by Mary Maxwell
“What’s it going to be?” I said rhetorically, heading for the display case behind the counter in the dining room. “Key Lime Cooler? Very Berry? Cocoa Loco?”
I knelt down and peered at the assortment of pies, cookies and cupcakes. When I was a toddler, I used to press my face against the cool glass and ask Nana Reed if I could eat every last crumb. She would always pinch my cheek, tell me not to be greedy and then end up giving me tiny slivers of several things on a plate. It was paradise; a child’s dream come true. But now, at the age of thirty and with ready access to a gazillion sweet calories whether day or night, I had to be very selective about how much I ate. I was learning to love nibbles and crumbs just as much as I adored the endless buffet that my grandmother prepared for me when she ran Sky High.
After settling on a small piece of Nana’s Banana Cream, I sat at the end of the counter. The first bite was a blast of sweet perfection: slices of fresh banana blended with buttery custard, toasted almonds and meringue that was light as a feather and dusted with a whisper of cinnamon.
When the last few bits of pie were melting in my mouth, I carried the plate and fork into the kitchen, washed them quickly and fixed a cup of tea. Every bone in my body was screaming for a hot bubble bath, a glass of wine and a few more pages of The Body in the Library. But I knew that my desk in the office held a different trove of treasures: invoices to process, bills to pay, food costs to calculate and recipes to transpose.
My Nana Reed created nearly every original formula through trial and error in the early days of Sky High Pies. She recorded all of the successful recipes in a series of leather-bound notebooks before writing them on index cards that fit snugly in the oak boxes that my grandfather crafted in his workshop. And even though Nana Reed was a gifted chef, a remarkable hostess and a tough businesswoman, her penmanship left a lot to be desired. I’d been deciphering her loopy-curvy handwriting for years, but I still had to stop and interpret things from time to time.
After I took over the business from my parents, I promised Julia that I would transcribe everything into easy-to-read printed versions that would leave nothing to guesswork. Unfortunately, between juggling daily prep tasks, helping Harper in the dining room during peak hours and trying to have some life-work balance by going upstairs to my apartment before nine o’clock every night, I hadn’t quite honored my pledge.
For the next hour, I battled fatigue and cavernous yawns to tackle a handful of recipes, including one of my personal favorites: Death by Dark Chocolate, a sinfully decadent six-layer cake. We hadn’t featured it at Sky High lately, so I left my office and returned to the kitchen to leave a note on the whiteboard.
As I stood in the silent, shadowy room, I closed my eyes and pictured Nana Reed scurrying from the stove to the sink to the pantry. She was a powerhouse during those days; a strong and vibrant woman who taught me half of what I know about being independent, proud and courageous. The rest of the lessons came from my mother and father. And now, as the third generation to operate our family business, I knew the inspiration and education I received from my grandmother and parents would carry me through all of the late nights and early mornings that were ahead.
With a final yawn, I made a quick circuit around the first floor to check the locks on all the doors and windows before slipping out the back and up the exterior staircase to my apartment. The alarm would trumpet another new day at four-thirty the next morning, so it was finally time for a sudsy soak, one glass of chardonnay and a few minutes with Agatha Christie.
CHAPTER 20
I was in the kitchen measuring flour for an apple tart the next morning at nine when Harper came through the revolving door from the dining room.
“Katie!” she whispered. “He’s back!”
I glanced up at the familiar pink cheeks, trembling lower lip and wide gaze that signaled my childhood friend was moments away from erupting in anxious laughter.
“Are you giving me at least one clue?” I asked. “Or do I have to guess the stranger’s identity based on your rose-colored face and breathless voice?”
She huffed. “Well, you don’t have to make fun of me! I was trying to be excited on your behalf.”
I put down the measuring cup and wiped both hands on my apron. “I was just teasing you, sweetie. Who are we talking about?”
“The photographer,” she said, trying to contain a serious case of the giggles. “From the other day.”
Hearing that Zachary Hutton had come to see me sent a tiny shudder of curious joy through my body. He was around my age. He was single. And he was the kind of man I found more than a little enticing. But I couldn’t shake the thought that my nervous behavior when he was taking my picture made me look like a complete airhead.
“Is he in the dining room?” I asked, taking a slow breath to calm my nerves.
Harper shook her head. “Front porch. In one of the rocking chairs.” She pushed the door open with her rear. “And he’s got a bouquet of flowers!”
As she spun out of the kitchen, leaving the door to flap in her wake, I felt my lips leap into an enormous smile. Zack was on the front porch. With flowers. For me.
“You might want to tidy up your hair,” Julia said from the other side of the room.
I glanced over my shoulder. She was giving me an affectionate grin, the kind of look that I’d come to know and love after working with her for the past few weeks.
“Is it bad?” I asked.
She nodded. “Have you ever seen pictures of female astronauts in outer space?” She paused. I smiled. “And they look like one of those little troll dolls?”
I raced to the mirror in the hallway. Julia had exaggerated things a bit; my hair wasn’t sticking straight up, but it was a little tousled. I did a quick tuck-and-tidy operation with my hands before taking a deep breath and heading for the front porch.
Zack was sitting on the edge of one of the rocking chairs when I came through the screen door. He smiled and got up, holding out a bunch of wildflowers tied with raffia.
“Are those for me?”
He nodded.
“Well, they’re gorgeous.” I took the bouquet and pressed it to my nose. “Thank you very much,” I added. “But you didn’t have to, Zack.”
His mouth squirmed into a zigzag grin. “Actually, they’re from Gretchen. She wanted to thank you for taking time to do the interview.”
A trapdoor opened beneath my heart and it plummeted into an abyss of embarrassment and humiliation. “Uh, well…”
His face had flushed red and he was having trouble keeping his eyes on me. He shuffled back and forth, left to right, right to left, and muttered something about how many great comments the newspaper’s website had received about the article on Sky High Pies.
“And it’s kind of f-f-funny,” he stammered. “Because Gretchen kept saying they were through the roof. And that’s just like the name of your place, right?”
I nodded. And blinked. And tried to think of something intelligent to say.
“How’s your camera?” I mumbled.
He answered with a nervous laugh. “My what?”
“Oh, never mind,” I said. “I feel like such an idiot. I should’ve never assumed the flowers were…” I didn’t want to finish the thought. “But it was very kind of Gretchen,” I said, trying to recover at least a few morsels of dignity before vanishing inside and locking myself in the pantry. “I’m glad that the article worked out.”
Zack stared at his feet. Then he slowly looked up. “She posted it last night, ” he said. “Did you see it? Was the photograph okay?”
I shrugged. “I never like seeing myself,” I answered honestly. “When we went on family vacations, I took all the pictures. That’s why my mother’s scrapbooks only have a few shots of me.”
He snickered softly. “I bet you look real cute in them.” His voice was steady and warm, sprinkled with overtones of easygoing charm. “But that’s just my humble opinion.”
I pushed the butterflies in my stomach aside.
Since my ex-boyfriend had unexpectedly dumped me back in Chicago, the thought of romance was the last thing on my mind. And even though my sister kept suggesting that I rekindle the long ago love that Trent and I shared during high school, I’d persisted in reminding her that he had also left me for another woman. “Exactly right,” Olivia had replied at the time. “But you know what they say? Third time lucky!”
I was thinking about my sister when Zack said my name.
“Oh, sorry,” I sputtered. “I was thinking about someone.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t do much for my confidence, Kate.”
“It was actually my sister. She has a certain way of needling me mercilessly about things like taking compliments and not making a fool of myself when a handsome guy tells me that he thinks I’d probably look cute in an old family photograph.”
A glimmer of recognition crossed his face. “Sisters aren’t the only ones who can do that. My older brother has the market cornered on taunting me ruthlessly. Even though we’re adults now, he can still knock me off my feet with one sharp remark.”
I put the flowers on a side table amongst the row of rocking chairs. Then I gestured at where he’d been sitting. “We might as well be comfortable,” I said, gently landing on the next chair. “This is a rare chance for me to take a load off during the work day.”
He nodded and sat down. “You do stay pretty busy in there, Kate. From what I hear around town, you’re doing a great job of continuing the family tradition.”
I smiled as my cheeks went pink again. “I had good role models. My Nana Reed was amazing. And my parents did an incredible job of taking over after she got sick and passed away.”
The bright look on his face dimmed. “I’m sorry to hear that, Kate. I didn’t realize your grandmother was gone.”
“Thanks, Zack. It’s been quite a few years, but I still miss her every day. Now that I’m back in Crescent Creek, that longing is even stronger. I’m using her recipes. Cooking in her kitchen. Wearing her favorite blue apron sometimes when I bake.”
“Your brother always talked about her when we were younger,” Zack said. “And I remember her from when I came here with my family. Your grandmother was always so kind and funny when she’d stop by the table and make sure everything was okay.”
I nodded, reminiscing about Nana Reed’s incredible talent for gracious hospitality. She adored talking to customers as much as she loved baking pies.
“Do you miss Chicago?” asked Zack.
I blinked, coming back from the memory. “Not so much. I miss my friends. And some of my favorite shops and restaurants. But the last few days there were pretty rough.”
“I heard about your boss,” he said quietly. “That must’ve been really hard on you.”
I nodded. “Even harder on his wife and kids. Rodney was one of a kind, that’s for sure. And he was dedicated to his work.” I paused, feeling a pang of sorrow. “Maybe too dedicated.”
“Is that how he lost his life?”
I didn’t really want to discuss Rodney’s murder. It was one of the most traumatic things I’d survived, and I wasn’t in the mood to share details about it while sitting in a rocking chair on a sunny day. As I tried to think of the best way to deflect the question, Zack leaned forward in his chair.
“You know what?” he said. “That was rude of me. I guess it was out of my mouth before I realized how impolite it was.” He paused for a moment, possibly to hear if I might respond. But I was staring at a spot in the distance just beyond the porch railing, clenching my teeth to try and stop the tears that were gathering in my eyes. “Anyway, I wanted to deliver the flowers,” he added, sliding out of the chair and standing in front of me. “It was good to see you again, Kate.” He held out his hand. “And I’m sorry about being such a dunce.”
I shook his hand, relishing the warmth of his skin and the strength of his grip. Then I pushed up from my chair and shook off the sadness.
“Yeah, uh…” I swallowed, searching for the right words. “Do you miss Dallas?” I blurted. “Isn’t that where you said you were living before coming back to Crescent Creek?”
He smiled. “Dallas was before Austin,” he said. “I did a two-city tour of Texas for about three years.”
“Working for newspapers?”
“Freelance stuff mostly,” he said. “I shot for the local media, ad agencies, nonprofit groups. Basically, anybody that would pay me a dime so I could cover my rent.”
“Sounds adventurous,” I suggested. “Taking off from home to seek your fortune.”
He laughed and threw back his head. “My fortune? I don’t know about that. But it was a good experience overall. I met some great people. Shot some good images. And I learned that Colorado is where I belong.”
I suddenly realized that I was still holding his hand and dropped it like a hot potato.
“Wow!” My face burned with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to try and steal that.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You know,” I said. “Your hand.”
He shook his head. “I’m not following you.”
I moaned and did my best to explain that I felt embarrassed because I held his hand for such a long time after we stopped shaking.
“Oh, that!” A luminous smile stretched across his face. “I kind of liked it, if you want to know the truth.”
CHAPTER 21
The moment I stepped into the dining room from the porch, Harper was at my side with a whispered inquiry and a sheepish grin.
“What was that all about?” she said. “Did he ask you out on a date?”
I slowly turned and shook my head. “The flowers were from Gretchen Goode at the newspaper. Just a little thank you for doing the article.”
Harper sniffed. “Is that the truth?” she asked. “Or is this one of the times you’re pulling the wool over my eyes?”
“Not a chance,” I said, waving at a young couple as they came in the front door. “And look—there’s Martin and Diana. Do you want to seat them while I go check in with Julia?”
As I made my way across the room, someone called my name. It was a woman who once worked at Sky High for my parents. She’d moved away from Crescent Creek a long time ago, but still returned once a year to visit her daughter and son-in-law.
“Mrs. Swift!” I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “How are you?”
“Fit as a fiddle,” she said cheerfully. “I’m going back to Santa Fe in a few days, but I wanted to make sure I stopped in to see how you’re coming along.”
I swept my hand through the air at the bustling scene that surrounded us. “I’m holding my own,” I said. “But I’ve got a great team, so that makes it all possible.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Your mother and father always said the same thing when I worked here. Must be a Reed family tradition; modesty and graciousness blended with a gift for hospitality.”
Her kind words filled my heart with pride. When I was madly dashing through the days and trying to manage paperwork at night, it was easy to forget that the foundation for Sky High was offering a warm smile and genuine kindness along with a slice of pie.
“I remember Harper from when you and she were little girls,” Mrs. Swift said. “The two of you would come in after school to gobble up mountains of cookies. Then you’d tear out the door and run upstairs to the little apartment and watch TV on that black-and-white set your grandmother had so she could keep up with her soap operas.”
As I listened to the old woman reminisce, warm waves of nostalgia and sadness and joy twined through my heart. I missed my grandmother. I missed my parents. And I missed the carefree days of childhood, when Harper and I were as close as two girls can be and our most pressing concerns involved which boys we thought were cute and whether or not they’d ever outgrow the infantile stage.
“Why the frown?” asked Mrs. Swift, taking my hand.
I pressed my lips into a smile. “No frown,” I said. “Just lost in thought.”
“Welcome to my world,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Since my Harry died, I’ve spent half my time thinking about the past and the other half trying to remember what I’m supposed to be doing in the present.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said softly. “I didn’t realize your husband had passed away.”
She raised one hand, closed her fingers over the palm and then slowly let them fall open.
“We think we can hold our world in one place forever,” she said. “But that’s not how this journey goes. We’re only here for a fleeting moment. And then we’re gone.”
The expression on her face was sorrow pierced with wisdom and serenity. I tried quickly to picture her husband, imagining that he must’ve come to Sky High at some point when she worked for my parents, but I couldn’t summon anything at all.
“How long were you and Harry married?” I asked.
“It’s been fifty years,” Mrs. Swift said. “Fifty years, five months, two weeks and a day since our wedding.” The wisps of sorrow in her eyes vanished as a smile appeared. “It was a dreadfully cold day in March. Harry was due to leave for the Army the following week. We were wed in a sweet little chapel in Flagstaff before spending our honeymoon in a cabin on some property that his uncle owned not far from Oak Creek Canyon.”
I clasped my hands and pressed them to my chest. “How absolutely perfect! I can’t imagine a more picturesque setting for such a magical event.”
Mrs. Swift nodded in agreement. “You’re so very right, dear.” She winked and fluttered one eyebrow. “I’d recommend it for your nuptials, Kate. If and when that day comes along.”
