The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice

by Donna Kauffman

  Nate approached them, looking anxious and fidgety. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his navy slacks and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Lara.” He side-eyed her, then went on to address the pharmacist. “Sorry to interrupt, but a quick question, please. Mr. Morgan—”

  The pharmacist seemed to know what he was about to ask and was quick to answer. “I’ve not hired anyone, Nate. You’re still my front runner unless someone with more experience applies. I’ll let you know soon, one way or the other.”

  “By the end of the week, sir?”

  “By the end of the day.”

  “You’ve got my contact info, right?” Nate was covering his bases. “Home phone, cell?”

  “All noted on your application and on a dozen sticky notes,” Harold reassured him.

  Nate slapped his palms against his thighs. He dipped his head. “Sorry to be such a pest. The sooner I find work, the sooner Valerie and I can set a wedding date. I refuse to get married without a job. I want to support my wife.”

  Lara figured Nate was twenty or twenty-one, and already a responsible young adult. He loved Valerie and wanted to take care of her. Admirable.

  “That’s all I needed.” Nate turned on his heel. “Thanks, Mr. Morgan. Bye, Lara.”

  The pharmacist waved him off. “Have a good day, Nate.”

  Lara watched Nate leave, noting his slumped shoulders and heavy footfalls. The younger man had hoped for a thumbs-up on the job and was forced to wait a few more hours. Harold had called him the “front runner.” Lara had more work experience than Nate and would have had a good chance of being hired. Nate, however, needed employment to marry.

  She decided in that moment not to fill out an application. She would not stand in the way of young love. She hoped to see Nate hard at work the next time she entered the drugstore.

  “Lara,” the pharmacist apologized, “Nate didn’t mean to be pushy, but he’s hard-pressed to find a job. What can I do for you now?”

  She cut her gaze one aisle over. “I only wanted to say hello on my way to the books and magazines.”

  “I’m always glad to see you,” said Harold. “Browse as long as you like.”

  An older man next approached the pharmacy. Walter Terrell and Sons built furniture, substantial pieces that withstood the test of time to become family heirlooms. Lara had once splurged and purchased one of Walter’s chairs. A white cedar rocking love seat with a scalloped backrest, thick armrests, decorated with tufted, deep eggplant-colored cushions. Sturdy and made for two, it was meant to be shared. She’d never sat side by side and snuggled with her ex-boyfriend. Glen swore the rocking motion made him nauseous.

  So she’d sat alone and spent countless hours reading and relaxing in it. The smooth rocking motion often put her to sleep. She wished for the right man to ease down beside her on the love seat, to wrap his arm about her shoulders and to hold her close. Jack Hanson came to mind. Wishful thinking. He’d shown passing interest, but nothing more. Still, the unexpected thought of him warmed her all over. Lingered. He was a big man. They’d fit tight. Romantically snug.

  “I have your prescription ready,” the pharmacist called to Walter.

  Perfect timing, Lara thought, as the older man covered his mouth with a wrinkled handkerchief and coughed. A full-blown throat hacking. His whole body shook.

  “Feel better, Mr. Terrell,” Lara said.

  Walter gave her a weak wave.

  She crossed two aisles to the shelved reading material, located against the west wall. New monthly magazines and the latest bestsellers caught her eye. Temptation nudged her to buy a book. Reality negated the purchase. It came down to reading or eating. She was on a tight budget. Pinching pennies. A late lunch won out. She would combine her noon meal and supper. She’d grab an early-bird special at Franklin’s Diner on her way home. A turkey sandwich and cup of soup would hit the spot. She could always stop by the library for a favorite title.

  She soon left Morgan’s Apothecary. Where to next? Once on the sidewalk, she scanned both sides of the street. There was minimal traffic and even fewer pedestrians. Her job hunt was a total bust. She decided to call it a day and start again tomorrow.

  Jack had requested she report in after her search. She wished she had something exciting to tell him. Sadly she had nothing to relay. Still, the man had a sympathetic ear and she felt strongly drawn to see him.

  She walked around the block and entered the building from Court Street. She climbed the wide cement steps. The clock tower chimed four o’clock. The sound echoed across town. Beneath the tower, six ionic columns stood tall and stately. An enormous eagle with its wings widespread protected the main entryway. Below the national bird, large Roman numerals were carved into the limestone, showing the date of construction.

  Double doors provided entrance to an expansive hallway of gray granite tiles, a high ceiling, and circular reception center. Three elevators rose to the second floor. A polished copper-clad central dome capped off the building.

  Lifetime resident Stella Abrams manned the front desk. She was a living fixture at the courthouse. Seventy, sharp, and spry, she was the local historian and had yet to retire.

  Lara admired the older woman. She wore her gray hair long. It fell becomingly to her shoulders. Her style was vintage, yet fashionable—today she wore her signature tweed skirt suit. Her green gaze was sharp behind square-framed brown glasses. Her smile was genuine.

  Stella knew everyone. Generations of families. She also welcomed newcomers to town. “Good afternoon, Lara,” she said. “What brings you to the courthouse?”

  “I stopped by to see the mayor,” she informed Stella.

  Stella eyed her over the rim of her glasses. “So has half the town. Is Mayor Hanson expecting you?”

  How to answer? “Sort of . . .”

  Stella waited patiently for her to elaborate.

  “I saw him this morning at Bellaluna’s Bakeshop,” Lara slowly said. “We talked about my job hunt, and he asked me to let him know how it went today.”

  “You’d like to see him in person then, instead of leaving a note?”

  “If possible.”

  “Anything’s possible,” said Stella. “Although you may have a long wait.” She pointed to the bank of elevators. “You’ll find him in the conference room on the second floor. Him and half the town, that is. It’s a bit chaotic. I’ve never seen people go so crazy over a parade. I’m sure Jack will be glad to see you. You’ll be a much-needed break amid all the Halloween groundwork.”

  The parade. He’d spoken earlier of the trials of organizing and satisfying his constituents. He wanted to keep everyone happy. The mayor was patient, positive, and charming. Lara was certain that he’d work through the situation, no matter how frenzied.

  She left the reception desk, composed herself, and stepped into an elevator. It ascended slowly. With a slight shake, it stopped on the second floor. Noise and commotion drew her to the conference room, a glass-walled space designated for governmental meetings. Today the town’s parade took precedence. Barely visible, Jack sat at the far end of the long, rectangular table, buried in people arguing over the festivities. Citizens crowded six-deep around him, some seated while others stood nearly atop each other. The group spilled out into the hallway. It seemed everyone was talking at once, each speaking louder than the other to be heard over the next guy.

  One of the loudest was her ex-boyfriend, Glen Meyers. He’d elbowed his way forward, one arm draped around Janice Stanley-Stark’s shoulders. They were an odd couple, Lara thought, not being critical, merely observant. He wore a plaid Pendleton and work jeans, while she was turned out in a gray cashmere sweater dress. Both his hair and beard needed combing. Janice was flawless with a high ponytail that accented her perfect features. Her gaze was as sharp as her cheekbones.

  From what Lara could decipher of Glen’s rant, it appeared he wanted the parade route lengthened by five blocks, so it would pass by Meyers’ Lumberyard. He had no desire to take part in the
parade, yet wanted to advertise his family business. Selfish man, Lara thought. He wanted the promotional benefits without making a contribution. Janice supported him, her voice equally shrill and demanding.

  To stay or to leave? Lara debated. Glen had yet to notice her. She would prefer to avoid the man. He would only smirk. Janice’s smile would be triumphant. Still, something held her in place. A sudden unexplainable need to see Jack. She hoped to catch his eye.

  Such a moment opened up for her. The crowd shifted, just enough for her to get a quick look at him. He leaned forward on his chair, his elbows resting on the tabletop. His wide shoulders strained. He shoved his hands into his dark hair, the ends spiked between his fingers. His mouth pulled tight. The scar on his forehead stood out, visibly white within the crease of his brow.

  Lara felt for him. He was only one man, yet everyone wanted his attention. He finally raised his hands, palms out, and pushed back his chair, standing. “Fifteen-minute break,” she heard him say.

  People begrudgingly cleared a path for him. She stepped back along with those flocking around the doorway. Jack stared straight ahead, his gaze narrowed, hard and focused. Ignoring anyone who dared a further comment or question. Lara wasn’t certain he’d even see her wedged between the banker and the owner of a snow removal service. Each man topped her by head. And outweighed her by sixty pounds.

  Somehow Jack spotted her. Honed in on her, actually. He blinked her into his reality. He seemed surprised, yet relieved to see her. Their gazes held, and the crowd momentarily vanished. It was just the two of them. She inhaled. He exhaled. His expression relaxed. Her heart softened.

  He took a step toward her and, without a word, curved his hand over her arm, just above her elbow. He was all warm palm and calloused fingers. Male body heat and woodsy cologne. He turned her toward his office, a short walk down the hallway. He opened the door for her, and she entered ahead of him. The door closed on a click.

  She’d never been to his office. Never had a reason to meet with him. Until today. She took in his work space. Masculine, modest, yet comfortable. Positioned front and center, a leather-top walnut desk faced three brown armchairs. An enormous Maine coon cat stretched across one entire corner of the computer table. A tortoiseshell with green eyes and a lion-like ruff.

  Jack watched her watch the cat. “That’s Warhol,” he said. “Named after my favorite pop art artist. He’s a courthouse stray. He arrived last winter and stayed. Scrawny and unkempt, he meowed and talked us to death. No one had the heart to shoo him out. He mostly stays in my office, although nearly everyone feeds him or offers treats. He has tons of toys. He often follows me around like a dog. Maintenance and custodial workers keep him company in the evenings. I take him home on weekends.”

  “Warhol.” She tilted her head, studying the cat with the tufted feet and bushy tail. “I might have gone with Van Gogh.”

  “That would have been a good name, too,” Jack agreed. “He’s embattled. Only one ear.”

  Their conversation slowed, and the office grew quiet. She suddenly felt unsure of herself. She was taking up his valuable time. His break was nearly over. “You’re busy,” she apologized. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I have no news on the job front.” She quickly condensed her day, confirming she was still unemployed. “I’ll leave now—”

  “Please stay,” he insisted. “I invited you to stop by.” He motioned for her to take a seat. She chose the center chair. He rounded the desk, dropped onto a leather swivel. He rolled his shoulders; ran one hand down his face. Released a tired breath. Refocused.

  She allowed him several seconds to himself. While he cleared his head, she admired the black-and-white framed pictures on one wall. Photographs of Moonbright in its infancy. The apothecary, bank, and five-and-dime variety store flanked Pumpkin Lane. History on a dirt street, as yet unpaved. A Ford Model T and a farm truck were parked at the roadside. A lone shaggy dog sat nearby.

  “Coffee, tea?” he finally asked her. A Keurig and an assortment of K-Cups atop a short bookcase offered hot beverages.

  She shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  He eyed her thoughtfully, warmly. “My day’s been hectic. Parade pandemonium. I’m glad you stopped by. Your timing is perfect. I’m sorry your job hunt didn’t prove more fruitful.”

  She sighed. “It is what it is.” Right place. Right time. Amelia’s words at Rose Cottage ran through her mind. Lara believed a position would open up for her.

  “Are you disappointed?” he asked.

  She bit down on her bottom lip, admitted, “Very.”

  He grew contemplative. Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling, then down at her. His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth pursed. “I wish I had a position for you.”

  “So do I.” The courthouse would be a great place to work.

  “Perhaps a job could be created.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Was he serious?

  “What do you know about parades?” he asked her.

  “Moonbright has a great one each Halloween.”

  “Tell me about yourself, Lara,” he requested. “Are you organized? A team player? A people person?” All seemed important to him.

  “I can multitask. I stick to a project until it’s completed. I’m a bit shy, but get along well with others.”

  He nodded his approval. “Punctual to work?”

  Their conversation confused her. Casual, yet direct, it felt like an interview. She went with it. “I set three alarms in the morning, and arrive fifteen minutes ahead of time.”

  “Your greatest strength?” he prompted.

  “I finish what I start.”

  “Weakness?”

  She was aware of her shortcomings and admitted, “I tend to take on too much when I should delegate.”

  “Sometimes you need to let go and let others do for you.”

  Good advice, but difficult for her. She took each task seriously. She left her personal stamp on her work.

  “Would you jeopardize your private life if you had to work late? Overtime?”

  “I’m single, mayor.” Glen Meyers had ditched her. There were no date nights on her calendar. “No obligations.”

  “Challenges and confrontations. Do you have a strong backbone? The ability to say no, if needed?”

  “I don’t bend under pressure.”

  He stared at her, his gaze hot and intense. Her body tingled. An unexpected warmth spread from her breasts to her thighs. She shifted on her chair, finding it difficult to sit still.

  If he noticed her unease, he made no mention. Instead he was quiet. Deep in thought. She waited on the edge of her seat, her hands clutched on her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white and her thumbs went numb.

  Jack slowly nodded, more to himself than to her, as he came to a decision. She listened intently. “Come work with me, Lara,” he proposed. “You’d fit nicely into a recently created position. An events coordinator. The courthouse sponsors numerous activities throughout the year. The Halloween Festival. Followed by the Winter Carnival and a Dickens Christmas. The Valentine’s Red Heart Fund-raiser and the Easter Egg Hunt, and so on.

  “Moonbright is passionate and opinionated on the parade, as you witnessed in the conference room. There has never been one central person in charge. It’s been a committee effort. That hasn’t worked well, especially this year. People need direction. Someone to organize their endeavors. It won’t be easy, but I believe you’re capable.” He quoted a salary and clarified the benefits. “Might you be interested? Are you up to the task?”

  She was. Still she raised an eyebrow, voiced her suspicion, “When did you establish this position, Mayor?”

  “A minute ago,” he replied honestly. “Give or take a few seconds.”

  She instantly understood. “The parade. You’re offering me a job that you don’t want.”

  “Never wanted it. The parade was handed to me.”

  Silence settled between them. H
e appeared hopeful. “You need employment,” he pressed. “I have a job available.”

  Right place. Right time. “I’ll take it off your hands.”

  “Thank you.” He exhaled, relieved. “How soon can you start?”

  “How soon do you need me?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “I’ll talk to my employer at Keepsake Antiques. Business is slow, and I doubt he’ll require notice.” Pause. “So how about Monday?”

  “Excellent. But be aware,” he gently forewarned. “Tempers will flare. You’ll make decisions and some will disagree. Especially when it comes to selecting the Pumpkin Festival Queen. It’s your call. Wear your emotional armor. You’ll be called Pumpkin Head. It’s not all that endearing. Don’t take it personally.”

  Chapter 2

  Monday morning, and Mayor Jack Hanson paced his office. He was on edge and couldn’t sit still. His Maine coon Warhol stretched out on the computer table. He flipped his tail lazily, eyeing Jack with a calm cat reserve. Supremely unconcerned and ignoring Jack’s unease. Warhol had the gall to purr. Loudly.

  It was Lara Shaw’s first day of work, and he’d personally met her at the main door. She had arrived fifteen minutes early as promised. He’d directed her to Human Resources so she could fill out the stack of paperwork that came with being newly employed. Attractively attired, she’d looked every inch the professional in a houndstooth jacket and black slacks. A gold suede headband swept back her dark blond hair.

  He hadn’t wanted to appear anxious, so he’d left Personnel and hovered instead at the reception desk. There, Stella filled him in on her weekend with her great-grandchildren. How the family had gone to the Pumpkin Patch, purchased pumpkins, and then carved them. She’d later baked pumpkin spice cookies and pumpkin bread.

  He had politely listened, yet kept one eye out for Lara. She had entered his office the previous Friday, her eyes sad, her shoulders slumped. Her defeat touched him deeply. He’d felt bad for her. Something inside him was triggered, and he’d wanted to help her. Needed to help her.

  That’s when he’d proposed the events coordinator option. Strictly on impulse. It was a much-needed position, but in the rough draft stage. Nothing had been finalized. He’d hurriedly spoken to Human Resources. The head of the department agreed to the hire. He’d worked late on Friday and finalized job guidelines for her. Lara’s salary was budgeted into the fiscal year. She was officially a courthouse employee. Jack was exceedingly pleased.