The Ingredients of You and Me

by Nina Bocci

  “Maybe she’s jealous and she can feel the tension between you and Nick.”

  “There is no tension.” At least, not on his end. I glanced away, not wanting her to see my face. “That seems farfetched. Maybe there’s some jealousy, though. He did buy me a shovel.”

  “A shovel? For grave robbing or snow removal?”

  “What goes on in that head of yours is mind-boggling.”

  “I’m aware. It’s a mess up there,” she said, tapping her temple with her fingertip. “And yes, there is a spy network and your lady friends are at the helm of it. They rival MI6 and the CIA when it comes to extracting information.”

  “Noted,” I added, turning to look in the coolers where the ready-made bouquets and arrangements were. I wanted to distract myself from Nick and Jillian. Thinking about them too much was going to give me a migraine.

  “Maybe a couple vases of flowers would help lighten the mood in the house and help me further the process along. I need a punch of color in that kitchen in case I do a video. I’ll be sure to plug your business.”

  I pulled two squatty glass vases from the cooler and set them on the counter near the register. Charlotte looked surprised at first but quickly rallied. “Ooh! Thanks, I like free marketing. I can make you something custom if you want. You don’t need to buy from the cooler, Parks.”

  I leveled her with a glare. “You’re busy enough as it is. I don’t need to be adding to your stress with flowers for my kitchen. And be sure to charge me what you would any person off the street. I don’t want any best-friend discounts.”

  “No deal,” she said, jumping when a loud crash sounded from the exit that led into the rest of the building.

  Charlotte’s shop was located in one of the spaces in a recently renovated bank building. The once-dilapidated building was something the town took over thanks to Emma and Cooper, and their team at the Community Development Office. I still wasn’t quite sure about all the ins and outs of what Emma did, but basically, if something happened in Hope Lake—a new business, a parade, a town hall—the safe bet was that she had something to do with it.

  “What’s going on next door?” I asked, craning my neck to see through the windows on the side entrance. Charlotte’s customers predominantly came in from the street since she was currently the only space that was open for business in the building, but eventually, when someone else joined her, they would use the side entrance that led out to the main hallway.

  “I’m not sure yet. Emma mentioned that something was supposed to go in there, so they readied it according to that plan but then it fell through. It’s move-in ready with a great kitchen in the back, and it has everything else a bakery could need,” she explained, looking at me expectantly. “Now it’s just waiting for the right owner…”

  “Really? Is it bigger than this space?” I asked, ignoring her intimation for me to go in there as Parker the Baker. “It looks about twice the size, right?”

  She nodded. “It’s an odd design, if I’m being honest. I didn’t quite understand what they were doing when they were renovating it, but I guess the thought was that if it was some kind of coffee shop or café, you could have tables in front with a counter for sales, and the kitchen in the farthest part of the shop to keep it out of the customers’ way. It’s big enough to have a meeting space, depending on how they set it up, I guess. We’ll have to wait and see what they get in there.”

  I walked over to the shop windows that led into the hallway. “What do you think about Cooper’s idea about putting a bakery over there?”

  Charlotte tried to feign innocence. “Surely I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she lied, unconvincingly.

  She slid off her stool and joined me at the window. I could feel her vibrating with excitement, though she tried to play it off like she was nonchalant. “Sounds cool. Good idea. Sure, why not.”

  “Tell me how you really feel.”

  I laughed when she lunged, pulling me into a hug. “I think it’s amazing, whether it’s you or someone else. It’s a great spot for something like that. But obviously I hope it’s you.”

  “I don’t know what I’m thinking. I have to be crazy.”

  “Cryptic, Batman. Explain, please,” she said.

  “I’ve been kicking around some ideas—they’re vague—but I can’t stop thinking about them.”

  “Still cryptic. Just spit it out.”

  I sighed. “While making and testing all the recipes for the ladies, I gave a lot of it away, and ate more than my fair share too, but I’ve been running out of people to give the treats to. Then I remembered Cooper’s idea.”

  “Oh boy,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

  “I have no idea if this is feasible. I’m not being coy; I really can’t imagine starting another bakery this soon. I would have to be crazy…” I paused when I saw her face. “Okay, crazier than I already am to jump in with both feet again, but—”

  “But what?”

  “But I love the Golden Girls, and the excitement is there for something else.”

  She nodded. “But it would be totally different than before, right? Just normal goodies.”

  “Yeah, definitely not anything close to D and V. You know I’d get sued if it resembled that at all. The Confectionary doesn’t mess around, and I’m not in the mood for them to take away everything they just gave me.”

  “So, an actual take-orders-and-bake-cakes bakery?”

  I shook my head. “No, that was always go, go, go. I think people need to slow down a bit. Myself included. A slower pace has been good for me. We all just need a place to sit, to take a breather. Relax and, I don’t know, feel calm. Everything is such a rat race. It sounds like even Hope Lake can be in the summer, from what Emma’s told me. What this place needs is a spot where people can just hang out and chat. Kick their feet up, have a cup of coffee and a scone and…” I paused, wanting to follow the thread that my mind had started unraveling.

  The stark-white, peaceful shop next door called to me. In my head, I saw it filled with delicious homemade food and cute tables with people talking. No phones clogging up their conversation, no outside distractions. Just simple conversation.

  “I think I may be onto something, but it’s not quite there yet.”

  Charlotte touched my arm. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “It’s not even fully formed yet,” I said, placing my hand over hers.

  “I know. That’s how I know it’ll be great.”

  * * *

  Talking to Charlotte got me thinking. I was in the mood to go old-school baking, and nothing beat a classic. Charlotte suggested visiting Henry and the bookstore for inspiration. Buying a cookbook might have seemed old-fashioned, but it was how I learned to bake. Sometimes returning to the basics was necessary to move forward.

  Henry greeted me as I walked in the front door of the bookstore, the tinkling sound of the bell fading into the sounds of classical music that played throughout the store.

  “What brings you in today?” he asked, coming over to give me a one-armed hug. He was well over six feet, and to someone like Charlotte, he must have seemed massive. I was grateful for my five-nine frame so that I wasn’t constantly looking up at everyone.

  “No school today?” I asked, forgetting entirely that it was Saturday morning. “Never mind. Without a booked schedule, I seem to lose track of the days of the week, unfortunately.”

  “Understandable. If I’m off my routine thanks to a snow day or something, I’m messed up as well. Any progress on the baking front? That’s me asking as a friend, not as a hungry would-be patron,” he insisted, smiling so that his dimples showed prominently.

  I shook my head. “Yes, lots. I’m not back to myself, but it’s getting there. I’m actually here because I’m helping some of the ladies decipher their recipes. I’m thinking an old-school cookbook may help if I can find similar recipes for comparison.”

  “What about Nick and his Betty Crocker?”

 
“I’ll get that one too. If you wouldn’t mind, could you get it from him and give it to Charlotte? She can get it to me and then I’ll have it.”

  Henry’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a lot of steps.”

  I thought back through what I had said. “Yes, well, I’d love to borrow it, but I’m sure he’s busy and you see him often, and Charlotte too, and I see her, so yeah…”

  If he wanted to ask something else, he opted not to, instead scratching his head while working out how convoluted a process I had just made of getting a simple book.

  “I’ll take it any way I get it,” I said finally.

  “That’s great, because he’s had it sitting in his living room since he offered it to you. I was starting to think he was going to read it himself for tips, but I saw that it was still wrapped in plastic.”

  “That’s kind of him. Maybe I’ll poke around and see what your selection is like. I may want a couple others.” I didn’t want to call Nick or have to see him to get the book. It was awkward enough the way it was between us. Plus, I really didn’t want to be the one to drive a wedge between him and Jillian, because it was clear she was not my number-one fan.

  “Well, his is a classic. In fact, I don’t know if that edition is in print anymore. If you’re looking for the basics, that may be your best bet. Either way, the cookbooks are back there.” He began to walk toward the spot to show me, but the front door opened and a stream of six or seven marching snowsuits entered screaming for Mr. Henry.

  “Oh, my group is here for story time. Feel free to look around. If you have any questions, I’ll be done in about a half hour. I can help once they start the craft project since their parents participate in that.”

  “I’ll be quick. Heading to Mancini’s after this. Thanks,” I said, gently pushing him toward the kids. The moment he made his way over to them, they enveloped him in a rush of hugs and giggles.

  The cookbook area was bigger than I’d anticipated for such a small shop. They took up an entire bookcase along the back wall. Every current celebrity cookbook was in stock, as well as the classics like The Bread Bible, The Flavor Bible, and The Cake Bible—clearly, the culinary world had a theme going. What was surprisingly missing was the classic Betty Crocker Cookbook. The one that was a staple for newlyweds or single folks who were living on their own and whose parents didn’t want them to live on ramen and frozen dinners. The book that I knew was filled with obscure measurements and tips for newbies.

  The one that Nick had.

  Henry was still occupied with his small-fry friends. He was reading something about a box of crayons, and they were eating it up because he was doing different voices for each color.

  As quietly as I could so as not to interrupt his story time, I looked around for another employee but came up empty. It was so slow that Henry could probably handle whoever came in, I figured. I walked over to the checkout area that bordered a large wall of mugs and complicated-looking coffee machines and left him a note asking him to order me a copy of the Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book because I didn’t want the Betty Crocker one. Yes, it would have been better to just ask Nick for his copy, but… What are you afraid of?

  “Oh, screw it,” I mumbled, and shot off a text.

  Hey, will take you up on the Betty Crocker book offer.

  I think it may help me out after all.

  If you’re around, you can leave it on the porch.

  Or leave it with Charlotte.

  Thanks.

  I dropped the phone into my purse and left, taking the Uber back to the lake house. Several hours later, around dinnertime, I remembered to check it. Stupidly, I expected to see a message from Nick. Much like the last text I sent him, this one too went unanswered.

  The good thing about a small town like Hope Lake was that you learned your way around pretty quickly.

  The downside was that you always ran into people whom you might not necessarily have wanted to see.

  “Parker,” Nick said, jogging up the sidewalk so he could hold open the door to the library for me as I walked in to find something to help with the research and baking. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, sliding past him and into the warm building. It was thankfully not snowing, but the temperature had dipped to somewhere around twenty degrees, and it was absurdly cold with the wind chill.

  “What brings you to the library?” he asked, catching up with me easily as I tried to walk past him. I wasn’t trying to outrun him, but I wasn’t waiting around either.

  “Research,” I said, quickly scanning the signs above the rows of books for direction.

  “I like research. Want some help?”

  I stopped short, causing him to run into my back. When I turned, he held up his hands and apologized. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Nick, what is this? The shovel, the offer of rides, asking to help? It’s okay to ignore me. You’re usually really good at pretending I don’t exist.”

  It was a poor shot, but I was tired, a bit hangry, and I just wanted to get the work done I had set out to do.

  “Parker,” he began loudly, and the librarian behind the counter shushed him with “Nicholas, you know better.”

  “Sorry,” he said, pulling me toward the corner of the stacks that held DVDs for rent. “I wanted to talk to you. To explain, but there hasn’t been time so I’m trying to make it a point.”

  “So, you’re what? Following me?”

  “What? No, I was around the corner, and I saw the Uber drop you off.” I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes.

  “Okay, yes, I guess I did follow you in here, but it’s not creepy or anything.”

  I closed my eyes. “Nick, what is it?” Even to my own ears, I sounded exasperated. How was he not getting the hint?

  “I miss you,” he blurted, and again the librarian sent out a warning shush. “Sorry, that wasn’t appropriate. I just can’t think straight.”

  I laughed, but it held no mirth.

  “That makes two of us, but now is not the time for this. I’m tired, and I have work to do.”

  He reached out, ushering me closer to the wall and away from the eavesdropping librarian. “I didn’t want to interrupt your day,” he said quietly. “I’ve just been trying to find a second to talk, and it’s been impossible—”

  “Because all your time is spent with Jillian,” I shot back.

  “That’s unfair. Jillian has nothing to do with this.”

  “She has everything to do with it!” I whisper-yelled, storming off down a narrow passageway that was under the stairs.

  Nick followed, his heavy footsteps echoing down the dark hall. “Parker, stop.”

  I turned on him, jabbing my finger into his chest. “How dare you follow me? How dare you try to make amends for leaving me high and dry and clueless?” Another jab, and my finger was beginning to hurt. Nick’s chest was solid, and with him stressed and angry, he was even more rigid. “How dare you?”

  “I’m sorry, Parker,” he said, taking a step back.

  “It’s not good enough,” I said, storming past him to get back into the main part of the library.

  There weren’t any heavy footfalls following me out. I didn’t bother searching for what I needed. I wasn’t about to run the risk of bumping into Nick Arthur again.

  * * *

  After the library, I needed a friendly face. Charlotte was busy, Emma was in a meeting, and I knew my favorite lady in town would squeeze in a minute to see me. “Mrs. Mancini, are you here?” I shouted into the open doorway. “I brought you a surprise.”

  Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me and wondered why she had left it open in the first place, considering how cold it was outside. Worry started to build when I walked through the entirety of her first floor and still couldn’t find her. “Mrs. Mancini?” I called again, heading up the stairs.

  On the second level, a place I had yet to venture in her home, I was pleasantly surprised to hear some amazingly bad singing from d
own the hallway. “Oh, thank goodness.”

  Pushing open the door, I laughed when I found her singing and dancing along to an exercise video on a very large, very pricey television mounted on her wall. “Oh, hello, dear. I didn’t hear you,” she huffed, clomping over to turn off the TV. “What brings you by?”

  “I just thought I’d come and visit. I had a couple things to run by you,” I said as I walked around the well-decorated space. Photos of her friends, my friends, and the town were hung all along the walls or set atop the various pieces of furniture. Some old black-and-white photos were there too—ones of her family, I suspected, when they first arrived in Hope Lake.

  “Let me guess. There are cookies in that tin?” she asked, pointing to the round tin in my hands.

  “Yep, though I realize it’s pretty bad of me to hand them over while you’re in the middle of your workout. I can leave them down—”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she insisted, snatching the container from my hands and lifting the lid. “I’ve been eager to try these ever since you said you were working on them! They look just like the ones I had as a child!”

  Carefully, she lifted the lid and took a deep inhale. “They smell delicious. They look delicious,” she said, taking one out of the wax paper I had wrapped them in. As she sank her teeth into it, her eyes rolled back and she groaned. “They taste delicious. Perfect. They’re perfect,” she mumbled.

  “You’ve got the final product. There were a couple test runs that Charlotte enjoyed, but these—well, I’m damn proud of these, Suzanne.”

  “As you should be. They’re just like I remember from Nonna Mary,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Thank you for giving this back to me, Parker.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was able to.”

  “I owe you one, or five. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  I smiled. “I did this for you, but now that you mention it, I could use a favor.”