Hometown Girl: The Chesapeake Diaries

by Mariah Stewart

  “Keep your mitts off, bro.” She moved the tray out of his way. “None for you this time around.”

  “Who are they for?”

  “I’m taking them to Scoop. Stef offered to sell them in her shop, so I made a few batches when I got home last night.” She added the last two cakes to the carrier.

  “Nice of Stef.” He watched her snap on the lid.

  “It really is. And she won’t even take a percentage of the sales.”

  “That’s a good friend.”

  “Don’t I know it. I need to get my business up and running as soon as humanly possible so that I can cash in on the coming holiday season, then hopefully build it up through to next year’s wedding season. A lot of brides are replacing the traditional wedding cake with special cupcakes. Dallas serving my cupcakes at her birthday party last month did a lot to call attention to me, but now I have to capitalize on that.” Brooke looked through her bag for her car keys. “I want to stop at Lola’s and Cuppachino this morning and see if they’ll let me sell there as well.”

  “You’re going to be baking around the clock if everyone says yes,” Clay pointed out. “Which I fully expect they will. The last time I was in Cuppachino at lunchtime, the only baked stuff they had were the muffins left over from the early-morning delivery, and to tell you the truth, they weren’t all that good. Maybe you could take over the muffins, too.”

  “That’s up to Carlo. Meanwhile, I have to get moving. I have a class at one.” She glanced at the clock as she gathered her things. “By the way, that old van in the garage?”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you using it for anything?”

  “Not at present.”

  “Could I use it?” She paused in the doorway.

  Clay frowned. “Something wrong with your car?”

  “No, but it’s too small. I could use the van to deliver my cupcakes and I could sell out of it, sort of like a hot-dog vendor.”

  “The van needs a lot of work, sis. For one thing, it has some body cancer. Rust. For another”—he poured himself a glass of water and took a long drink—“it doesn’t have a backseat. I took it out so I could transport stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “You know, stuff. Bushels of apples. Buckets of herbs. Stuff for the restaurants that we supply during the summer months.”

  “Can I clean it up? Paint it?”

  “Sure. Do whatever you want.” Clay shrugged. “I’m not using it.”

  “Great! Thanks!” Brooke blew past him on the way to the back door.

  Brooke mentally checked off van from her list of things she needed to keep her plan moving forward. There was a place in town that painted cars. Over the weekend, she’d drive the van out and get an estimate. Maybe they could do something about the body rust, too. And she’d need to see about having some advertising painted on the side of the van as well. She knew exactly how she wanted it to look.

  The flagman for the road repair crew held up a hand for her to slow, then motioned for her to detour from Charles Street onto Elgin. She waved to acknowledge the instruction then turned left. She made a four-block loop before taking a right onto Old St. Mary’s Church Road and around the square, the heart of the historic district. A tall, lanky dark-haired man crossed diagonally at the intersection ahead of her, and she stopped at the stop sign to let him pass. He wore a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and khakis. Brooke smiled as she rolled down the driver’s-side window. He certainly did justice to those khakis.

  “Looks like casual Friday,” she called to him.

  “No court today.” Jesse walked over to the car. “No tie, no jacket.”

  She made a point of looking at her watch. “I’ve heard of banker’s hours, but I didn’t know lawyers had them, too.”

  “I’ll have you know I was at my desk before seven this morning.” He held up a brown paper bag. “I just ran up to Cuppachino for a midmorning snack.”

  “Let me guess.” She closed her eyes and pretended to go into a trance. “I see … a cranberry-orange muffin.”

  “Not even close. Walnut-apple muffin for me, a strawberry scone for Liz—she’s my paralegal—’cause she has to put up with Mrs. Finneran.”

  “Violet Finneran? Your grandfather’s secretary?”

  “The one and only.”

  “She’s been there forever,” Brooke said. “She has to be … jeez, about a million years old by now.”

  “Close enough.” Jesse nodded. “My granddad expected her to retire when he did, but she wasn’t ready. She only comes in three times a week, but when she’s there, she makes her presence known.”

  “Bless her for her fortitude.”

  “I’m not sure it’s fortitude that keeps her coming in,” he said drily. “I think she’s afraid I’ll bring the firm to ruin if no one keeps an eye on me.”

  “Now why would she think that?”

  “Who knows?” Jesse shrugged. “Probably because I’m not my grandfather and I’m not my uncle Mike.”

  “She taught us Sunday school one year,” Brooke recalled. “She can be a bit formidable.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “So here’s a hot tip. You’re the first to know.” She lowered her voice as if she were about to share a secret. He leaned in closer, close enough for her to see that his brown eyes were flecked with gold. Nice. “As of today, you’ll be able to get one of my amazingly fantastic cupcakes at Scoop. Cupcake—that’s what I’m calling my business—is ready to roll.”

  “Congratulations. That’s great.” She couldn’t help but notice that he had the kind of smile that went all the way to his eyes. “I love cupcakes. I’ll stop down later and pick up a few. Is Scoop going to be your exclusive outlet?”

  “I hope not. I’m stopping at Cuppachino and Lola’s this morning to see if they’re interested.”

  He held up the brown bag. “You mean after today I could be picking up cupcakes instead of muffins in the morning?”

  “I don’t know that cupcakes could be considered part of a nutritious breakfast.”

  A car rolled to a stop behind her and the driver laid on the horn.

  “Oops! That would be for me.”

  “I’ll see you at Vanessa’s on Saturday night?” he asked.

  “Sure thing.”

  Jesse stepped back from Brooke’s car, and waved amicably at the impatient driver who’d just hit his horn for the second time.

  “See you,” Brooke called as she hit the gas.

  Seconds later, her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. She was surprised to see Jesse standing on the corner, watching her drive away. At least, she thought maybe he was, since he seemed to be looking after her car. She glanced out both side windows, but nope, there was nothing happening on either side of the street. When she stopped at the next stop sign and checked her mirror again, he was gone.

  Seeing him reminded her that she still hadn’t made the appointment with him to have her will redone. It was time to take Eric out and put Logan in—past time, really. She knew that. She just hated having to do it, as if she were officially erasing Eric from her life.

  Brooke made a left onto Charles, then a few blocks farther, a right onto Kelly’s Point Road, which led to the municipal parking lot, the town hall—the administration building that housed the police department as well—and the marina. Kelly’s Point ended in a tee at the boardwalk that ran along the Bay. To the right of the tee and past the marina was a well-regarded seafood restaurant, Captain Walt’s, and to the left Steffie’s ice cream shop, One Scoop or Two, known as Scoop to the locals.

  Brooke parked in the municipal lot, swung her bag over her shoulder, and grabbed the carrier holding the cupcakes. It was still early in the day, but already she could see that Steffie had customers inside the shop. A tinny bell rang when Brooke opened the door and Stef looked up from whatever concoction she was preparing behind the counter.

  “Hey, Brooke,” Steffie called to her.


  “Hi.” Brooke pushed the door closed with the toe of her shoe. “Brought you a little something.”

  “Yum. I can hardly wait to see.” Stef smiled at her customer and handed over a triple-scoop cone. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a dish? Just in case?”

  “Maybe I should.” The man who appeared to be all of twenty had justifiable second thoughts.

  “You eat all that, you might want to come back for a cupcake.” Stef handed him a dish, a spoon, and a pile of napkins.

  “Brooke, bring your goodies right here.” Stef pointed to the counter, where she was handing change to the three-scoop patron.

  “I left the display stand in the car,” Brooke told her. “I’ll be right back.”

  Minutes later Brooke was setting up her stand, which resembled a Christmas tree in shape, with arms that had little metal cups to hold the cupcakes. She carefully placed the cupcakes onto the stand.

  “Don’t they look magnificent?” Steffie’s hands were on her hips as she admired Brooke’s production. “I’ll have these sold by two this afternoon. If they last that long.”

  “You’re optimistic.” Brooke smiled.

  “I know my clientele,” she said confidently, then turned to her customer, who was still trying to get his change into his wallet. “What do you think? Don’t they look delicious?”

  “Yeah, they do.” His tongue took a swipe at the top scoop on his cone while he surveyed the display. “They’re for sale, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Stef assured him. “Made right here in St. Dennis by my lovely friend Brooke.”

  “What kind is that one?” He pointed to a chocolate-frosted cake.

  “That one is mocha with fudge frosting.” Brooke gave him a smile.

  “I’ll buy that one. How much are they?”

  Brooke and Steffie exchanged a glance. They hadn’t discussed pricing.

  “Tell you what,” Brooke said. “Since you’re the first customer I’ve had, yours is on me. But if you like it, you have to tell everyone you know to come down and buy one.”

  “Deal,” he readily agreed.

  Stef put the cupcake on a napkin and handed it to him. “Sorry I don’t have any paper plates …”

  “I don’t need a plate,” he said as he walked to one of the tables.

  “I’ll drop some off,” Brooke told Steffie. “I should have thought of that. And I should get some plastic forks, too.”

  “Not to worry. Most of the customers I’ll have this afternoon will be kids and they won’t care what it’s on or whether or not there’s a fork to eat it with.”

  Stef nudged Brooke with her elbow and tilted her head in the direction of the young man at the table. “What’d I tell you? Does he look like he needs a fork?”

  The cupcake was almost gone.

  “But we do need to decide on a selling price,” Stef reminded her.

  After a few moments of discussion, they came to an agreement.

  “I really appreciate this,” Brooke said as she snapped the lid back onto her empty carrier.

  “Don’t mention it.” Stef waved her off. “I think it’s great for my shop to offer a little nibble with the ice cream. I’ve been thinking about bringing in coffee and tea for the after-dinner crowd. Of course, now that the weather has cooled, I’m closing at seven at night, so there won’t be too many of those.”

  “How was it?” Brooke asked the young man at the table who’d just finished his cupcake.

  “It really kicked.” He nodded appreciatively. “Seriously good stuff.”

  “Great. Glad you liked it.” Brooke grinned. “Now go tell your friends.”

  “Sure thing,” he told her, “but I think I’ll take a few to go. Maybe one of those pretty ones with the flower on it for my girlfriend. The pink one. And maybe another chocolate one.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll bag them for you.” Stef turned to Brooke and whispered, “What did I tell you?”

  “You do know your people,” Brooke agreed, and made a mental note to order some small boxes. She had ordered the larger ones, some to hold a half dozen and bigger ones that could contain a dozen, but smaller ones, for individual sales, would be nice. And she’d have to come up with a logo for the top of the boxes.

  She noted the time on the clock over the door. “I need to get going. I was going to stop at Lola’s and at Cuppachino to see if either would be interested in putting my cupcakes on their menu.”

  “I’m betting they will. Lola hasn’t had a really good pastry chef since Renée left, and Carlo is getting his muffins from some commercial bakery and he’s never really been totally happy with them.”

  “Well, then, I’m on my way.” Brooke nabbed her shoulder bag by the strap. “Wish me luck.”

  “Of course.” Stef leaned against the counter.

  Brooke waved good-bye to the young man at the table and took off for her car. She was running a little later than she’d planned, but if she hurried—and didn’t stop to talk to anyone else—she’d be able to make all her stops and still get to school on time.

  She moved her car to Charles Street and, as she feared, found no empty parking places, forcing her to park on one of the side streets. She grabbed one container of her samples and dashed to the corner, crossed at the light, and stepped into the elegance of Lola’s Café, where the lunch crowd was just beginning to trickle in.

  “Hi, Jimmy,” Brooke greeted the host.

  “Hello, Brooke. Nice to see you.” The elderly gentleman had worked for Lola for thirty years and knew everyone who’d ever passed through their doors.

  “Jimmy, is Lola here, by any chance?” Brooke scanned the room for the owner, a woman in her nineties, who still ran the business, and from all indications, ran it well.

  “She’ll be a little late getting in today,” he told her. “Would you like to leave a message for her?”

  Brooke held up the container and explained the reason for her stop. She popped off the lid to show off her wares.

  “My, they do look luscious.” Jimmy’s eyes lit up and he reached for the container. “Now, you just leave them here with me. I’ll be sure to pass them on to the boss.”

  “Can I trust you not to eat all of them?” Brooke teased.

  “I promise I will not eat them all. I cannot promise not to sample one. Or two.”

  “Go for it.” Brooke handed him the container. “Enjoy.”

  “I imagine I will.” With a smile, he patted the container. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from Lola before too long.” He paused before adding, “That woman has a fierce sweet tooth, you know that, right?”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” Brooke waved and stepped aside to allow a small group of diners to enter before she went out through the door. Once outside, she hurried back to her car to pick up the remaining container of cupcakes and practically ran back to Charles Street with them. She again crossed the street and went directly to Cuppachino, where she noted a group of local merchants seated at a large table facing the picture window that looked out onto Charles.

  “Hi, guys,” she called to the locals.

  “Hey, Brooke,” several voices responded.

  Brooke looked around the coffee shop for Carlo, the owner. Locating him near the very end of the counter, she waved as she approached him.

  “Carlo,” she greeted. “Do you have a minute.”

  “A minute, yes,” he told her. “I’m short a person on the counter today.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should come back …”

  “You’re here now. There was something you wanted to see me about?” He gestured for her to get to the point.

  She did.

  “So show me what you got,” he said impatiently.

  Carlo’s eyebrows rose when she removed the lid from her carrying case. He scanned the contents.

  “What have we here?” he asked.

  Brooke told him.

  He picked a cupcake from the container, peeled back its paper cup, and took
a bite.

  “Uh-huh. Very nice flavor. Uh-huh. Very nice.” He nodded. “You made these?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many of these can you make for me?”

  “How many would you need?”

  “First week, probably three, four dozen to start. Maybe a dozen, dozen and a half every other day.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good, good.” Carlo grabbed a napkin from the counter and touched it to the corners of his mouth. “On second thought, bring me two dozen for tomorrow, let’s see how they go. Have them here by seven A.M. Do something to mark them so we know the flavors. What are we charging?”

  She told him what Steffie was charging, and he nodded. “That’s a fair price.”

  “And you can let me know what you’d like to keep for carrying them,” she said.

  “You just starting?” he asked. “You’re planning on making a business, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I know what it’s like to start a business, get a break here and there. We’ll sell these for you and give you a break, turn over whatever we take in, okay? Maybe someday you’ll name a cupcake after me. The Carlo.” He winked at her.

  “Carlo, that’s very nice of you, but—”

  “No buts. I gotta get back to work. Go home, start baking. I’ll look for you in the morning.” He grabbed one more cupcake off the tray, then called to one of his employees. “Rachel, I want you to put these cupcakes in the front case and then give Brooke back her container.”

  Without another word, Carlo turned his back and went into his kitchen through a swinging door.

  Brooke popped the lid back on the case and turned to go, and walked right into Grace Sinclair.

  “Oh, Miss Grace!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  “My fault, dear,” Grace said. “I came up behind you without paying attention to how close I was. I had my eye on that tray of goodies Rachel just put into the display case.” Grace got a little closer to the glass. “Of course, they’re yours. You made something similar for Dallas’s party. They were certainly delicious. And you’re selling them here now?”