“I think so, but I’ll take a look tomorrow. I’m too tired tonight.”
“Tired? It’s eight twenty-seven. What’s wrong with you? Are you sick? Did you turn eighty since you’ve been away?”
Charlie snuggled down into the pillows and filled her in on everything that had happened since her return home. Including her new job and her run-ins—that’s how she was looking at them—with Emma.
“Emma’s in town?” Lily knew all about their history, the good and the bad. “I thought she went off to culinary school and was like you, never wanted to go back to Small Town, USA.”
Charlie’s memory tossed her an image of Celia Grier—Emma’s mom—sitting at the bar that first day Charlie walked in, slightly overserved, kind of loud and floppy. She also remembered Amber’s cryptic explanation for why Emma was in town. “Emma’s mother has always had some issues. From what I can tell, Emma decided not to leave her here on her own. I guess. I’m not sure.”
“You didn’t ask her?”
Charlie snorted. “Yeah, I’m not exactly her favorite person.” She told Lily about work, about the pie, about Emma eating right from the middle.
Lily’s laugh blasted through the phone like a gunshot. “Oh my God, that’s such a dick move. And also kind of awesome, if you think about it.”
“Shut up.” Charlie had been trying not to think about it. “It was definitely a dick move.”
“Does she know why you’re back?”
“Not from me.”
Nose scrunched, lips pursed. That was Lily’s thinking face and Charlie pictured it. “Yeah, that’s a subject that might take some…finesse.”
A yawn cranked Charlie’s mouth open. “I am way too beat to finesse anything. I forgot how tiring it is to be on your feet for nine hours a day.”
“God bless the desk job, amirite?”
A grunt was Charlie’s response.
“You gonna talk to her?”
“Like, give her details?” While Charlie’s tone said, That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, her head—she realized in that moment—had been leaning a little bit in that very direction: actually trying to have a conversation with Emma.
“Is that dumb?”
“I don’t know.” She really didn’t. Her energy reserves were so low at that point that thinking about anything beyond watching something mindless on Netflix and drifting off to sleep was just not possible.
She managed to keep herself awake and even engage with Lily for a while longer. Lily caught her up on her job, her new boyfriend, and her tentative plans for taking a long weekend to visit Shaker Falls because she missed her bestie. Charlie had to admit, that was nice. Out of sight, out of mind seemed to be the running theme back in New York, and she’d actually started to think about her marketing career as her previous life. That’s what it felt like, so long ago and so far away. But Lily was a tie to that old life. Proof that Charlie hadn’t dreamed up the past five years, that they actually did happen.
By the time they finally hung up, it was closing in on nine thirty, and Charlie felt the slightest bit better turning off the lights and clicking on an old episode of Gossip Girl on Netflix. She propped her laptop next to her on the bed and settled in.
The alarm was going to go off in six and a half hours, and then she was going to do it all over again.
Chapter Eight
Charlie was a week into her new job, but she still had mornings of complete disorientation when her alarm went off. Like, she didn’t know where she was, what time it was, why there was an alarm, and who was it waking up in what was technically still the middle of the night? She groaned every time when she realized it was all for her.
Showering at night would have been a smart use of her time, so she wouldn’t have to in the morning and could sleep for an extra few minutes, but standing under the water that early went a long way toward helping her wake up and almost function. So she took a quick one, got dressed, and headed quietly up to the kitchen.
Sherry’s presence startled her, and she stumbled on the last step.
“God, you scared me,” Charlie said quietly as she pressed a hand to her chest and recovered. Sherry was pouring coffee into a travel mug, and Charlie felt certain she had seen exactly this picture before. “I’m having déjà vu,” she said with a grin. When Sherry didn’t respond, Charlie asked, “Why are you up so early?”
“I’m assisting in a surgery first thing and want to prepare.”
“Really? That’s so cool.” Charlie grabbed herself a mug from the cabinet.
Sherry screwed the top on her mug and shouldered her bag. “See ya.”
“Bye.” Charlie gave a half-hearted wave as dejection sat on her shoulders. Okay, it was obvious they needed to talk, she and her sister. Something was on Sherry’s mind and she’d never been one to just give it up. You had to move in slowly, crowbar in hand, and pry it out of her little by little. And sometimes, it was freaking exhausting. She’d been that way her entire life, and there’d been a time when Charlie was pretty good at getting her to talk. She wondered now if she still had the skill. Then she wondered at the fact that they were both adults, and why in the world should she have to work so hard to get her sister to say what she was thinking? She sighed loudly in the empty kitchen. That was just it—Sherry was her sister, and Charlie didn’t like the weird cold shoulder she’d been getting from her. If she wanted to find out the reason, she was going to have to ask.
With a shake of her head, Charlie filled her own cup with coffee, doctored it up. It was too hot to take a slug, but she did it anyway because four fifteen a.m. was insanely early and she was practically sleepwalking. She needed that blast of caffeine, the sooner, the better.
The smell of Sandy’s cinnamon rolls? A lovely thing to be greeted by in the morning, Charlie decided as she walked into The Muffin Top, and it perked her right up. Not fully—hello, four thirty a.m.—but it helped her feel a little bit less like a zombie, especially after shoving one of the rolls directly into her face.
The morning rush was similar to the day before. Many of the same faces. Three people asking Sandy when she was going to start serving coffee. One sophisticated older gentleman with a goatee and a gorgeous head of silver hair chatting Sandy up for longer than necessary. Charlie and Bethany exchanged a knowing look over that. Later, when the usual lull came, Sandy pulled Charlie aside.
“I know you talked about the whole coffee thing. Do you think you could do some research on it? Give me pros and cons or…something?” She made a face that said she was uneducated in this arena. Luckily for her, Charlie thought, I am not.
“I’d love to,” Charlie said, enthusiasm hitting her suddenly and all at once. This was right in her wheelhouse. Unexpected excitement bubbled up. “It’s what I do.”
“Great. No hurry. Just when you get around to it.”
“You got it.”
“Ready to make some pie?”
“Absolutely. Suggestions?” Charlie was surprised to find herself actually looking forward to it.
“It looks sunny and gorgeous out today. Let’s try a lemon meringue, and then you can surprise me the next time. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Lemon meringue pie was pretty straightforward and simple, basically a lot of eggs and a lot of lemon. Which was not to say it was easy to make, because it could actually be a little finicky, Charlie knew. You could make the filling too watery, which would make the crust soggy. Your meringue could be too thin or not stiff enough. There were lots of variables in what was actually a pretty basic pie as far as ingredients went. She was thrilled to find fresh lemons in the fridge, as they made the taste of the pie so much brighter than bottled lemon juice did—she’d made it both ways. She separated the eggs while they were still cold from the fridge, then let them sit for a bit to get to room temperature while she worked on the crust.
“Hey, can you make three today?” Sandy asked from the cookie workstation, where she was mixing dough and Bethany was frosting half-moon
cookies as big around as a small plate.
With a nod, Charlie added more ingredients to her bowl of piecrust dough and got to work.
It was when she was making her meringue that she felt Bethany behind her, watching as she used Sandy’s fancy bakery-issue stand mixer to beat the egg whites and cream of tartar until soft peaks started to form. Then she added the sugar and the salt and let it beat some more.
“Oh, it’s getting all shiny,” Bethany breathed, clearly engrossed.
“That’s what I want,” Charlie told her. When it was finished, she began spreading the cloud-like white meringue over the still warm lemon filling already in the piecrust.
“You don’t have to let it cool?” Bethany asked.
“Nope. You want to spread the meringue while things are still warm, and you want to spread it all the way to the crust, so it seals the lemon filling in and doesn’t separate.” Charlie did so while Bethany watched, then made some decorative peaks with the back of her spatula. “There.”
“How do you know how to do all of this?” Bethany seemed almost in awe. “I mean, I’ve worked here for a while, but I need to follow recipes and be super careful. You’re like one of those bakers on TV who never have to look up anything.”
“Well, I used to be able to make pretty much any pie without following a recipe. I had them memorized because I baked with my grandma all the time, and stuff just kind of sticks in your brain. But I’ve been in the city for almost five years, so…” She held up the recipe and fanned it around. “I’m a little rusty.”
The bakery never smelled anything but tempting and delicious, and that day, she filled the air with the lovely warm scent of lemons. Three pies went into the oven. They’d only take about a half hour, and she watched carefully to make sure the meringue toasted but didn’t burn.
The bell over the door tinkled, and a glance at the clock told Charlie it was very possibly a lunch delivery from EG’s. And sure enough, the redheaded girl—Jules, right?—came bouncing in like Tigger, bag in hand. Charlie came out from the back and stood near the counter.
“Hi, Sandy,” Jules said, her voice super cheerful. What I wouldn’t give to bottle just a fraction of her exuberance, Charlie thought. Then she gave Charlie a nod and a huge smile. “Hi. I’m Jules.” She held her hand out and they shook as Charlie introduced herself. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Ooh,” Sandy said, drawing out the word as Jules pulled containers from the bag. “What do we have today?”
“Wild mushroom risotto.”
Three containers this time instead of two. Wasn’t that interesting?
Sandy opened one and inhaled deeply. “God, that smells amazing.”
“Make sure you tell Emma that. She’s a little frazzled today.”
“Oh yeah? How come? Everything okay?” Sandy dug a spoon into the risotto, tasted it, and her eyes closed as she savored it.
“She said she was out too late last night.” Jules glanced at the two customers at the table by the window and leaned over the counter more. She lowered her voice and added, “I think she was out with a girl because Sabrina didn’t look very happy when she came in.”
“Who’s Sabrina?” Charlie asked before she could think twice about it.
“She’s a bartender at EG’s,” Sandy supplied. “Nice girl.”
“She really is,” Jules said, still keeping her voice down. “But I think she wants more than being Emma’s flavor of the month.”
“They’ve had a thing,” Sandy whispered to Charlie. “Emma’s gay.”
It took all Charlie’s willpower to keep from bursting out laughing, because if anybody knew Emma was gay, it was certainly her. Instead, she just nodded.
“So much drama,” Jules said, then shrugged and smiled. “What can you do?”
“Tell Emma not to worry. The risotto is fabulous.” Sandy held up a spoonful before putting it into her mouth.
“Will do. And she said to send more pie.” With that, Jules bounced out of the bakery, and Charlie stood there blinking as her words hung in the air like the scent of the brownies in the oven.
Emma said to send more pie.
“You hear that?” Sandy asked, big smile on her face as she pushed playfully at Charlie. “More pie.”
“I wasn’t sure if she liked it,” she said honestly as she recalled Emma chewing, analyzing, criticizing. “She asked me if I’d ever been to…” What was the name again? She searched her brain for the other bakery Emma had mentioned to her. Taunted her with, really. “Mama Jo’s? Does that sound right? Said I should check it out.”
Sandy made a face. “Ugh. That woman.”
Charlie caught Bethany’s eye behind Sandy’s back and raised her eyebrows in question. “Do I smell some healthy competition?”
Bethany snorted at the same time Sandy laughed bitterly. “If I had to guess, I’d say maybe forty percent of her inventory is made on the premises. Maybe.”
“Really? What about her pie?”
“Frozen.” Bethany was putting whoopie pies in the display case, and she spoke without looking up.
“Trucked in from Burlington or some such place.” Sandy rolled her eyes. Then she put the last bite of her risotto into her mouth and seemed to study Charlie for a moment. “If Emma told you to go to Mama Jo’s, she was yanking your chain, you know.”
Charlie felt her eyes widen a bit, as she hadn’t considered that. “She was?”
“Absolutely. If you knew Emma, you’d know she hates pretty much anything that isn’t made from scratch. Or mostly from scratch.”
If she knew Emma. An interesting choice of words, that, and a pretty large clue that Sandy didn’t know about her past with Emma, that her mom hadn’t said anything. She couldn’t decide if she was grateful for that or a little bit disappointed.
Everybody got back to work, and before Charlie knew it, it was time to clock out. Sandy had boxed up two of her pies and put the third in the display case. It hadn’t lasted past noon, which made Charlie ridiculously happy.
“Take these over to EG’s and you’re free.” Sandy handed her the boxes. “See you tomorrow.”
Charlie nodded. She’d agreed to work a few hours every other Saturday. So much for this being a part-time gig, right? She sighed quietly as she headed out the front door, pies in hand.
* * *
Definitely attractive. In kind of a sultry way. A little mysterious.
It wasn’t really surprising that Charlie studied the bartender a lot more closely this visit. Sabrina. She didn’t really look like a Sabrina, though she wasn’t really sure what somebody who looked like a Sabrina would actually look like, so that was kind of an odd thought to have.
Sabrina was pretty. Charlie had to admit that. Taller than her. Taller than Emma as well. Brown hair that she’d pulled back into a messy bun. Her build was thin, long limbs and fingers, few curves, but she was quite attractive. She didn’t seem at all like Emma’s type. And as soon as that thought chugged through Charlie’s brain, she realized that maybe she had no idea what Emma’s type was now. When they were together, she liked lighter hair, an athletic build. Maybe her tastes had changed. I mean, really, how would I know?
Sabrina seemed slightly less cheerful when she greeted Charlie this time than she had last time, and there was a glint of melancholy in her dark eyes. “Hi, there,” she said. Indicating the boxes with her chin, she asked, “Pie?”
Charlie gave a nod but, for some strange reason, felt less compelled to flee this time, so she just stood there.
“Emma!”
The shout did not come from Sabrina, and they both flinched at the sound of it, went wide-eyed with surprise. Charlie turned to see Celia Grier sitting on the same stool she’d occupied during her first visit.
Emma burst out of the kitchen then, the swinging door flapping behind her. “Mom,” she hissed, quietly enough so Charlie almost didn’t hear her. “How many times have I told you, you can’t be yelling like that in here?”
“I wasn’t yelling,�
�� Celia said, and it wasn’t until she reached for the glass in front of her on the bar and missed it completely that Charlie realized she was much drunker than the last time. Emma noticed her then, and an obvious shot of shame flashed across her face. Charlie’s heart squeezed in her chest as old memories of helping Emma take care of her mother came flooding back.
“You were, and you need to go home now, okay?” Emma’s voice had gone gentler as she helped Celia off the stool, catching her arm as she almost went down to the floor like a rag doll, counting on legs that didn’t work as well as she’d apparently expected.
“I need my purse,” Celia said, grabbing for the bag on the hook under the bar. When she glanced up and her eyes met Charlie’s, she gave her a weak smile. “There you are, Charlie. I knew you’d be back.”
Charlie didn’t stop to think. She simply set the pie boxes down on the bar and took the few steps toward them.
Emma raised a hand, like Charlie was a car and she was a traffic cop, and Charlie stopped in her tracks. “No,” Emma said. Her voice was quiet as she glanced quickly around the restaurant, presumably to see who was watching. “I don’t need your help.”
They stung, those words, and Charlie swallowed. It didn’t matter that she understood them. It didn’t even matter that, deep down, she’d expected them. They still felt like a slice from a razor blade. Her shoulders dropped and she was startled by how deflated she suddenly felt as she stood there and watched Emma guide her mother through the swinging kitchen doors and out of sight. And then she stood for a moment longer.
With a grimace, she turned back to Sabrina, whose expression, rather than appearing at all empathetic, just seemed annoyed. She shook her head as she caught Charlie’s eye. “That woman. I don’t know how—or why—Emma puts up with it.”
There was so much Charlie could’ve said right then. So many things she knew that Sabrina very obviously did not. And she wanted to. She should have. She wanted to put that bitch right in her place. But her mind tossed her an image of Emma’s upheld hand, the tone of her voice as she told Charlie she didn’t need her help, how it was filled with so many things, none of them happy, and so she clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to add to Emma’s embarrassment.
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