“Uncle Clay is out in the garden,” he told her without turning around. “He’s watering the stuff that we planted out there. We checked last night. Some of the stuff is still growing, but he said the season is almost over.”
“That’s what happens. You plant the seeds, you water them, they grow. Then one season comes to an end, and the next begins.” She sat on the corner of his bed.
“Today is my birthday,” he told her.
“That’s right. Happy birthday. You’re a big eight years old today.”
He went to his desk and picked up the calendar where he’d marked off days with a big X and where he’d printed important reminders in his awkward second-grade hand. Softball practice. A class trip. The Halloween parade. His soccer games.
“See?” He pointed to today’s date and read, “ ‘My birthday.’ ”
“I see.”
He put the calendar back on his desk.
“Let me give you a birthday hug.” She motioned for him to come to her and she put her arms around him.
He permitted a quick one before running off to the bathroom. Seconds later, he stuck his head back out through the door. “Can I still go to softball after school even though it’s my birthday?”
“Sure. It’s your day and we’re not having your party till Friday afternoon. So definitely, you can go to softball.”
Logan ducked back into the bathroom and closed the door.
After breakfast, while Logan was packing his schoolbag, Brooke noticed that he’d removed the old catcher’s mitt—Eric’s old glove—and replaced it with the new one he’d gotten last Christmas.
“Don’t you want to use your dad’s glove?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, and continued on packing his things.
“Why not?” She picked up Eric’s worn mitt and slipped her hand inside, tracing the path his fingers had once taken with her own.
“Sometimes the gloves get mixed up and kids take the wrong stuff home with them.”
She understood. Eric’s glove was too precious to risk to a possible switch.
“Wait till I get something on my feet and I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to.” She searched for the flip-flops she knew she’d left downstairs the night before. “If it’s okay …”
“It’s okay.”
“Great.” She located her sandals under the kitchen table and slipped her feet into them. “Let’s do it.”
They were almost to the end of the lane when Logan asked, “Can I have a dog?”
“What kind of dog?”
“A nice dog. I don’t care what kind.” He shifted his shoulders to distribute the weight of the book bag. “A dog would make a really cool birthday present.”
“I thought you wanted a new bike,” she said, thinking of the new three-speed that Clay had hidden in the barn.
“I do. But a dog would be even cooler.”
“I guess you like playing with Cody’s dog.” Cody was his best friend and the proud owner of a bichon frise named Fleur that he’d gotten from the rescue shelter run by the town vet.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “But I saw a thing on TV about what happens to dogs if no one rescues them and it was awful. They said lots of good dogs were waiting for their new owners.” His face darkened, and when he looked up, his eyes told the whole story. “What if there’s a dog waiting for me? What if it was waiting and I didn’t come for it?”
She started to speak, but he continued what sounded like a well-rehearsed argument.
“You and Uncle Clay had dogs when you were little. I saw their pictures. And Daddy had a dog, too. It was in one of the pictures in that book you have.”
Brooke remembered.
“I’ll have to talk to Uncle Clay,” she told him. “After all, it’s his house now, not ours.”
“How come it’s his and not yours?” At the sound of the approaching school bus, Logan leaned toward the road, craning his neck as if he could see around the curve.
“Because he’s the farmer in the family, and Grampa was happy to pass the farm on to someone who loved it and who’d work it.”
“How come you didn’t want it?”
The yellow bus slowed as it came around the bend and came to a stop on the opposite side of the road. Several small boys hung out the windows, calling Logan’s name.
“ ’Cause I’m a baker, not a farmer.”
She started to reach for him to kiss the top of his head, but he was already on his way across the road, yelling to his friends. He disappeared for a second or two as he rounded the front of the bus, but once on board, reappeared bounding down the aisle to join the other kids. The bus driver waved as she pulled away, and Brooke waved back. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her khaki shorts and watched the bus take the first curve in the road. When she could no longer hear its groaning engine, she started back up the lane to the farmhouse.
“Hey, Brooke!”
She turned at the sound of her name just as a sleek little sports car, its top down, stopped at the end of the drive.
“Hi, Jesse.” She smiled and strolled over and leaned on the passenger-side door. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just taking the long way to the office this morning.” Jesse Enright had arrived in St. Dennis several months ago to help out his grandfather in the family law firm. As far as Brooke could see, he wasn’t in any hurry to leave.
“If I had one of these little babies, I’d be taking the long way everywhere.” She ran an appreciative hand along the side of the car.
“Hop in. I’ll take you for a ride.”
Jesse’s smile was enticing—there was no way of getting around that, but she glanced at her watch and knew she was already off her self-imposed schedule.
“I’d love to, but I have some things that need tending to this morning,” she said, not without some small degree of regret. It had been a long time since she’d tossed her “must-do’s” aside and started off the day with the wind in her hair.
“Another time, then.” He revved the engine. “By the way, when are you coming in to talk about your will?”
“I’ll call your office and make that appointment soon.”
“Ask for Liz. Tell her I said to fit you in at the first available. Not that we expect anything to happen to you, but—”
“No, you’re absolutely right. First I have to dig up Eric’s will and the one we made together.”
“Just bring them in and we’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Jesse. I appreciate that.”
“Sure.” He put the car in gear. “See you around.”
“See you around.” She stepped back and watched him turn the car around and head off into town. He waved without looking back, and she returned the wave even though she doubted he’d seen her. She made a mental note to call his office as soon as she got into the house. Jesse was right. She needed to have her will updated. What if something did happen to her? Logan’s interests needed to be protected, and she felt she could trust Jesse to know the best way to do that. There was something about him that was solid and strong, and the times she’d been in his company, she’d found him to be funny and smart. She’d tried to put her finger on the ways he was different from most of the guys she’d dated in the past but wasn’t really sure she could define it.
And okay, yes—the guy was hot, there was no point in denying, but that had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Her mother’s car was heading down the lane, the old Subaru swerving to avoid several large potholes in the dirt drive. It slowed as it approached Brooke.
“Clay’s going to have to do something about these damned potholes,” Hannah Madison called out the window, barely pausing. “I’m off to meet the girls at the marina for our morning walk, then I’m going into the shop. I’ll see you later.”
“Have fun.” Brooke waved as the car rolled by. It occurred to her that her mother might be handling her widow’s statu
s better than she. A lifelong resident of St. Dennis—except for the three years of retirement she and Brooke’s dad had had in Myrtle Beach before his fatal heart attack—Hannah Madison had many friends and her shop, Bow Wows and Meows, where she sold fun items for pampered pets.
So what does it say about you if your sixty-eight-year-old mother has a more fulfilling social life than you do?
Brooke told her inner voice to shut up and she went into the house. She stopped to refill her mug before going into the small den her father had used as an office. Clay had commandeered the room when he took over the farm, but Brooke had carved out a corner for herself when she decided to start up her cupcake business.
She sat on the window-seat cushion, turned on her laptop, and waited for her screen saver to appear.
When the big cupcake with the pink frosting filled the screen, she smiled, and opened the file titled Cupcake.
She scrolled through the list of things to do and realized that she’d already accomplished so much.
On the current day’s list there were three items:
Test lemon recipe (try fondant flowers).
Need van.
Make appointments for next week to take samples to Lola’s, Scoop, and Cuppachino.
She was sure the test batch of cupcakes would be good. She’d been playing around with the recipe for the past few days, and thought she had it nailed now. Finding a van to take her cupcake business mobile the way she’d planned might not be as difficult as she’d originally thought. There was that old white van in one of the barns. Clay didn’t seem to be using it, and with an appropriate paint job and a little bit of a tune-up, it could be just the thing. Visiting the three most popular establishments in town was never a hardship: she had friends in each place, and felt fairly certain that no one would turn down her offer for them to sell her amazingly good confections. Another week or so and she’d be ready. “Cupcake” would be off and running.
She couldn’t help but think how proud Eric would have been.
Chapter 2
BROOKE fussed more than she’d intended when she began arranging her cupcakes on the round silver tray she found in the sideboard that had stood in the dining room for as long as she could remember. The tray was black with age and she suspected it had last been polished when she was still in her teens. But under the tarnish were roses that wound completely around the tray, and once she started polishing, she couldn’t stop. By the time she finished, the roses gleamed and the fancy scripted monogram in the middle—MJG—was visible.
She carried the tray to the back porch, where her mother was drinking her after-dinner coffee and watching the sun set.
“Mom, who was MJG?” Brooke asked from the doorway.
“Who was who?”
Brooke stepped out onto the porch and held up the tray.
“MJG, see the monogram right here?”
Hannah peered more closely, thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “I have no idea. Must have been someone on your father’s side. It’s lovely, though. Where did you find it?”
“In the sideboard. I was looking for something pretty to put cupcakes on to take over to Vanessa’s.” Brooke sat on the porch railing. “I’m debuting my rose-garden cupcakes tonight. This tray is perfect for displaying them.”
“Make sure you take some pictures for your portfolio before you leave. Those fancy little cakes are beautiful.”
“I hope Steffie thinks so. They’re for her engagement party.”
“I’m sure they’ll be a big hit. You haven’t had a miss yet. Of course, your brother and I are packing on the pounds, with all the sampling we’ve been doing.” Hannah hastened to add, “Not that I’m complaining. I can’t deny that I love a little sweet something after dinner.”
Brooke smiled. “You’ve both been such good sports about having to be my guinea pigs.” She leaned over to kiss her mother on the forehead. “I left a few on the counter. Don’t let Logan have more than one, and make sure his homework is finished before he has his snack. I’ll try to be back before his bedtime. And tell Clay not to eat all the cupcakes at one sitting.”
“I’ll pass that on, but I have no control over your brother. Not that I ever did.”
Brooke laughed and went back into the house. She found the white paper doilies in the pantry and selected one that would fit the inside of the tray. She placed the cupcakes in concentric circles on the doily, then added a tiny bit of sparkly sugar crystals to the frosting.
“Too cute,” she murmured.
She took half a dozen shots with her digital camera, grabbed a sweater and the tray, and set out for Vanessa Keaton’s house on Cherry Street. Brooke was the last of the party-planning group to arrive, and she sailed into Vanessa’s kitchen and placed the tray on the counter.
“So, what do you think?” Brooke’s friends gathered like staring vultures and peered over her shoulder.
“Oh, dear Lord.” Vanessa crossed both hands over the center of her chest. “Are they real? They’re too pretty to be real.”
“Gorgeous.” Steffie Wyler leaned closer. “They look like flowers. Perfect little flowers.” She looked up at Brooke. “How could anyone eat one of those pretty little things?”
“Like this.” Dallas MacGregor, Brooke’s closest friend and Steffie’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, scooped up a cupcake that looked like a pale pink rose and took a bite. “I happen to know from experience that these little numbers are perfection.”
“Keep scarfing them down and we’ll be ordering your wedding dress two sizes up,” Stef warned.
Dallas licked frosting from the corner of her mouth. “Then there’d be more of me for your brother to love.”
Steffie rolled her eyes.
“Stef’s right.” Brooke nodded. “I don’t want to be known as the woman who ruined Dallas MacGregor’s film career by pushing an extra thirty pounds onto her previously flawless body.”
“I have no immediate plans to return to the big screen. For the time being, I’m happier behind the scenes.” Dallas took another bite and smiled. “This is heaven.”
Vanessa studied the array of goodies, then reached for the yellow rose cupcake, muttering, “No willpower. None at all.”
“Dallas, how’s your new screenplay coming along?” Brooke asked, knowing that Dallas was dying to talk about her new project.
“It’s finished. Finished and fabulous, if I do say so myself. I can’t wait until we complete the casting and start shooting the film.”
As teenagers, Dallas and Brooke had been rivals for Grant Wyler’s affection. On her way to becoming a big screen star, Dallas had left St. Dennis and Grant behind. But since she’d moved to St. Dennis following a divorce, Hollywood style, Dallas and Grant had fallen in love all over again, and she and Brooke had become best friends in spite of their history.
“I think it’s so cool that you’re building a studio right here in St. Dennis.” Vanessa peeled the paper from her cupcake.
Dallas shrugged. “Those old warehouses were just sitting there, waiting for someone to come up with a good use for them. I was lucky to buy them before someone else did. The renovation work is coming along quite nicely, by the way. The contractors have promised that everything will be finished by spring.”
“Grant said some Hollywood types would be in town next week to look over your progress.” Steffie looked from Dallas to Vanessa, who were obviously enjoying their treats. “I can’t be the only holdout here. It would be wrong.”
She glanced up at Brooke as she lifted her choice, chocolate with ganache rosettes. “But I do think you should pick up the tab for the alterations on the dress I was planning on wearing to the party.”
“Brooke did not force you to commit …” Vanessa paused and appeared to ponder. “Now, would overindulging in cupcakes be considered gluttony or lust?”
“Both,” Brooke told her.
“In for a dime, in for a dollar.” Dallas grinned and surveyed the remaining cupcakes as if debating with herse
lf. “I really shouldn’t have a second.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Steffie replied. “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.”
Dallas backed away from the tray and sat on one of the stools that were lined up in front of the counter.
“I think it’s nerves. There’s so much going on right now that some days I don’t know what to do first,” she confessed. “It’s the wedding and starting my business—just trying to decide who to invite to the one and who to hire for the other is making me crazy.”
“Understandable.” Brooke nodded. “But the answer isn’t in food.”
“Where is it?” Dallas asked.
“We could have consulted the Ouija board,” Stef told her, “but Ness gave hers to Grace Sinclair. Maybe I should buy one. I wonder if it would work as well …”
“Yoga.” Brooke ignored Steffie. “It’s amazing how calming it is.”
“I’ve done yoga for years and I’m still running on fumes right now,” Dallas told her.
“In that case, I’d go for the cupcake,” Stef told her. “But I do highly recommend yoga.”
“You’re having the wedding at the inn and they have a wedding planner, right?” Brooke said, referring to the Inn at Sinclair’s Point, St. Dennis’s renowned historic inn where more and more weddings were being booked. “Don’t they take care of everything? Shouldn’t their wedding planner be worrying about all the stuff that’s making you crazy?”
“One would think. But apparently the new person isn’t accustomed to an event on the scale Grant and I are having,” Dallas replied.
“I thought you were going low-key. Small wedding party, not a lot of fuss,” Brooke noted.
“That was before we started making up the guest list and found we weren’t able to leave anyone out. We are still sticking to just the few attendants,” Dallas told her. “The three of you plus one old friend for me, Wade, Beck, and Cameron for Grant. And of course, my soon-to-be stepdaughter, Paige, will be my junior bridesmaid and Cody will be a junior usher.”
“Did you make a decision on who will walk with you down the aisle, Dallas?” Vanessa asked.
Hometown Girl: The Chesapeake Diaries Page 2
