by Amber Crewes
Jack cleared his throat. “It’s a great bakery,” he protested. “You should be proud.”
Henry raised an eyebrow at Jack. “Let my daughter speak for herself. Anyway, we will see you tomorrow, Meghan. We love you.”
Meghan’s heart warmed as her father kissed her head, and she squeezed his hand. “Thank you for coming, Daddy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Jack and Meghan drove home from the event, Meghan could see that Jack was flustered; his cheeks were red, his eyes were narrowed, and his hands were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Meghan knew that her father had not been particularly warm to Jack, but she was unfazed; Henry Truman was notorious for being cold and aloof with his daughters’ boyfriends, and Meghan thought that their introduction had gone well.
“I think he really liked you,” she assured him as he turned onto her street.
“Oh? What gave you that impression? When he wouldn’t shake my hand at first, or when he corrected me for speaking up for you?” he responded angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me they were in town? Some notice would have been nice, Meghan.”
Meghan shifted awkwardly in her seat. “I didn’t know they were coming,” she insisted as she tucked a stray dark hair behind her ear. “You heard the conversation, babe. I had no idea. They never visited me when I lived in Los Angeles, so I never expected to see them here without even a word.”
Jack sighed. “I know,” he said softly. “I heard. I’m just annoyed with myself for not making a better impression on your father. You are important to me, Meghan. I love you. You are so special to me, and someday, who knows? Maybe your father and I will be family. I just want him to respect me as someone who cares deeply for his daughter and treats her well.”
“He will,” she pleaded. “Just give him some time. He will come around to you, Jack. I promise: by tomorrow, the two of you will be the best of friends!”
____________________
“I don’t like him,” Henry whispered into Meghan’s ear as they walked into Luciano’s, Meghan and Jack’s favorite Italian restaurant in Sandy Bay. “He just seems too nervous.”
“He is nervous, Daddy,” she told her father as the tuxedo-clad waiter guided the group to their table. “Just give him a break. I really like this one.”
At nine that morning, Henry and his wife, Rebecca, had shown up at Truly Sweet. “Darling,” Meghan’s mother had cooed as she embraced her. “It is so nice to see you. Daddy told me you were so surprised.”
“I was,” Meghan affirmed as she brushed a small piece of lint from her freshly-ironed collared shirt. She had carefully chosen her outfit with her mother’s fine, Southern taste in mind, and Meghan was proud of the ensemble she had selected. Her collared shirt was carefully tucked into a maroon and tan skirt, and a matching maroon sweater was carefully draped across her shoulders. A string of bulbous white pearls graced Meghan’s collarbone, and the buttons on her shirt matched the tiny buttons on her brown leather boots.
“Are those your house clothes?” Rebecca asked her daughter, eyeing Meghan’s outfit. “Surely you don’t often wear those things around guests. Run upstairs and change, Sugar.”
Meghan said nothing, but she turned on her heel and dashed upstairs to change. “My mother has never approved of the way I look, or the way I dress,” she grumbled to her dogs who were resting peacefully on her bed. She wrestled with the buttons of her blouse. “With her little waist and long, glossy blonde hair, my mother has always looked like a doll. My sisters look just like her. I’m the only one in the family with dark hair, dark eyes, and curves. I just wish she would think about something else for a change instead of the way I look.”
“Meghan? What is taking so long?” she heard her mother call as she threw a pale pink sweater over her head.
“Be right down,” she replied, thinking back to how similar this encounter felt to her days in Texas as a teenager.
As Meghan descended the steps, she saw her parents admiring a display case filled with holiday-themed pastries. “Those were made fresh this morning,” she announced. “I tried to incorporate all of the winter holidays with my designs.”
“They are simply fabulous,” Rebecca murmured as she gingerly picked up a cookie in the shape of a dreidel. “You are so creative, Meghan. I’m so happy you decided to give up on being an actress. Your creativity is better suited here in the bakery.”
Meghan smiled. “Thanks,” she said to her Mum. “I’m happy here, and my business is thriving; I’ve been written about in five magazines this year, and I’m excited to see what next year brings.”
Henry patted his daughter on the head. “Your entrepreneurial spirit is impressive,” he declared to her. “You’ve really made this a special thing. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”
Before Meghan could thank her parents for their compliment, Jack burst into the bakery. “Hey, everyone,” he said as he clumsily reached for Rebecca’s hand. “You must be Meghan’s mother. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Truman.”
Rebecca eyed Jack up and down. “It’s Rebecca,” she said dismissively. “You must be John.”
Jack bit his lip, but Meghan shushed him before he could correct her mother. “It’s Jack,” she murmured. “Jack Irvin. He is a detective. Isn’t that exciting?”
Rebecca said nothing, but walked to stand next to her husband, threading her arm through his.
“Meghan? I’m a little hungry. Is there a nice place nearby for an early lunch?”
Jack began to nod, his overexcitement making Meghan uncomfortable. “Luciano’s!” he shouted. “It’s our favorite Italian restaurant. Let’s take them there, Meghan.”
Meghan shook her head. “My mother doesn’t like Italian. She doesn’t eat carbs.”
Henry waved his hand. “It’s fine, Sugar,” he told Meghan. “If Johnny here wants to take us out for Italian, then we’ll go eat Italian. Let’s see what kind of taste Johnny here has.”
3
As the Trumans and Jack walked into Luciano’s, Meghan’s heart crumbled as she spotted a group of homeless people begging for change. They looked exhausted, and Meghan felt guilty as her parents shepherded her toward the expensive Italian restaurant.
“Can I sing to you folks for a dollar?”
The group turned to see a middle-aged man in a tattered trench coat smiling at them. He was wearing a scraggly white beard and a Santa hat, and his disheveled appearance, as well as the stench emitting from his clothing, was impossible to ignore. He had an enormous pair of headphones atop his head, and he bobbed and swayed to the soft strains of music that came out of the speakers.
“Daddy, let’s listen to him,” Meghan pleaded as her father tugged on her arm. “He wants to work for our money. Let’s give him a listen.”
Henry shook his head. “It’s not in good taste to appease those kinds of people,” he whispered to Meghan as Mrs. Truman ducked inside the restaurant. “You should know better than that.”
“Meghan! Ciao, Bella.”
Roberto Luciano, the Italian-born founder and owner of Luciano’s, bustled outside. “Is this man bothering you? It’s been bad for my business to have this group hanging out around here. Come, let me usher you inside. Dessert is on the house tonight.”
Meghan smiled kindly at Roberto. “It’s good to see you, Roberto. This is my father. He and my mother are visiting from Texas.”
Roberto’s face glowed. He leaned over and kissed Henry on both cheeks. “I can only say grazie to you for choosing Luciano’s,” Roberto cooed. “This is the best Italian restaurant in the Pacific Northwest, if I do say so myself, and Meghan and Jack come here often.”
Meghan saw Jack shiver as a gust of ocean air stung his cheeks. “Come,” Roberto said as he saw Jack’s shoulders shake. “It’s a cold night. Let’s get you all inside and warm you up with some fettuccine. Again, my apologies for this...sight….outside of my restaurant.”
Meghan waved apologetically at the group of homeless people, feeling guilty that she was about to go
enjoy food and fun with her family when these folks were stuck in the cold.
“Don’t think about them,” Jack said, seeing the sad look on Meghan’s face as they walked into the restaurant. “Just enjoy our dinner, Meghan. There’s nothing you can do to help them.”
Meghan nodded and followed Jack inside of the restaurant. The dining room was painted in deep reds, smoldering oranges, and soft yellows, and Meghan felt as though she had been whisked away to Tuscany. Italian songs played softly on the radio, and the room was aglow with flickering candle light that made the large space feel intimate.
“I reserved their best table,” Jack boasted to Mr. and Mrs. Truman. “That one over there in the corner is the very nicest.”
Rebecca frowned. “It looks a little cramped, and it’s a booth,” she said in disgust. “Booths are for people who eat in diners, or for small children. Henry? I would prefer a real table.”
Henry nodded. He beckoned over Angela, Roberto’s oldest daughter. Angela was the manager of the restaurant, and with her waist-length black hair and sparkling dark eyes, she was arguably the most beautiful woman in Sandy Bay.
“Ciao, Bella,” Henry said to Angela with a wink. “Tell me, are there any tables left besides that little cramped booth? My gorgeous wife and I would prefer something a bit more...elegant.”
Angela smiled graciously. “Si, sir,” she breathed, her heavy accent clearly charming Henry. “Let me show you to our private dining space. I believe that will best accommodate you.”
When Angela ensured the group was settled in a quiet private dining room, Henry smirked at Jack. “I thought you said that booth was the best table in the house,” he announced. “Seems like a private dining room is a little more refined, Johnny.”
“It’s Jack,” Jack muttered under his breath as Meghan squeezed his knee beneath the table.
“Now, let’s see what they have here. Oh look, Henry. They have that dish you love. Remember when we had it on our vacation last summer? We stayed in the most darling little in the Italian countryside, Meghan.”
Meghan’s smile was strained, but she nodded politely. “That sounds nice, mama.”
Angela returned to the table with four menus, as well as a glass pitcher filled with ice water. “Let me tell you about our special tonight,” Angela said. “The lamb is divine; the red sauce atop the platter was made by my father this morning, and I have never tasted anything finer. The fettuccine is the perfect choice for our pasta-enthusiasts, and of course, we have a safer dish for the less adventurous. Our chicken dish is delicious, of course, but for those looking for an experience, I would recommend the lamb or the pasta.”
Meghan grinned. “I would love the lamb,” she told Angela.
“Excellent. And for your lovely parents?”
Henry handed the menu back to Angela. “We’ll take the pasta dish and the lamb; we are going to split both.”
Angela beamed. “Fantastico,” she said, and then, turning to Jack, “and for you?”
Jack awkwardly gave his menu to Angela. “I’ll take the chicken,” he murmured as Rebecca’s blue eyes grew wide.
“The chicken?” Henry questioned. “We’re at a nice place, Johnny. Why don’t you try something a little less...bland?”
Jack’s cheeks turned red, and Meghan took his hand, bringing it atop the table for all to see. She squeezed it lovingly, but Jack’s eyes remained distraught. “He wants chicken, Daddy. It isn’t a big deal.”
Angela retreated from the dining room, and Rebecca addressed Jack, “I’ve just never heard of someone ordering chicken at a fine dining establishment.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s my favorite,” he muttered.
Rebecca pursed her lips. “Interesting,” she offered.
Meghan quickly changed the subject. “Mama, I have some exciting news.”
Rebecca’s eyes shined. “You’ve finally joined weight watchers?”
Meghan’s face darkened. “No,” she whispered.
Henry put his hands up. “Rebecca, you stop that. Our Meghan is perfect. She is the spitting image of my mother, and my mother was a beautiful woman, inside and out.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I know you think your mother was perfect,” she sighed to her husband. “Meghan? What was your news?”
Meghan sat tall in her seat. “I am going to expand the bakery next year; Truly Sweet has been a massive success, and after some careful thinking, I have decided to add three light lunch options to our menu.”
Rebecca clapped her hands in excitement. “That’s delightful, dear,” she said. “Just make sure you don’t indulge too much; I know it can be easy for you to snack when food is around.”
Jack put his arm around Meghan. “I’m proud of Meghan for going after her dreams,” he declared to the table.
“Jack, just relax,” Meghan said to Jack under her breath.
“As are we,” Henry countered, placing his arm around his own wife’s shoulder. “As Meghan’s parents, we only want the best for our daughter.”
Meghan watched as her father stared into Jack’s blue eyes. “I feel like I have the best of everything in my life right now,” she assured her parents. “The best boyfriend, the best job, the best friends, and of course, the best family.”
Rebecca smiled. “Family truly is the most important thing this time of year. I love spending time with family, and listening to Christmas carols. It’s all so magical.”
Henry’s ears perked up. “Rebecca, do you hear the song playing? It sounds like Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas. Your favorite!”
Rebecca beamed. “Wonderful food, wonderful company, and my favorite carol? This is a truly sweet holiday trip.”
An hour and a half later, after Jack and Henry awkwardly fought for the check, the group was escorted out of the restaurant by Roberto Luciano. “Thank you all so much,” Roberto gushed as he smiled at Henry, who had left Angela a two-hundred dollar tip. “Your kindness is so appreciated this holiday season.”
“The food was just superb,” Rebecca declared. “It was to die for. Your restaurant is one of the best I have had the pleasure of visiting.”
“It was my idea to come here,” Jack chirped as Meghan shot him a dirty look.
“Jack, enough,” Meghan whispered. “Just act natural.”
“Natural?” Jack asked. “How can I do that when your parents hate me?”
Roberto opened the front door for the Trumans. “Thank you again. Oh, no. The homeless people.”
Meghan saw the group of homeless people sitting on the curb outside of the restaurant. “We can just walk around them,” she told Roberto. “It’s no big deal.”
Roberto shook his head. “I have worked so hard to build the restaurant, and I cannot have these people milling about when I have fine customers dining. You! You there! Shoo.”
The man with the Santa beard and headphones lumbered over to Roberto. “Shoo? We ain’t dogs, man.”
Roberto frowned. “You are worse. Dogs can be taken away and disposed of, but you people never leave.”
The homeless man’s jaw dropped. “Man, that was uncalled for,” he said to Roberto. “We ain’t hurting anyone. We’re just minding our business.”
Roberto clenched his fists. “Mind your business elsewhere!”
The homeless man hung his head. “Man, you ain’t got a clue about the reason for this holiday season, do you? Being good to others is what Christmas is about. Would it kill you to let us hang here? No. It wouldn’t.”
Roberto furrowed his brow. “It will kill my business. Now, go on. Get. Get out of here before you kill my business. Go on! Get out of here, all of you!”
4
“And just sprinkle the sugar on top. Perfect, Meghan. You are such a fast learner.”
The morning after having dinner at Luciano’s, Rebecca had appeared at Meghan’s front door with a sack of groceries. “We need to have some mother-daughter time,” Rebecca announced to Meghan as she bustled through the door. “I brought some things over, an
d I am going to teach you how to make your grandmother’s famous ginger snap recipe.”
“How wonderful,” Meghan agreed as she fastened her favorite monogrammed apron around her neckline. “Trudy and Pamela are both off today, so we will have the place all to ourselves.”
The two women got to work, with Rebecca mixing the ingredients together, and Meghan preparing the utensils. “So, now that it’s just us girls, let’s have a little chat,” Rebecca suggested as Meghan smiled.
“What do you want to chat about, Mama?” she asked, tying her long, wavy dark hair into a braid.
Rebecca looked slyly at Meghan. “Jacob Brilander has become a successful businessman.”
