Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

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

  A ugust turned into September and then October. Cynthia kept busy with the online cooking classes and the B and B, which was full during the week, not just on weekends. She had hired a young woman whose husband was out of work to help clean and make up the beds after the guests left. Cynthia had not taken an order for cupcakes in over a month, but she still delivered her special bread once a week to the restaurant in town. Mary delivered fresh flowers twice a week, including small bouquets for each bedroom.

  Cynthia was happy with the way things were going, but there was an unexpected ache that went through her. It had to do with Gabe. Soon he’d be gone to New York, and the thought unnerved her, though she wasn’t sure why.

  New drapes hung at the bay windows, though they were pulled back and held with a matching bow. Gabe had agreed to replace two more rugs and let her take out the wall-to-wall carpeting in the bedrooms. She hated the carpeting. It didn’t add to the feel of the Victorian home. But the biggest and most wonderful surprise was when Gabe brought the small fountain to put in the parlor. It added charm, and its trickling sound mesmerized everyone. She remembered the afternoon with fondness.

  “This is to appease you as I said no to the outdoor fountain.”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful! I can’t wait to set it up.”

  “Has the raccoon been back?”

  That was the reason he’d said no to a fishpond or a waterfall. Both attracted wild animals, and there were certainly some in the hills behind the Victorian.

  “I saw footprints yesterday.”

  Cynthia had mixed feelings about chasing the animal away. The first time she’d caught a glimpse, the raccoon limped off. Later she saw where his right foot was mangled. “Probably from a trap,” Gabe said.

  The guests had left by noon, and no one was expected that evening. One free night. Cynthia felt heady.

  “When do you go back?” she asked. She liked the way his shoulders hunched over the fountain project, the sunshine from a nearby window gleaming on his hair. She had the sudden urge to touch him but stepped back.

  He stood, rubbing his back. “I can’t lean over for long. It’s an old football injury.”

  “I can do this,” Cynthia said.

  “I know.” Gabe’s face suddenly looked flat. “I don’t think there’s anything you cannot do.”

  “I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

  “I know,” he repeated.

  He took her arm suddenly. “Let’s go outside; soak up some sun.”

  Cynthia followed him out the door and down the steps. A riot of color from the impatiens and petunias nearly took her breath away. “I love this spot.”

  “I know. It’s beautiful now, and I appreciate how you’ve brought it to life. Come sit for a minute.”

  Cynthia had talked him into the concrete deacon’s bench. It was ideal for inclement weather and the dampness Astoria experienced year-round.

  She put pads on the bench each day, bringing them in at night or at the first sight of rain. Funny how the small misty showers bothered her no longer. She found she liked how the rain made everything greener and cleared the air.

  “I suppose you’ll be moving on one of these days,” Gabe said.

  Cynthia met his steady gaze and looked away again. “I don’t know why you think that.”

  “Someone with your obvious flair for decorating needs to find a better-paying job.”

  “I’m happy with what you pay me. After all, I don’t have rent to pay, and the food is covered. I think it’s a good deal.”

  “How’s the online cooking class going?”

  “Great.” Cynthia thought of her latest posting. Peach Treats. “I keep getting new students. The latest is a guy who wants to impress his girlfriend.”

  “A guy, huh?”

  “Men do like to cook, you know. Why do you suppose all the classy restaurants have male chefs? When they cook, they do it with flourish. They’re never afraid to try new things.”

  “You try new things.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What treat do you have today?”

  Cynthia laughed. “Oh, so is that a hint?”

  Gabe stood. “I really need to get back to Portland,” he said abruptly.

  “Without a slice of peach pie?”

  “Peach pie?”

  “Made first thing this morning. I had to try this new piecrust.”

  Gabe stayed another hour, having two pieces and taking a slice with him when he left. Cynthia cleaned off the table. Something was bothering Gabe; it was so evident. She’d tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t. He’d broken things off with Natalie; that had happened right after that visit when she’d driven off in the car. No, it was something else. Had he met another woman?

  With the rest of the afternoon free, Cynthia checked the phone, making sure it would pick up messages, and headed out, her sweater over her shoulders. She took the last piece of peach pie to Mary. Mary always appreciated her cooking, about as much as Gabe. She’d found a true friend in Mary.

  As Cynthia got to the bottom of the hill and onto Main Street, a familiar car went by. Gabe. And beside him sat Rainey. Rainey? Was he seeing her again? Friends, he’d said more than once, but was it really only that? Rainey was laughing, and it looked as if they were driving back to Portland together.

  “Hey, haven’t seen you in a few,” Mary said. “How did you like the last flowers I sent? I thought the dahlias were especially colorful.”

  “Gorgeous. I’ve never seen such a variety of colors and blooms.” Cynthia set the sack on the counter. “Peach pie. Tell me if you like the crust. It has just a smidgen of cornmeal.”

  “Cornmeal?”

  “Yeah. Saw the recipe in Sunset magazine.”

  “Can’t wait to try it, but I’ll wait until I get home and put my feet up and have a cup of java with it.”

  Cynthia turned to leave.

  “Hey, what’s up? Don’t you feel like talking, or are guests coming in this afternoon?”

  “No, I have a few hours. I just wanted to walk down by the river.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Cynthia opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. How could she tell Mary what was in her heart—how she had fallen in love with her boss, a man who clearly got agitated with her for things, and who thought of her only as the woman who ran his bed-and-breakfast with precision and dignity?

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. That’s okay. I think I know anyway.”

  Cynthia spun around. “You know? But you couldn’t know.”

  “Could so.”

  Cynthia looked at her friend, the only real friend she had here. “I will muddle through it, as I do all my problems.”

  “It may not be as bad as you think.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It concerns Gabe. And I think he’s equally smitten but won’t admit it. Not yet, anyway.”

  “He’s going with Rainey again.”

  “They’re friends.”

  “Yeah, you said that before.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Well…” Cynthia paused in the open doorway. “I just don’t think you know what I’m thinking about.”

  “It’s a business deal,” Mary said then.

  “A business deal?”

  “Yes. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  A business deal? What would that be about? Did it have something to do with Gabe’s going to New York?

  The walk along the river was tranquil. A large ship was anchored, and a barge moved slowly toward Portland. One day she wanted to go on the excursion boat that traveled back and forth from Portland, across the Columbia River, to the Washington side, where hills all green and woodsy seemed to meet the sky. Cynthia had driven over once just to see the hills up close. It was beautiful. But what wasn’t beautiful in the Northwest?

  Cynthia strolled past the old railroad depot. It sat empty and neglected, as if waiting for someone to come along and refurbish i
t. She could see a restaurant going in. Many cities across the United States had turned their old train stations into works of art. She’d seen one in Bennington, Vermont, when traveling there with her mother just a year before she died. Her one dream was to travel back to the place of her birth, and so they had. Dreams should be fulfilled, if possible.

  Cynthia touched the red brick. It would be standing long after she was gone. The old building had possibilities. She had ideas, but nothing with which to do anything.

  Cynthia knew she was a dreamer. She’d always been a dreamer. Her mother told her she was like her father. She wished she’d known him better. She wished they could have shared their dreams. Did he see old, dilapidated buildings and imagine them as magnificent structures again? Did he drive through a town and imagine what it would be like to live there? Did he enjoy the sunrises and sunsets as much as she did?

  Max had laughed at her dreams. He never understood. He wanted to please her, but in the end he had stopped trying. The fact that he denied there was a God was something Cynthia couldn’t tolerate. Why, God was everywhere she looked. He guided and directed her. How could anyone deny His existence?

  A breeze blew in from the west. The Pacific Ocean was not far away; its tides ruled the mouth of the Columbia. The waves picked up as she turned and headed back up the hill.

  The phone was ringing when Cynthia returned to the B and B.

  “Hello, Taylor’s Bed-and-Breakfast. May I help you?”

  “Cynthia?”

  Her heart lurched. “Gabe? I thought you were on the road.”

  “I am.”

  “And?”

  “I felt I left with things unsaid.”

  “I saw you go by with Rainey. She’s going to Portland with you?”

  “No, I dropped her off at the edge of town at a friend’s.”

  “Oh.” Now Cynthia felt dumb.

  “What’s playing in the background?”

  “Willie Nelson,” Cynthia said.

  “Willie Nelson? You like his music?”

  “It’s a tape Mom gave me one Christmas. There are a few songs that make me think and put things into the right perspective.”

  “I see. Cynthia, I—”

  “Yes? What?”

  “Oh, never mind. I wanted to run something by you, but I think it can wait. Take care.”

  The phone went dead before she could say good-bye.

  “We never learn until it’s too late,” Willie sang, his words filling the now vacant sitting room. Why did that song haunt her so?

  Two reservations came in, and soon Cynthia was busy in the kitchen. She wanted to try something new with cupcakes. She’d have cupcakes in the next online class. There was so much one could do with cake.

  The doorbell rang. Cynthia dried her hands and hurried to answer. Mary’s husband stood there, a smile on his face. “I know this isn’t the regular delivery day, but these are special.”

  “Special?”

  “The order just came in on the phone.”

  “Well, aren’t you the speedy one to deliver so fast?”

  “Wait until you see the card.”

  “The card can’t be as special as these peonies. They are beautiful!”

  Cynthia recognized Mary’s spidery handwriting on the small enclosure. It was addressed to her, not the B and B.

  I don’t think you realize how much your help means to me. Have a wonderful week. Gabe Taylor.

  Cynthia smiled. Only Gabe would add his last name as if Cynthia didn’t know who he was. She found the lovely milk glass vase in the pantry and filled it with water, adding a teaspoon of sugar. Peonies didn’t have a long life, but she wanted these to last as long as possible.

  Gabe called Mary’s Bouquets after leaving Astoria. He should have stopped at the store, but the idea hadn’t occurred to him until he dropped Rainey off.

  “You’re in love, Gabe,” Rainey had said, looking up at him with a sudden smile.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

  “Yeah, I’m right.”

  The Mercury stopped, and she opened the door. “You don’t want to admit it, but your fast reaction in denying it is all the more reason I believe it.”

  “Rainey, I’m just getting over Natalie—you know that.”

  “So?”

  “I can’t possibly consider even looking at another woman, let alone have a relationship.”

  “What? You didn’t have a relationship with Natalie. She talked and you jumped. Is that what you call a relationship?”

  “I thought it was at the time.”

  “Still going to New York?”

  “Of course. Bought the airline ticket last week.”

  Rainey smiled again. “Anything can happen, Gabe. Anything. Trust me on this.”

  Gabe drove off in a huff. He hated it when she insisted she could read his mind. She was almost as bad as Natalie.

  Cynthia. Was it true? He found himself thinking of her endlessly. When he tried to push the thought aside, her smiling face came back to haunt him. How could he be so foolish to fall for someone now? Someone like her?

  Someone like her? The thought suddenly hit him. What did he mean by that? Any man could consider himself lucky to have a woman like Cynthia. She was smart, an innovative cook, fixed things, had a good mind…She wasn’t a beauty, but she had a good, homespun quality about her, someone his grandmother would have loved on the spot. And Grams was picky about whom she liked and didn’t.

  He picked up his cell phone and dialed Mary at the florist shop.

  After passing through the small town of Clatskanie, Gabe considered all the reasons why this was not the time to fall in love. It had not been long enough since his relationship with Natalie. Was he over her? And Cynthia had been with a man in California—Max, he thought she’d called him. It could be that she was still in love with him. Besides, he remembered reading that one should wait four years before another relationship. Lord, is that true? Do I want to get involved with this woman?

  “And why not? ” a voice seemed to say.

  Yes, why not?

  Gabe didn’t take rejection well. For that reason, he had to take things slow. Then he thought about New York. He had always dreamed of living there, of getting a slice of the fast lane. How could he not go now? His friend Jeff expected him. Natalie had closed the door on any help, but he wondered if she could have helped him much anyway. No, he must go. It was a done deal.

  The traffic was worse than usual as Gabe drove through the streets of downtown Portland. He loved the town, but the traffic was one huge headache. He longed for Astoria and its quiet nature—the lack of cars, trucks, and noise. Noise always had bothered him. He missed the bellow of a ship’s horn, the clackety-clack of a train on the tracks. These sounds put him to sleep at night, made him long to travel, to leave the town of his childhood, and go to the city.

  Here he was about to leave and go to one of the largest cities in the world. How would he fare? Would he like it as much as he once thought he would? He guessed he would never know until he tried it.

  Cynthia’s latest cooking class had been a success.

  “Noodle pudding? I would never have thought of noodles as being dessert. Thanks for the interesting and delicious recipe.”

  Cynthia smiled, remembering a visit to a neighbor when she was five. Gloria lived alone and had a wooden leg. The wooden leg intrigued Cynthia. It was the only reason she went with her mother. She hoped to see what a wooden leg looked like. She recalled going into a house that was dark and musty smelling. They entered the kitchen, where the woman sat. “She never gets up to answer the door,” her mother explained beforehand. “It takes too long to walk with crutches, you know.”

  “But if she has a wooden leg, can’t she walk on it?”

  “Yes, of course, but it’s much easier not to.”

  When they entered the cluttered kitchen, the smell of vanilla emanated from the oven.

  “You’re just in time to take my noodle pudding out of the
oven,” Gloria said. “And then you can share it with me.”

  “I brought cookies,” Cynthia’s mother said, holding up a small white bag. “They came from the bakery over on Tenth.”

  “Oh, how delightful. Please set them up on that counter.” Gloria pointed.

  Cynthia watched while her mother opened the oven door, pot holder in hand.

  She wondered what a noodle pudding could be. It didn’t sound like anything she’d like.

  “We’d be delighted to have a small dish with you,” her mother said.

  “No,” Cynthia started to say, but her mother elbowed her, and Cynthia changed her no to a “yes, thank you.”

  “Noodle pudding comes from my grandmother, who loved cooking.”

  Cynthia kept trying to see the wooden leg, but both legs were covered with denim. Cynthia brought two bowls to the table while her mother brought the third bowl and cream she’d found in the refrigerator.

  “This is just wonderful that you want to share with us.”

  Cynthia nodded. “Yes, thank you very much.”

  Cynthia knew she’d have to hold her nose to get the pudding down. But on the third bite, when she breathed suddenly, a sweet taste filled her mouth, and she ate the rest with gusto.

  “I do need this recipe,” Cynthia’s mother said, and Cynthia nodded in agreement.

  Gabe’s face came to mind again, but she pushed it aside. He had sent her flowers. Why, she didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be for the right reason, not the reason she hoped for. She’d enjoy them, anyway.

  Cynthia decided to make another noodle pudding and take some to Mary and her family. She was just removing it from the oven when the doorbell rang. No guests were coming, and Mary was still at work.

  Rainey stood with jacket in hand. “It does make one sweat coming up that hill,” she puffed.

  “Come on in. I heard you went to visit a friend.”

  “Oh, so Gabe called you.”

  “He did.”

  “And sent you flowers?”

  “Yes, but how did you know?”

  Rainey slipped out of her loafers and placed the jacket in a small heap on top of her shoes. “Gabe said I should stop to see the new changes. He seems quite happy about everything.”

  “Not that he wanted to spend any money—”