Paula was in line ahead of them in the bakeshop. She glanced over her shoulder, and not only lifted a brow but winked at him. Smug assistant. His glare should’ve turned her around. It did not. She grinned at him.
“I’ve already enjoyed a German chocolate layer bar.” She held up an empty china plate. “Seconds, and there’s the best assortment of Halloween decorated sugar cookies. I’m ordering a vanilla-frosted ghost.”
Eating cookies might keep Paula from reflecting on Lara and him. “Get two cookies,” he suggested.
“Maybe three,” she teased back.
Lara shifted alongside him. Their bodies lightly touched. He liked the momentary feel of her. Womanly curves and appealing warmth. Nice. She craned her neck to check out the display case, all sparkling glass and silver trays of delicacies. They soon reached the front of the line. Sofia Bellaluna was working the counter. She made suggestions to those undecided. Customers always walked away satisfied with their purchases.
Sofia served Paula her ghost-shaped cookies. “On the mayor’s tab,” he heard Paula say as she crossed to a side table. She’d eaten one entire cookie and licked vanilla frosting from her fingertips by the time she sat down with the others from the courthouse. She smacked her lips. “Tasty ghostie.”
Sofia glanced from Jack to Lara. She seemed pleased they were together. “What can I get for you today?” she asked.
Lara didn’t hesitate. She knew exactly what she wanted. “A pumpkin scone and a small hot apple cider.” She withdrew a ten-dollar bill from the pocket of her blazer. “I’ll pay for whatever the mayor orders as well.”
Jack blinked. None of his staff had ever bought him coffee or bakery goods. Paula was notorious for putting her sweet on his tab, as she had just done today. She was saving for college. He didn’t mind. All in all, an assistant with a sugar fix was a happy assistant.
Lara’s gesture of buying him a snack was kind and generous. It also opened up the opportunity for him to suggest she join him for supper. His excuse to pay her back. He’d locate her at the end of the day. Issue the invitation.
“Mayor Hanson?” Sofia caught his attention.
He made a quick decision. “I’ll have a Brown Butter Shortbread Cookie, black coffee.”
Sofia handed Lara her change, along with one plate, instead of two separate. It was as if the bakeshop owner expected them to sit together. She’d assumed right. The place was packed, with only one available small table. The same table where he’d joined Lara the previous Friday when her world was so dark and dim.
Jack picked up the drinks. They headed for their spot. “Déjà vu,” she murmured as they lowered themselves into their seats.
He scooted his chair in, then looked around the bakery. He nodded to those he knew, which was nearly everyone. His gaze met Paula’s. No change in her expression, although her blue eyes were bright, knowing. He paid her no attention.
He returned to Lara. “How’s your scone?” he asked.
Her answer came with half-closed eyes and an audible sigh. “I love all things pumpkin. Autumn is my favorite season,” she said between bites. She dabbed her napkin to her lips, then took a sip of warm cider. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, no better time of the year.”
He nodded, agreed. “I’m with you. I like the cooler weather. You can turn off the air conditioner and open the windows. Fresh air.”
“The foliage,” she went on. “There’s a big maple tree outside my apartment building. The leaves are as vibrant as a sunset. I miss them in the winter.” She hesitated, went on to softly share, “Before the first snow, I collect fading flowers and petals, leaves, and bark, and make my own potpourri. Once everything is dried, I arrange it in a large glass bowl. I go on to add a few drops of tea tree and cinnamon essential oils. The rich autumn scent carries me through the ice, snow, and below-zero temperatures.”
Pretty amazing. She was creative. “Have you been to the Pumpkin Patch?” he asked. “Carved a pumpkin?”
“I’m headed there this weekend,” she informed him. “A single, small pumpkin for me, as well as several bigger ones for the courthouse. Paula suggested we place them in the hallways. They’ll be fun decorations.”
He liked that idea. “I can help you haul the pumpkins if you need some muscle.” He was strong. Should there be any he couldn’t lift, he’d contact Three Men and a Truck.
She nodded. “I’d like your opinion on the pumpkins.”
He’d enjoy spending time with her. “You’re on.”
“I had also planned to stop at Herbert’s Orchard and pick a basket of apples.”
He could do apples. There was a small family store on-site that featured homemade fudge, pies, jams, jellies, and maple syrup, plus Maine-made crafts and gifts.
“Do you have a favorite apple?” he asked.
“Two favorites, actually. The Honeycrisp for sweetness and crunch, and the Ginger Gold, sliced with sharp cheddar cheese on salads. How about you?”
“Macintosh, all-around good. The best for pies, in my mom’s opinion.” He sipped his coffee, was curious. “Do you bake?”
Her gaze shifted to the bakeshop display case, then back to him. “I like sweets and enjoy being in the kitchen, though I don’t make anything from scratch like Sofia. My cakes come from a boxed mix. My cookies are slice and bake.”
“How much Halloween candy do you have at your apartment?”
“I’m stockpiled. I get a lot of trick-or-treaters.”
“Favorite candy?”
“Mini Heath Bars. You?”
“Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”
“From Halloween we head into Thanksgiving.”
He rubbed his chin. “No-Shave November.”
“Ahh, the Novem-beard. There’s a lot of facial hair in Moonbright.”
“Men like the scruff.”
“Women appreciate rough and rugged, too.”
She took a last bite of her scone.
He polished off his shortbread cookie.
They sipped their drinks, while eyeing each other over the rims of their china cups. He set his back on the saucer. She did so more slowly. “Downtime?” What did she enjoy outside of work?
She grew thoughtful. “Afternoon walks as long as the weather permits. I dress warmly. My favorite winter words are fleece, flannel, and fireplace.”
“My words are sledding, skiing, and snowshoeing.”
“I’m more indoors than out,” she confessed. “I tend to read more books during the colder months. I curl up on the sofa, cozy under a Pendleton blanket, savoring a mug of hot chocolate.”
He could picture her snuggled beneath a thick plaid blanket. “Big or mini-marshmallows?”
She grinned. “Big. They take longer to melt.”
“What are you reading now?”
“Alyssa Palombo’s The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel: A Story of Sleepy Hollow. It’s quite good. Ichabod Crane arrives in the spooky little village as the new schoolmaster. Katrina is drawn to him. A secret love affair. Ichabod’s disappearance . . .” She trailed off.
“And . . . ?” he asked.
“Read the book.”
“What? Not even a hint?”
“Not a chance.” The end. “How about you? What’s on your bedside stand?”
He had the crazy urge to suggest she see for herself. He had a flash of her sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through the pages of a novel. He’d ease down beside her—
He caught himself. Where had that image come from? It didn’t belong in Bellaluna’s. He cleared his throat. “I’m reading It by Stephen King. Seven adults return to their hometown to confront a nightmare they first stumbled on as teenagers. An evil without a name.”
She shivered. “Sounds scary. A book I’d have to read during the day, with all the lights on.”
Their friendship came to life, and the conversation flowed easily. No stops or starts or awkward moments. He liked getting to know her on a deeper, more personal level.
He caught Paula approa
ching their table from the corner of his eye. “Staff has returned to the courthouse,” she reported with a grin. “Our twenty-minute coffee break turned into a social hour.”
Jack glanced at his leather band Seiko. He couldn’t believe the time. Paula was off by ten. Fifty minutes was not quite an hour. He’d been so into Lara that he had forgotten to set the alarm on his watch. He looked up and noticed the bakery box in Paula’s hand.
“Two chocolate crème Bundt cakes for the road,” she told him.
“Again on my account?”
“You’re the only one Sofia allows to run a tab.” Her gaze held his. “Want me to wait for you?”
“I think we can find our way back to the courthouse.”
“Safely?”
“We’ll yield to the traffic light.”
“I’ll tell those waiting outside the conference room that Lara will be back shortly.” She headed for the door.
Lara hopped to her feet, looking worried and anxious. “Shortly is now. I hate being late.”
She hurriedly tossed their napkins in a small trash receptacle while he collected the china cups and saucers and returned them to Sofia. The bakeshop owner handed him a small bakery bag filled with two marble brownies for Stella. The town took good care of the courthouse receptionist. She was never left out and received her fair share of treats.
Jack realized in that moment that his staff hadn’t said a word when they’d picked up and left. No one had interrupted his and Lara’s conversation. He hoped they’d taken into account that this was her first day, and that he was merely monitoring her progress. That’s what he told himself, anyway.
He further wondered how much they’d overheard. He and Lara hadn’t talked shop. The topics were quite personal. Potpourri, No-Shave November, and their favorite books. What had been said was said. He’d enjoyed his time with her, more than he cared to admit. He anticipated another such chat at supper, should she join him for a meal.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” she apologized to him on their walk back to the courthouse.
“You were with me,” he reminded her as they entered the building. “No one’s going to call you out. Besides, I enjoyed our extended coffee break; how about you?”
She gave him a small smile. “Very nice.”
Stella acknowledged their return from behind the central desk. She held out her hand, palm up. She knew what was coming. Jack gave her the brownies. She smiled her appreciation. Dug into the bag.
He and Lara crossed the lobby and took an elevator to the second floor. He touched her lightly on the shoulder as they turned to go their separate ways. “My afternoon is slammed. Back-to-back meetings. I’ll see you after work. Stop by my office.”
“Five o’clock, then.”
The rest of the day flew by. Paula stuck her head in the door between meetings and gave him a thumbs-up. Her way of reporting that all was going well with Lara and the parade. He exhaled his relief. Warhol slept the afternoon away, curled high on a bookshelf between a thick volume on city codes and a thinner one on blizzard management.
Jack wrapped up his day with the chief of police. With a prestigious and sterling forty-year career, Barton Donner had risen through the ranks, from rookie cop to police chief. He was now nearing retirement. Jack valued Barton’s opinion on possible replacements. They evaluated and discussed likely candidates but had yet to come to a decision. Ultimately, they tabled their conversation for another time. They shook hands as Donner left.
Moments later, Paula appeared. He glanced up from the financial report. She held up the bakery box. “Me and my mini-Bundt’s are out of here.”
“Have a good evening.”
“You and Lara are the last two on the floor,” she remarked. “She’s wrapping up, and you’re a workaholic.”
He appreciated knowing that Lara was still here. He’d wanted to speak to her. To invite her to supper.
Paula was way ahead of him. She scrunched her nose. “It would be a shame for you and your new suit to head straight home.”
“What suggestion might you have for this man and his suit?”
“A dinner date,” she hinted, “Lara skipped lunch. She felt guilty for the long coffee break and made up time.”
“I wish she hadn’t done that.” Although he’d done the same.
“She’s very conscientious.”
Which didn’t surprise him in the least.
“It’s been a long afternoon for her,” Paula updated. “She went a further round with both Edna Milner and Glen Meyers. Pushy people. Diplomacy burns a lot of calories. Feed the woman. You could buy her a fabulous Greek dinner at Castellanos’.”
He’d thought more along the lines of Italian.
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“Think fast. Lara’s coming down the hall.” Paula disappeared.
There was a light rap on his door, and he called out, “Come in.”
Lara slipped inside. The day had worn on her, and she appeared tired. Her headband was crooked, her hair mussed, her expression weary. Her shoulders slumped so she was barely standing.
He closed down his computer. Stood and stretched, was sympathetic. “Some days seem longer than others.”
She yawned, and her stomach growled.
The lady was hungry. Here was the opportunity for him to ask, “Any plans for supper?”
“A take-out sandwich from Franklin’s Diner.”
“I’d like to celebrate your first day of work,” he slowly said. “I was hoping you’d join me at Enzio’s.” While most locals and visitors to Moonbright chose lobster rolls, fried haddock, and steamers, Jack liked Italian cuisine.
Enzio’s was wedged between a bank and a real-estate office. Small and intimate, the ristorante brought Italy to Maine. Stone columns and pillars supported the entryway. Low lighting muted the Tuscan-style colors, marble floors, and murals of the Italian countryside. Candlesticks flickered in wine bottles.
Lara stood still before him. She’d yet to respond. “Enzio’s never disappoints,” he attempted to convince her. “I called ahead and checked on the evening specials. The chef recommended four courses: Garden Minestrone soup, Olive Caprese salad, Brown Butter and Sage Ravioli, and Raspberry Gelato. Sounds good to me—how about you?”
She clutched her hands before her. Tiredness creased her brow. “Not tonight, Mayor.”
Shut down. He shrugged. Significantly disappointed. “Perhaps some other time, then.”
“Actually, tonight is fine, but . . . someplace less fancy?”
Relief had him asking, “Your call. Where would you like to go?”
She crooked her finger. “Follow me.”
He could do that. “Be good, Warhol,” he called over his shoulder.
“He’ll be okay overnight?” she asked, concerned.
“He’s the courthouse cat,” he reminded her. “The custodial staff lets him walk around while they clean. They spoil him rotten. Treats and toys. Warhol patrols and then finds his way back to my office around midnight. He has a very comfortable cat bed.”
He clicked off his office lights, closed and locked the door. “Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
Business kept the courthouse buzzing during the day. The security guard started his evening patrol in the basement, then worked his way to the second floor. Being the last two to leave, they were enveloped by the stillness and hollowness of the building. “Small town, big history,” he said as they passed the glassed-in display cases maintained by the historical society. His voice echoed off the hallway and the copper-clad central dome.
Jack walked beside her on the sidewalk as they headed north on Pumpkin Lane. He was unhurried and slowed his stride to match her own. Dusk challenged the last of the daylight. The air cooled. Her steps slowed further, and she stopped before Morgan’s Apothecary. “My dinner destination of choice,” she told him. “No reservation necessary.”
The drugstore? He was surprised, but also gratified to dine with her, wherever she wished. He
held the door for her. Followed her inside. He admired the vintage ambiance, as well as Lara’s backside as they headed down the center aisle. She was graceful, curvy; her hips hypnotized. The gentle sway distracted him, and he walked into the corner of the soda fountain counter. The edge jabbed his hip. Painfully. Embarrassingly.
Fortunately, Lara hadn’t noticed. She’d lowered herself onto a red leather stool and picked up a laminated menu. He rubbed his hip and dropped down beside her. The stools were close together, and Lara and he seemed almost attached in the small space. The slightest shift of their bodies and their thighs brushed. He stretched, reaching for a menu just as she withdrew a napkin from the metal holder. It was a moment neither of them could’ve expected or predicted. Yet one that would be imprinted in time. Forever. Her shorter legs parted and his knee pushed in. Way in. Connecting with her crotch.
She was jarred forward. Gasping. Her arms flayed. She clutched his thigh with one hand and saved herself from falling off the stool. Her fingertips inched near his zipper. So very close. An innocent reflex pressed her legs together, which only rooted him deeper into her. Her softness held him. Sensually snug.
His thigh muscles flexed, bunched. His stomach knotted. Awareness heated his body, and he stiffened. Her blazer parted, and he saw that her nipples were puckered beneath her white silk blouse. Responsive feminine points. She blushed, dipped her head, unable to look at him. Her leather hair band slipped forward. Strands spiked high. A familiar sight.
Damn. He hated that he’d embarrassed her. She released his leg, and he eased back slowly, calmly, trying not to prolong the awkwardness of the moment. The withdrawal was as disturbingly sexual as when he’d initially pressed deep between her thighs. Once separated, they both swiveled their stools to face the counter. They sat up straight. Spines rigid.
Lara fanned her face with a menu. He was overly warm. So warm that he shrugged off his suit jacket, shook it out, accidentally clipping her elbow. First a knee, now an elbow. He’d touched her twice now in under five minutes. He needed to be far more careful.
The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice Page 24
