A Match Made on Main Street

by Olivia Miles

  She frowned, squinting at the sloppy handwriting from an arm’s length distance. “Grilled polenta with seasonal ratatouille. Pan-seared tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes.” She looked at him quizzically. “What is this?”

  Mark dropped his hands and dragged out a sigh. “It’s none of your business. Let me have it.” He reached up to grab the papers but she snatched them away before he could get a firm grip.

  “Sunday brunch pancake flights. Mascarpone-stuffed French toast with fresh berry purée.” She leaned in for a closer look, and he took the opportunity to yank the notes from her hand. “Are you thinking of expanding the menu here or something?”

  Mark folded the papers in half and tucked them into his apron pocket before she could tease him about them anymore. He shouldn’t have been so careless as to leave them out, but Anna shouldn’t have been so nosy as to look at things that weren’t hers. They were just lists of random thoughts, ideas he had for a new place when the day dragged on here, when he got tired of slinging hash and started remembering how it felt to be in a crisp white jacket, experimenting with new ingredients and flavors, designing plates that were as visually stunning as they were delicious.

  Just a bunch of stupid lists. He wasn’t going anywhere, and deep down he knew it. Circumstances had dragged him back to Briar Creek and kept him here. Every time he got ready to leave, another situation crept up and another opportunity was lost. He couldn’t focus on his career and take care of his family at the same time. His father had taught him that lesson, the hard way of course.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Anna said, but Mark didn’t want to hear it.

  “If you’re going to use my kitchen, then you have to respect my space.”

  She lifted her chin. “Fair enough. Then please let me pay you. I’d prefer to pay you.”

  Mark folded his arms over his chest. Her blue eyes skittered, and he could tell she was lying. She’d never been good at keeping things from him. He knew her too well.

  His gut tightened on that thought.

  “No. I’m not taking money from you.” Even if she had it to give, which he doubted very much that she did, he couldn’t take cash from her, no matter how much it could help his effort to make a fresh start. It would feel wrong, callous. Regardless of what she thought of him, he cared about her. Too much.

  His gaze drifted lazily over her face, his groin stirring as his attention came to rest on her lips, slightly glossed and parted.

  “If you’re afraid you won’t look like a gentleman by taking the money from me, I can assure you, you needn’t worry. I know where you stand in that department.”

  Mark narrowed his gaze. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “No, it’s not.” Her eyes blazed, but from somewhere beyond the anger, he thought he detected another emotion. One that looked an awful lot like fear.

  They stood so close he could see the faint freckles dusting her nose, count the lashes that rimmed those big blue eyes, saying nothing. He should be relieved, happy that she agreed that this was a stupid idea, but for some reason, he wasn’t. He’d spoken more to Anna in the past two days than he had in the nearly seven years since he’d graduated from culinary school, even if almost six of those were spent with her just down the road, in his father’s old restaurant. He missed her, damn it, he missed her more than he wanted to admit. He’d told himself it was better this way, that he could only ever let her down, that he was doing the right thing for them both by cutting her out and setting her free. Hell, he’d even told himself that it was better that she’d frozen him out—it made the temptation of rekindling anything they might have once had impossible. She was doing him a favor in that sense. Almost.

  “I don’t see what else you’re going to do if you want to keep the bookstore’s café open.” He told himself he was thinking of Grace, and by extension Luke, and of how crushed they would be if their plans for Main Street Books didn’t succeed. How Luke had helped Grace realize her dreams, how her father, who had overseen the place until the day he died, had helped Luke to realize his. Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t want Anna to go. Not yet. Not like this.

  Not again.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring, plucking the spare free and setting it on the cool steel surface. “We need to set some ground rules.”

  Anna studied the key and, after a brief hesitation, brought her hand to it. “I’m glad you mentioned that. I have a few rules of my own.”

  He stared at her in wonder. “Go on.”

  She stiffened. “You first.”

  “Ladies first. I insist.”

  She lifted her chin a notch higher, until she was practically looking down at him despite his five-inch advantage. “No talking about the past.”

  He shrugged. “Easy enough. Now it’s my turn. No rifling through my stuff.”

  “Fair.” She relaxed her shoulders. “And you’ll let me pay you back in some way once I’m back on my feet. This is purely a business transaction.”

  He locked her gaze for a beat, sending a rush of heat coursing through his blood. “Purely,” he managed. “Nothing personal about it.”

  Nothing personal at all.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Anna sat at the old oak farm table in Sharon Hastings’s sunny kitchen and sipped her Earl Grey tea. The plate of homemade oatmeal cookies Sharon had set out for her remained untouched. Realizing that the effort had been made especially for her, Anna reached out and took one.

  “I baked those fresh this morning,” Sharon offered.

  Sensing her stare, Anna bit into the cookie and chewed, allowing herself to taste the subtle flavors of butter and cinnamon and a dash of ginger. “Delicious.”

  “I used to make those for the diner.” Sharon gave a dismissive shrug, but a faint blush rose in her cheeks. “They don’t compare with what you make at the café. Mark makes some amazing desserts, too. His father would be proud…” Her expression stiffened for one quick moment, and she blinked quickly, forcing a tight smile.

  Tavern on Main had been considered one of the best restaurants in Vermont, if not New England, in its prime. Anna had been too young to ever experience it personally, but she remembered her parents often choosing to celebrate their anniversary at Bill Hastings’s establishment. From passing by the windows on her bike, Anna recalled the white tablecloths and heavy silverware, the fresh cut flowers centered on each table in cut glass vases. It was a beautiful restaurant, inside and out, and it had been a great success. Until it wasn’t.

  Mark had never talked about his father’s leaving or the closing of Tavern, but his mother hinted at it briefly. Sharon had helped out where she could with the restaurant, and it made sense for her to seek employment where her skills matched after it closed. The diner was the only other establishment in town back then, and Sharon was a natural fit. She was chatty and personable. Like Mark.

  Anna knew the place suited him in some ways, but not in all. Unlike Sharon, Mark was a chef. He’d followed in his father’s path, and then suddenly ground to a halt.

  Anna crammed the rest of the cookie into her mouth so she didn’t have to say anything about Mark or her thoughts on his choices. The two women had grown close since Anna began renting out the restaurant space, and despite her initial trepidation about being connected to Mark, however loosely, Anna quickly found herself looking forward to her chats with Sharon, except when the conversation shifted to Mark, of course. As far as she knew, Sharon had no idea that Anna and Mark had ever dated, much less been close friends. Their relationship at school was confined to the campus, and on breaks and holidays in Briar Creek, Sharon seemed to regard Anna as one of the gang—no different than Grace or Kara or any of the others who had run through town since they were knee-high. She’d been in Sharon’s home many times over the years since their relationship had turned professional—to drop off a gift around the holidays, or some homemade soup or a casserole when Sharon was going through her chemotherapy treatments. Those
days were over, and she’d been in remission for more than five years, thankfully, but Anna still found the purpose of her visit to be under less than ideal circumstances.

  Like many things in Briar Creek, Sharon’s house had a sense of history and permanence. The gray Colonial with black shutters and a white front door sat at the edge of town near the creek, and aside from stripping old wallpaper and sprucing up some finishes, Sharon had done little to the place over time. The kitchen was large—Mark’s father had insisted on it, Sharon had once told her—and it still remained the heart of the home in his absence. Her pride and joy, by evidence, was the original hearth in the breakfast nook, lovingly decorated with silver-plated framed photographs of her two sons.

  Anna usually avoided the mantel on her visits, taking a chair that kept her back firmly to it, but today she scanned the photos with a strange sort of interest, the kind she knew she shouldn’t indulge. The kind that made her wish for something she shouldn’t.

  Her eyes lingered on one of Mark when he was just a baby until a familiar sadness pierced her.

  “How’s Brett these days?” Anna grabbed another cookie while Sharon’s expression turned wistful at the mention of her younger son, always a safe subject.

  “He’s still doing his residency.” Sharon grinned, pride shining in her deep brown eyes. “He likes the hospital in Baltimore, but I still hope he’ll come back to Briar Creek eventually. It was so nice to have him home for Christmas.”

  “It must be difficult having him so far away,” Anna commented. She knew how hard it was on her parents when Grace moved to New York and stayed there for five years. Though they never said it, Anna saw the change in her mother now that her older sister was back. A large part of it, Anna knew, was Grace’s determination to preserve their father’s bookstore—somehow it kept him with them.

  Anna’s stomach churned at the mere thought of Main Street Books and she helped herself to another cookie, trying to forget about the loan for a few minutes.

  Sharon set her tea cup on its saucer. “Well, Mark’s here at least. Tell me, how has it been working out for you at the diner? Mark treating you well?”

  Anna lowered her eyes, managing a weak smile. The poor woman would pass out if she knew just how Mark had treated her. She swallowed hard, resisting the urge. Sharon had had enough heartache, and Mark was her pride and joy. Probably better to let it stay that way. “Oh, it’s going fine… I haven’t seen much of Mark this week, actually. I’ve been working out of my own kitchen.”

  Sharon regarded her quizzically. “It must take twice as long in your apartment kitchen!”

  “Oh…” Anna gave a nervous chuckle. Longer, really. “I haven’t been sleeping well, with everything. I’ve been getting up in the middle of the night, and, well, it’s something to keep my mind off everything.” It wasn’t a lie, she told herself. She wasn’t sleeping, and if making tea breads at two or three in the morning helped her work through her anxiety and avoid Mark at the same time, then really, what was wrong with that? Nothing, nothing at all.

  “You poor girl.” Worry creased Sharon’s forehead and she reached over and squeezed Anna’s hand. “It’s all going to work out. The insurance representative came out Monday and talked with Sam. They’ve confirmed it was electrical, so we can take steps toward prevention. I’m meeting with a contractor this afternoon to take a look at the kitchen. It was the most damaged, and I’m sure you’d like that rebuilt first.”

  Anna was nodding quickly. It was all good. It would all be rebuilt. It was the best she could expect from the situation. So why did she feel like she could burst into tears?

  Because you’re running on four hours of sleep, that’s why.

  “Have you filed the claim with your insurance?” Sharon inquired.

  “I spoke with them on Monday. I don’t think there will be any problems.”

  Sharon released her hand and patted it fondly. “It will all work out. Leaning on friends and family is what’s gotten me through the tough times. Just remember you’re not in this alone. You’ve got your sisters and mother. And me. And Mark.” She smiled brightly and Anna gritted her teeth into a smile.

  “It’s very nice of him to let me use his kitchen,” she managed, as she stood and brought her cup and saucer to the sink. “I should probably get over to the bookstore, though. Are you sure I can’t offer you some muffins? They’re in my car. Fresh from the oven.”

  Sharon waved away her offer as she walked her to the front door. “Don’t you worry about me. You just take that hard work and turn a profit with it. Every little bit helps right now.”

  That it does. Anna sucked in a breath and gave Sharon a hug goodbye before hurrying down the front steps. When she got to her car, she paused with her hand on the door handle and turned back. Sharon was still in the doorway, rubbing her arms to keep warm against the morning chill, her grin encouraging, her wave eager, and Anna held up her hand in return, giving a smile that hurt her heart.

  She knew Sharon was being strong for her, decidedly optimistic about their unfortunate circumstance, and for that she didn’t want to let her down. Sharon had been a friend to her when her spirits were at their lowest. She’d given Anna a lease on the Tavern’s old space when she was fresh out of culinary school, a sign of faith that many wouldn’t have in someone of such a young age, and for that Anna had been eternally grateful. She’d worked hard to prove to Sharon that she’d been right to take a chance on her—almost as hard as she’d worked to drive the ache from her chest.

  She couldn’t let Sharon down now. And she couldn’t let Grace down, either. It was only Thursday, but already Anna knew that she was in trouble. Sales at the Annex had been steady, but that type of income wouldn’t pay off the loan. Not yet anyway.

  She must still have been frowning by the time she arrived at Main Street Books because the second she pushed through the door, Grace’s face fell. “Is everything okay?” She pushed in a chair at the children’s reading table and straightened a stuffed Peter Rabbit on a bench in the corner.

  The addition of the adjacent storefront had improved the bookstore more than Anna could have anticipated. The size of the store was nearly doubled, allowing for more bookshelves and clusters of cozy reading chairs and end tables. The Annex sat at the front of the addition, lined with wall-to-wall windows. Grace and she had argued at first over the decision to remove the entrance directly into the café by replacing the door with a window panel, but Anna was happy she had lost that battle. Now customers were forced to enter through the storefront, where they were met with the beautifully designed display tables boasting all the latest releases, and some of Grace’s old favorites. Behind the café section of the store, Grace had added more shelves and another sitting area. The children’s area was expanded to include a rug large enough to hold a weekly story hour, and she’d replaced the bright overhead lighting with floor lamps that lent a warm and inviting touch to the room.

  Everything in the store felt fresh and welcoming, like their father’s spirit was still with them. Anna could sense it every time she entered the store. It was all they had left of him now. Losing it was not an option.

  “Is something wrong? How did your meeting with Sharon go?”

  Anna glanced at her sister, realizing she had been staring at the old mahogany counter in the middle of the room, remembering their dad standing behind it, his glasses sliding down his nose as he rang up a customer. This store had been his passion, just as Fireside was hers. She knew more than ever how it would have felt for him to lose this place. She didn’t want that for him. Not even now.

  “Oh, it went well. She’s really wonderful.” If only the same could be said for her son. Anna handed a shopping bag of freshly baked muffins, scones, and pastries to Grace. “Help me carry these into the café, will you?”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You look a little pale,” Grace hedged after she set the bag down on the bakery counter. She pulled a box from the top of the bag and lifted the lid. “Raspberr
y muffins. My favorite.”

  “I’m fine, just tired.” Anna scooped some fresh coffee beans into the grinder and pressed the button, hoping the mere smell of coffee would revive her. She felt herself sway ever so slightly to the left. It was no use.

  “Maybe you should get some rest…”

  “Now isn’t exactly the time for sleep.”

  Grace set the muffins on a tray. “So, how was Mark this morning?”

  Anna deposited the fresh grounds into the filter, wishing she could banish the image of those dark, deep-set eyes and that square jaw. “I didn’t see him. I worked at home this morning.”

  Grace stared at her. “In your tiny kitchen? What time did you have to start?”

  “Four,” Anna fibbed. It had been two. Two in the morning, the same as yesterday and the day before that, and it would continue this way until the kitchen at Fireside was pieced back together. Medical students got by on lack of sleep and still operated on patients; surely she could handle a few dozen baked goods and a handful of sandwiches and salads. She’d learn to adjust. It would take some getting used to, but it would be worth it. Anything was better than another one-on-one session with Mark.

  “Damn.” Grace’s eyes were wide. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were doing this just to avoid Mark.”

  Anna said nothing. Grace knew she and Mark weren’t close, but she didn’t know the source. She supposed she could just silence her sister’s speculation once and for all, but certain things were better left in the past and Mark was one of them. What they had shouldn’t still matter, even if for some reason, it did.

  “You two seemed to be getting along pretty well at the pub Saturday night.”

  Anna turned to her sister, noticing the hopeful gleam that had taken over her bright green eyes, and the realization caused her to burst out laughing. “Don’t you go playing matchmaker on me, too.”