Love Inspired June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Patricia Johns

  Kara was feeling mildly triumphant, like she’d dodged a bullet. Like GeorgeAnne didn’t wield the social clout she thought she did. Then Trudy burst her bubble.

  “Folks are here for the biggest show in town.” At the pass-through window, the bottle-blonde waitress dinged the bell for service. “Order up!” she bellowed.

  Plating orders in the kitchen, Glorieta clattered a pan. Leo rattled a skillet on the grill. The vent above the stovetop hummed.

  Kara blinked. “What show?”

  “The showdown.” Trudy moved to the ice dispenser. “No one wanted to miss your reaction to the ultimatum.”

  Last night she’d decided to ignore the deadline. To keep calm and carry on. The apple tart galette would remain on the menu.

  The deadline came and went. The restaurant emptied of customers. GeorgeAnne had the good sense not to show her face. For which Kara was grateful.

  But Fire Chief MacKenzie didn’t make an appearance, either. And she couldn’t decide if she was relieved by his absence, or if that only made her madder at him.

  It quickly became clear who were Kara’s true friends. Late Friday afternoon she wondered if AnnaBeth and Lila might prove a no-show for the catering consultation, but they arrived right on time, eager to talk wedding food.

  Kara led them to an empty booth. Plenty to choose from. If this afternoon was any indication of things to come, catering might become crucial to keeping the lights on and her staff employed.

  “Sam and I don’t want anything extravagant.”

  Lila probably didn’t even realize how her voice changed when she said her fiancé’s name. Kara had met Sam last week. He owned a commercial and residential paint contracting business.

  AnnaBeth nodded. “It’s going to be held at the FieldStone for family and close friends.”

  Her cowboy husband, Jonas, operated the successful dude ranch. Kara hadn’t been out there yet, but the facilities and the views were reputed to be stellar.

  They discussed menu options, and she scrolled through the photos she’d brought up on her cell to show them. For a pleasant hour, they chatted, making decisions. She was able to temporarily step outside the turmoil and dwell on happier things.

  “What about the wedding cake?” Lila pulled a picture out of her purse. “I saw this in a magazine.”

  “Despite the pastry case, baking really isn’t my forte.” She’d gone through the required courses at culinary school, but had chosen to concentrate on cooking, not baking. The elaborate icing scrollwork in the photo was definitely outside her skill set.

  Kara chewed her lip. “But I have a friend who works in a bakery in Asheville who does cakes on the side. Which, by the way, are amazing. How about I give you her number?”

  Lila smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you. For everything.”

  That night Will texted her. But she deleted the messages without reading them. Mama G and Pops had gone to a movie over at the county seat. To offset the thundering quiet in her house, she talked to the cat while preparing a light meal. Soufflé had proven to be good company.

  “Better than several humans I know,” she muttered, stroking a finger along the tabby’s cream-colored fur.

  And then Saturday morning arrived.

  It was obvious from the outset that the usual weekend crowd was down. No line. No waiting. Too many unoccupied tables.

  “Miss Kara.” Shayla stopped on her way to deliver a carafe of coffee to the usual Saturday Breakfast Date couples—Myra Penry, Wilda Arledge and Deirdre Fleming, who’d arrived without their husbands this morning. “Have you looked out the window lately?”

  She swung around. Outside on the sidewalk across the street, GeorgeAnne waved a poster board on a stick.

  It read in large black letters—We Want Apple Pie.

  She clamped her jaw shut to keep it from quivering, but the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

  “GeorgeAnne better have a permit,” Wilda, Police Chief Hollingsworth’s mom, growled. “I’m calling Bridger.”

  Kara could’ve cried when Reverend Bryant walked boldly past GeorgeAnne’s gauntlet and entered the Mason Jar.

  She clutched a menu to her chest. “Thank you for coming today, Pastor.”

  He gave her a kind smile. “Not going to miss my mocha fix. And I thought you could use the support. GeorgeAnne doesn’t speak for everyone in this community.”

  But it became obvious very quickly who was Team Kara and who...was not.

  At lunch ErmaJean and IdaLee arrived. On the sidewalk, heated words were exchanged with their fellow Double Name Club member. Their voices carried through the plate-glass windows. Kara winced.

  “I hope you do not think, GeorgeAnne Allen, that you can tell me what to do.” Head held high, IdaLee marched inside.

  “Right is right.” Sniffing, ErmaJean made to follow IdaLee. “And wrong is wrong, GeorgeAnne.”

  Tray tucked under her arm, Trudy shook her head. “I never thought I’d live to see the matchmakers squabbling among themselves.”

  People were taking sides. Which only served to make her feel even lower. To have brought such division to harmonious Truelove. It made her physically sick to her stomach.

  Sunday morning she debated whether or not to attend church with Glorieta. She had no desire to bring conflict into the house of God.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong.” Glorieta adjusted her hat in the hall mirror at Kara’s rented house. The barbecue queen couldn’t abide people not looking their best on the Lord’s Day. “The pie versus galette situation is simply a matter of a difference of opinion. It’s GeorgeAnne Allen who’s escalated this. I can think of at least twelve ways to Sunday this could’ve been handled better.”

  “For sure.”

  Her foster mom cut her eyes at Kara. “On both sides.”

  Kara frowned.

  “But I’m prayed up on the ‘love your enemies’ part,” Glorieta said while settling her voluminous yellow purse on her arm. “So I figure my heart is ready to go to Sunday meeting and fellowship with my Lord.”

  Prayer and loving her enemy—neither of which Kara had yet brought herself to do.

  She finally decided to go with Glorieta. If she chose to stay home, it would be a slap in the face to Reverend Bryant, who’d braved the wrath of GeorgeAnne on her behalf.

  And also because she refused to let GeorgeAnne win.

  Okay, not the best attitude. She was still reeling. Her attitude was a work in progress.

  Glorieta headed out to the car. “But GeorgeAnne Allen better not come at my girl,” her foster mother harrumphed. “’Cause I’m not that prayed up. Not yet.”

  Kara bit off a smile. Her fears regarding church proved groundless. It was GeorgeAnne who didn’t attend. And of course, Will MacKenzie wasn’t a churchgoer, either. So no danger of running into him there.

  One more example of how they would never suit each other. Reverend Bryant chose as his selected passage that morning, “Blessed are the peacemakers. For they shall be called the children of God.”

  Glorieta elbowed her. Kara fidgeted.

  However, as the last hymn washed over her, the remembered pain in Will’s voice when he talked about his past made her wish—no matter her own feelings about him at the moment—he could find the kind of peace that only came from God.

  The next day Monday’s patronage was worse than the weekend. GeorgeAnne was back out there on the sidewalk with her sign, too. And one of the volunteer firefighters joined her. A gangly limbed young man, Kara recognized as Lila Penry’s cousin, Zach.

  His sign said Pie or Die.

  Which seemed overstated, if not also melodramatic. At least, from her point of view.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t bear the idea of laying off her employees. Why is this happening, Lord?

  Over the next few, long, excru
ciating days, she made several observations. Based on her current clientele, the majority of the female population of Truelove appreciated the culinary additions she’d added to the Mason Jar menu. But the men—thank you very much, you traitorous fire chief—did not.

  Including the entire daily breakfast club of ROMEOs—Retired Older Men Eating Out. With the exception of Pops.

  Every day as soon as he dropped Maddox off at preschool, Will’s father arrived to claim his favorite seat, his favorite café au lait, settling in for his daily chat with Glorieta. And on Wednesday after the café closed, dear, loyal Pops brought in Maddox for a previously arranged cooking lesson.

  Seeing the little boy and enjoying his exuberant hugs did much to restore her faith in humanity and her self-esteem as anything else. Spending time with him in the kitchen was a joy. She thoroughly enjoyed icing the cupcakes they baked. And from the buttercream icing he somehow managed to smear all over his face, she believed he did, too.

  Glorieta delayed her return home to Durham. Adding to Kara’s guilt. “Only until the trouble blows over, sugar pie.”

  Which, as the boycott continued, Kara despaired of ever actually happening. Since his abortive text messages over the weekend, she hadn’t heard anything from Will. Apparently, the fire chief had moved on from their failed-to-thrive friendship.

  If that is indeed what she’d felt for him. Past tense. At least she’d discovered his true measure before she’d fallen in love with him.

  Oh really? Sure about that, are you?

  That evening, mindful of the splint, she cradled Soufflé in her lap. “Good riddance to him.”

  Now, if only she could make her heart believe it.

  Later, lonely and filled with nervous energy, she was getting ready to roll out a ball of dough when there was a knock at the back door.

  Soufflé meowed from his crate on the stool.

  Wiping her hands on her cherry blossom apron, Kara twitched aside the lace panel curtain. Her pulse zinged at the sight of the handsome fire chief standing on the stoop.

  “Please, Kara,” he said through the glass pane separating them. “I can’t stand this distance between us.”

  She put her hand to her throat in a vain attempt to slow her breathing and the too-rapid beating of her heart that just seeing him always wrought.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and peered at her through the glass. “Please. Can we talk?”

  Today had been the continuation of the town council’s discussion on the future of the TFD. He looked weary and utterly spent. And so alone.

  The yearning in his voice matched the yearning in her heart, and before she could talk herself out of it, she flung open the door.

  * * *

  When she thrust open the door so forcefully, Will wasn’t sure if he should step inside or beat a hasty retreat.

  Not able to talk to her, he’d endured a miserable week. Knowing she felt hurt and betrayed by him. Akin to what he’d felt when Liz walked away.

  Only this time, he was the one who’d inflicted the pain. And he was ashamed of himself. For not putting a stop to GeorgeAnne’s schemes when he had the chance.

  “Hi.” He flushed. So lame. He tried again. “I’ve come to ask you to forgive me.”

  She frowned. “How did the council meeting go today?”

  He shook his head. “Not good. They postponed the vote for further review.” But if she was concerned about his TFD meeting with the council members, maybe she didn’t totally hate his guts, after all.

  Throughout the week he’d listened hungrily to every morsel of information Maddox and Pops shared about their time with Kara. It was beyond humiliating to admit he was jealous of his three-year-old son and sixty-five-year-old father, but he was.

  It surprised him how much he missed seeing her every day. Laughing with her. Teasing her. And the verbal volleys she never failed to lob his way in response.

  “Since you’re here—” she stepped away from the door “—I guess you might as well come inside.”

  Not the most welcoming invitation he’d ever received, but he’d take what he could get.

  Soufflé meowed in what he interpreted as a greeting. Crate door open, like a king in his palace, the tabby lay stretched on his side with his gimpy leg in a splint.

  “Oh.” He stared at the blob of dough on the floured countertop. “I’ve interrupted you.”

  She put the counter between them. “I can talk and roll out this dough at the same time.” She smacked her fist in the middle of the ball, squashing the dough flat.

  He swallowed, wondering if that was his head she was imagining. “I should’ve done more to head GeorgeAnne off at the pass. I guess I was hoping it would blow over. I had no idea she would show up at the Mason Jar like that.”

  She didn’t say anything. He spent the next few moments watching her roll the dough into a ball and punch it down again. Each time, he winced.

  He inserted a finger inside his collar.

  Brandishing a rolling pin, she cut her eyes at him. “Was the petition your idea?”

  “No. But I allowed myself for the sake of the department to be pressured into being the front man. At the time, I didn’t realize you were the target.”

  She stilled.

  He caught her gaze. “I would never have agreed if I’d realized you were the owner of the Mason Jar.”

  She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of flour.

  He pointed.

  “What?”

  “Your face.”

  She scowled at him. “What’s wrong with my face?”

  “Absolutely nothing, but you’ve got flour on your cheek.” He gulped. “And I’m doing everything in my power to resist touching your beautiful face.” He eyed the rolling pin in her hands. “Since the first day we met, I’ve found you completely irresistible, but right now I fear bodily harm.”

  Her mouth twitched.

  “Be brave, Will MacKenzie.” She laid her hands flat on the wooden counter. “I dare you to get the flour off my face. And I promise I won’t brain you.” She cocked her head. “Wouldn’t want to damage my expensive rolling pin on your hard noggin.”

  Her eyes locked on to his. And this time he saw the invitation he’d waited for. Reaching across the counter, he brushed the flour off the apple of her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

  At the touch of his fingers against her skin, she inhaled sharply. But she didn’t drop her gaze. His heart drummed inside his chest.

  He cupped her face in the palm of his hand. “I missed you, Kara,” he rasped.

  She took a quick, deep, shuddering breath. The way Maddox did after he’d been crying too hard for too long. “I missed you, too,” she whispered.

  A small—growing ever smaller—part of him worried a little at how fundamentally necessary Kara Lockwood had become to his world. But he reasoned it was entirely understandable. It had been three years since he’d looked at a woman. Much less found her companionable and attractive.

  It was okay to admit he was attracted to her. That he liked her, which sounded so high school. But like was as far as he was prepared to go. Could go. And as long as he planted his feet firmly on this side of like, he ought to be fine. Everything under control.

  He tucked back a lock of hair that had come loose from the bun on the back of her head. His hand, seemingly possessing a will of its own, lingered. He stared into her eyes. “Can you forgive me for not being the sort of man you deserve?”

  “I forgive you.” She tilted her head. “What do you want from me, Will?”

  Everything. But he didn’t say that. Once erected, barricades weren’t so easily deconstructed.

  “I’d like to spend more time with you, Kara.”

  She looked at him. “I’d like that, too. Have you eaten dinner?”

  He leaned on the co
unter. “You don’t have to feed me every time I see you.”

  She scraped the dough off the wooden butcher block and threw it into a bin. “Overworked,” she said to his raised eyebrow. “And I like feeding you. So let me.”

  His mouth curved. “I can do that.”

  “Good.” She drew out a skillet from a bottom cabinet. “Nothing fancy. How about crêpes?” She threw him a mischievous grin over her shoulder.

  “Can I help?”

  She looked up at him. “I’d like that. More than I can say.”

  Him, too.

  She pulled a container out of the fridge. “I mixed up the batter earlier. It’s been chilling for about an hour. But I’d lost my appetite until just now.” She buttered the skillet and turned on the gas burner.

  Kara poured a small amount of batter into the pan and did a twirling motion, stretching the batter to the edges of the skillet.

  “So it’s like a really thin pancake?”

  “Watch this.” She winked. “You might want to back up a step.” Gripping the handle, she gave the skillet a huge circular shake and flipped the crêpe. “Voilà!”

  He grinned. “Now you’re just showing off.”

  “The higher you flip it, the longer the time you have to catch it.” She laughed. “It’s all in the wrist.”

  Using up the rest of the batter, she made a nice stack of the delicate-as-lace crêpes. “Now we add filling. This is where you can help me. You can be my sous-chef.”

  Working alongside her, he added bits of tomato, bacon, chopped ham and sprigs of parsley. Their shoulders touched, and occasionally his hand brushed hers. Which was okay.

  More than okay.

  They sat across from each other in the small breakfast nook. She’d managed to make even her version of a simple meal an elegant affair. While they ate, they chatted about favorite things.

  He glanced around the cozy kitchen. She was renting the house from Bridger’s mom. But somehow Kara’s little touches made it look like a real home. “How is Soufflé?”

  Scraping back her chair, she took his plate over to the sink. “The tabby had a follow-up with the veterinarian this week. Dr. Abernathy thinks the splint can come off soon.”