Hattie pulled over and I jumped out; I’d come back for my luggage later. As I made my way toward the crowd, I was amazed at how little my Grandma Dean—or Grandma Dean-Dean, as I had called her since I was a little girl—had changed. Her bleach blonde hair was nearly white and cut in a cute bob that was level with her chin. She wore skintight light blue denim capris, which hugged her tiny frame. Her bright white t-shirt was the background for a long colorful necklace that appeared to be a string of beads. Thanks to a pair of bright red heels, she stood eye to eye with the fireman she was talking to.
I ran up to her and called out to her. “Grandma! Are you okay?” She flashed me a look of disgust before she smiled weakly at the fireman and said something I couldn’t make out.
She turned her back to him and grabbed me by the arm. “I told you to never call me that!” She softened her tone then looked me over. “You look exhausted! Was it the flight or riding with that crazy Hattie?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “Joe, this is my daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”
Joe smiled. I wasn’t sure if it was his perfectly white teeth that got my attention, his uniform or his sparkling blue eyes, but I was immediately speechless. I tried to say hello, but the words stuck in my throat.
“Nikki, this is Joe Dellucci. He was born in New Jersey but his parents came from Italy. Isn’t that right, Joe?”
I was disappointed when Joe answered without a New Jersey accent. Grandma Dean continued to tell me about Joe’s heritage, which reminded me of Hattie. Apparently once you got to a certain age, you automatically became interested in people’s backgrounds.
He must have noticed the look of disappointment on my face. “My family moved here when I was ten. My accent only slips in when I’m tired.” His face lit up with a smile, causing mine to do the same. “Or when I eat pizza.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but it caused me to break out in nervous laughter. Grandma Dean’s look of embarrassment finally snapped me out of it.
“Well, Miss Dean. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, call your insurance company. I’m sure they’ll get you in touch with a good fire restoration service. If not, let me know. My brother’s in the business.”
He handed her a business card and I saw the name in red letters across the front: Clean-up Guys. Not a very catchy name. Then suddenly it hit me. A fireman with a brother who does fire restoration? Seemed a little fishy. Joe must have noticed my expression, because he chimed in. “Our house burned down when I was eight and Alex was twelve. I guess it had an impact on us.”
Grandma Dean took the card and put it in her back pocket. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll give Alex a call this afternoon.”
They said their good-byes and as Joe walked away, Grandma Dean turned toward me. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘Grandma’ in public?” Her voice was barely over a whisper. “I’ve given you a list of names that are appropriate and I don’t understand why you don’t use one of them!”
“I’m not calling you Coco!” My mind tried to think of the other names on the list. Peaches? Was that on there? Whatever it was, they all sounded ridiculous.
“There is nothing wrong with Coco!” She pulled away from me and ran a hand through her hair as a woman approached us.
“Geraldine, I’m so sorry to hear about the fire!” The woman hugged Grandma Dean. “Do they know what started it?”
“No, but Joe’s on it. He’ll figure it out. I’m sure it was wiring or something. You know how these old buildings are.”
The woman nodded in agreement. “If you need anything, please let me know.” She hugged Grandma again and gave her a look of pity.
“Bev, this is my…daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”
I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t even say granddaughter. I wondered if she would come up with some crazy name to replace that too.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bev said without actually looking at me. She looked worried. Her drawn-on eyebrows were pinched together, creating a little bulge between them. “If you hear anything about what started it, please be sure to let me know.”
Grandma turned to me as the woman walked away. “She owns the only other antique store on this block. I’m sure she’s happy as a clam that her competition is out for a while,” Grandma said, almost with a laugh.
I gasped. “Do you think she did it? Do you think she set fire to your shop?”
“Oh, honey, don’t go jumping to conclusions like that. She would never hurt a fly.” Grandma looked around. “Where’s your luggage?”
I turned to point toward Hattie’s car, but it was gone.
Grandma let out a loud laugh. “Hattie took off with your luggage? Well, then let’s go get it.”
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Preview: Croissants and Corruption
It was the beginning of a perfect late spring day in North Bank, Virginia, despite the fact that the sun hadn’t yet come up. The crisp air coming off the Potomac invigorated Margot Durand as she picked up her pace down the street on the way to her bakery, The Parisian Pâtisserie. It sat at the river’s edge waiting for lights and the scent of baking pastries to fill the space.
It was a typical early morning—a baker’s morning—aside from the fact that, as Margot unlocked the front door and rushed to disarm the alarm, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Who in the world is calling me at three in the morning?
Depositing her bag on the counter and flipping on the bright halogen lights, she dislodged her phone from her back pocket and jammed her finger against the screen before she lost the call.
“Hello?”
“Heya, sis.”
“Renee?” Margot blinked in shock. Her sister lived in California and, with a little mental math, Margot realized it was midnight for her. “Why are you calling me so…late?”
“It’s early there, right?”
Margot nodded then remembered her sister couldn’t see her. “Yes. I’ve just made it to the bakery.”
“I figured…” Her sister trailed off, but Margot caught the hint of warning in her voice.
“Rae, what is it?”
After a lengthy silence, Renee said one word. “Taylor.”
“Oh no.” Margot dropped into her desk chair, swiveling her knees under the counter and propping her chin on her palm. “What’s she done this time?”
An image of her niece—long blonde hair and the perfect California tan that came from living in Laguna Niguel—filled her mind. She was what, nineteen now? And there was no end to the grief she had given Renee.
“She’s all but failed out of her second semester at Coastline Community College and I’m at my wit’s end to know what to do with her. She’s running around with a bunch of beach bum surfers and I swear she thinks she’ll be able to live like that for the rest of her life. She has no idea what hard work means and…” Her sister took in a shuddering breath. “I think she could be into drugs.”
“Oh, Renee…” Margot shook her head, sending up a prayer for her sister’s daughter as much as for her sister. “What will you do?”
Another long pause. So long, in fact, that Margot began to wonder if her sister was still on the line.
Finally, she spoke again. “I need to ask a huge favor.”
A feeling of dread sunk into the pit of Margot’s stomach. It was the same feeling she got when trying out a new recipe and knowing for a fact that it wasn’t going to turn out.
“What do you mean?”
“Can you please take Taylor for the summer?”
“Take…her? What do you mean?”
“I don’t care that she’s old enough to make her own decisions.” Renee’s voice steeled as she went on. “I want to send her to live with you for the summer. I want her to work for you. I think showing her how rewarding owning your o
wn business can be will be a really great thing for her. It may even save her life, Marg.”
Save her life.
The words echoed through Margot but the terror remained. “Are you crazy?”
Renee laughed. “I’ve been accused of worse.”
“No, I mean, what makes you think she’ll want to stay with me?”
“Because we’re cutting her off if she doesn’t go.”
“Cutting her off?” Margot repeated the words, trying to make sense.
“We’ve been footing the bill for her little escapades, but no longer. We’re giving her an ultimatum. She either goes to stay with you and work for you for the summer, or she’s…out of the house.” Her sister’s voice broke on the last word.
“I’m so sorry, Rae. That’s not something you want to say about your own daughter.”
“No.” Her sister let out a heavy sigh. “With Dillon working on that oil rig months at a time, I haven’t had the strength—or the clout—to deal with this. Am I a bad mother, Marg? You know it was hard for me to step in like this…”
“Of course you’re not a bad mother!” Margot was quick to reassure her sister. “You’ve done a great job with her. It’s not your fault she’s acting out. She just needs some guidance.”
“So…” Her sister’s voice was full of hope.
“I’ll take her.” God help me.
“You will?”
“Yes. But she should know there will be strict rules. The life of a baker isn’t easy and—”
“She’ll do it. Trust me. When her father comes home and conveys our rules, she’ll agree. Or, at least I hope so. Thanks, sis. I really want to see this turn her life around.”
The weight of what Margot was agreeing to rested squarely on her shoulders as they said their goodbyes.
Shining stainless steel counter tops beckoned for their daily dusting of flour as Margot made her way back into the kitchen. She stretched her fingers and donned her apron, turning the stereo on so that classical music wafted from her mounted speakers.
But, just before she dropped the first ingredients into her mixing bowl, she stopped, resting her hands against the cold metal top of her workstation.
What was she doing? Had she lost her mind, agreeing to take in Taylor? The teen was notorious for being a troublemaker, but it was more than that. There was a lot of hurt for her to deal with having lost her mother at age eleven. When Renee married Dillon, Taylor was thirteen and not looking for another mother. Six years and she still hadn’t accepted Renee.
Wiping away a stray hair from her shoulder, Margot dropped eggs one at a time into the sugar and milk concoction in the industrial mixer. Maybe the Lord had a bigger use for Margot’s spare bedroom than a place to collect the dusty stacks of paperback mysteries she had collected. Maybe it was time to open up her home and her heart to her niece in a way that could bring healing to them both.
“I thought you were getting that young thing at the airport today.”
Margot delivered a steaming caramel pecan cinnamon roll and cup of black coffee to the small, round table where Bentley Anderson, one of her regular customers, sat with newspaper in hand.
“I’m just waiting for Rosie to show up.”
“Saw her at the senior center last night,” Bentley said taking a sip of his coffee. “She and Betty were tearing it up at the pinochle table.”
The corner of Margot’s mouth quirked. “Real exciting, I’m sure.”
“Hey, watch it, young lady.” He stared her down, one bushy eyebrow raised. “Things get exciting over at the senior center. You’d be surprised.”
“Don’t I know it?” She propped hands on her hips. “I volunteer at least once a month over there. You all are a rambunctious bunch.”
“You should bring that niece of yours over.”
Margot narrowed her eyes. “You know, that’s a good idea.”
“I’m full of them.” Bentley’s laugh was rough and mingled with the sound of bells from the door opening.
“There you are,” Margot said, watching as Rosie stepped into the bakery and undid the bright yellow scarf she had tied around her short, gray and black hair.
“It’s gusting out there.”
“That’s not a real word,” Bentley said, his gaze fixed on the paper.
“It sure is.” Rosie eyed him but turned her attention back to Margot. “Sorry I was late, took a little longer to get going this morning.”
Any other morning and Margot wouldn’t have even noticed her part-time employee being a few minutes late, but she had at least a thirty-minute drive to Ronald Regan Airport to pick up Taylor and you never knew what traffic was going to be like.
“No problem, but I’m late. You’ll be all right?”
Rosie gave her a look. “You know I’ll be fine, girl. Now go!”
Grinning, Margot grabbed her purse and light jacket from the backroom and rushed out the door to where she’d parked at the end of Main Street in the public parking lot. Pulling onto the freeway, she glanced at her phone, happy to see she hadn’t received a text from Taylor yet.
Thankfully, traffic wasn’t as bad as she’d expected and she pulled into the pickup line right on time, her eyes scanning for Taylor’s blonde hair and lithe frame.
A waving hand caught her attention and she pulled the car over, recognizing Taylor instantly.
“Hello!” Margot said, slipping out of the car with extended hands.
“Hey, Aunt Margot,” Taylor said, thin arms wrapping around her.
“We need to feed you some pastries,” Margot said, leaning back with a grin. “You’re much too thin.”
Taylor blushed, her grin widening. “A girl needs to watch her figure if she’s going to the beach every day.”
“Good thing you won’t be spending much time at the beach then.” The girl’s expression fell and Margot rushed to explain. “It’s freezing, Taylor!”
“It’s going to be summer,” she said, laughing.
“True, but by that time, you’ll be elbow deep in dough.”
She sent a look to the side, but Margot read it loud and clear. She was not happy about the arrangements.
“Let’s get your stuff into the car and head back to North Bank. We’ll get you settled in the spare bedroom and then I’ll take you out for Italian. You do still like Italian food, right?”
“Yeah.” Her response was noncommittal but Margot decided not to let it affect her. Things were going to change, that was a given, but she would make the most of it.
They drove back down I-365, blessedly going against the flow of traffic, and by the time Margot exited the freeway and pulled into the small parking pad in front of her historic row house, Taylor had loosened up, if only a little.
“I remember visiting here.”
“That’s right. You were…what, fourteen?”
“Yeah.” She pulled her backpack from the backseat and Margot picked up her suitcase, dreading the ascent up the steep steps that climbed to the narrow entry way.
“Want some help?”
Hefting the bag, Margot shook her head. “I’ve got it. I’ve been taking Krav Maga classes.”
“Seriously?” Taylor’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringy blonde bangs.
“Hey, your aunt isn’t some old lady. I like to stay active. Hiking, biking, baking, and now, self-defense.”
Taylor shook her head as Margot hefted the suitcase up and climbed the stone steps. Breathing heavy, she took the inside stairs more slowly until they stood in front of the small guest bedroom.
“I tried my best to stack the crime novels out of the way. I didn’t do such a good job.”
The girl peered in the room and her eyes widened. “Wow. Have you read all of those?”
Margot surveyed the wall-to-wall bookshelves stacked with crime novels, mysteries, and thrillers. “Not all. A lot of them were Julian’s.” Margot caught the saddened expression of her niece. “Your uncle was a great man and he loved to read. It always shocked me, knowing that
his job as detective put him in something like a crime novel every day, but he couldn’t get enough of them for some reason. He said he liked to guess ‘whodunit’ in real life and fiction.”
“I miss him.”
Her niece’s soft words surprised Margot. She and Julian hadn’t been around her sister very often. Living on the opposite side of the country did that to a family, but they had made an effort to get to know Renee’s husband and his daughter.
“He really liked you.”
Taylor turned surprised eyes upward. “Yeah?”
“He didn’t call you mon canard for nothing.”
Taylor laughed. “I never got why he wanted to call me a little duck.”
“It was just his way of showing his affection.”
“He used to write me letters.”
“He did?” Margot felt a rush of warmth flood her chest. Her husband had been a wonderful, kind, and caring man. It didn’t really surprise her that he would have taken a special interest in his sister-in-law’s adopted daughter.
“Yeah. It was after we came to visit here. He started sending letters and cards almost every month. I really looked forward to them. I’m sorry…that he’s gone.”
“Me too, Tay,” Margot said, resting her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Hey, why don't you get settled in then we’ll go to dinner? The dresser over there is empty and you can hang anything you want in the closet. We’ll have to share the bathroom, but I think we’ll manage.”
Taylor nodded without saying anything and closed the door behind her, leaving Margot in the hall. Thoughts of her late husband squeezed at Margot’s heart, but the ache was different than it had been. Five years had gone a long way to heal the brokenness, though the place he’d filled in her life would never be the same again.
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