Raspberry Crush

by Jill Winters

  "Actually, I'm running the morning meetings now," Melissa explained. "I've been promoted to assistant manager." She paused to sip from her cup, ignoring the luscious array of pastries right below her, which she always did. In fact, Billy rarely saw her ingest anything other than black coffee.

  There were varied reactions to the news of Melissa's promotion: Katie smiled and said, "Congrats"; Des nodded, his expression blank; and Georgette bugged out her eyes, flared her nostrils, and balled her fists until her knuckles turned white.

  While everyone went over last-minute details for the upcoming jubilee, Billy ate the rest of her muffin, not sure why she'd bothered to cut it in half in the first place. Then Melissa asked her how the sheet cakes were coming, and Billy exaggerated, saying that everything was right on schedule. In addition to the extensive dessert menu, Churchill's Jubilee Planning Committee, which had hired Bella Donna for the event, wanted three sixty-inch sheet cakes presented at the end of the night. Billy was decorating each with a waterfront theme, using some Churchill postcards as a guide. Unfortunately she was still behind on her work, because when it came to drawing, crippling perfectionism sometimes slowed her down.

  "And, everyone, remember to wash and iron your uniform for this weekend," Melissa added, referring to the catering outfit, which was just a twist on the old penguin suit: white shirt, black pants, and a dorky pink bow tie. "Okay, does that wrap up jubilee business?"

  Des raised his hand. "I just want to go on record that even though I'm working at this thing, I totally don't respect these elaborate spectacles of obscene self-indulgence. It's like nobody keeps it honest anymore, you know?" He slid his gaze to Billy, and did a fist pump to his chest on the word "honest."

  Agreeably, Billy nodded, while Melissa rolled her eyes. "Annnyway... I guess the only things left to go over are some changes to our daily menu." Georgette straightened in her chair, on alert—or maybe on attack—as Melissa explained, "Donna and I were thinking that we should make Bella Donna's menu a little hotter, a little trendier. You know, more like something you'd see in New York."

  Curling her powdered-sugared lips, Georgette bared her teeth and asked why.

  "Obviously it'll draw in a lot more business," Melissa explained with a shrug. "And we'll attract more of the lunchtime crowd if we add some interesting sandwiches." Georgette sighed and fidgeted loudly in her chair, until finally Melissa said, "Do you have a problem with that, Georgette?"

  "Yeah," she replied haughtily. "I don't see why we gotta keep changin' stuff. Things seem fine the way they are, if ya ask me."

  "Mmm-hmm, well, let's just try it my way, okay?" Melissa said, smiling almost saccharinely at her. Then she addressed everyone. "Starting today, I'm putting up a sandwich suggestion box. Customers can drop in requests for items they'd like to see on our menu, and then Donna and I will go through them and choose which ones sound good." Billy reserved comment; surely Melissa hadn't intended it as a power play, but that didn't mean Georgette wouldn't blow up.

  After a few final points, the meeting faded to a close. Mrs. Tailor left, because she'd come in only for the meeting, and Melissa headed to the back to return Donna's notebook. As she went, Georgette muttered something under her breath—something along the lines of "Eat shit." Very luckily, Melissa didn't hear.

  Billy started straightening the tables and chairs, getting ready to open the store, and Katie said, "I'll put on some music."

  "Oh, damn," Des said, hitting his hand on his thigh, "I forgot to bring in my band's new demo CD."

  "Yeah, darn," Georgette said sarcastically as she swiped up one last Danish and stuck it in her front apron pocket.

  Billy suppressed a grin, and Katie asked, "Musical requests, anyone?"

  Georgette grumbled, "How about 'Back on the Chain Gang,' " and stomped into the back.

  Chapter 2

  Seth turned the lock to his mother's house and shoved the heavy front door open with his shoulder. Once he hauled his bags inside, he dropped them on the floor, and immediately felt overwhelmed by the familiar feeling of home.

  It was the spacious beach house he'd grown up in, right on the Massachusetts coast. How long had it been since he'd been home? He'd flown back for Christmas two years ago, but he'd been able to stay only the day, and then had to fly right back.

  Now he was back to fix up the house and put it up for sale. It was a favor to his mom, who was staying in Dublin longer than she'd planned, taking care of her older sister, Melanie. Seth's dad had died ten years earlier, and his older brother, Ian, lived in Alaska with his wife, so Seth was the only one who could come, but honestly, he was grateful for the excuse to take a few weeks off. Owning a consulting firm took up most of his time and attention and, in fact, most of his life.

  Seth walked through the foyer, feeling the emptiness of the house, but it had a different kind of quality than the emptiness of his studio apartment in Seattle. It was peaceful and calm. He could feel the golden insulation of autumn and faintly hear the shifting waves of the ocean that stretched behind the house.

  He followed the hallway to the airy, Spanish-style kitchen, which was flooded with light from the bay window and the sliding glass doors that led to the back deck. Sighing, he walked closer to the window and looked past the backyard and out to the water. It didn't take long for the tranquility to get to him, making him feel almost antsy—like he needed to do something productive. Maybe he could call Lucas, his VP, to see how things were going at the office. But he really didn't feel like doing it. He knew Lucas could handle whatever came up; he seemed to love the company almost as much as Seth did. Besides, Seth hadn't taken a real vacation in two years, and if he called the office now, it would be like admitting defeat.

  His mother had mentioned some repairs on the house that she wanted done; he supposed he could start on those, but he wasn't that motivated. Yet he couldn't just relax and do nothing... could he?

  The doorbell rang.

  Seth crossed back through the hall, swung the door open, and found his mom's best friend, Sally Sugarton, standing on the other side. A smile broke across his face. "Hi! How are you?" he asked, reaching out to hug her. Sally was a petite woman around sixty, with silvery blond hair, elegant gold-rimmed glasses, and a penchant for pantsuits. There was something about her that always reminded him of his mom, and right now he supposed that made her feel closer than Dublin. Because Seth was six-two, he had to bend a little as he embraced Sally's delicate frame tightly but tenderly.

  "Oh, your mom told me you'd be here. It's so wonderful to see you!" she said excitedly. Pulling back, she clapped her hands, which were slim, manicured, and still weighted down by an emerald bauble that Seth could trace back to his childhood. "You know, she is so proud of you. Of course, it's nice to know you haven't forgotten little old us. Now let me look at you," she said, and gave him a quick once-over. "Clean shaven, handsome, still blond, no gray yet."

  "I'm only thirty-one," he said with a laugh... though he supposed it wasn't inconceivable that work stress might give him gray before his time.

  "So how long will you be in town?" she asked, leading the way down the hall and hooking the first right into the family room. Seth followed, but didn't bother trying to keep up with Sally, who flitted almost as fast as she talked.

  "I'm not sure how long," he said. "There's some fixing up I want to do here—"

  "Oh, good, the cleaning woman's been doing a good job," Sally said, inspecting the coffee table for dust. Next she crossed the room and checked the mantel of the heavy stone fireplace. "I was afraid that with the messy divorce Susannah's been going through, she might be slacking off on the job. Especially after her husband's private investigator snapped photos of her and Jay Millis carrying on behind the fromagerie."

  Screwing up his face, Seth asked, "How do you know all this?"

  "What do you mean?" Sally said, confused.

  "Skip it," he said, grinning. Of course she knew; Sally had always fallen somewhere between social butterfly and prying butt
inski.

  "But anyway, about your visit..." she said. "It's so nice how reliable you are, Seth. I mean, how many people do you know that you can truly count on when you need a favor? How many men are so solid and dependable? How many truly understand that helping others is what it's all about?"

  "I take it you want something," Seth said.

  "Well..."

  "What is it?"

  "I've overextended myself," she blurted, "and now I need to beg you for a favor!" That was another thing about Sally: When she wasn't getting into everyone's business, she was heading fifty different committees. Suddenly it was all coming back to him. "You know the annual Dessert Jubilee?" she asked.

  "Oh, right," Seth said, recalling the founder's-day event held in the town square every October.

  "Well, I'm in charge of it this year, just like the last two years in a row—but of course, you wouldn't know about that, unless your mother told you—but anyway, I scheduled a meeting with the caterer this afternoon, forgetting that I'm already committed to the Boston Ladies' Society. But unfortunately I can't move things around, because the rest of the afternoon I'm hosting a variety show at the country club."

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Seth waited for the favor to drop.

  "Could you be a prince and meet with the caterer for me?" Sally asked finally. "You just have to go over some last-minute preferences that the planning committee voted on yesterday, and review the official invoice."

  After a pause, he nodded. "Sure, okay." It sounded pretty tedious, but at least it was something to do.

  "Thank you, thank you!" Sally chirped, clapping her hands together. "And we can ride into the city together. We'll take my car."

  "Let me just put my stuff upstairs and we'll go," Seth said.

  He took the spiral steps by the kitchen to the upstairs hall, and once he set foot inside his old bedroom, a surreal kind of nostalgia took hold of his senses. This space had been his, and everything looked exactly the same, only barer than he'd remembered.

  The room itself was minimally decorated—a gray-and-black comforter on the bed, a desk, and a computer. Seth had moved out when he went to college then gotten an apartment in the city, but his mother had kept the room his, because he'd still visited often.

  In the corner was the black leather recliner he used to sit in to read, and an end table stacked with books. He walked over, curious what he'd been reading the last time he was home, but as he picked the first book up, its title was lost as Seth's attention was immediately diverted by a photograph that slipped out from between the pages.

  As he studied the picture his chest tightened, as if something were clutching his heart and slowly squeezing. Smiling wistfully, he expelled a breath and sank into the recliner. His ex-girlfriend, Billy Cabot, was hugging him right outside this very house. Jesus Christ—Billy.

  It'd been a long time since he'd thought of her, but apparently his recollection was as sharp as ever. Passionate, sincere, pretty, and sensitive. They'd been going out only a few months when Seth had landed a job with Mackland Associates, the largest consulting firm in the Northwest. He'd sent his résumé in before he'd even met Billy, but when Mackland called, there was no way he could walk away from that opportunity. It had been his dream job. Part one of his dream, anyway. Part two was owning his own consulting firm, which he never could've done, at least not so successfully, without the vital contacts he'd made working for Mackland.

  Still, as he looked at Billy's picture-—at her bright, open smile, her energy, her warmth—Seth's heart sank a little. It seemed that even when life was going right, something still had to be wrong. A huge career opportunity, in exchange for this girl he'd left behind. Maybe there could've been something there; whatever dating he'd had time for over the past couple years hadn't made the same impression.

  Now Seth ran his fingers lightly along the photo, taking in the image of Billy—her shiny dark hair, pale blue eyes, and the curve of her full, ripe mouth. He tried to remember the day the picture had been taken, but he couldn't. He was holding her soft, cuddly body against him, and she had her face tilted up, not even looking at the camera. It could've been any day.

  He wondered what she was doing now... wondered if she was happy, wondered if she was still the funny little Catholic virgin she'd been back then.

  What would've happened if he'd had the balls to ask her to come with him four years ago—something that would've been absolutely crazy to do? They hadn't known each other nearly enough for a step like that, and with the amount of daily hours Seth had worked at Mackland, Billy probably would've dumped him and moved home in a matter of weeks.

  Still, he wondered...

  "Seth!" Sally called from downstairs, snapping him out of his reverie. "Are you ready?"

  "Coming," he replied, and set the picture back where it'd been for the past four years.

  As he met Sally in the foyer, at the foot of the main stairs, she said, "Isn't it nice to be home?" Home... It sounded strange to think in those terms, since he lived on the other side of the country. But Seth supposed Massachusetts would always be an important part of him—even if he'd left an important part behind.

  * * *

  "Did you forget you have a mother?"

  "Hey, Mom," Billy said, resting her cell phone in the crook of her neck. She leaned down to kiss her dog, Pike Bishop, good-bye, then snatched her battered green coat off the sofa. "When did you and Dad get back?"

  "Last night," Adrienne replied. "We had a wonderful time."

  "Really? Wow. I mean, that's great," Billy said, a bit surprised her mother didn't have something to critique.

  After locking up her apartment, she descended the brownstone steps two at a time. She didn't normally come home on her lunch break, but she'd wanted to check on Pike, who now lay sleepily in his dog bed. Last week there had been an incident with the first-floor tenant, Lady McAvit, who'd accidentally left the door to her greenhouse open. Pike Bishop had meandered inside and eaten several of her precious heirloom tomatoes, and she'd been harboring an icy grudge ever since.

  The thing was, normally Pike was an excellently behaved black Labrador. Billy had gotten him about a year ago, after an unusual rash of burglaries in her upscale Brookline neighborhood. Living alone she'd felt vulnerable, and since her landlord allowed pets, she'd gone to the pound and immediately fallen in love with Pike. At the time he'd been sad-looking, shaky, and shivery—not exactly guard-dog material, but Billy had suspected that his former owner had abused him, and she just knew she had to take him home. To take care of him. If she took him home, they could take care of each other.

  She could always count on Pike to use the doggie door in the kitchen that led to the back stairwell, and the second doggie door at the bottom of the back stairs. Behind the brownstone was an enclosed yard where he could play. Normally it was a very efficient system, and normally Lady McAvit's greenhouse was locked up tight.

  Of course, it wasn't right for Pike to eat her tomatoes, but Billy had tried several times to apologize. She'd even sent a big basket of fruit, but to no avail. Lady McAvit was still giving her the deep freeze. They'd passed each other on the sidewalk this morning when she was picking up her paper; Billy had said hello and gotten a sneer in return.

  Oh, well. Some people took longer to heal—Billy figured her sour-faced neighbor would eventually come around.

  "Billy? Are you there? Belinda? Hello?"

  "I'm here, Mom, I'm here," Billy said quickly as the front door of the brownstone thudded closed behind her, and she stepped out into the crisp October air. "Sorry, Mom, I'm just trying to catch the train. What were you saying?"

  "I was telling you about the cruise."

  "Oh, right. Go on," Billy said, but wasn't totally listening again because she was busy hurrying down her hill, and she rounded the bend onto Beacon Street just as a green-and-white train came clunking into view. Shoot, if she didn't catch this T, she'd have to wait five minutes for the next, and as it was, she was already going to b
e late getting back to the bakery.

  "Well, after we boarded the ship, we found our cabin," her mother was saying. "Then we put our luggage away. Of course, your father always claims I bring too much...."

  Billy darted haphazardly across the street, navigating around the oncoming traffic, and hopped up onto the platform just as the T driver was closing the doors. "Wait, oh, wait, please!" she pleaded, looking desperately through the glass. She didn't honestly expect any pity, though, since T drivers almost never reopened the doors, and seemed to enjoy shutting them prematurely anyway.

  But to her shock he pulled the lever and let her onto the train. "Come on, come on," he grumbled, motioning impatiently with big hair-covered hands.

  "Oh, thank you!" Billy groveled, and hopped up the steps. She dropped down into the first available seat.

  "Hello? Billy, are you there? Belinda?"

  "Sorry, sorry, I'm here, Mom," she said with a giggle, because this one-sided conversation with her mom was getting ridiculous.

  "Well, what are you doing? What's going on?" her mother asked, sounding somewhere between confounded and panicked.

  She explained about the train and apologized—again.

  Adrienne said a few more things about the cruise, and then said she'd fill her in more in person. "How's Friday night? You and your sister can come over for a healthy dinner."

  "Sure. I don't know about Corryn, but I can come. But, um, don't cook on my account."

  "Oh, it's no trouble."

  "No, really, let's just order a pizza or something."

  "A pizza?" Adrienne echoed, sounding horrified. "A pizza is nothing but a soggy, artery-clogging Frisbee of saturated fat."

  "Like I said, how about a pizza?"

  "Don't be smart. You know I don't eat like that anymore."

  True—a few months ago Billy's mom had gotten on one of those annoying health kicks in which the bettered party couldn't feel bettered unless she took everyone else with her. Apparently a persuasive segment of Dr. Phil had given Adrienne the motivation to change her lifestyle. Of course, Billy wanted her parents to be as healthy as possible—hey, she hoped they outlived her—but Adrienne seemed incapable of having any kind of epiphany without projecting it onto others, volcano style.