the expression on her brown face reflected her intense focus on creating the best film possible.
The makeup artist finished and Scott adjusted the Stetson on his head. Five more hours. That’s how long it was until he had to be at the cafe to help Rina. Maybe he’d make it there earlier. But that depended on Nash sticking to the script and not improvising or going off on another long tangent with Holland, exploring the motivation of the character he was playing—Montgomery, a futuristic gunslinger with telepathic abilities and superhuman strength.
Kyle waved Scott over to the group to join the conversation.
Holland looked to Nash. “We’ll use a close-up of you standing on the beam.” Her gaze moved to Scott. “But you’ll do the swing-down.”
Nash interjected, “I still think I should do the entire scene. It’s not that complicated or dangerous.”
Kyle shook his head. “Nope. Scott’s already rehearsed it.”
“It’s just a swing-down,” Nash insisted. “This whole scene is a piece of cake. I would have to do something really stupid or be clumsy as hell to get hurt.”
Kyle’s lips flattened and a tinge of red colored his face as he exchanged a “here we go again” look with Holland.
Scott briefly glanced down and stifled a chuckle.
Holland smiled at Nash. “We’re going to let Kyle and Scott earn their money on this one. I really want you focused on capturing the mood of the scene after the swing-down happens.” She turned to Scott. “After you land and roll, instead of drawing the pistol, I need you to take a knee and keep your head down.” She looked back to Nash. “When you come back into the scene. You’ll look up, engage the bad guys, and when you notice Bad Guy One getting away, you’ll run to your horse.”
Nash glanced between the front of the barn to a few yards away where a deep chestnut-colored horse stood with the trainer. “About halfway between the barn and the horse is when I should start to struggle because the evil-possessed sheriff is trying to hold me back with her power. The way I’m feeling this—my motivation is saving my family, but since I’m also still trying to conquer my own personal demons, that’s the main reason I’m struggling to move forward. I’m vulnerable but I’m not willing to give up the fight.”
Holland expertly navigated her back-and-forth with Nash, placating his need to find more meaning in the scene without taking up too much time. “I trust you,” she added. “Follow your instincts.”
Nash’s expression grew more intense as he went off by himself to settle into character.
Meanwhile Scott rehearsed how Holland wanted him to roll into a crouched position on his knee, then climbed the metal scaffolding to the rafter.
Cameras and the operators behind them were positioned high and low in the barn to film multiple angles of the scene.
Once Kyle was satisfied that the cord was secure and the landing pads out in front of the barn were in place, “Quiet on the set,” was called. Shortly after that Holland said, “Action!”
Scott leaped and grabbed the cord that was painted green. Special effects during the editing stage would change the color to a sparkling hue. As he swung through the air and out the barn, laser focus and muscle memory dictated his final moves. He landed, rolled and took a knee with his head down but slightly missed his mark.
Damn. Scott rose to his feet.
Holland sat behind the front camera. “That was good up until the end. Let’s try that again.”
Scott went back up the ladder. As he stood on the beam, he took a breath and blocked out all distractions. This time, when “action” was called and he went through the scene, he nailed the landing perfectly.
“Excellent.” Holland nodded her approval.
Scott stepped out of camera range, watching as Nash took his place in front of the barn and mirrored the head-down crouched position.
The cameras started rolling and Nash slowly raised his head. In one quick movement, he stood, drew the prop six-shooter from the holster at his waist and fired. Small puffs of smoke rose from the gun as actors portraying the bad guys fired back.
Noticing the main bad guy getting away, Nash turned left and started running toward the horse. But instead of remaining still, as planned, the gelding started walking forward. Nash veered right to meet up with him, his legs and arms pumping at full speed...and tripped.
Chapter Eight
Rina searched through recipe websites on her computer. Fruit pies, chocolate pies, custard-based pies, but out of all of the recipes she’d searched through, nothing inspired her. Maybe because she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to Linda’s call that afternoon about the tasting and the contract.
We have a few ideas we’d like to run by you...
As soon as she’d heard that line from Linda, she’d sensed something other than, “Congrats, I’m sending the documents right over” was coming, and she’d been right.
Max had felt her pies were too pedestrian for Gwen’s Garden. He’d suggested the store have a separate line of pies, not the traditional fruit, nut or custard varieties served at the cafe, but flavors that were more unique. Linda still wanted to offer her the wholesaler’s contract, but Rina would have to develop this new unique line that met their approval first. Another tasting for the new pies was scheduled in six weeks.
The clanging of dishes and pots as dinner service continued penetrated the closed door to the kitchen. Usually, she could tune out the
noise, but tonight it fed the pain in Rina’s temples that expanded and tightened like a band around her head.
Finding some pain reliever in her desk, she downed a pill with coffee. What about some sort of flavored cheesecake? But some people insisted it was a cake just because cake was in the name, and depending on the texture, others would insist it was a pie. Where would Max sit on the question? Just to be unique, he’d probably call it a tart.
An empty metal pot banged and rolled on the kitchen floor and as chatter from the staff grew louder, the pain in her temples grew worse.
She planted her hands on the desk and shoved up from the chair, ready to march into the kitchen and tell them to pipe down, but seconds before she did, Rina reined herself in. The dropped pot was an accident and not a reason for admonishment. A short temper was a sign she needed to leave. Rina turned off the computer, rolled back the desk chair and stood. She was going upstairs. After checking in with Ben about the status of the kitchen, she walked out to the dining area.
It was mostly full, but the staff wasn’t slammed trying to keep up. In general, it wasn’t bad for a Tuesday night.
She tracked down Darby restocking desserts in the showcase. “I’m going upstairs. You and Ben are in charge while I’m gone, and I’ll also need you two to close up.”
“Sure thing.” Darby gave her a concerned look. “Everything okay?”
The burdens of the cafe didn’t belong on the staff’s shoulders. Rina conjured up a smile. “Yeah. Being her since six this morning has finally caught up with me. But if something comes up, I’m around.”
“Alright, but we’ll be fine. Oh, wait. What about the sink? Wasn’t that guy coming back to fix it?”
The sink... She’d forgotten about that. Maybe Scott had, too. It was past eight thirty and he hadn’t reached out to her. “Something must have come up and he couldn’t make it. I’ll call a plumber in the morning.” So much for marking the sink from her to-do list.
