“What a day,” Bethany said. “That was insane. I don’t think there was a point since we opened this morning that there hasn’t been at least one person in here.”
“That’s a good thing,” Charlie said.
“That’s a very good thing,” Sandy added, her dimples made prominent by her relieved smile.
“I’m ready to take these over,” Charlie said, indicating the boxes. “You wanted to see me first?”
“Oh!” Sandy said, as if just remembering. “Yes. Come with me.” Sandy led her through the kitchen and into the very back of the store. Sandy called it her office, but really it was just an old metal desk pushed into a corner with a laptop on the surface and papers scattered around. “Have a seat.” Sandy indicated the desk chair, then leaned her butt against the edge of the desk.
Charlie sat down, crossed her legs, and looked expectantly at Sandy. The look on her face was hard to read, a mix of hesitation, concern, excitement. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Oh God, no. Not at all. The opposite, actually.”
Charlie narrowed her eyes. “Okay.” She drew the word out.
Sandy took a deep breath and blew it out in a loud puff. “I’ve decided to move forward with the addition of the coffee. I’m going to rent the rest of the building and expand.”
Charlie jumped out of her chair. “Oh my God! That’s amazing! When?”
“Well, I’m going to take the weekend to let it all sink in and make sure I don’t panic, and then I thought I’d get the ball rolling next week. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Charlie nodded. “Sure. What can I help with?”
“So.” Sandy found a metal folding chair leaning against the wall and opened it, and they both took a seat so they were eye to eye. “I can do this. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time now, and I think the expansion is only going to help The Muffin Top be more successful. I mean, Shaker Falls isn’t that big, so being successful has its limits here.” She made air quotes around the word successful. “I’m also in my midforties. Which means I’m no spring chicken.”
Charlie waved a dismissive hand. “Please. You have more energy than some of the twentysomethings I know.”
Sandy grinned. “True. But my point is, I’m going to need some help. I’d love it if that help came from you.”
She was not expecting this. “Me?”
“It’s your business plan. Who knows it better than you? You’re young and you’re hip and you know how to reach a wider demographic than I do. And if you come on board with me permanently, we would talk down the line about you partnering with me. Becoming part owner.”
Charlie sat back in her chair, thoroughly astonished. “Wow. I…I don’t know what to say.” She had not seen any of this coming. At all. Stunned didn’t begin to describe how she was feeling in that moment. Proud. Nervous. Excited. Worried. All.
As if sensing her shock, Sandy put a hand on Charlie’s knee. “Listen, you don’t have to say anything right now. I know it’s a lot to take in. Just think about it. Take the weekend. Take all next week. I’m going to take the next steps anyway, but I’d love it if you’d be my wing-woman of sorts. You know?” Her smile was gentle, slightly tentative, like she didn’t want to push Charlie, but also definitely wanted to push her. “Mull it over.”
Charlie nodded slowly. “I will. I promise.”
“Good.” Sandy patted Charlie’s knee, then stood. “Now get those pies across to Emma and go home. It’s Friday. Go do something fun.”
With a smile and another nod, Charlie stood and headed out into the bakery where she scooped up her pies and walked them slowly across the street.
In front of EG’s, she turned and looked at The Muffin Top along with the empty shop next to it, and she pictured it expanded, taking up both storefronts. All pink and new and filled with people, the scents of fresh muffins and roasting coffee beans wafting down the street, drawing customers in by their noses and their growling tummies.
Charlie laughed softly at the image, and as she stood there, it occurred to her what she was actually seeing: another possible future for herself. A possible future she’d never even considered before.
What to do about that?
* * *
Friday’s special was prime rib. Emma didn’t serve it often because it was a lot of prep to get it just right, but it always brought in a crowd and sold well, so it was worth the extra work. It was midafternoon, and Alec already had some of the meat slow-roasting; the kitchen smelled like heaven. Most people preferred their prime rib medium, but Emma wanted to make sure there was enough rare, for those with a more discerning palate, and a bit that was more well done, for those outliers who had no idea how to enjoy beef, so she’d helped Alec with the prep and now checked it regularly.
She’d hired three extra staff members for the weekends over the summer—two waitstaff and one cook—and they were due in by three o’clock. The bar was already abuzz with happy hour folks who’d bailed out of work a little early, and the atmosphere at EG’s was one of fun and relief and weekend anticipation. For Emma, Fridays were all of those things, along with a higher level of stress, but she didn’t mind. She fed off it—it energized her.
It also helped her focus on things that were not the super cute girl across the street baking pie. That girl had been taking up way too much of her headspace, and she’d take any distraction she could because Dani’s words had hit her hard and hadn’t left. In fact, they’d taken up residence in her brain. Pitched a tent. Started a campfire. Brought the makings for s’mores.
That kiss, though.
Right next to the camp where Dani’s words had moved in was The Kiss. Side by side, they sat there in her mind and poked at each other, first one, then the other. Think about me! No, me! It made her edgy. Touchy. She’d snarked at Alec earlier in the week for no good reason. She’d returned Dani’s texts, but only with abrupt, one- or two-word responses. Her patience with her mother was in the toilet, as proven by the fact that there were six unanswered texts from her on her phone at that very moment.
Emma felt like she was going a little mad.
Which was probably why, when she pushed through the swinging door to the dining room and saw Charlie coming into the restaurant with three pie boxes in her arms and that hesitant smile on her face—the hesitation Emma had put there, she knew, from her avoidance of Charlie all week—her coping skills completely bottomed out, and she was unable to keep the frustration at bay.
That hesitant smile melted right off Charlie’s face. Emma watched it happen, felt a twinge in her gut at the sight, as Charlie sort of stutter-stepped toward the bar. Like she was afraid.
“Hey,” Charlie said, bowing her head a bit. “Brought you pie.”
“Great.” Emma slid her palms down the sides of her chef’s coat. “Listen, tell Sandy it’s time to write up a proper order form. I want to pay for these.”
A small glimmer appeared in Charlie’s hazel eyes, but the hesitation was still there. “I can do that. She’ll be happy.” She put the boxes on the bar. “Today was blueberry day. They’re in season, so very fresh. Also, one apple. I mixed it up for you.”
“Great. Thanks.” She wished she had something to do, but she couldn’t remember why she’d come out of the kitchen in the first place.
They stood there awkwardly, until Charlie seemed to find some strength. She sighed and smiled, this time not so hesitantly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Sunday.” And there was that blush again.
Emma wanted to grin back. Wanted to tell Charlie the truth, which was she hadn’t stopped thinking about Sunday either. But then Dani’s voice started shouting things in her head. Selfish! Unreliable! She broke your heart! And Emma just couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Instead of smiling, she shook her head.
“I can’t do this with you, Charlie. Not again. Sunday shouldn’t have happened.” She was careful not to look at Charlie because she knew exactly what she’d see: tha
t grin melting away again, only to be replaced by pain, sadness, disappointment. She didn’t want to see it. She couldn’t.
As usual, Sabrina had impeccable timing and came through the kitchen into the bar right at that moment. Sabrina stopped, looked from Charlie to her, and Emma could almost feel her demeanor change. While she hadn’t told Sabrina about her past with Charlie, it was glaringly obvious that she now knew there had been something. Perils of living in a small town. News traveled like lightning. Emma closed her eyes, knowing she’d get an earful at some point.
“Well,” Charlie said, straightening her stance, obviously trying to find the tiniest shred of dignity with which to walk out the door, and Emma felt a zap of guilt. “Good to know.” With that, she turned and left, the blast of sunlight as the door opened making Emma squint until it shut again. Even then, she just stood there feeling depleted.
“Trouble in paradise?” Sabrina asked snidely as she tied a black apron around her waist and then turned on the water to fill up the under-bar sink.
Emma shot her a look, then escaped back to her sanctuary, to her kitchen, with only one question on her mind.
Why the hell did Charlie have to come back to Shaker Falls?
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday was July Fourth, but the annual Shaker Falls fireworks display was on Saturday night. Everybody was down at the park again for the closing night of Summer Fest, which would be capped off by the fireworks, but Charlie was in no mood for the crowd. She’d been feeling slowly deflated. Like a balloon with a tiny pinhole, losing air over the course of hours, days. Since her talk with Emma on Friday—hell, could one back-and-forth even be considered a talk?—she’d felt that way. Like she was just losing air, little by little, until she’d be nothing more than a flat and empty bag on the ground.
Sherry apparently didn’t want anything to do with crowds that night either, and Charlie was surprised to run into her in the kitchen. She was even more surprised when Sherry not only looked her in the eye, but spoke to her just like she’d speak to any other person in the world. What is happening?
“Hey,” Sherry said, pulling two beers out of the fridge. She held one out to Charlie. “Not going to the fireworks?”
She took the beer and shook her head. “Not in the mood.”
“Same. Wanna start a fire and sit with me? We should be able to see some of them from the backyard.”
“You know what? That sounds perfect.” And it did. It had been so long since she’d spent time alone with her sister, and despite the snark-fests they’d had the previous weeks, Charlie still missed her.
They worked silently together as dusk fell, moving a decent supply of wood from behind the garage to near the fire pit. Sherry got some newspaper and kindling and got things going in an impressive manner.
“Wow. When did you become Queen of Fire?” Charlie asked as she watched the flames spread from beneath the teepee of wood Sherry had designed.
A half shrug. “When Mom and Dad got the fire pit, I just kind of took it upon myself to be the fire tender. I got good at it.”
“I guess so. I’m so impressed with you right now.”
“Oh, thank God. I live to impress you.” Sherry caught her eye and gave her a grin to take away any sting the words might have carried.
“As well you should,” Charlie said, playing along. “Me being the big sister and all.”
Fire stoked, beers opened, and bodies stretched out on chairs, they relaxed in the quiet of the summer evening. Behind their house was a copse of trees that separated their street from the next one over, and in those trees, Charlie could see the occasional blink of a firefly. She took a sip of her beer, sat there quietly, and simply watched, letting herself be transported back to her childhood.
“Remember when we used to spend hours chasing fireflies?” she asked.
A quiet chuckle came from Sherry. “And we’d put them in a jar in our room and never understand why they were dead in the morning?”
“Who knew the concept of air holes was so important?”
“Right? Why didn’t Mom know that?”
“We must have killed hundreds of the poor things in our childhood.”
“We are mass murderers.” Sherry was laughing openly now, and Charlie joined her.
“God, it feels good to laugh with you.”
Sherry’s laughter died down and she sipped her beer. She kept her eyes on the flames as she said quietly, “I missed you, you know.”
“I missed you, too.”
“No.” Sherry did look at her then, and Charlie saw so many things in her sister’s eyes, despite the darkness and the flickering of the fire: pain, sadness, confusion. “I mean, I missed you. I felt like you just left me.” Sherry held up a hand when Charlie opened her mouth to speak. “Not literally. I know that’s what happens, that that’s the next step in life. But you left in every way. I mean…” She sighed and seemed to struggle with finding the right words.
“I want to jump in and say something, but”—Charlie swallowed, felt an uncomfortable wave in her stomach—“I think I need to let you talk.” She wasn’t sure why or where that had come from, but it was like a feeling on some psychic level, as if the Universe was talking to her. Telling her to shut the hell up and listen. So she did.
Sherry’s eyes welled up and Charlie swallowed down her alarm. Sherry was not a crier. She didn’t cry. It was so rare, she could count on one hand how many times she’d seen it from their teenage years on. The epitome of stoic, that was her little sister.
With a clear of her throat, Sherry said, “I needed my sister.” She shifted her gaze so she was looking directly at Charlie. “I needed my sister. When you left, it was like…” She tapped her chest with a finger. “Like there was this hole, and like I said, I knew it was part of life, that you were starting your life, but you hardly ever came back. And you invited me to come, like, once. It took you hours or sometimes even days to respond to my texts. You were so caught up in New York, and your big high-powered job, and Darcy.” She didn’t sneer the name, but it was close. Close enough for Charlie to clearly understand how her little sister had felt about her girlfriend. “And then there was Emma. You wrecked her. You know that, right?”
The question wasn’t the least bit accusatory, just matter of fact, and maybe that made it worse. Charlie felt her own eyes fill and she nodded silently.
“Emma was like another sister to me, but after you broke up with her, she felt like she couldn’t be part of our family anymore. Which makes sense now, I guess, but then? I lost two sisters, thanks to you. That’s what it felt like. And you know what?”
She looked at Sherry, unable to swallow down the lump in her throat. “What?”
“I really could have used one.” Again, Sherry’s voice was quiet and calm, no blame, no snottiness.
“I’m sorry, Sherry.” Her voice was ragged.
“You were so selfish. You just did what you wanted to do, so you could have what you wanted to have.”
Charlie gave a rueful laugh. “I mean, don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”
Sherry shrugged and said nothing. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise, as Sherry didn’t sugarcoat anything. Charlie knew that. She just spoke the truth, and if it stung you, too damn bad.
Besides, what Sherry said was true, and Charlie knew it. Granted, she could defend herself by calling on her own youth or her confusion about being desired by somebody as glamorous as Darcy Wells or her fascination with the big city and wanting to get out of Small Town, USA. All of those were valid excuses. But none of them really exonerated her from what Sherry said. She had been selfish. She had wanted to see what it was like to be wooed by a woman like Darcy. She had wanted to feel the energy and fast pace of New York City. She had felt like her family, Shaker Falls, Emma all held her back. And now her sister had called her on it. On the selfishness she’d displayed, and it slapped her right in the face. Finally, she got it. Finally. She felt herself crack open.
“You’re right,” s
he said, nodding. She tipped the bottle up and finished her beer.
Sherry turned to her and it looked as though she was trying to cover her surprise at Charlie’s words.
“I mean it. You’re right.” She felt a tear spill over and roll down her cheek as she absorbed her sister’s words. Then another, and soon they were flowing steadily. She sniffed. “I’m so sorry.”
Sherry blinked at her a few times in silence before getting out of her chair, walking over, and wrapping her arms around her. “Well, Jesus, you don’t have to cry about it.” Sherry’s voice cracked as she said in Charlie’s ear, “I missed you, goddamn it. I just missed you.”
She wrapped her arms around Sherry, held her tightly.
It didn’t last terribly long, as emotional displays were not Sherry’s thing. She let go of Charlie, went into the house to retrieve two more beers, and stoked up the fire before sitting back down.
There was a moment of silence before Sherry asked, “So, what’s going on with you and Emma?” She stared into the fire, never looking at her.
“What do you mean?”
At that, Sherry did look at her. Tilted her head. “I saw you at Summer Fest. Everybody did.”
Ugh. Small fucking towns.
Charlie gave up on the innocent act and sighed. “I don’t know. I thought something might be happening. It’s so weird, Sherry.”
“What is?”
And just like that, she found herself spilling her guts to her little sister. “Getting sucked back in. It’s so easy with her.” She told Sherry about meeting at the J-Cup. How they’d wandered together to the park like it was the most natural thing. How Emma’s friend had sort of scared her off, but then they’d found each other again and walked back to Emma’s place. How Emma had cooked for her. “It was like no time at all had passed. It felt perfectly natural to be there on the couch with her, talking about life.”
Sherry watched her face the whole time, said nothing, but nodded here and there, and seemed to listen carefully.
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