The Sweetest Match

by Abby Tyler

  Carter had dated a lot since arriving two years ago. He had to know something.

  Carter retreated from the depths of the refrigerator holding a Tupperware container. As he heated it up, Andrew asked, “You going to eat that in here?”

  “Sure,” Carter said, peering inside the microwave. “Just give me a sec.”

  The other two women seemed engrossed in their own conversation, so Andrew figured it was safe enough to talk about Sandy. He folded up the wrapping from his sandwich and glanced at the clock. He still had a good fifteen minutes.

  Carter sat down beside him. The intense odor of broccoli and cauliflower and other steamed vegetables overpowered what was left of the smell of Andrew’s sandwich.

  “Well, you know how to eat healthy,” Andrew said.

  Carter shoved his fork into the collection of vegetables.

  “Comes with the territory. Can’t ask the team to eat right if you’re holding a corn dog.” He stabbed a piece of broccoli. “So what’s up? Rumor has it you’ve been hanging out with that girl who used to go to high school here.”

  Well, that was easy. “Yeah, but it’s a little complicated.”

  Carter pointed at him with a forkful of zucchini. “How so? She likes you. You like her. Sounds pretty simple to me.”

  “Do you know what happened to her eighteen years ago?” Andrew asked.

  “I heard she had a kid. Dropped out. What’s that got to do with you?” He paused, his eyebrow lifting. “You’re not the secret baby daddy, are you?”

  “No, no,” Andrew said. He thought everyone knew it was Jerry Lavinski, but then Carter hadn’t grown up here. “It was a guy we went to high school with.”

  “I thought he denied it. That there was more than one.”

  Andrew tensed up. Those rumors needed to die right now.

  “They were wrong. Everybody in this town did wrong by her.”

  “Okay, okay,” Carter said. “I believe you over the rumor mill, for sure.”

  “It’s all started up again?”

  “Just among the trouble makers. I don’t take any stock in it. You do you, dude.”

  “You see why it’s complicated then, though, right?”

  “I guess. Were you friends with this Jerry guy?”

  “No way.”

  Carter chewed thoughtfully. “And you’re positive it was him? This town is sort of small for him to get away with something like that.”

  “She was really into him,” Andrew said. “But it’s not like I can ask her.”

  “Why not?”

  “She moved out of town and avoided all of us for eighteen years over it. I doubt she wants me to bring it up.”

  “It’s going to get in the way. I’d do it now before things get harder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that secrets have a way of pushing people apart.”

  Andrew turned his water bottle around and around on the table. “I don’t know how to approach her with it. Or when. I’m not sure how to ask her out, either. And if she says no, what do I do then? Let it rest?”

  “I can help on that part,” Carter said. “Go easy. Figure out something that she really wants to do, and give her the opportunity to do it with you. It’s really as simple as that. If you know her, even a little bit, and it sounds like you know her a lot, you probably know what she likes. Start with that. Not like a date. But the two of you doing something you both want to do.”

  “Is that how it started for you and Ginny?” Andrew asked.

  “Oh, no, the town forced me to help her with her dog.”

  “Betty and company are throwing us together at every opportunity,” Andrew said.

  Carter shoved the last scrape of vegetables in his mouth and swallowed quickly. “I gotta run. But let me tell you, this town seems to know things. I wouldn’t have believed it before. But I believe it now.”

  “You really think so?”

  Carter stood up. “I’d bet my team on it. They recognize something you don’t know. So just go with it. Ask her to something. You only miss the shots you don’t take.”

  When Carter left, Andrew took his time tossing his trash and heading back to his room. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Carter had said. About the secret. And the date.

  Keep it simple. Just ask her.

  And find something that Sandy would already want to do, and do it with her.

  But what puzzled him most of all was what Carter said about the town. What did they see that they weren’t telling?

  Chapter 9

  As Andrew walked the few blocks of Town Square toward Betty’s tea shop, he practiced what he planned to say to Sandy over and over again.

  What he would be asking her to do wasn’t small. But he felt the need to go big on this. It seemed that everything they had done together since reconnecting had been related to the centennial event or some excuse the old ladies of Applebottom had put together to get them in the same room.

  This one would just be all him. It was nerve-racking, truth be told. He hadn’t asked a woman out in years.

  Not that he never had. He’d dated some smart young women during his seven-year stint getting his doctorate in history.

  Unfortunately, all of them had strong aspirations and ultimately left to pursue careers.

  Andrew had loved his time at Mizzou, caught up in the culture, the rigor of study, and the people he could talk to at great length about the subjects that interested him the most — history, art, philosophy, civilization, government. All the women he had dated met those criteria in spades, but he admitted that the romance side of things had taken a backseat to their intense conversations.

  Perhaps that was the reason his heart never felt broken when they inevitably went to pursue tenure at some far-flung university or take sabbaticals to other countries.

  On one of his trips two years ago, he’d even visited one, curious if he could rekindle anything they felt as undergraduates.

  But nothing that happened changed either of their minds about their current paths. Andrew was committed to staying in Applebottom, seeing to his mother and helping the town grow from its rural roots into a more open-minded, civil community.

  He tried not to be uppity or snooty or pretend that he knew more important things than they did. Applebottom had its own pursuits. Certainly no one could surpass Gertrude and Maude with the alchemy they used to create pies. And Delilah had turned a doggy bakery into something akin to a movement on behalf of all the animals, both domestic and wild, that lived in the Table Rock Lake area.

  Even Arnold, with his barber shears and traditional candy-striped pole, made sure he was up-to-date on the latest hairstyles for men, no matter what the background, ethnicity, or hair type. And he didn’t judge Fierce when she showed up wanting to shave one side of her head.

  It was a good town, and a good place to live. His father had raised his family there. Andrew hadn’t been held back in any way. And there was something about having a community when you needed it. His mother certainly had. The loss of his father had sent her into a spiral. Sadie had started a quilting circle for no other reason than to get his mother to join.

  As he approached Betty’s tea shop to ask Sandy to go on an excursion with him, he realized something important. When she quit Applebottom high school, pregnant and shunned, it had left a hole in him.

  He’d cared about Sandy Miller from the start.

  And today, hopefully, would be the first day that he would be able to take the opportunity to show it.

  The door jingled. Betty looked up in surprise. “Andrew McCallister, what a joy to see you. I guess you came for your book?” She glanced over to the corner. Andrew had already spotted Sandy at her table, decorating a large rectangular cake.

  “No, I forgot all about it.”

  “Good. Because I don’t have it here.” His answer seemed to please Betty intensely, and he sensed Sandy shifting in her chair in the corner. Now she knew he was there just for her.

  He glan
ced up at the clock. “Time to make your pimento cheese spread again?” he asked.

  Betty’s eyebrows shot up. He’d called her out.

  She stepped down from her tall stool. “I reckon I better get to it.”

  “I’ll take one of those when you’re done.”

  She tilted her white-topped head at him. “Now, Andrew, I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and you’ve never once eaten one of my pimento cheese sandwiches. You take turkey on wheat.”

  “Maybe it’s time to expand my horizons,” he said.

  “All right. Probably time to convert you anyway.” She headed to the back, leaving him and Sandy alone.

  Andrew approached the table. The cake appeared to be a battle of many brightly colored blobs.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “What’s this?”

  Sandy turned a printed piece of paper around so that he could see it.

  “A Pokémon battle,” she said. “I wondered when I was going to get a cake order like this.”

  “I used to trade those cards.”

  “Everybody did. Apparently it’s still a thing.”

  “Pokémon will never die.”

  “And not on my battlefield,” she said. “I’m dropping in the body shapes right now so I can block it out.”

  “They couldn’t get a licensed cake from some grocery store in Branson?”

  “They could, and they should. But this mom likes to support her local tea shop.” Sandy shrugged. “I’ll do it. It’s something different.”

  She turned the page back around to face her. After studying it a moment, she picked up a palette of sorts, smearing some pink and brown frosting together to create a dull flesh tone.

  “What’s that one?” Andrew asked.

  “Something called a Cleffa,” Sandy said.

  “There are so many. I could never keep track past a Squirtle and Charmander.”

  “I had to create a cheat sheet.”

  He watched with fascination as she swiftly filled a small bag and piped in a perfect shape, round on the bottom and pointed at the top. She picked up a dark brown bag of frosting and added a triangle to each side.

  “Star-shaped,” she said before he could ask.

  “I don’t think I would have the patience for this,” he said.

  “I like the details and the textures. I’ve learned a lot working here. It’s not just frosting and fondant. I can make things with hard shells, or crunchy or glittery or paper thin. I’ve even gotten to work a little bit with gold leaf.”

  “You can eat that?”

  “Oh, yes. You can get 24-karat edible leaf. I don’t even want to think about the digestive process.”

  “You can put anything on a cake to make the art, I guess.”

  “Just about.”

  She’d provided him an opening. He opened his mouth to ask the question, but the words didn’t come. He realized he was shuffling his feet and forced himself to stand still.

  Finally, she looked up. “Did you have something you needed? Is everything okay with the committee?”

  He needed to act. His courage was fleeing fast.

  “I called over to the University of Missouri yesterday,” he said in a rush. “This professor I used to know was still there. He’s pretty famous for his mixed-media art. It just like what you’re talking about. Textures and various techniques to make three-dimensional art.”

  Sandy paused with her bag of frosting, leaving the Pokémon with only one eye. Or maybe it only needed one eye. He didn’t know.

  “I know what mixed-media means,” she said carefully.

  He was botching this. Should he quit or keep trying?

  He pressed on. “I’ve been meaning to go up there and visit, and I thought you might want to come. To see his work. The mixed-media, I mean. Since you were so interested in all the textures on your cakes. I thought it might help.”

  His words all ran together. He sounded like he was seventeen again. He hadn’t gotten any smoother at this, despite earning three degrees and delivering thousands of lectures.

  Sandy set down her frosting. “Are you asking me to go to Columbia with you? That’s a four-hour drive each way.”

  “It is far,” he said. “I know you may be too busy to do something like that.”

  “When?”

  “I was thinking about the holiday on Monday.”

  Sandy picked up the bag of frosting and added a second eye to the Pokémon. “Are you asking me for personal reasons or professional ones? For the centennial cake?”

  He didn’t know which one was the correct answer. His entire body felt on fire as he tried to figure out the right thing to say.

  Then he remembered Carter’s advice. Keep it simple.

  “I thought it might be a fun outing for us.”

  At that, Clementine let out a single sharp bark in the back, and Betty shushed her.

  The town was always listening.

  Sandy glanced at the door. “I’m sure she’s dying for my answer,” she whispered.

  Andrew leaned in. “We should totally mess with her by having a big argument.”

  Sandy giggled. “You’re terrible.”

  She sat up straighter. “Andrew! You are much too forward! What will I ever do with my reputation after your outrageous overture?”

  She almost dissolved into giggles again, but covered her mouth and held them in.

  “I meant no offense, Lady Miller,” Andrew announced. “Perhaps one of the fair dowagers of this shire will be willing to serve as chaperone to protect your virtue.”

  Sandy could barely get her words out over her laughter. “But you have a closed carriage!”

  Now Andrew could barely get a sentence out. “I suppose I could rent a convertible.”

  And that was it. They both dissolved into laughter.

  Betty came out from the back, holding her small white poodle. “All right you two. Fun’s over. Sandy, you take the day off so you can make your little expedition to Columbia.” She fixed her beady eyes on Andrew. “Without a chaperone.”

  She turned on her heel and stomped back to the kitchen.

  “Sounds like the boss told you to go,” he said.

  “Is Monday okay for your friend?”

  “I’ll check with River,” Andrew said.

  “River? Do you mean River Montgomery?”

  “Exactly. He also teaches in the art department at Mizzou.”

  Sandy pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’ve seen all his work. But only in pictures. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to see them up close. A photograph doesn’t do justice to mixed-media, not ever.”

  “Well, we’re going to his house,” he said. “Probably most of the things we’ll see have never been in magazines. It’s his private collection.”

  Sandy looked as though she might faint. “Yes, I’ll go. Definitely.”

  Andrew stood up a little straighter. He’d done it. “I’ll let you know what time works out Monday,” he said.

  Sandy’s cheeks were still pink. “Okay. I can’t wait.”

  And now, neither could he.

  Chapter 10

  When Andrew rolled up to Sandy’s house in a cherry-red open-topped convertible, she couldn’t believe it.

  She’d been watching from her window, not really wanting Andrew to come inside her sad little house. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want Andrew to see how pitiful her life had been out in the woods all those years.

  Especially not if he was going to pull up in a flashy sports car.

  She had no complaints. The house was sturdy and strong. The roof only leaked in the kitchen. And it had sheltered Sandy and her son through more than just weather. It had been their home in their darkest days.

  But it was nothing she was proud of.

  Maybe one day she would have enough cake money to fix up the inside, give it a paint job and a real floor and toss the ancient furniture, half of which was propped up on stacks of magazines. But not yet.

 
Andrew killed the engine and stepped out of the car. It was so low to the ground, sleek and shiny, that he towered over it.

  She snatched up her bag and hurried to step out the door.

  “If you’re trying to protect my virtue with an open-topped carriage,” Sandy called, “I don’t think this one is going to work!”

  He approached her on her doorstep. “It’s not my actual car. I rented it. I thought it might be sort of hilarious. And to be truthful, there might have been a small part of me that wanted to roll up to River Montgomery’s house in something a little flashier than my Honda Accord.”

  She elbowed him with a laugh. “Is that your pride talking, Mr. McCallister, Applebottom’s most lettered history teacher?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Sandy turned to lock her door. “Well, I will guard your secret with my life.”

  Then she paused. “Is this like one of those historical novels where you need a wife with a title to make a good impression on your old school chum?”

  “No, no,” he said with a chuckle. “The car is as far as I’m taking it.”

  He extended his elbow, and she slid her arm through it. As a slow warmth spread through her body from where they touched, she realized she hadn’t had this much fun in forever. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time.

  Maybe there had been moments, playing on the floor with Caden when he was small, or when he said something funny or cute.

  But certainly the optimism that flooded her in Andrew’s presence was new.

  It made her feel hopeful, like the world was opening wide.

  Andrew opened the passenger door for her, and she slid onto the cool leather.

  “It’s so fancy,” she said.

  He circled the car to his side. “I know. It took me ten minutes to figure out how to turn on the radio.”

  Sandy buckled her seatbelt and smoothed down her simple black skirt. She had tried to walk the line between casual and dressy, not having any clue what sort of day they were in for.

  Her sweater was simple, fuzzy with a bit of sparkle in the thread. Her only pair of earrings, tiny silver teardrops, gave her a finished feeling.