Muffins & Moonbeams

by Maddrey, Elizabeth

  “I’m not sure you know me well enough to peg me at all.”

  He had a point. “Sorry.”

  Malachi drew his brows together. “I was teasing. I thought you were, too?”

  “Yeah. I just...I’m...you know, never mind.” Ursula cleared her throat and looked at the line forming at the start of the serving area. No point getting into the whole sordid story of her social ineptitude. “We should go...”

  He touched her arm. “Tell me.”

  She shook her head and turned. “It’s not important. Let’s eat.”

  She was halfway to the line when she realized he wasn’t beside her. She turned, frowning. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, watching her with confusion written all over his face. She gestured for him to catch up and, after a moment, he strode her way. Weird.

  “Hi. Mal-a-chi. I’m. So. Glad. You. Came. Out. Tonight.” The woman behind the table offered them paper plates and rolled up plastic ware. “Who. Is. Your. Friend?”

  Ursula glanced at Malachi. His cheeks were on fire. Did they think he was slow? Why else would she be talking so loudly and with so much space between each word? “I’m Ursula Franks.”

  “Oh, honey, you should let him speak for himself. He’s not mute. Just deaf.” She patted Ursula’s hand and shooed them down the table. “You two enjoy now.”

  Deaf? He was deaf? She looked over to see Malachi intently filling his plate, his expression neutral. Why hadn’t he said something? She slid down the line after him, accepting whatever got dumped on her plate by the plastic-gloved workers. At the end of the table, she tugged a can of soda out of one of the coolers filled with ice and met Malachi’s gaze. “Where to?”

  “Want to join my family?”

  She angled her head to the side. Maybe that would give her some insight. “Why not?”

  She followed in his wake as he wove through the families who had already arranged themselves on the lawn, her mind still reeling. Some pieces were coming together—questions he hadn’t answered because he hadn’t been looking at her when she spoke—that sort of thing. She stopped in her tracks. What did it matter? It didn’t. Not really. Except for the whole “isn’t this something you should mention” aspect.

  Ursula recognized his brothers from the bakery and nodded in greeting.

  “Guys, you remember Ursula?” Malachi lowered himself to the ground and patted a spot beside him. “And this is my sister’s fiancé, Corban DeWitt.”

  Ursula met Corban’s smile. “I’ve seen you before. Do you have a booth at the farmers market?”

  Corban nodded. “Every year. You’ve been around Arcadia Valley a while, haven’t you? Just not Grace?”

  She chuckled. “I’m not new to grace, as a concept, but the church, yes. I’m...testing the waters, I guess. I’ve lived here about five years.”

  “Well, welcome. Have a seat. How do you know the Baxters?” Corban scooted a bit to make the hole in their circle wider.

  “I’m doing the website for the bakery. I also handle Ruth’s.” Ursula sat and put her plate down in front of her. Grilled chicken rested next to three different kinds of potato salad and a spoonful of coleslaw. She really was distracted if she allowed someone to put coleslaw on her plate. And she’d completely missed the rolls. Her gaze drifted back to the serving line, which had grown since they left it. She wasn’t going to get any bread. She sighed.

  Malachi nudged her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I missed your contribution to the meal.”

  He took the roll off his plate and offered it to her. “You can have mine. I know where to get more.”

  “Thanks.” She turned her attention the rest of his family who were all eating and chatting quietly with one another. They were an obvious unit. That had been her impression at the bakery, and sitting here only solidified it. Was there really any hope she could find a place for herself among them? Unlikely. Ursula unrolled her plastic fork and poked at the chicken until she’d peeled off the skin. She could pick it up. The etiquette guide was clear that meat on the bone could be eaten with your fingers. But—her gaze darted to Malachi—how much of a pig did she really want to make of herself?

  “Something wrong with your food?” Ruth paused, her piece of chicken halfway to her mouth. “I can run and get you something else. I suspect they’d let me sneak down the back side of the table.”

  “No, it’s fine. I guess I’m not really that hungry.” Ursula picked up the bread and tore off a piece.

  Malachi seemed to be trying to look everywhere at once. What Ursula had assumed was an extrovert’s need to be a part of every conversation. But now? Extrovert certainly didn’t seem to fit from the limited time they’d spent together. Lip reading. He was just trying to keep up. It must be exhausting. He caught her watching and heat warmed her cheeks.

  He smiled and leaned closer. His breath tickled her cheek as he spoke. “They can be overwhelming, even to me. We don’t have to stay with them.”

  Ursula shook her head. “They’re not overwhelming. I just...” She took a deep breath and turned so their eyes met. “The lady at the serving table spilled your secret. And I guess I was wondering why you didn’t say anything.”

  He drew his brows down. “Say anything about what?”

  “Being deaf.”

  Malachi blinked. “I wasn’t sure I needed to. Everyone in town seems to know. I appreciated the fact that you didn’t make a big deal out of it, though. Not like the ones who talk so loud and slow that I can barely read their lips. I...wasn’t trying to hide it.”

  “You don’t sign?” Ursula fiddled with her soda. The conversation was too odd. She’d known deaf people. Columbia, South Carolina, wasn’t an enormous city by anyone’s standards, but it had enough of a population to have some diversity.

  He shrugged. “Sure. Do you?”

  “I’m a little rusty.” She thought for a moment and signed slowly as she spoke. “The music is too quiet to hear over the crowd.”

  “She’s not wrong.” Ruth grinned and stacked Corban’s empty plate on top of her own. “Where’d you learn to sign?”

  “There was a girl at my middle school. Her family moved halfway through the eighth grade, but before that we’d been friends.” Sort of. Back then, Ursula would have said they were with absolute certainty. But now? How did you know, really, what people thought of you? Or maybe she just needed to adjust her definition of friendship.

  “Cool.” Micah waggled his eyebrows at Malachi and signed something very fast.

  Ursula frowned. “That’s...unfair.”

  “And rude.” Ruth chimed in, then laughed. “But I don’t disagree.”

  Jonah shook his head and stood, reaching for the stack of empty plates Ruth had made. “Who’s rude?”

  Ruth flushed. “Sorry. He said—”

  Malachi spoke up, signing now as he did, “Nothing important. I heard they were going to have ice cream. You want to go find it with me?”

  Clearly Micah had said something about her and no one was going to tell her what. Which probably didn’t matter. It might drive her nuts. But she wouldn’t let it get to her. She nodded. “Ice cream is always good. But you have to teach me the sign for it while we walk.”

  He stood and held out his hand, winding his fingers through hers when she would have pulled away. Little shivers ran up her arm. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Malachi had held her hand all through the movie—she couldn’t remember much about it, she’d been too focused on the sensations of his hand in hers. It was a cartoon with talking animals. She’d gotten that much. And Ruth had signed through the entire thing. Four days later and, if she concentrated, Ursula could still feel his fingers around hers.

  He’d walked her home.

  They hadn’t had much conversation. It had been dark and, well, she’d been content to just be with him. He hadn’t seemed to mind. And on the porch, for the briefest of seconds, she’d thought he might kiss her good night. It was too soon. Obviously. But her
insides had turned to jelly then, just like they were now. If holding hands could leave her sleepless, what would a kiss do?

  With effort, she pulled her thoughts back to her work. The cascading style sheet she used for this particular client wasn’t doing the trick. She was going to have to break down and write actual code. Normally that would be the highlight of her day, but it took time to do it right, and she’d been hoping to wander over to the bakery in an hour for lunch. Although...her mother would probably tell her she needed to let him come to her. And she’d been trying to do just that, hadn’t she? That’s how it was now Tuesday and she hadn’t seen him since Friday night.

  Oh, he’d texted on Sunday, asking why she hadn’t come to church, and he hadn’t seemed very happy with her response. But the fact of the matter was that Friday had been an awful lot of interaction for her and she’d still been recovering. She’d spent her time worshipping, as she usually did, with the streaming service of her old church in South Carolina.

  And none of this musing was getting her code written. She hunkered down at the keyboard and began to type.

  After double-checking that everything worked like she needed it to on the test system she used for projects like this, Ursula uploaded the file to the client’s server and, with a quick prayer, set it live. She switched to the client’s site in her browser and hit refresh. So far, so good. At least the website was still there. She ran through her test cases and smiled. It worked. She’d send a quick email to the client and then maybe—she paused, was that knocking?

  Ursula pushed away from the computer and padded down the hall to the living room. Triton sat in the front window as usual, looking out at the neighborhood. Thinking deep, feline thoughts most likely. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face when she spotted Malachi through the glass in the front door. She pulled it open and leaned on the jamb. “Hi there.”

  “Hi.” He took off his sunglasses and hooked them in the front of his baby blue polo. “I was hoping you might be hungry.”

  “As it turns out, I haven’t gotten to lunch yet. Come on in. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?” She struggled to recall what might be lurking in her refrigerator. She tended to shop in fits and starts. “I’m not sure what...”

  Malachi grinned and held up a reusable grocery bag. “I came prepared. And no. Not to my knowledge.”

  “Even better. I do have lemonade, if you’d like some?” She closed the door and led the way to the kitchen. Triton hopped out of the window and raced ahead of her. As she walked, she tried to see her place through Malachi’s eyes. It was tidy—her mother had drilled that into her too well for it to be otherwise. The furniture was all secondhand, but it was clean and went together relatively well. And, at the end of the day, it all suited her. So she shouldn’t worry what he thought. In the kitchen, she pointed to the small table she’d wedged in a corner and went to the fridge for the lemonade pitcher. When she turned for the glasses, he was right there. She swallowed.

  “I missed you on Sunday. And hoped all day yesterday you might swing by.” He took the pitcher from her and set it on the counter then gently pulled her into his arms, tightening them around her, his cheek resting against her hair.

  Ursula’s heart sped and she melted into the hug, her own arms slipping around his waist. It might be too soon for a kiss, but this was nearly as potent. Had she ever been hugged like this? Words fought to escape, but there was no point. He wouldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them. They came out on a sigh as she listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart anyway. “This is nice.”

  He slowly released her and stepped back, his hands moving as he spoke. “Will you come to church this week? Please?”

  She nodded.

  “Thank you.” He turned and sat at the table, digging into the bag and pulling out one container after another.

  Ursula got down two glasses and filled them. She put the pitcher back in the fridge and carried the drinks over. “What did you bring? It smells amazing.”

  “Jonah’s a chef, not just a baker. In D.C, he was one or two steps down from the top at a pretty upscale restaurant. I don’t know the official chef terms, but whatever. He cooks really well. And he likes it. So even though he’s up at dawn baking these days, he’s usually game to make supper. Or help out with some special treats when his brother asks.” Malachi peeled the lids off the containers, letting even more of the fragrant aromas into the air. “Corban keeps bringing Ruth vegetables. Since it makes her—and Jonah—happy, I can’t complain too much. But the consequence is that it’s basically all vegetarian in here. Ratatouille, some kind of pesto over fresh angel hair, and a zucchini and squash casserole that is surprisingly good.”

  “I’ll get plates.” She paused and touched his arm. “Thanks, Malachi. This is...special.”

  He grinned.

  When she’d returned with plates and forks, she sat. “Maybe...you could sign a blessing?”

  His eyebrows lifted but he gave a short nod and bowed his head. She watched his hands, their fluid motion as they spoke gratitude for the food and...for her?

  She echoed his amen and reached for the nearest container. “How’s the bakery?”

  He shrugged and scooped food onto his own plate. “Okay. It’s a challenge, at times, because our focus is bread. I mean, that’s the point of a community supported bakery. But people assume we have cakes and éclairs and, I don’t know, fruit tarts. And Jonah could make all those things, but with another bakery already in town—one that does have those things—it seems silly to duplicate them. Plus, Mrs. Delis is nice, so I’d hate to harm her business.”

  The woman was nice. Ursula frequented Demi’s Delights at least once every couple of weeks for their fantastic coffee, and to force herself to leave the house. “How do you avoid that though?”

  “As a community supported bakery, we shouldn’t really have a problem. The bulk of our business is subscription-based. People sign up to receive a certain number of loaves of bread a week. We have the storefront, sure, but honestly that decision was more about having an easy place for customers to pick up their shares and a good commercial kitchen than anything else. The handful of walk-in business we get is a bonus.”

  “You’re using completely local ingredients too, though, right?”

  “Not everything. The flour, yes. And oats. Jonah tracked down someone near enough who can supply us there. But there’s no local source for asiago cheese and olives.”

  “Still. It’s a selling point.” She chuckled. He certainly wasn’t winning any self-promotion awards. But that kind of worked in his favor. At least to her.

  7

  “How’d it go?” Jonah paused in the process of measuring out flour as Malachi came back into the kitchen. “She like the food?”

  “You outdid yourself. It was great.” Malachi continued toward the office, still not sure what to make of things. They’d had good conversation. But it was all superficial. Mostly about the bakery and things they could try working in that wouldn’t necessarily be competition with Demi’s Delights. He’d wanted to know about her. But every time he’d tried to shift conversation in that direction, she’d deflected.

  Jonah touched his shoulder. “What’s up?”

  Malachi shrugged. He didn’t want to get into it. Not yet. He needed some time to think it through on his own.

  “Okay. But if you change your mind and want to talk, you know I’m here, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And I do know a tiny bit more about the female of the species, having been close to marriage at one point in my life.”

  Malachi shook his head. Neither he nor Micah would’ve let Jonah go through with that. She was a nightmare and Jonah was the only one who hadn’t seen it. “Narrow escape.”

  “True. But still.” Jonah sent him a concerned look.

  “Thanks.” Malachi closed the office door behind him and collapsed into the chair. She seemed interested...she’d certainly appeared to enjoy the hug. But then, it
was like she pulled away and tucked all the real pieces of herself out of reach. He sighed. Which was the real Ursula? The flesh and blood woman he’d held in his arms, or the electronic one he connected with on every non-physical level online? How could he be halfway in love with one and completely confused by the other?

  He checked the email. Two new subscriptions from folks in Twin Falls. They were going to have to figure out delivery sooner than later. For now, people who wanted fresh, local bread were willing to drive. But in the grand scheme, it made more sense to set up delivery days. He didn’t mind driving and it was a better use of his time than sitting in the office doing non-existent paperwork. Now that the bulk of the processes were in place, he just had to update the finances and stay on top of little details. It wasn’t a full-time job.

  Since he had no desire to get roped into helping in the kitchen, he needed to figure out ways to be useful. Delivery service might just fit the bill. He pulled up a map on the computer and scrolled around. At least this, unlike Ursula, was a problem he could solve.

  * * *

  Jonah snagged Malachi’s sleeve. “Before you sneak upstairs to do...whatever it is you’re on your computer ‘til all hours doing, can we have a business meeting of sorts?”

  Malachi swallowed his irritation at missing out on the possibility of connecting with Ursula in the game and nodded. “Kitchen?”

  “Micah’s in the living room. Ruth’s on her way over.”

  Ruth was coming? She had very little to do with the CSB these days. Hadn’t since she’d been able to re-open the Fairview shortly after he’d arrived in town. She was an interested party on the business loan, so it made sense. Probably. He padded into the living room and snagged the free recliner. At least this way he could go over his proposal for deliveries in Twin Falls while everyone was around. He should go get his laptop. He popped the footrest back down and stood.

  Micah looked up from his cell phone. “Where are you going?”