The Truth in Tiramisu (A Poppy Creek Novel Book 2)

by Rachael Bloome

  His warm breath tickled the back of her neck, sending shivers coursing down her spine. It had been years since she’d heard that voice. But she would have recognized it anywhere.

  With her heartbeat pulsing faster than her industrial mixer, Eliza turned until her gaze met familiar turquoise-blue eyes. They’d always reminded her of a tropical ocean—alluring and exotic. And yet, if she wasn’t careful, she could easily be lost at sea.

  “Colt? What are you doing here?”

  Surprise flickered across his handsome features. But only for a second, quickly replaced by a smoldering smile, including an adorable dimple in his left cheek. “Little Liza, is that you?”

  Eliza bristled. She’d always hated his pet name for her. Partly because it poked fun at her petite five-foot-four frame. But mostly because it meant he viewed her as his kid sister.

  She’d only stopped caring about Colt’s colossal lack of interest when Grant Parker moved into town their freshman year of high school. Soon, it was no longer Colt’s name doodled inside her notebook, encircled by large swirly hearts and wedding bells.

  Colt’s appreciative gaze traveled from Eliza’s blushing face to the crooked sign. “Wow, it’s weird not to see my mom’s name above the door anymore.” A crease appeared on his tanned forehead as he ran a hand through his sun-kissed hair, releasing a low whistle. “Man, so much has changed around here.”

  “It wouldn’t be such a shock if you visited more than once every five years,” Eliza pointed out.

  Colt laughed. “I see you still have a big mouth for someone so small.”

  Eliza huffed indignantly, jabbing his arm. “And I see you left your manners in Los Angeles. Oh, wait. You never had any.” She smirked as he let out another deep chuckle.

  Colt always did have the nicest laugh. Like the soothing rumble of her KitchenAid’s knead cycle.

  “So, what brings you home?” She repeated her question, trying not to brush against him as she hopped off the ladder.

  “I thought that was obvious. My only brother is getting married. Or did you forget?” His eyes twinkled playfully.

  “No, I didn’t forget. I just assumed you’d show up at the last possible minute to avoid helping with the prep work.”

  He laughed again, sending the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. “You know me well.”

  Not as well as I’d like…

  Eliza’s eyes widened at the sudden, and extremely unwelcome, thought. What had gotten into her? Her crush on Colt had ended eons ago. Not only that, but her heart belonged to someone else. Sure, someone who didn’t want it anymore, but still. It wasn’t hers to give away. Not that she’d give it to Colt, even if she could. The guy wore “unreliable” like a badge of honor.

  “Are you okay?” Colt peered at her, his forehead crinkled. “Your face turned kind of pale.”

  Was she okay? She most certainly was not okay! She was flirting with Colt Davis. Which could only mean one thing…

  Eliza Carter had completely lost her mind.

  A heaviness settled across Grant’s chest as he turned off the main road onto his parents’ quiet lane. He barely noticed the crunch of the gravel beneath his tires or the vibrant array of colors greeting him from his mother’s meticulously groomed flower beds.

  Coming home after being absent for almost a decade should have been a joyous occasion. Yet Grant wrestled with conflicting emotions as pleasant childhood memories clashed with the most soul-crushing time in his life.

  Grant swallowed against the tightness in his throat as the pristine Cape Cod–style home came into view. The crisp white siding and emerald-green shutters shimmered in the afternoon sunlight as though they’d recently been treated to a fresh coat of paint. Grant suspected his mother’s rigorous spring cleaning routine had extended to outside the house this year, considering the white picket fence looked equally glossy.

  Parking beside his father’s pickup truck, Grant drew in a deep breath, gathering courage as well as oxygen. He should have called. But given the chance, his mother would have tried to talk him out of coming home. Which is why he hadn’t told her about his spur-of-the-moment visit on New Year’s Eve. He’d planned to, but when he’d arrived late to the festivities and caught sight of Eliza in the crowd, he’d skipped town before Harriet could shoo him away herself.

  Not that she didn’t love her only son. But no one had been happier than Harriet Parker the day Grant left home to attend the San Francisco Art Institute. Grant tried not to take it personally, knowing his mother wanted to see both of her children escape what she called “the doldrums of small-town life.”

  Even at fourteen years old, Grant noticed the undercurrent of resentment when his father moved them from New York City to the West Coast the summer before he entered high school. He would lie awake at night listening to his parents argue. Or rather, listening to his mother mourn the loss of her high society life. Apparently, becoming the head of every committee in Poppy Creek, from the knitting circle to the book club, didn’t make up for what she’d left behind.

  Stan Parker never uttered a word, as per usual. Apart from mandating their cross-country relocation—for reasons unknown—Grant’s father was the head of the household in title only. Harriet Parker not only wore the pants in the family, she wore the entire ensemble.

  “Mom, I’m home.” Grant wheeled his suitcase across the threshold, pausing in the foyer. The slick hardwood floor glistened and smelled of lemon oil and eucalyptus.

  “Grant?” Harriet poked her head from the kitchen, peering down the hallway in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you, too.” Grant flashed a teasing grin as he bent to untie his shoelaces.

  Harriet leaned the mop against the door frame before snapping off her rubber gloves. “Don’t be cute with me. You didn’t call.”

  “I didn’t realize I needed to.” Grant cringed as the soapy water seeped through his socks.

  “It’s not that you need to,” Harriet huffed. “But you caught me right in the middle of spring cleaning.”

  “I’ll be sure to stay out of the way,” Grant promised. “Where’d you banish Dad?”

  Harriet blinked, as though, for a moment, she’d forgotten all about her husband and his whereabouts. “He’s… fishing, I think.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll head into town for a bit, then. Unless you’d like help?” Grant suppressed a smile, knowing full well his mother would refuse. They’d had chores growing up, but no one could meet Harriet’s high standards. In the end, she’d inevitably wind up redoing whatever task they were assigned.

  “No, no. I’m almost done.” Harriet waved aside his offer, then hesitated. A solitary wrinkle appeared in her unnaturally smooth forehead. “But maybe going into town isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” Harriet trailed off, the crease in her brow deepening. After a brief pause, she sighed, throwing up her hands. “Don’t make me say it.”

  “Eliza?” Grant asked.

  His mother winced at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name, then nodded slowly.

  “Mom, I’ll be fine,” Grant assured her, despite being riddled with self doubt. “It’s been ages since we broke up. We have to move on at some point, right?”

  Harriet pressed her lips into a thin line, a question burning behind her piercing blue eyes. Finally, she spoke barely above a whisper. “Why did you come back? Not to…” As though she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud, she snapped her mouth shut.

  A tiny jolt of defensiveness pricked Grant’s heart. He knew his mother hated Eliza for dumping him the summer after their high school graduation, but there were times Grant felt her dislike bordered on irrational. She seemed terrified he’d come to make amends with his ex.

  Or worse…

  Get back together.

  “Don’t worry. Me coming home has nothing to do with Eliza.”

  But even as the words left his lips, Grant realized they weren’t e
ntirely true.

  Chapter 3

  Wisps of steam curled from the flaky golden crusts of the mini rhubarb pies as Eliza sprinkled a handful of coarsely ground sugar over the buttery glaze.

  “This is quite the lineup.” Penny Heart’s coppery eyes darted from the pies to the lemon squares with candied citrus peels artfully arranged on top to the half dozen other desserts spread out before them. “I should have worn my Thanksgiving pants.”

  Penny playfully rubbed her stomach, drawing Eliza’s attention to her tall, slender figure draped in a gauzy peasant dress. Although Penny’s wardrobe consisted entirely of vintage secondhand pieces from her thrift store, Thistle & Thorn, she could inspire even the most pretentious fashion photographers. And yet, Eliza had never met a kinder, more unassuming soul.

  From the second the shy, skittish girl with auburn pigtails and delicate doll-like features moved into town, Eliza made it her personal mission to ensure she felt at home. And ever since then, they’d become fast and fierce friends.

  “Please, you could eat your weight in pastries without gaining a single pound,” Eliza teased.

  Although she had to admit, the smorgasbord of decadent treats did look a tad excessive engulfing her parents’ modest kitchen island. But since the new equipment hadn’t been installed at the bakery yet, Eliza worked with the space she had.

  “They all look heavenly! I can’t wait to try them.” Cassie lifted her fork, ready to tackle the mountain of calories. “Although, Dolores will probably have to alter my wedding dress after this.”

  “Our grand opening is in a few weeks. We have to serve something special. Something with a ‘wow’ factor.” Eliza brushed her hands together, scattering the remaining sugar granules across the white tile countertop. “Hopefully, one of these will be the winner.”

  “How did you come up with so many ideas?” Penny dug her spoon into a ramekin of perfectly caramelized crème brûlée.

  Eliza shrugged. “I simply asked a few people to tell me their favorite desserts.”

  “Mm… who’s responsible for this mouthwatering masterpiece?” Cassie mumbled between bites. “And what is it?”

  “Tiramisu,” Eliza said proudly. “Ben’s favorite and my specialty.”

  “That’s quite a sophisticated dessert for a seven-year-old,” Penny laughed, sampling the cheesecake next.

  “Is there coffee in it?” Cassie asked, unabashedly helping herself to thirds.

  Eliza’s heart swelled with affection for her sweet, coffee-inclined friend. No one had an affinity for the caffeinated beverage quite like Cassie. She could probably taste a teaspoon in a gallon of cream. “Yep. The sponge cake is soaked in it.”

  Cassie closed her eyes, releasing a soft moan of delight as she savored her fourth bite. “How have I never tried this before? I hope you realize you’ve ruined me for all other desserts. From now on, if it doesn’t have coffee in it, it’s not worth the calories.”

  Eliza chuckled, but her breath caught in her throat as an idea gripped her. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Cassie and Penny asked in unison.

  “The something special I’ve been looking for!”

  Eliza paced the hardwood floor, tapping a finger to her lips as she mulled it over. She stopped abruptly, her dark eyes flashing with excitement. “The Calendar Café will be Poppy Creek’s first coffeehouse, right?”

  Her friends exchanged a confused glance at her rhetorical question.

  “Yes…” Cassie trailed off. “So?”

  “So… what if I create an entire line of coffee-infused desserts? Tiramisu, of course. And a few original recipes, too. They can be our signature. What do you think?”

  Cassie didn’t hesitate. “I love it! It’s a brilliant idea.”

  Eliza beamed, thrilled by Cassie’s enthusiasm.

  “Whatever you do, make sure you include this cheesecake on the menu,” Penny added, licking a smear of caramel sauce from her bottom lip. “It’s incredible.”

  “Maybe I’ll combine it with the tiramisu.” Eliza giggled, her joy bubbling over with the endless possibilities.

  “Is it too late to serve this at the wedding?” Sliding the plate in front of her, Cassie gave up all pretense of sharing the Italian delicacy.

  “I’ll add it to the dessert bar,” Eliza promised.

  “Speaking of the wedding…” Penny arched both eyebrows as she reached for a coconut macaroon. “I heard a certain prodigal son has returned to Poppy Creek for the celebration.”

  Suddenly self-conscious, Eliza pulled at a loose thread on her pinstripe apron, avoiding Penny’s gaze.

  “You mean Colt?” Cassie asked. “I met him for the first time last night during dinner at Maggie’s. I wasn’t sure what to expect based on the few tidbits Luke has shared, but he seems quite sweet and charming, actually.”

  Penny groaned, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “Oh, Cass. Don’t tell me he’s fooled you, too.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Eliza blurted before refocusing her attention on the wayward thread, heat singeing her cheeks.

  Penny narrowed her gaze. “You know as well as I do that the guy is bad news. He’s immature, irresponsible, selfish—”

  “It’s been years, Pen. Maybe he’s changed?” Eliza didn’t dare look up for fear Penny would see right through her.

  “Eliza has a point,” Cassie offered. “People change. Look at Frank! Last year, he was a grumpy old hermit. Now he’s dating the most darling woman in the world. And without the coffee he’s graciously offered to roast for us, Eliza and I wouldn’t have a business.” Cassie paused, her pretty features scrunched in thought. “Actually, scratch that. Forget Frank. Look at me! I can’t believe how much my life has changed in such a short amount of time. Some days, I hardly recognize myself.”

  Eliza smiled, grateful for her friend’s bright outlook. She stole a glance at Penny, who seemed to soften slightly.

  “Fine,” Penny sighed. “I’ll postpone my final judgment. And for the record, I hope I’m wrong about him.”

  Eliza did, too.

  More than she wanted to admit.

  As Grant strolled down Main Street, he marveled at how little the town had changed. Jack’s Diner, Hank’s Hardware and Video Rental, Sadie’s Sweet Shop… all exactly where he’d left them.

  Amused, Grant chuckled as he read the various store signs. The small businesses in Poppy Creek sure wouldn’t win any awards for Most Original Name.

  But as much as everything had remained the same, something was different. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Closing his eyes, Grant drew in a deep breath, welcoming the wave of nostalgia carried on the late afternoon breeze. The sweet floral scent of wisteria mixed with…

  Grant hesitated, his eyes fluttering open. Did he smell sawdust? And where was the delectable aroma of Maggie’s freshly baked cinnamon rolls?

  He picked up his pace, letting muscle memory lead him to his favorite childhood haunt. But when his feet paused in front of a white brick building with a rustic wooden door and hand-carved sign dangling above the entrance, his heart sank.

  The Calendar Café? What happened to Maggie’s Place? In high school, they would frequent the bakery nearly every Saturday afternoon to devour the plump, gooey pastries.

  Grant’s gaze darted across the town square to Luke’s law office, confident Luke would have the answer.

  If he agreed to talk to him, that is.

  As Grant strode purposefully across the center lawn, blades of recently cut grass clung to the soles of his suede sneakers. He’d spent countless hours of his youth playing catch on the same field with Luke, Colt, and their dad. In many ways, Leonard Davis had filled the shoes his own father refused to wear. Which made it all the more painful to hear of his passing.

  Grant had wanted to come home to pay his respects, but he’d fallen out of touch years ago. And, like the coward he was, he couldn’t bring himself to face everyone he’d left behind. Instead, in true spineless fas
hion, he’d sent a card and flowers he couldn’t afford.

  Standing in front of the Western-style shiplap building, Grant hesitated. The bronze plaque on the front door still read L. Davis Law Office, and the aged patina and myriad of dents and scratches indicated Luke hadn’t replaced it when he took over his father’s law practice. A fact Grant found oddly comforting.

  But as his gaze drifted upward, his brow furrowed in confusion. A huge wooden sign that read Davis Designs hung over the entrance. The subtitle was even more mystifying. Bespoke Furniture? It didn’t make any sense. Unless Luke had simply kept his father’s plaque as an homage when he’d switched to a new line of work.

  Grant removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on the hem of his polo shirt before reading the sign again. His mother kept him fairly informed on the town gossip, but she hadn’t mentioned anything about Luke leaving the family business in favor of woodworking.

  But then, Grant had long suspected his mother of only divulging select information, with fewer and fewer details as the years passed. In fact, during their visit at Christmas, her insights into Luke’s impending engagement seemed intentionally vague, spurring Grant’s impulsive trip back home a few days later.

  Determined to finally reconnect with long-missed friends, Grant could only hope he wouldn’t chicken out this time around.

  Steeling himself against the uncertainty, he squared his shoulders before pushing through the front door, immediately noting that the inside had changed even more drastically than the outside. Several walls had been knocked down, creating an expansive open space to showcase exquisitely crafted furniture. Grant’s artistic eye led him toward a particularly impressive rocking chair with sleek lines and intricate engravings along the headboard.

  As he reached out a hand to graze the smooth mahogany, a faint click-clacking sound drew his attention toward the large brick fireplace. An elderly woman slouched in a rocking chair by the hearth, her short-cropped silver curls bent over a pair of large knitting needles.