“Mmm . . . no,” Lizzie said, tipping her head to frown up at Josh. “But wasn’t the money to open the store a wedding present?”
Damn. So much for plagiarism. “So I don’t need a business plan if I don’t want a loan or investors?”
“Josh . . .” Lizzie shook her head and sighed. “We’ve been through this before. A business plan will keep you on track. It’ll—”
“Why can’t I just write a list?” Josh interrupted with such force that he silenced her for a few steps.
Only when they reached the sidewalk on the other side of the green did she ask, “Did you do any work on the business plan?”
Josh let out a sharp breath and checked oncoming traffic. “I was busy.”
“Busy? Josh, this is important.”
“Why?” He forced himself to keep walking across the street instead of stopping in his tracks. As soon as he hit the diner parking lot, though, he turned to face her, demanding, “Why is it so important? I don’t have some teacher waiting for me to turn in an essay. I know what my customers want. I know what we have. I know how to get from here to there. Why does it have to be written down?”
Lizzie’s eyes had gone wide, and she backed away a step. “Huh.”
“‘Huh’?” Josh quoted, trying not to scowl at her. Bad enough he’d already snapped at her for no good reason. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”
Josh sighed. “Yes, I’m serious. I’ve been serious since I first asked for your help.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Not the business thing. Your new guy.”
It was Josh’s turn to ask, “Huh?”
She smacked Josh’s arm and got moving again. “Michael. Your new guy? You’re really serious about him.”
Josh shook his head—not in denial but to clear out whatever rust had gathered in his brain. “We’ve been on one date.” Then he winced, glancing through the diner window at the corner booth. “One and a half. Maybe one and two halves, if you count breakfast.”
Lizzie made an effort to hide her laugh, but it came out as a choked snort. “Oh my God. There. Proof. ‘One and two halves’?”
Josh had to laugh at that. He pulled open the diner door, saying, “What does Michael have to do with my business plan?”
“Nothing, except maybe to distract you.” She smirked at him. “But the way you snapped at Dee back there? You’re the first guy to be playful and, you know, self-deprecating about your love interests when they’re not serious. Back when it was you and me, you’d let your dad tease me about dating you for hours. You were the opposite of my knight in shining armor, buddy.”
Josh gestured for her to lead the way to a table. “On what planet does that make sense?”
“I’ve known you since kindergarten.” She dropped onto a bench and grinned. “You have no secrets from me.”
“Because living with my father isn’t bad enough?” Josh muttered as he sat.
“Small town, baby,” she said triumphantly. “You snap at the first hint of someone teasing that your relationship with Michael isn’t serious, and your ‘jokes’ are thinly disguised attempts at proving that it is. That, old pal, is proof.”
“Oh my God. You’re insane,” he said with a groan. Somehow, he managed not to add but you’re also right.
“Geniuses often are. Now,” she said, unzipping her laptop bag, “do we talk about your business plan or Michael? Profit or gossip. Your choice.”
Josh scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Profit or gossip,” he muttered. “Kill me now.”
Politicians are never on vacation. The government doesn’t take holidays. Michael had heard that mantra all his life, growing from a disappointed boy who wanted his parents to an uninterested teen grateful that they were too busy to keep watch over him every minute of the day. He was still grateful, because it meant their vacation home had a small but fully equipped office.
Now that he was out of the Air Force, he needed something to do besides training Kaylee. He could live on his trust fund, but that would end with him rotting in isolation or obsessively focusing on Josh to the point of driving him away.
He let himself into the office and logged on to the computer as Guest User . . . and then froze up. What could he do? ADA laws meant he could work in almost any job with a service dog, but he didn’t relish the thought of being trapped in a cubicle all day. Kaylee would probably hate it too. His aphasia meant any customer-facing or telephone work was a disaster waiting to happen. Hell, any job that involved interacting with people was probably a bad idea.
What did that leave him? Forest fire lookout? He was good with dogs, so maybe he could be a dog walker or groomer. Not exactly the prestigious career his family had pictured for him, but fuck them. If he’d wanted prestige, he would’ve stayed at Dartmouth.
He leaned back in the fancy leather chair and looked over at Kaylee, sprawled on the carpet. “Think it’s too early to call Josh?”
She looked up and thumped her tail in answer, which wasn’t helpful.
“We had a good date,” he told her, spinning the chair to better face her. “I should at least thank him for it, right? I mean, it might be too soon to ask him out again, but a friendly hello?”
Probably sensing no treats or commands were forthcoming, she laid her head back down. Even her tail-wagging had gone slow and half-assed. She wasn’t wearing her vest, so she knew she didn’t need to pay more than cursory attention to him.
“You’re a lousy relationship counselor,” he accused, turning back to the computer. Instead of reaching for the keyboard, though, he picked up his phone. He’d text Josh. It was more impersonal than a phone call, but there’d be no pressure—no expectation of an immediate response. Besides, Michael’s aphasia didn’t affect texting as much as speech, since he could read his words a few times before hitting Send.
Abruptly, Kaylee’s head came up. A low growl rumbled through her chest, ending in a yip that jolted Michael’s heart. He shoved the chair back into the bookcase and stood, hand clenching around the phone.
Since the house had been remodeled, he didn’t know the sounds, but he thought that faint whisper was the front door opening. Kaylee rolled up to her feet and trotted to the door, silent now that she’d issued her warning to him.
Who had keys? His parents, but they were campaigning, weren’t they? Amanda, but she’d made it pretty clear she wouldn’t be visiting before taking off on her world tour. Best-case scenario would be the caretaker.
Whoever it was, they had him trapped. The office was down the hallway from the kitchen, nowhere near the back or side door. Short of diving out the window, there was no way to get out of the house unseen from the foyer.
Footsteps came down the front hallway, past the stairs. Michael moved to look down the side hall in time to see someone pass by—short, thin, carrying grocery bags. He took a deep breath and told his pounding heart to calm down. He was safe. More than safe. His mother was tall and wouldn’t be caught dead carrying her own groceries.
“Heel,” he told Kaylee as he headed out to investigate. “Hello?”
There was a quiet gasp from the kitchen, followed by a soft voice asking, “Mr. Baldwin?”
“Michael,” he corrected, rounding the corner. The stranger unpacking groceries onto the counter looked barely out of high school. “Yeah. Hi?”
She beamed at him and said, “I’m Felice. I’m covering for my mom—her allergies are acting up. Did you need anything?”
“No.” He scratched at Kaylee’s head, wondering if he should mention that he was living in the barn, but he didn’t want to make her pack everything back up. He’d just bring the groceries over there later. “Look, you don’t— The house is fine.”
“It’s no trouble. Dad’s mowing the lawn, so I’ve got time,” she assured him. “He’s trying to get it done before it starts to rain.”
“Okay.” He was still holding the phone, which gave him an excuse to escape. He held
it up, muttering, “I’ve got to . . .”
“Oh. No problem.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
He retreated to the office and closed the door, trembling from the adrenaline lingering in his system. Kaylee followed him to the desk, but instead of sprawling on the rug, she leaned against his legs, muzzle resting on his knee.
Josh, he thought, looking down at the phone in his hand. A few quick taps had the phone unlocked, and he set it to his ear, only remembering he’d meant to text when Josh answered, “Hello?”
“Hi.” Michael’s mind went blank and light, full of simple contentment at hearing Josh’s voice.
“Hey, you,” Josh said warmly. “Good timing. I just finished lunch.”
Michael glanced at the antique clock on the desk. Two fifteen. “I haven’t had lunch yet,” he admitted.
Josh made a displeased sound, almost like Kaylee’s warning growl. “Have you had breakfast?”
Michael winced. How did Josh know him so well, so quickly? “Uh.”
Josh huffed. “Come to the shop. I’ll make you soup and a sandwich.”
“You don’t have to,” Michael protested, though he was quietly thrilled at the idea. In DC, he’d been surrounded by doctors and therapists and caretakers, but that had been their job. The thought that Josh wanted to take care of him . . .
“The lunch rush is over by now. The place is probably empty. So get your butt in gear and get over here. And don’t walk,” Josh warned. “It’s going to start raining in the next couple of hours.”
“Okay, okay.” Grinning, Michael logged off his dad’s computer and stood up. “Give me about twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes or else. And drive safe.” Josh hung up.
Michael shoved the phone into his pocket and looked down at Kaylee, who was watching him curiously. “Want to go see Josh?” he asked her.
Naturally, she wagged her tail. A clear yes. She liked Josh just as much as he did.
“Good girl.”
Seventeen minutes later—not that Josh was counting—Michael walked into Bagel End with Kaylee clomping along at his side, her steps made loud by bright-red doggie boots. Josh couldn’t help but grin at them both.
He met them at the register, saying, “Okay, that’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” He nodded down at the boots.
Michael smiled, glancing at Kaylee. “It’s easier to dry her boots when it rains. You wouldn’t believe how much water her feet sock up.”
Sock? Probably soak, Josh guessed, though he didn’t ask. Instead, he kept his grin focused on Kaylee and said, “Too cute.” They both were, but that he didn’t say outright. “Chicken and vegetable or broccoli cheddar?”
“Uh, chicken and vegetable? I’m guessing you based it on your bubbe’s recipe?”
“Damn right.” Josh went to fill a bowl, asking over his shoulder, “Kaylee can’t have onions, right?”
“No. Onions, garlic, raisins, and chocolate, all bad for dogs. But I’ve got dinner for her at home. Ground beef, brown rice, mixed veggies.”
“Hmm.” Josh scooped the soup carefully, loading the bowl with diced chicken and carrots, leaving a thin layer of pure broth in the warming pot. Chicken and vegetable was the shop’s most popular offering and rarely lasted past the lunch rush, so there was no point in saving the remnants for another customer. “What about roast beef for her? And does she want soup? The broccoli cheddar should be safe.”
“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
Josh moved the full bowl onto a tray, then brought the tray to the register. “No, but if we feed her here, then you don’t have to rush home to feed her tonight. I can make you a couple of roast beef paninis with provolone and tomatoes.”
“Isn’t it sacrilege to not have a bagel sandwich here?” Michael teased, leaning forward to sniff the soup. His eyes closed briefly, and his lips twitched into a smile. “God, that smells good.”
Josh pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and went for the bread basket. “You should’ve heard my aunt screaming when she found out we bought a panini press for the shop.” He picked up the bread knife and put on his aunt’s heavy Brooklyn accent, saying, “What’re ya doin’, catering to the hipsters, with their beards and music pods and fancy-shmancy mackey-etto coffee? Oy!”
Michael burst into laughter. “Can you call her right now? I want to hear her say that.”
“Absolutely not.” Josh sliced through two pieces of focaccia with practiced ease. “You’re never meeting the Brooklyn branch of the Goldbergs.”
Michael’s voice went a little flat. “Because I’m not Jewish or because I’m a guy?”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘goy,’ and neither. It’s because you’re from New Hampshire. Damn Northerner.”
“You know, the rest of the country thinks New Yorkers are Northerners,” Michael said, leaning comfortably against the counter. What a change it was from the first time he’d come in, barely able to meet Josh’s eyes, much less give Josh his order.
“Yeah, but in Brooklyn, New Jersey practically counts as the Deep South—at least in my family.” Josh took the roast beef out of the deli case and unwrapped it. “Last chance. Roast beef or something else?”
“Roast beef is fine for both of us. No soup for her—it’ll be a mess. And thank you.” Michael smiled sweetly.
“No problem.” Josh said it casually, hiding how much he really did enjoy taking care of Michael. Kaylee too, in fact.
Michael ducked his head, glancing at Kaylee the way he usually did when he seemed to be feeling shy. “I’m surprised they let your dad leave Brooklyn.”
“It was a close call, the way he tells it.” Josh put the roast beef on the slicer and set the dial to medium thickness. Before he could start up the machine, the bell at the front door rang, and Michael jerked back from the counter, looking over his shoulder. Two retirees walked in, probably tourists, judging by the matching cardigans they wore. Josh’s smile faltered—he’d wanted to have some time alone with Michael—but he called, “Hey, welcome to Bagel End. Be right with you.”
“I’ll just . . .” Michael looked to the tables at the front of the shop, by the window, but then pointed back to what Josh had begun thinking of as their table.
“Take the soup before it gets cold. I’ll bring the sandwiches out,” Josh told him, turning on the slicer.
Josh finished slicing the roast beef but set it aside to take care of the other customers first. There was no sense in heating up the sandwiches only to serve them cold. And it was a good thing he decided to wait.
The tourist couple, as part of their trip of a lifetime along the East Coast from Florida to Nova Scotia, would only eat locally sourced food. The beef and ham weren’t problematic, since both were from New Hampshire farms, but the questionable origin of the ingredients in the bagels led to a five-minute discussion that Josh ended only by pointing out, “If it helps, we make the bagels right here. I can show you the dough that’s proofing for our next batch, if you want.”
It felt like hours before he escaped and could bring hot sandwiches over to Michael’s table, along with two cups of water. Michael had finished the soup and was watching Josh with a grin. “Does that”—he gave a nod in the direction of the tourists, who were eating their authentic New Hampshire bagel sandwiches by the front window—“happen often?”
Josh lowered his voice to just above a whisper, saying, “It’s like the bridge lures in all the crazies. The normal people keep going north to Maine or south to Boston. And it’s only going to get worse here on the island. There’s talk of building one of those Winnebago campsites on the northwest shore, out past the elementary school.”
Michael snickered and picked up one of the sandwiches. “At least you’ll get good business out of it.”
“Right? I know,” Josh answered a little too emphatically. “I can’t wait.”
“For it to get worse?” Michael pushed the plate with the other sandwich toward Josh,
who shook his head.
“That’s for Kaylee, when it cools, remember?” Josh pushed the plate back to Michael. “But the campsite? They’ll probably have a café on-site, which means they’ll need baked goods. Like bagels.”
Frowning, Michael unwrapped his sandwich and asked, “Doesn’t that mean competition?”
“Not if we supply the bagels,” Josh said before he realized he’d never discussed his expansion plans with Michael. He was tempted to backpedal, but maybe an outside opinion would help bolster his own flagging confidence. Lizzie was more indulgent than encouraging, and Dad was against anything that involved a risk. As a neutral third party—or somewhat neutral, anyway—Michael could provide a welcome new perspective.
“With your catering business, you mean?” Michael took a bite, then closed his eyes with a soft groan that sent shivers down Josh’s spine, momentarily scrambling his thoughts. Michael swallowed, mumbling, “Oh, that’s good.”
“Uh. Yeah. I mean, sort of.” Josh shook his head. “I think we should go bigger than just catering one event at a time. B&Bs, the cafeterias at the elementary school and the college, even a couple of hotels right across the bridge—all potential customers.”
Michael tipped his head, taking another quick bite, looking off into the distance. “You know,” he said slowly, and Josh braced for criticism or condemnation, “you could probably also do one of those beach kiosks.”
“They’re all rented out this year,” Josh said automatically. His brain was slower to catch up. “You think it’s a good idea, though?”
“Hell, yes.” Michael waved the sandwich. “This is fantastic. And the bagels are even better.”
The unconditional support made Josh go warm and tingly all the way to his toes. “I, uh, don’t suppose you’ve got any business experience, do you?”
Michael bit off a corner of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “Sort of. Supply and logistics, remember? Figure out who needs what, project future mission requirements, work out how to get stuff from point A to point B, that sort of thing. Mostly it was a lot of paperwork, but yeah.”
Change of Address Page 16
