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

by Rachael Bloome

  “Oh, excuse me! I…” Grant realized the woman hadn’t budged an inch. Then he noticed the pair of headphones draped over her ears.

  Grant took a step toward her, stumbling over something lying on the carpet. A loud hiss accompanied a bright orange blur as a rotund tabby cat dashed toward the fireplace and clawed its way up the mantel with surprising agility. The broad, pudgy face glowered at Grant from its perch.

  “Whoops! Sorry about that,” Grant apologized to the offended feline, realizing he’d accidentally stepped on its tail.

  “Banjo has a soft spot for sardines, if you want to make it up to him.” The woman pressed a button on her ancient cassette player and slipped off her headphones. “Canned in olive oil, not water. He’s a bit particular, I’m afraid.”

  “Good to know.” Grant offered a tentative smile, his pulse slowly returning to normal. “I’ll be sure to bring some by.”

  The woman returned his smile, her kind blue eyes sparkling behind her thick glasses.

  Grant squinted as he took in her round, plump features and rosy cheeks. She looked vaguely familiar…

  Her face brightened as she recognized him first. “Why, Grant Parker! It’s really you, isn’t it?”

  She rose to her feet and shuffled toward him, enveloping Grant in a warm, affectionate hug. The subtle aroma of rose oil and peppermint tea sparked his memory. Dolores Whittaker! The wife of his old high school principal! What was she doing in Luke’s office? Or whatever this place was…

  “Hi, Mrs. Whittaker. It’s really nice to see you again.” He’d always liked the sweet, spunky woman. She was famous for supplying every school function with her rich, homemade desserts.

  To his surprise, she licked her thumb before smoothing down an unruly patch of his hair. “You haven’t changed a bit. Same head of molasses-colored curls. You’re a little taller, though. I didn’t used to have to stand on my tiptoes to combat your ornery mane.”

  Once he recovered from his shock, Grant released a low rumble of laughter. Although he wasn’t considered extraordinarily tall at five eleven, he had grown an inch or two since high school. “Thanks for looking out for me, Mrs. Whittaker.”

  “Goodness gracious! No one’s called me that in years. Call me Dolores. Or DeeDee, if you like. Does Luke know you’re back?”

  Grant ran a nervous hand through his hair, undoing all of Dolores’s efforts. “No. I, uh, thought I’d surprise him.”

  Dolores clicked her tongue. “Well, good thing I caught you first. Make sure he’s not operating the handsaw when you spring yourself on him. A surprise of this magnitude could cause someone to lose a finger.” She embraced Grant again, squeezing him even tighter this time. “Good to have you home, son. We’ve all missed you like the dickens.”

  As Grant inhaled her scent once more, noting the faintest whiff of Banjo’s favorite salty treat, he couldn’t help thinking how different her reception was to his own mother’s.

  He also couldn’t help thinking not everyone in town would be as welcoming as Dolores Whittaker.

  If only making amends with Luke would be as easy as offering him a can of sardines.

  Chapter 4

  As Grant maneuvered around the furniture toward the back of the showroom, his heart hammered in his throat. Once he crossed the threshold into the courtyard, he’d have to face a decade of regret.

  Maybe even a fist to his jaw.

  One hand on the brass doorknob, Grant raised his chin a smidge higher. If Luke took a swing, he wouldn’t even try to dodge it. He deserved whatever came his way. Who ditched town and didn’t keep in touch with their best friends? A callous jerk, that’s who.

  Stepping into the courtyard, Grant flinched, shielding his eyes from a momentary glare as sunlight reflected off a metal paint can.

  Luke dipped a brush into a can of ebony stain, whistling to himself as he dragged the bristles along the arm of an oversize Adirondack chair.

  Grant cleared his throat.

  As Luke glanced up from his kneeling position on the drop cloth, his smile faded, replaced by surprise, then confusion. Setting down his brush, he slowly rose to his full six two of solid muscle.

  Grant tensed but stood his ground as Luke approached.

  Pausing a foot away, Luke surveyed Grant as though making sure he was really standing in front of him. Then his hazel eyes softened, and in one long stride, he pulled Grant into a bone-crushing hug.

  Not exactly the way Grant had expected to receive bodily harm during the encounter.

  “Welcome home, you oaf.” Luke’s deep, rich voice carried a teasing quality, and Grant immediately relaxed.

  “Thanks.”

  The men stepped apart, but Luke kept one hand on Grant’s shoulder. “I gotta admit. For a minute, I thought I’d seen a ghost.”

  Grant smiled sheepishly. “For a minute, I thought that paint can would wind up over my head.”

  Luke laughed, slapping Grant on the back. “Not gonna lie. You have a lot of explaining to do. But I never did see the point in holding a grudge. I’m just glad you’re back.”

  Grant drew in a grateful breath, releasing it in one long, steady exhale. He should’ve known Luke would greet him with nothing but kindness. Even as kids, Luke was the guy who always put others first. “I appreciate that. But I owe you an apology.” Grant paused. What should he say? For leaving home and losing touch? For missing every birthday? Your graduation from law school? Your father’s funeral? He cringed. The list of grievances was endless, to be sure. But that one? Unforgivable.

  “Consider yourself forgiven.” Luke’s compassion-filled eyes held his gaze a moment, as if wiping away Grant’s transgressions in a single glance. “So, what brings you home after all these years?”

  Grant swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He fought the urge to hug Luke a second time. “Your wedding, truthfully. Not that I’m inviting myself. But I at least wanted to congratulate you in person and give you my best. I’ve missed too much already. I didn’t want to add this to the list, too.”

  “Not invited? Heck! Now that you’re back, I want you in the wedding!”

  “Oh, no. Luke, you don’t have to—”

  “It’s not a matter of have to,” Luke assured him. “I want you to be a groomsman. Along with Colt, Jack, and Reed. We’ll bring the gang back together. Just like old times.”

  Grant wavered. He loved the idea they could pick up where they’d left off. But could it really be that simple? “I don’t know… Are you sure?”

  “If you ask me one more time, I will shellac your face with that stain,” Luke teased.

  Grant managed a small smile, still a little dazed. “Okay. I guess I’ll be sticking around town for a while, then.”

  “Perfect!” Luke strode back to where he’d left the paintbrush and plopped it in a rinse bucket. “We have some catching up to do. Starting with a plate of ribs at Jack’s.”

  Grant chuckled. “I still can’t believe Jack owns a diner.”

  “A lot has changed since you left.” After securing the lid on the paint can, Luke glanced over his shoulder. “By the way, have you…”

  Based on his hesitant expression, Grant could guess what Luke was about to ask. “No, I haven’t seen Eliza yet. I know I’ll have to eventually. But I’m not in a rush, if you know what I mean.”

  Luke’s brow furrowed, and after a moment, he shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. What happened between you two? One minute you were inseparable. The next, it’s like you never existed.”

  Grant winced. He’d always hoped Eliza had explained everything to Luke. At least then, Luke might have understood why he left. “It’s a long story.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time over lunch.”

  “Maybe at some point. But not today.” Grant hoped his tone conveyed a note of finality.

  Luke didn’t look satisfied with Grant’s response, but he pressed his lips in a firm line and set to work rinsing the brush.

  Grant hated to blow him
off, but if Luke wanted the truth about what happened between them, he’d have to ask Eliza.

  As Eliza rounded the bend in Walnut Tree Lane, her tense grip on the steering wheel relaxed, and she breathed a little easier as the picturesque Victorian cottage came into view.

  Eliza had always thought Edith Hayward’s home was stunning, with its bright white siding and gingerbread trim that was more elaborate than her finest piped icing. Including the enormous, ornate cake she’d recently baked for the Flannigans’ fiftieth anniversary party.

  But Eliza’s favorite feature was the grand, sweeping walnut tree in the front yard, which would be the perfect spot for a bench swing. More than once, she’d allowed herself to daydream about sipping sweet tea from the rocking chair on the front porch, the loyal family dog lounging by her feet while Ben played on the swing. And during these momentary lapses in sanity, she’d envision loving, steady hands deftly swinging Ben high into the air, her son’s gleeful giggles mingling with the songbirds perched on the branches overhead. Without fail, the strong, dependable hands belonged to one man, and one man only. Her first love and New Year’s Eve phantom, Grant Parker.

  Whenever the delusional thought squeezed past her defenses, Eliza quickly squelched the unwelcome intrusion. It wouldn’t do her any good to hold out hope for the impossible. Besides, the cottage belonged to Cassie now, ever since she’d inherited it from her late grandmother last Christmas.

  Eliza couldn’t help but smile as the memories of last year’s festivities bounded to the forefront of her mind. In less than six months, so many things had changed. And once again, her world seemed to be balancing on the edge of another precipice.

  Colt Davis had asked her out! On a date.

  And Eliza had no idea what to do about it.

  As she parked her dilapidated Honda Accord next to Cassie’s blueberry-colored Prius, her stomach twisted tighter than a garlic knot. Her life would be so much simpler if she turned Colt down. But seeing how happy Luke and Cassie were together stirred a painfully suppressed longing in Eliza’s heart for a partner—someone to share her life with, both the good and the bad.

  Pushing through the cheery red door, Eliza called out, “Cass, I’m here!”

  “In the kitchen,” Cassie hollered back.

  But even if Cassie hadn’t announced her whereabouts, Eliza would have followed the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee to the snug, homey kitchen.

  “Whatever you’re brewing smells amazing!” Leaning over the French press, Eliza closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the delicate tendrils of steam curling from the spout.

  Oddly, Eliza had never cared for coffee until she met Cassie. She’d only ever tasted generic ground coffee from a can that had already lost all its flavor by the time it was brewed.

  Now Eliza drank only the best blends—roasted by Cassie herself or Frank Barrie. Eliza’s heart warmed at the thought of the kind yet cantankerous old man. Frank had lived nearly his entire adult life secluded from the outside world, penning best-selling books on coffee roasting under a pseudonym. Until Cassie’s sweet spirit and shared love of the rich, full-bodied beverage drew him out of hiding. Cassie had an uncanny knack for bringing people together in ways even she couldn’t foresee.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” Cassie beamed, pressing the plunger on the French press, forcing the grounds to the bottom of the glass carafe. “It’s a new blend Frank and I created. We thought its fruity undertones would pair well with your dessert idea.” Cassie selected two floral mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “Is that why you’re here? Because if you make me taste any more of your experiments, I won’t fit into my wedding dress.” Cassie laughed as she filled both mugs with the dark, velvety liquid.

  “Not this time.” Eliza gratefully accepted the mug adorned with a single yellow daffodil, while Cassie kept the one covered in bright red poppies. That was another quirk of Cassie’s—each person had a special mug. But she never told the recipient the meaning behind why theirs was chosen.

  “What’s wrong?” Cassie leaned against the kitchen island, both forearms resting on the smooth butcher block.

  “I… need some advice.”

  “I’m all ears.” Cassie’s phone buzzed, but she immediately silenced the call.

  “It’s fine. You can answer.” Eliza reached for it, suddenly uncomfortable with the prospect of discussing her love life.

  Or lack thereof.

  But Cassie beat her to it, snatching the cell and turning it off altogether. “Nope! You can’t get out of the conversation now.”

  As if on cue, Eliza’s upbeat ringtone reverberated from inside her purse. Eliza lunged for it, but Cassie was quicker.

  Retrieving the phone, Cassie read the caller ID out loud. “It’s Penny. We’ll call her back after we discuss your problem.” Raising an eyebrow as if daring Eliza to protest, Cassie stuffed it inside the cupboard between a stack of canned corn and chicken broth. “Now,” she said, settling herself on the barstool. “Spill it.”

  Eliza sighed, running her fingertip along the rim of the mug. “Okay. I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to lay it out there.” She drew in a deep breath before blurting, “Colt asked me out. On a real date. And I don’t know what to say. If I say no, things will stay the same. Which may or may not be a bad thing. If I say yes, everything could change. Which, again, may or may not be a bad thing. I’m so confused!” The words left her lips in a rush. When she finally stopped for air, she flopped onto the counter, covering her face with both hands and mumbled between her interlaced fingers, “Help me.”

  Cassie laughed softly. “Is that all? I should think the answer is obvious. Say yes, of course.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Eliza pushed herself onto her elbows, meeting Cassie’s gaze. “He invited me to the Secret Picnic. It’s a huge event. Everyone in town will see us together.”

  “So?”

  “So…” Eliza dragged out the vowel sound for emphasis. “Everyone will talk. And…” She hesitated before murmuring, “I’m tired of being the most scandalous story in Poppy Creek.”

  Her features softening with sympathy, Cassie draped her arm around Eliza’s shoulders, offering a comforting squeeze. “How about this? Why don’t we all go together? You, Ben, Colt, and me and Luke. No one will think twice about that. But you and Colt can still have the time together to get reacquainted. What do you think?”

  The corner of Eliza’s lips quirked up slightly. “That’s not a terrible idea. As long as it’s not officially a date. Just friends. Hanging out.”

  “It’s a deal!” Cassie grinned, then scrunched her face in thought. “What exactly is a secret picnic, anyway?”

  Eliza’s smile broadened. “It’s one of my favorite traditions. Mac Houston started it several years ago to raise awareness for the local food bank. In addition to bringing canned food and other donations, everyone packs a picnic lunch and meets in the town square. The baskets go into a huge pile, and then everyone picks a different one than the one they brought. It’s a secret because you’re not supposed to know who packed the basket you chose.”

  Cassie shook her head as she chuckled. “This town never ceases to amaze me. But it sounds complicated.”

  “Not really.” Eliza shrugged. “There are certain guidelines to make it easier. Like, you have to pack enough food to feed at least four people. And you get to peek inside the baskets, in case you have certain food allergies or aversions. But everyone tries to outdo each other, so you wind up with the most incredible meal!”

  “Oh, no!” Cassie laughed. “I hope you’re packing the basket for our group, because I can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  “I’ve got you covered,” Eliza assured her. “Every spring, I plan my menu well in advance. This year, I’m making—” The sound of car tires skidding to a halt in the gravel drive interrupted Eliza’s train of thought.

  “What in the world?” Cassie’s green eyes widened in surprise
. “Who could that be?”

  The front door creaked on its hinges before slamming shut.

  “Cassie? Eliza?” Penny shouted as her kitten heels clacked across the parquet floor.

  “In here,” Cassie called out, concern etched across her forehead.

  “Finally! I’ve been looking all over town for you two,” Penny panted. “Neither of you answered your phones.”

  Cassie and Eliza exchanged a guilty glance.

  “Sorry,” Cassie said sheepishly. “We were in the middle of a pretty serious conversation.”

  “Oh, then you already know?” Penny looked relieved.

  “Know what?” Eliza asked.

  “That Grant Parker is back in town.”

  All the color drained from Eliza’s face. And if she’d been balancing on the edge of a precipice before…

  She’d just fallen off.

  Chapter 5

  Normally, walking into the kitchen and immediately being enveloped by the inviting aroma of garlic and rosemary would have eased Eliza’s troubled spirit. But tonight, the overpowering scent of her mother’s famous garlic potatoes made her stomach turn.

  Why had Grant Parker come back to Poppy Creek? When Eliza glimpsed Grant in the crowd on New Year’s Eve, she’d thought it was a fluke. Or a figment of her imagination. Now, faced with the uncertainty of his unexpected arrival, her mind reeled with the possibilities.

  “Hi, honey. Dinner’s almost ready.” Sylvia kept her back to Eliza as she chopped scallions for the Caesar salad.

  “Thanks. Is Ben upstairs working on his homework?”

  At the dejected lilt in Eliza’s voice, Sylvia spun around, wielding a large chef’s knife. “What’s wrong?” She pointed the sharp blade, her cocoa-colored eyes narrowed in concern.

  Eliza threw up her hands in mock defense. “Whoa. These are some questionable interrogation tactics, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t deflect.” Sylvia set down the knife and wiped both hands on her paisley apron. “Sit.” She gestured toward the high back barstool, taking the one beside it.