The Café between Pumpkin and Pie

by Marina Adair

  “Just be careful then.”

  As if he weren’t always careful. The woman was busting on his last nerve. “Tell me you’re not planning to bake in the middle of a construction zone.”

  “I could do it early in the morning before you arrive. Or in the evenings, after you leave.”

  He didn’t bother to tell her all the reasons that was a terrible idea. Instead, he shook his head and returned to work. He needed to swing a hammer at something. Something hard.

  Chapter 4

  By the end of the day, Nick had worked up a good sweat and needed a shower. He packed up his tools, cleaned up the carriage house the best he could, and went home to wash off the sawdust.

  At seven, he took the first available barstool at the Thirsty Raven, steering clear of a private booth.

  Salty, who’d been tending bar since Nick’s parents were old enough to drink, brought him a Sea Dog beer. Nick ordered a burger, fully loaded.

  Jen was late as usual. Nick killed time by snacking on a bowl of complimentary beer nuts and reading the names that had been carved into the wooden bar. A TV in the corner blared Monday Night Football. The Patriots were having a sucky season so far.

  No one had bothered taking down the orange and black jack-o’-lantern lights that had been strung up along the back-bar mirror. If Nick had to wager a guess, they’d stay up until December, when someone would remember to swap them out for the bar’s plastic menorah and artificial Christmas tree.

  Nick was halfway through his burger when Jennifer sauntered through the door, her shiny blond hair glimmering in the glow of the Thirsty Raven’s ambient lighting. She looked good. Too New York sleek in a lightweight camel-colored coat for his taste but good just the same.

  She gave him a little wave from across the bar and wended her way around the tables. One look at his dinner plate and she frowned. “You didn’t wait?”

  “I was starved and you’re thirty minutes late. You want a burger?” Nick flagged Salty, so Jen could put in her order.

  She looked around the crowded bar. “Why didn’t you get a booth?”

  “This was the only thing available when I got here,” he lied, and tapped the stool next to him. “Hop up. It won’t kill you to sit at the bar.”

  She took off her coat, hung it on a hook on the wall next to the restrooms, and joined him. “What, no hug?”

  He stood up and awkwardly embraced her. “Good to see you, Jen.”

  “You too, Nick.” She smoothed down her dress and sat on the stool next to him. “I’ve missed you.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he let the silence speak for itself. “How’s the job and Manhattan?”

  “Good. I just closed a five-million-dollar deal, a town house on the Upper West Side.”

  “Yeah? Good for you.” He was proud of her. Five years ago she’d gotten her real estate license, and now she was killing it selling high-end properties to New York’s elite.

  “I’m having a good year.” She took a sip of the cosmopolitan Salty had placed on the bar in front of her. No one in Moonbright drank pink cocktails except for Jen. “If I had a dime for every client who was looking for a good contractor . . . Nick, I wish you’d reconsider.”

  If he had a dime for every time they’d had this conversation. “I’m not moving to New York, Jen. I’m perfectly content in Moonbright, running my dad’s business.”

  She reached out and traced the top of his hand with her finger. He meant to move his hand away, but the door opened, letting in a gust of wind, and Sydney. Her brown hair was up, with loose tendrils framing her pale face and accentuating her blue eyes. The sight of her made his breath catch and for a moment he just stared.

  When he turned back to Jennifer, she was watching him, a look of panic in her eyes.

  “I’d heard she was back for her grandmother’s funeral.”

  Nick nodded. He didn’t want to talk to Jen about Sydney. He wanted to go home, sit by his non-working fireplace with a stiff drink, and finish watching the Patriots game.

  “She’s pretty now. But then, you always thought she was pretty, didn’t you?”

  Jennifer’s burger came and he hoped it would end any more discussion about Sydney Byrne. It had been sixteen freaking years ago. The fact that they were still talking about it showed how little their relationship had evolved.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asked as she cut her burger in half and then in quarters.

  As long as he’d known Jen, she’d been cutting her food into bite-size pieces. Tonight, for some reason, it bugged the shit out of him. Why couldn’t she just eat her burger the way everyone else did?

  “I haven’t given it much thought.” Before their breakup, they’d spent the holiday with either the Rossi clan or Jen’s family.

  “I was thinking that maybe you and I could go away. Try to . . . put us back together.”

  He stared at her, not knowing what to say. “Jen, why are you doing this?” He glanced to his side to make sure no one was listening and dropped his voice for good measure. “Nothing is going to change. I’m not moving to Manhattan. I don’t want to remodel the homes of Wall Street tycoons. We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

  “I thought with time apart, you’d miss me enough to reconsider.”

  How did he tell her that time apart had only confirmed what they already knew? They wanted different things from life. And for the first time in years, he felt free to be himself and embrace the things that mattered most to him: his family, Moonbright, and the small business his father had grown from the ground up. The sad reality of their breakup was that it was a relief.

  “Don’t say anything.” Jen’s bottom lip quivered. “Just think about it, okay?”

  There was nothing to think about, but he didn’t want to hurt Jen any more than he already had, so he held his tongue.

  “I’ll be right back.” She hopped down from the stool, swiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and crossed the floor to the restroom, trying to hold her head high.

  He knew how much that had cost her and felt like an asshole. But he couldn’t go backward. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

  He swiveled on his stool to find Syd watching him and bobbed his head in greeting. She quickly turned back to the two people sitting at her table. Nick had never seen them before and assumed they weren’t from around here. The man had worn a cowboy hat when he first came in. It now hung on a hook near their table. The woman was an attractive blonde, maybe a few years older than he and Syd.

  Ordinarily, he’d go over and introduce himself. But under the circumstances it would just exacerbate the situation with Jen. Besides, the three of them seemed pretty caught up in their conversation.

  Jen returned to the bar, wearing her everything is fine face. They spent the rest of the evening making small talk, pretending to the world—and perhaps themselves—that they were just old friends, having a drink.

  * * *

  There was that damn buzz saw again. Syd rolled over, took one look at the clock on the nightstand, and gritted her teeth. It was seven in the goddamn morning. The neighbors were going to kill her. Or better yet, they’d kill Nick.

  She swung her legs off the side of the bed and made a split-second decision to brew a pot of coffee before jumping in the shower. Emily and Clay were coming for breakfast. And she wanted to pull out all the stops.

  She shrugged into her bathrobe and jogged downstairs to the kitchen. Through the window, she saw Nick on the roof. In another life the man must’ve been a tightrope walker. She tapped on the window, motioning that he should be careful. But either he hadn’t heard or he was ignoring her.

  She got the coffee machine going and ran back upstairs to bathe and dress. If she rushed, she could have her new and improved maple scones out of the oven just in time for breakfast. She was working on the spinach frittata when Nick knocked on the back door.

  “Can I borrow a cup of coffee?” He held up his insulated driving mug. “I bypa
ssed the Corner Café on my way to work this morning. Big mistake.”

  “Sure. Come in.”

  He knocked his boots on the mat and met her in the kitchen. “Smells good in here. What are you making?”

  “Frittata and scones. I’ll make you a plate when everything is out of the oven.” Well, weren’t they being cordial this morning?

  “Thanks.” He cocked his hip against the counter and suddenly the room felt smaller. “Who were your friends last night?”

  “Emily and Clay McCreedy. Emily’s working with me on my cookbook. They’re visiting from Northern California.”

  “San Francisco?”

  “No, a small town called Nugget about four hours away. Her husband owns a large cattle ranch there.”

  “Huh, that explains the cowboy hat. Not a lot of those in Moonbright.” He grinned and Syd wished he hadn’t. That smile had once melted her teenage heart. Unfortunately, even after all these years, it still delivered quite a wallop.

  “Jen looked good,” she forced herself to say, and filled his cup with coffee. “You two look very happy.”

  He let out a humorless laugh. “We’re not together anymore.”

  “You’re not?” She jerked back in surprise. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d heard somewhere that you were engaged. And last night . . . well, I just assumed.”

  He hitched his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “Jen was just in town for the parade. She lives in New York now.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t heard. I am truly sorry, Nick.” And she was. Her breakup with Gage had crushed her. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  “Thank you.” He tightened the lid on his cup. “It was a mutual decision. We both wanted different things.”

  Was it? Syd wasn’t so sure. Nick had been in love with Jennifer Gerard since he was sixteen years old. In high school, the girl had had him wrapped around her little finger. She’d probably run off to New York to bask in the bright lights. Be the star she’d always been destined to be.

  Syd’s kitchen timer went off, and she removed the scones from the oven.

  He leaned over her to sniff, brushing against her back. His body heat spread through her like a furnace and she froze.

  “They look good. How long until they’re ready to eat?”

  “A few minutes to cool,” she managed without stuttering.

  They stood like that for several moments. When he finally moved away, she felt bereft of his warmth.

  “My friends are coming over for breakfast,” she said just to fill the silence that ensued.

  “The ones from last night?”

  “Emily and I are working out a few details of my book before they head off for Portland. They’re anxious to see the fall colors.” Emily, who’d been dogged by tragedy until Clay had come into her life, was mixing a little business with pleasure. It was the first time the couple had been able to break away from the ranch without their children for a romantic week together. Syd was thrilled they’d chosen New England.

  “Where are they staying?”

  “Rose Cottage.”

  “Nice.”

  They both seemed to be using inane small talk to stall for time. Either Nick didn’t want to go back to work or he was desperate for one of her scones. She was still reeling from the revelation that he and Jen were no longer together. Syd told herself that it was just interesting in the same way as finding out from Facebook that one of your old high school classmates has gone to prison for tax evasion.

  Nick and Jen had been together forever. And when Gram had mentioned their engagement a couple years ago, it had struck Syd as odd that they hadn’t already married and produced a brood of babies. At some point, maybe she’d work up the nerve to ask him about it.

  “I’d better get back to the job,” he said, but seemed in no hurry to leave.

  “How’s my bid coming along?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

  “Nope. The sooner I get everything taken care of here, the sooner I can return to my business.” She had good people running Bread & Cie in her absence, but she was too much of a control freak to leave it in their hands for a prolonged period of time. And then there was Gage. Who knew what he would do behind her back?

  “I’ll work on it, Syd. But let me remind you again”—he bit out the word “again”—“that you’re not my only client.”

  “Gotcha.” She tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice and searched for a metal spatula. Scooping one of the scones off the cooking sheet, she plopped it on a plate. “Here you go. I’ll bring you a piece of frittata when it’s done.” She flashed him a fake smile.

  He balanced the plate and coffee cup in both hands. When she tried to get the door for him, he opened it with his elbow just to be ornery.

  Ten minutes later, the buzz saw was back and louder than ever. She turned on music to block out the noise and set the table with Gram’s Royal Albert Rose Confetti china and frilly linen napkins. It was too late in the season for flowers from the backyard, but Syd made a centerpiece out of a bouquet of chrysanthemums she’d gotten at the market. Very festive.

  Emily and Clay arrived just as Syd was pulling her frittata out of the oven.

  “What a wonderful house,” Emily said as Syd ushered them into the foyer.

  “Thanks. How was Rose Cottage?”

  “So charming and comfortable that it’s the first time we’ve slept late since . . . I don’t even know.”

  “What’s going on in that building at the end of the driveway?” Clay pointed his chin in the direction of the carriage house.

  A nightmare on Maple Street. “It’s a long story and a bit of a mystery. But it seems that my grandmother commissioned the installation of a commercial kitchen in the carriage house before she died.”

  “Really?” Emily said, intrigued. “Was she planning to go into the catering business?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. She’d already been diagnosed with cancer—a weird time to get a new business off the ground. Besides, she was eighty-two.”

  “What do you think she wanted it for?” Emily asked.

  “Beats the heck out of me.”

  “Do you think it was for you?”

  “I can’t imagine. Before she died, we’d talked about my selling the house and using the money for my new business in San Francisco. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Was she . . . uh . . . ?”

  “Losing her marbles?” Syd finished for Clay. “Nope, she was sharp as a tack.”

  “How odd,” Emily said. “I suppose whoever buys it will get to enjoy a second kitchen.” Emily had a gorgeous second kitchen in a converted barn. But she was a professional chef, cookbook author, and food stylist.

  “I hope you brought your appetite.” Enough about Gram’s crazy kitchen.

  Syd gave them a quick tour of the house before leading them to the dining room. They gathered around the table, which almost sagged beneath the morning’s feast.

  As promised, Syd quickly made up a plate for Nick. “I’ll be right back. I promised the contractor a piece.”

  “Tell him to join us,” Clay called to her. “There’s enough food here to feed all of Maine.”

  Syd took the plate out to the carriage house, where Nick was crouched down, working on an electrical box.

  “Hey, you want to eat this here or join us inside?”

  In his rush to get up, he hit his head on the windowsill and groaned. “You mind not sneaking up on me?”

  “Sorry.” It wasn’t as if she’d tiptoed into the room.

  He stood up and eyed the plate in her hands. “I’ll come in and say a quick hello.”

  It surprised Syd. Emily and Clay were strangers to Nick. Then again, people in Maine had nice manners.

  He took the plate from her and they returned to the dining room, where Syd introduced everyone. Nick could be extraordinarily charming when he wasn’t wielding an obnoxious buzz saw at seven in the morning. He engaged in a lively conversation about b
eing a fourth-generation Mainer while scarfing down his frittata and a couple more scones—the man could eat—and eventually excused himself.

  When Clay left to use the washroom, Emily whispered, “Oh my, where did you find him?” and fanned herself.

  “I’ve known him since high school. His father used to be Gram’s go-to contractor. Nick’s now running the family company.”

  “Anything there?” Emily hitched an inquisitive brow.

  “No . . . no . . . of course not.” Sixteen years ago, she’d been foolish enough to think there was. She’d never let that happen again.

  “Is he single?”

  “I have no idea,” Syd lied. “And as soon as I settle my grandmother’s estate, I’ll be leaving for San Francisco.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to have a little fling on your way out. Get back in the saddle so to speak.” Emily knew all about Gage and what he’d done. He’d cut a wide swath through the food community in Northern California, even before he’d cheated on Syd. She only wished she’d known that before she’d gotten involved with him.

  Clay returned to the table. “I thought I’d check out Nick’s progress while you two discuss the cookbook.” He stacked up their breakfast plates and took them to the kitchen on his way out.

  “That one is a keeper.” Why couldn’t Syd find a man like Clay?

  “Don’t I know it.” Emily got that gooey expression of a woman in love.

  Years ago, Emily’s little girl, Hope, had been abducted from her in broad daylight. The entire story had been splashed across the news. Understandably, Emily had gone into a deep funk, hiding away in her home for years. She finally sold the house and moved to the tiny town of Nugget, where she’d met Clay, who brought her back to the living. A few years ago, she’d found her daughter. It was a long story, but Syd always thought of it as a Christmas miracle.

  “The book,” Emily said. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  Chapter 5

  Nick heard Syd’s California friends drive away. They’d spent the better part of the afternoon in the Victorian. The guy . . . Clay . . . had helped Nick install a new storm window. Nice having a second set of hands.