Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Kristin Billerbeck, Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Birdie L. Etchison, Pamela Griffin, Joyce Livingston, Tamela Hancock Murray

  “It’s charming,” Cynthia said, clasping her hands.

  “The four-poster beds have been in the family for three generations. Just before she died, Grams ordered these matching feather comforters, ruffles, and shams.”

  “I want to stay in each room a night,” Cynthia said. “They’re so spacious, and the view—people will love that!”

  “I didn’t tell you an important part,” Gabe said, interrupting Cynthia’s reverie.

  She turned from the window. “And what is that?”

  “You’re going to need help. I usually hire high school girls, but Rainey found them unreliable. Sometimes they show up for work, sometimes not.”

  “Rainey?”

  “The person I mentioned who helped me out.”

  He appeared uncomfortable, and she wondered if Rainey could be an old girlfriend.

  “Perhaps the wages weren’t high enough, so there was no incentive to do a good job,” Cynthia said.

  Gabe frowned. “If I pay more than the minimum, I won’t make a dime.”

  Cynthia looked out the window at the river. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Things will work out.”

  “So, do you still want the job?”

  “I do, Mr. Taylor. I really do.”

  They finished the tour, and Gabe showed Cynthia where the fuse box, furnace, and water valve were located. “Everything’s been updated, but you just never know.” He opened a long cupboard in the kitchen. “Here are candles in case the electricity goes off, and hurricane lamps are on the table in the parlor.”

  “Does the electricity go off often?”

  Gabe nodded. “We have some great storms here, so be prepared.” He handed Cynthia his business card. “Contact me if anything goes wrong. And there’s always e-mail.”

  Gabe brought in Cynthia’s suitcase, toting it to the small room off the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, as if he needed to add something. His expression said he wanted to stay, and she found herself not wanting him to leave. He had an almost lost look as he ran his hand through his thick hair.

  “I’ll be in touch. Almost forgot. The computer’s in the alcove off your bedroom.”

  Cynthia walked over, offering her hand. “Thanks for the job. I’ll take good care of things here.”

  He left suddenly, and then came back in. “About a car. The Chevy is over at Rainey’s. I’ll stop by to ask her to drop it off here. I’d just go get it, but,” he said, pausing to look at his watch, “I have a four o’clock appointment.”

  Cynthia walked out on the porch and said good-bye. A light mist was falling, and it looked like fog rolling in across the river. It made her suddenly feel bereft.

  She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. A lot had happened since she’d caught the flight from Oakland. She had much to be thankful for. She lifted her face. “Thank You, Lord, for bringing me this job in such a lovely spot. I ask for Your guidance, and may I do a good job for Mr. Taylor—Gabe. Amen.”

  Cynthia opened her eyes. “Oh, and Lord, please take away this feeling that is surfacing. Gabe cannot possibly have any interest in me. Let me just do the job and not think about him. Thank You. Again, amen.”

  After unpacking and slipping into her favorite navy blue sweater, Cynthia explored the food cupboard. Supplies were low, and already she had a list going in her mind. Guest book needed. Flowers for the foyer, new rugs, new drapes for the living room, and the floors need work. Was Gabe going to agree to her suggestions? At the thought of his lopsided grin, she felt a sudden surge of energy. Tomorrow she’d go to town to explore.

  Gabe drove the four blocks over to Rainey’s and asked her to drop off the car.

  Rainey pushed her hair behind her ear. “Don’t you want to come in for a spot of tea?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Thanks, but no. Need to get back for an appointment.”

  Rainey looked away, and Gabe felt the old familiar thread of guilt. He’d hurt her, he realized, but he did not love her and knew that wouldn’t change. What they once had was the remnants of a first love. After high school graduation, Gabe left Astoria. He had big plans. Rainey went to the local college, got her teaching degree, and was content to stay here. They’d grown in different directions. There was nothing wrong with that. They’d talked about it and agreed to stay friends. So why did he feel guilty when she looked at him?

  She gave him an impulsive hug, promising to drop the car off the next day. “And, Gabe, take care of yourself.”

  “You, too.” He looked back briefly and waved.

  Gabe drove down the hill toward Highway 30. As Cynthia Lyons’ face came to mind, he felt good, almost lighthearted. She was a gem—something told him so—and he knew the B and B was in good hands. She’d been so enthusiastic—like a child on Christmas morning. He could move to New York now and fulfill his dream to make it in the big city.

  As he drove over the miles, he kept thinking about Cynthia. There was something that drew him to her, and he wasn’t sure what it was. How different she was from Natalie Wiegant. Elegant, efficient Natalie. They’d been dating two years now, and the relationship seemed to be going nowhere. He thought of her in her expensive designer suit, high heels…and those beautiful violet eyes. She could have been a model but had chosen finance for a career. Natalie attracted attention wherever she went, and it had been fun attending a host of parties and being part of the in scene.

  They’d had a disagreement last week, and her words still stung.

  “You’re just a mama’s boy, Gabe. You need to start moving.”

  “Moving?”

  “Yes. Remember your New York dream?”

  “Of course.”

  Natalie had sauntered across the room—she never just walked—and pointed. “I think you can take the boy out of the small town, but you can never take the small town out of the boy.”

  Gabe tried to shake the words as he drove on, his thoughts scattered. He had to prove Natalie wrong. And now that the B and B was taken care of, he could and would move on.

  Gabe hadn’t prayed much lately—he wasn’t sure why. Busyness. Worry. Trying to get everything together for the New York move. As he approached the industrial area of Portland, he prayed aloud: “Lord, is this new path the right one? How am I to know? Does anyone ever know?”

  Cynthia Lyons came to mind again. She intrigued him, but her boldness bothered him. Yet it was that boldness that made her perfect for the job. If she liked the B and B, and every indication pointed to that, she might be there for years. He could live his dream, keep in touch, and come home for a few weeks each summer.

  His apartment seemed emptier than usual, and Gabe thought about being back in Astoria, watching while a certain person walked through the house, exclaiming over every feature. He’d felt joy being around her, and for the first time in a long while, he realized how much his life had lacked the very essence of joy. Was Cynthia Lyons bringing joy into his world again?

  His head was saying, “New York, New York,” but his heart was saying, “Cynthia, Cynthia.” It was not a good sign.

  Chapter 3

  T he next morning Cynthia called her friend Jan, back in Martinez, to tell her the news. “I got hired, Jan. I’m now the manager of the most wonderful B and B ever, with a magnificent view. You’ve got to come see it.”

  “Hey, good for you!”

  “You busy?”

  There was an audible sigh.

  “Is something wrong?” Cynthia asked.

  Her good friend chuckled. “No, it’s just that I have lots of orders for this coming weekend. Oh, and I got a call from an online cooking school. They are looking for an instructor to handle a column on sweet treats. Just once a week. You post recipes and go in a chat room to answer questions.”

  “Sweet treats?”

  “You know, desserts.”

  “Why not just call them desserts?”

  “Guess they wanted something different. How do I know? You can call or not; it’s up to you.”

  “Are you feelin
g overwhelmed? Do you want me to move back?”

  “Before you even start your new job? Don’t be silly. The little gal you hired will work out just fine. Oh, and Max called, demanding to know where you were. I said I hadn’t heard from you—which was true. Finally got rid of him.”

  A funny ache went over Cynthia. Max had been a part of her life for so long. She found herself thinking of only the good times, not the difficult ones, and wondered if that was what other women did, following a breakup.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “I didn’t ask. Look, call me tomorrow,” Jan said. “I have to go shopping.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Cynthia said. “I’m looking forward to it. You wouldn’t believe this quaint town. I hope I can find Portobellos.”

  “Think you’ll stay for a while?”

  Cynthia felt a sudden lurch. “You know, I think I might.”

  “And everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah, except—”

  “Except?”

  “Mr. Taylor is brusque, but cute.”

  “Whoa, girl. You know you can’t go from the frying pan to the fire.”

  “Don’t worry. The feeling isn’t mutual.”

  “So, you going to follow up on the cooking class?”

  “Yeah. Sounds interesting. Guess I should at least check it out.”

  Cynthia jotted down the website and e-mail address. “Thanks, Jan. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  A short time later, Cynthia sat at the computer and keyed in the website.

  Online instructor needed. We need someone who makes scrumptious desserts.

  There is a cry from several would-be bakers wanting to learn how to make fantastic Sweet Treats. E-mail for more information.

  The instructions were clear:

  We want simple, easy-to-do recipes.

  Post a cooking lesson once a week.

  Offer at least three recipes. Nothing exotic, but down-to-earth home cooking.

  Give specific instructions.

  Measurements must be exact.

  Close with a request for questions.

  Go online once a day; say every evening at six. If there are questions from online cooking students, answer the questions.

  The idea intrigued her. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind that she could do it. It wouldn’t interfere with her work here at the B and B. Her evenings would be free; she would post her recipes, field questions, and still have energy to handle guests and bake her specialty cupcakes and bread. Yes, God certainly knew how to answer prayer—by giving her not one, but two jobs.

  There was more. The sponsor wanted six sample recipes, plus a few tips. Cynthia pored over her recipe books that evening and finally selected six:

  Apple Crisp—because it’s far easier than trying to make piecrust.

  Bread Pudding—an old standard, uses something everybody has on hand.

  Chocolate Chunk Cookies—an old standard, but better than the traditional ones.

  Berry Cobbler—to make when berries are in season, but can also be made with berries found in the frozen section of any supermarket.

  Pudding Cake—an elegant dessert for company in a variety of flavors.

  Pound Cake—something Grams made.

  They wanted simple. Cynthia knew simple. She had learned simple at her grandmother’s knee. Grams loved to cook, and Cynthia had watched, standing on tiptoes, as Grams showed her how to make piecrust, cookie crust, crisps, buckles, and flans. She’d made an apple crisp when she was six. That would be her first recipe to put online. She began jotting down a few hints.

  Buy Granny Smith apples for cooking, as they are tart and crisp. They make for great desserts. The biggest job for this recipe is peeling the apples, quartering to get the core out, and the slicing. Try to make uniform slices. And for those who are going to ask—no, you cannot, you MUST NOT use canned apples.

  Cynthia jotted the recipe from memory:

  Slice up 6 apples into a baking dish. I prefer a round glass bowl, but anything works. Apples brown quickly, so you might want to make the topping before peeling apples.

  Topping: Use 11⁄2 sticks butter that has softened. This means taking it out of refrigerator two hours before. And it must be butter. Real butter. No margarine and no whipped butter. 11⁄2 cups white sugar, 1 tsp. cinnamon, and 1⁄2 tsp. nutmeg. Mix these together until crumbly. Pat that over the top of the apples. Bake at 375 degrees for approximately an hour. It depends. If you like your apples not to be cooked up, take crisp out after 45 minutes.

  Serve with whipped cream or ice cream. Best served while warm. So, plan on taking crisp out of oven an hour before you serve dinner.

  Cynthia posted a few cooking tips and a hint of what would come the following week.

  By the time she had finished, it was almost noon. She was behind on the schedule she’d set up the night before. Schedules were a must if she were to accomplish several tasks.

  The next thing was the grocery list. She’d buy two pounds of Granny Smith apples to test her recipe, and while in the apple section, she’d select five or six Braeburns for the table. She’d found the perfect cut glass fruit bowl in the pantry. Cynthia always had a bowl of fruit on the counter of her kitchen. It cheered her. Thinking of how juicy the apples tasted brought a smile to her face.

  But now she jotted things down on a task list. Fresh flowers were another must. She needed a bouquet for the foyer as guests arrived, for the middle of the large table, and one for each bedroom—carnations, preferably, as she could easily find them in colors to match the décor of the rooms.

  Cynthia wanted to replace the drapes but knew there might be resistance there. Gabe would not see the need. Still, she put it on her list. She’d cover one thing at a time.

  Cynthia went to the office. Crammed behind the kitchen, the office had undoubtedly been a storage room in the earlier days. She’d like to return it to a storage room and put the office in the alcove off her bedroom. The computer was already there, and there was room. It was the perfect place, besides being airy and sunny. She needed sun. According to the weather forecaster, there’d be showers today, and this was August. Rain in August! Unheard of in California. She supposed she’d get used to it. But why would people want to vacation if the weather was lousy? Yet there were two bookings for this weekend; one Friday night, the other on Saturday. Both would stay two nights.

  Dressing in corduroy pants with a red sweatshirt, Cynthia was finally ready for shopping. The phone rang, just as she grabbed her backpack.

  “Cynthia? Gabe here. How’s it going?”

  Cynthia took a deep breath. “Yes, everything is fine, but it’s raining. The sun comes out, and then it disappears.”

  He laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Does it always rain here in the summer?”

  “Without fail.”

  “Nobody will come.”

  “They will. Did you notice the games in the closet? And the assortment of videos?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “They’re for people to play when they can’t go outside. There’s also a new movie house with six theaters downtown. It’s just like Portland.”

  “I haven’t been out to explore yet, but intend to go now.”

  “Any questions?”

  Cynthia cleared her throat. “I’d like some new everyday china, as what you have is a hodgepodge of things.”

  “Didn’t seem to bother Rainey.”

  I’m not Rainey, she wanted to say, but held her tongue.

  “The drapes also need replacing. I think they’ve been there for a long time—”

  “That’s what gives the house its charm,” Gabe interrupted.

  “I don’t mean to buy something modern, but replace these with new ones. We can use the same fabric and color. I’m sure we could find a seamstress who’d take on the job.”

  “Try vacuuming them. I’m sure there’s lots more wear in them.”

  “Okay, I’ll try it.” She wanted to
mention flowers and the guest book, and possibly a new throw rug, but thought she’d better wait. They’d definitely lock horns.

  The items Gabe addressed were unimportant. He suggested she keep a running itinerary of her days; e-mail him any charges she made; and to call immediately if there were problems.

  Problems? What sort of problems was he referring to? She supposed she would find out soon enough.

  Cynthia felt as if she was putting brakes on her feet as she started down the hill. She glanced at the clouds scudding across the sky, which had been blue moments earlier but now looked dark and threatening. She hoped Rainey would bring the car over soon. She guessed if it rained too hard, she’d just call a taxi, if they had one in such a small town.

  Her list was in her backpack, and she thrust her hands into her pockets and hurried on. The air was brisk, but definitely not cold. At home she’d be in shorts and a tank top by now. One thing was certain: she’d have to buy some jeans and sweaters as she hadn’t brought but two warm outfits with her.

  The first stop was the florist. Large bunches of roses in every color imaginable filled huge baskets on the sidewalk leading into the store. Inside was a flurry of action with one young girl talking to a customer while an older lady brought out a bouquet of salmon gladioli. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tied with a red scarf.

  The woman stopped and smiled. “Good morning, can I help you?”

  Cynthia nodded. She could stay in this place forever. It was almost as good as her kitchen when it smelled of baking bread and cakes.

  “How early must I order flowers?”

  “If you put in an order today, I can have them tomorrow. All our shipments come from Portland, just two hours away.”

  “Yes, two hours away. I came from there yesterday.”

  “Oh!” Her cheeks flushed as a smile crossed her round face. “You’re new to Astoria. Welcome!” She held out a hand. “I’m Mary, and this is my flower shop. Just opened up last March.”

  “It’s wonderful.”