by Tara Sheets
“I never said that, dammit.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. He was angry now. Good. It was better this way. If he tried to be nice to her, it would only make it harder.
“I don’t want to see you anymore, Hunter. I want you to leave me alone.”
“Emma, don’t say that.” His voice was raw with emotion, but she couldn’t allow herself to empathize. All she could think about was getting far enough away before she fell apart completely. She kept her head high as she strode down the pier. Every step was pain, but she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. He called after her again, but it only made her walk faster until she was running.
Down the wooden planks that led to the grassy path.
Beyond the whitewashed picket fence that gleamed shiny and new in the sunlight.
Past the scrubbed sidewalks and freshly painted shop signs.
The sky was still an impossible shade of blue, and everything around her sparkled like diamonds in the sun. But inside, Emma was a barren wasteland. Inside, she was crumbling to dust.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The sky was so blue, it could drown a person. Hunter scowled out at the ocean, hauled one arm back, and shot a fistful of bread across the water. The seagulls scattered in a squawking mob, fighting to be the first to reach it. Idiots. Only thinking about themselves.
After a night of pacing his living room, Hunter had ended up at O’Malley’s drinking beers with the locals and pretending to watch baseball on TV. For the past twenty-four hours, Emma had refused to answer her phone. Now he had nothing but a foul mood and a hangover to show for his efforts.
Everything with Emma had gone worse than he could have imagined. He had offered her a perfectly logical solution to all her problems, and she had thrown it back in his face and broken up with him. It was the last thing he had expected, and it made no sense.
He lobbed a few slices of bread onto the rocky shore, then threw the last of it into the waves, watching as the flock split, divided over who could steal bread the fastest. Make them work for it. Served them right. Leaning back against the wooden bench, he squinted against the unforgiving sunlight and scrubbed his face with both hands.
“When I said to try feeding the birds, I didn’t mean bludgeoning them with bread.”
Hunter glanced up at Sam Norton. He was in his usual worn-out jeans and fisherman’s jacket, with a khaki hat pulled down over his wrinkled forehead. There was a twinkle in his eye and an elfish smile on his face. If he had a beard, he could almost pass for Santa.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead,” Hunter said. “It’s more your spot than mine.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Sam sat down slowly, in that way that older people do, as if the body had to negotiate through a series of steps before it could settle. He pulled a brown paper bag from beneath his jacket. The seagulls flocked to his feet in a frenzy of flapping wings. “I heard you talked to Emma yesterday.”
Hunter clenched his jaw. Freaking small-town gossip. News traveled faster here than responders to a 911 call. He should be pissed at the islanders, but he only had himself to blame. Somewhere around his third beer last night, he remembered mentioning to James, the bartender, about Emma breaking things off. “Who else knows about it?”
Sam let out a low, gravelly laugh. “Oh, just about half the people in town, I suspect.”
Hunter shook his head and stared out across the water.
Sam opened the paper sack and pulled out a slice of bread, his arthritic hands tearing equal pieces. One by one he tossed them to the birds, taking special care to throw some to the runts on the outside of the group.
“It’s a good deal,” Hunter blurted.
Sam glanced up, but made no reply.
“It would fix everything for her. I offered her a salary that a lead chef would be happy to take. She’d be able to fix her house, she could still bake the recipes she loves. She’d even have creative control.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just . . . I don’t get it. She threw it in my face, like it was a terrible offer. Now she won’t even answer my calls.”
Sam nodded and continued feeding the birds. Some of the larger gulls, having been sated from Hunter’s previous feeding, began to drift away in disinterest. The frenzy had died down, once they realized there was plenty to go around.
“She was so mad,” Hunter said after another long moment. “Said she didn’t want to see me anymore.” A hollowness unfurled inside his chest when he thought about never seeing her again. Everything was so messed up now, and he didn’t know how to fix it. “She didn’t like the idea of having to sell her old shop. I mean, I get that she doesn’t like change, but anyone can see her shop’s days are numbered. Working for me, she wouldn’t have to worry about outdated equipment breaking down. She’d have all the ingredients she needs for her recipes. It would be freedom from worry. Everything would be perfect.”
Sam looked sideways at Hunter. “Perfect for her, or perfect for you?”
Hunter scowled at the rocky shoreline. “Okay,” he said, nodding, “sure. It would be perfect for me, too. Emma would be a great manager, any fool can see that. Her skill in the kitchen is second to none and I’d be lucky to have her on my staff. So yeah, she’d be great for my business. But that’s not the only reason I want to help her. I truly care about her. Once Haven is up and running, I’d need to move back to Seattle. I have other investment plans and I’ll probably start my next project, but I want to keep seeing her. I offered her everything I could . . . and she turned me down.”
For a long time neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the occasional cries of the gulls and the waves lapping at the shore.
“So, let me get this straight,” Sam finally said. “You offered to take her away from her own shop and let her work in yours. You’d give her a bunch of money to run your new place while you moved back to Seattle. You said you’d swing by from time to time to see her, and she wasn’t interested? Huh.” Sam set a piece of bread on the bench next to Hunter, then upended the paper bag and scattered the last of the breadcrumbs. “You don’t say.”
Hunter sat up straighter. “Look, I’m an investor. I don’t have room in my life for anything else right now. I have things I need to oversee in Seattle. It’s my home base.”
“In my experience, home isn’t a ‘where,’ it’s a ‘who.’”
Hunter opened his mouth to reply, but closed it. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. What was Seattle to him, other than a place to run his businesses? He owned a penthouse in a prime spot overlooking Puget Sound, but he had very little ties to family. Both his parents were estranged, his mother always traveling to Europe and his father living on the East Coast. They rarely spoke, even on holidays. Aside from a few business partners, there really wasn’t anyone waiting for him back in Seattle.
Sam heaved a sigh and tucked the empty bag back into his jacket pocket. “You are young, yet.” He nodded. “I remember what that feels like. But life is really just a bunch of these little windows of time. These collisions we have with other people who affect us in some way. And we affect them. Sometimes these tiny moments can change everything, in wonderful ways. If we allow ourselves to act on them.” He stared down at his gnarled hands. “But most of the time, we don’t see the moment for what it is, and we go careening off in other directions. And then one day you wake up old and you look back and say, ‘Holy smokes, that was a moment! I should have done something!’ But it’s too late. That, my boy, is what they call regret. I know it well. Don’t be like me.”
They sat in silence for a while before Sam began to rise. Hunter stood up and offered his arm to steady him. Sam smiled and slapped Hunter on the shoulder. “You’re gonna be all right. Just give her a bit of time. You’ve been hurt before, I can see that because I’ve been there. So you’re building things, because that’s what you’re good at. And I get the feeling”—Sam laughed, looking back at the wharf—“that you’re really good at it. Just think about what you are bui
lding for.”
Hunter watched Sam go with a sinking feeling in his gut. He knew what Emma wanted. He wasn’t a complete idiot. A woman like her was worthy of so much more than he could give. Dropped on her grandmother’s doorstep as a child, abandoned by her mother, never knew her father. Someone like Emma thrived on her relationships with others. Connections, roots, family. All of that was as important to her as breathing. It was no wonder she had balked when he suggested they keep seeing each other after he moved back to Seattle. The fact that he was asking her to be in a long-distance relationship went against her whole nature. Her own mother had breezed in and out of her life, whenever she wanted. Of course Emma would want more than that with him. She deserved more than that.
Hunter ran his hands through his hair and groaned. He’d been a fool. He needed to talk to her. But Sam had warned him to give her some time, and maybe he should. The last thing he wanted to do was screw things up further. He took the last piece of bread Sam had left on the bench and began tearing it into small chunks, doing his best to toss them evenly to the birds.
* * *
For the next forty-eight hours, Emma threw herself into baking different cupcakes for the festival. Many of them were from her grandmother’s old recipes she hadn’t tried before, but there was a comfort in those pages, and focusing on all those sweet charms made the cavernous ache inside her less painful.
Hunter had called her several times over the past two days, but Emma ignored him. The last thing she needed was to hear him explain why he couldn’t love her the way she wanted. It was obvious now that he would never accept her way of life. He was too entrenched in his own.
She closed her eyes as she mixed a final batch of coconut frosting. The rich scent of freshly grated coconut sweetened the air and she drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. Again. And again. The simple task of working in her bakery soothed her soul. This shop was where she belonged. She was born to do this, and no matter how much she wished Hunter could be a part of her life, she had to admit she was on her own.
By three o’clock on the summer solstice, Emma finished washing the last of her baking pans and stood back to look at her inventory. Each shelf was filled with boxes containing dozens of cupcakes. There was “Blueberry Maple Sunday,” which brought back cozy childhood memories like pancakes on lazy Sunday mornings. The “Jelly Surprise” cupcakes were filled with wild berry jam, giving a person courage to show their true feelings toward someone they love. Then there were the vanilla cupcakes with various frostings: passion fruit to inspire creativity, peanut butter and banana for a boost of energy, apple spice for soothing comfort, and chocolate marshmallow to make a stubborn person more open to possibilities. The “Lavender Bliss” cupcakes gave a person a deep sense of contentment, while the “Campfire S’mores” cupcakes inspired a person to be adventurous.
For the zillionth time in her life, Emma glanced wistfully at her creations and wished the charms worked on herself. Given her intense need to feel something other than the crushing heartache of the past forty-eight hours, she couldn’t think of anyone who needed an uplifting charm more.
Sighing, Emma reached for a box of chocolates Juliette had left her that morning, popping one of the semisweet truffles into her mouth. She closed her eyes as the rich flavors of hazelnut and cocoa melted in a delightful symphony on her tongue. They weren’t magical, but they tasted pretty darn close.
Juliette had taped a note card to the inside of the box that read:
Chocolate doesn’t ask silly questions.
Chocolate understands.
Her cousin’s kindness was like a flicker of warmth in the icy cavity where Emma’s heart now lived. She sent a silent prayer to the universe. Juliette always had the uncanny ability to understand what Emma needed most, and she loved her no matter what. They were family. If only Hunter . . .
No. Emma slapped powdered sugar off her hands and squared her shoulders. There was no use wishing for something she could never have. Daydreams and wishes were for other people, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise. If she hadn’t learned it already from Rodney, then Hunter had really brought it home. Emma closed her eyes and waited for the pain in her rib cage to ease. She was ready to do her part at the festival. Her booth would be stocked like it was every year, and if she was really lucky, she’d make just enough to pay the mortgage. She would worry about the rest of her future later. Now there was only one thing left she had to do.
Her phone rang, the jarring sound bringing on a fresh wave of grief. Just the thought of Hunter calling her made everything he said on the boat come tumbling back. When Juliette’s name popped up on the screen, Emma gave a shallow exhale and steadied her voice. “Hey, Jules.”
“How are you holding up?” Juliette asked.
I think I might be dying inside. “I’m fine. Do you have everything ready?” Emma had called her that morning to tell her the news. She had also decided it was time to make that “Go Away” cupcake. She knew it wasn’t going to solve her financial problems, because his restaurant wasn’t going anywhere. He’d hire some amazing manager to run the place and it would still be a huge success. Who knows what was going to happen to her shop. She would have to worry about that later, after the festival. Right now, she couldn’t allow herself to think too far ahead.
Hunter was moving back to Seattle; that had been his plan all along. If nothing else, maybe the “Go Away” cupcake could ensure that he did all his business from afar, and help with her broken heart. She hoped never to see him again when the festival was over.
“I’ve got all the ingredients. Are you sure you want to do this?” Juliette asked softly. Emma could hear the concern in her cousin’s voice.
She gripped her phone tightly. “I’m sure. I’ll see you at my house in an hour.”
* * *
The evening breeze wafted through Emma’s open kitchen window, swirling around the dishes and bottles, kissing the bowl of raw sugar, the tips of Emma’s eyelashes, ruffling the ringlets that had escaped from her bun.
“Can you feel that?” Juliette said excitedly. “There’s magic in the air. It’s strong tonight.”
“Yes.” Emma carefully measured the clear jasmine extract from a tiny vial, adding it to her mixing bowl. “Summer solstice is upon us.” She flipped the pages of her grandmother’s recipe book, scribbling notes onto a loose leaf of paper she had prepared the night before.
Juliette looked over the spell. “Meh. I think we could write it better. Give it some more oomph, you know? It rhymes but it doesn’t sound very fancy.”
“It doesn’t need to be fancy,” Emma said firmly. “It’s straightforward.”
Juliette sighed. “I guess. But I feel like the spell should be all mystical and cool-sounding. I mean, we are making strong magic here.” Juliette opened a wrapped square of cloth filled with herbs, crushed them in her hands, and scattered them into the mixing bowl.
“Exactly, which is why it’s better to keep it simple.” Emma tossed in the freshly grated coconut, then a carefully measured spoonful of pineapple juice.
“I’m pretty sure it’s going to be gross, no matter how much tropical fruit extract goes in it,” Juliette said. “There isn’t much that can drown out the taste of all those herbs I just threw in.”
“He only has to take one bite. By the time it touches his tongue, the spell will take over.”
“That’s good.” Juliette added a few shavings of crushed garlic. “Because I’m pretty sure this cupcake is going to taste craptacular.”
“Ready?” Emma asked.
Juliette nodded. They both waited to the count of three. “Here goes,” Emma whispered.
She spun the whisk quickly as Juliette held the bowl steady. Together they recited the spell:
“With summer’s power, let this devour any wish to stay.
Our charms combined will make you find, you must move far away.
We bind your heart with deepest yearning for tropical summer sun.
May you
only find contentment there. In this, our will be done.”
The evening breeze kicked up between them and Emma felt a spark of magic fill the air. It prickled her skin and flowed through her, between them both. They stood motionless in the center of the kitchen, linked together by the mixing bowl they held between their bodies. The air was thick with power, ebbing and flowing like a rhythmic tide. Emma could hear faint whispers in the air around them, elusive and indistinct, like a melody in a windstorm. They stayed still until the breeze died down and everything went quiet again.
Emma locked gazes with Juliette, who was smiling triumphantly.
“We rock,” Juliette said. “It totally worked. I’ve never felt it that strong before.”
Emma nodded. Their spell had been successful; she could feel it in her bones. But there was an abyss inside her she was still trying to ignore.
“He’s a goner, Em,” Juliette said. “One bite of this and he’ll be yearning for hula girls and coconut drinks on the beach.”
Emma set the bowl on the counter, doing her best to suppress her emotions.
“Hey, don’t look so guilty,” Juliette said. “It’s not like we’re giving him a deep desire to go live with the penguins in Antarctica, or something.”
“I’m not feeling guilty,” Emma lied. “I just feel . . .” Devastated. Shattered. Ripped open at the seams. “Tired. I have some things to finish up at the shop, so we should get this done.” She poured the batter into a single cupcake mold, placed it into the heated oven, then washed the rest of the batter down the drain.
