My First My Last My Only

by Denise Carbo

  “Nope, played one once though. Does that count?”

  A smile twitches at my lips, but I refuse to let it go. I remember the film and his costar he was rumored to have had a torrid affair with. My impulse to smile disappears.

  “How have you been, Franny?”

  His deep voice sends a shiver over my skin that has nothing to do with the weather. I scrunch my nose and stare at up at the cloudless blue sky. How have I been? Pretty much the same, unfortunately, but I can’t say that, so I shrug instead.

  “What brings you back to Granite Cove?” I suppose I can make polite chitchat. Besides, part of me is curious to know his answer.

  His silence prompts me to peek at his profile. He’s staring out over the lake. There are a pair of white sailboats moored nearby bobbing along on the water. Farther out, a motorboat speeds by. Nothing really to capture his attention.

  “I guess I needed a change. I was happy here once.”

  Yeah, so was I.

  “A change from what?”

  He drapes an arm over the back of the bench and rests his ankle on the opposite knee. “The short answer is life in general. The long answer is probably best for another time.”

  I scoot farther away on the bench and cross my legs. “Sounds complicated.”

  “Life usually is, isn’t it?”

  A constant minefield of missteps and regret. I tap my dangling foot and cross my arms over my abdomen.

  But that’s all going to change. My plan is firmly in place and life will be great. Positivity is my new theme. While I waited in the doctor’s office, I read a magazine full of self-help articles which inspired my life makeover. I even drew up a vision board with pictures of people having fun and couples in love. Perhaps I should have pilfered the magazine so I could reread it when my motivation was sagging. Like now.

  Who am I kidding? I’ve never stolen anything in my life.

  “What about you?”

  I glance in his direction without meeting his gaze. “What about me?”

  “What’s going on in your life? Husband? Kids?”

  Nope and nope.

  A sailboat glides by with a bright white sail. I bite my lip and squint up at the sun. “I own a bakery in town, The Sweet Spot.”

  “I know. I bought the building.”

  My building? He bought my building?

  I lurch to my feet only to sink back to the bench.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He places his hand over mine gripping the edge of the bench. I stare at the contrast of his darker skin over my pale white freckled hand. I pull my hand away and tuck them both under my legs. “Mr. Brick sold you the building?”

  He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees with hands clasped in between. “Was that the name of the owner? My lawyer handled the sale. He set up a corporation, so my name doesn’t show up on the documents. It’s just a business thing.”

  A business thing? No wonder Mr. Brick has been avoiding my calls and attempts to negotiate buying the building. He already sold it.

  Tears threaten, but I swallow them back. I lift my hand to rub at the pain gathering in my chest, but I drop it back and press harder against the bench. The wood digs into my palms.

  What does he need the building for? Is he going to kick me out at the end of my lease and turn it into a trendy restaurant or something? Isn’t that what celebrities do, open restaurants?

  Although, not here in Granite Cove. The town is not exactly a hot spot, or even close to one. The nearest airport is over an hour away. Even the closest highway is a half hour’s drive. We’re tucked into New Hampshire’s lakes region, surrounded by green hills and blue skies.

  What am I going to do? If he does intend to kick me out, I need to find another building. If he doesn’t, then do I go on renting and living with my parents? Either scenario makes me nauseated.

  Water laps against the rocks. The paved walking and bike path winds along the shore of the lake on this side of the park. It intersects with the sidewalk that lines the town docks in the center of the cove. For the first time in my memory I’m wishing for someone to stroll by and interrupt us. Surely one of his fans has tracked him down. Perhaps even my mother wondering where her guest of honor has disappeared to?

  I’d run if I thought my legs would hold me. My muscles are shaky.

  He bought my building.

  “If it’s the rent you’re worried about, I’m not going to change it on you.”

  I’m biting my tongue so hard I’m surprised I haven’t chomped it off. Tears prick my eyes and I blink them back as fast as I can. I stare out towards the lake but honestly, I see nothing but my own misery.

  “Franny?”

  I open my mouth to snap, “What?” but smash my lips together instead and grip the bench tighter. What does he want from me? Oh right, he mentioned not changing the rent.

  “That’s good…” My voice cracks, so I clear my throat and try again. “That’s good to know.”

  Pain squeezes my stomach. Loosening my grip on the bench, I hold my hands protectively over my abdomen. It’s done that more and more. With my luck, it’s an ulcer.

  Damn it! The building was mine. He stole it out from under me. How could he do that? How could Mr. Brick do that? I should have had papers drawn up. All I have is his verbal promise to sell when he was ready. Another harsh lesson learned. Never trust anyone on their word alone. Get it in writing. Business 101.

  I guess the handful of business management courses I took in college before I dropped out to pursue my culinary aspirations didn’t stick. I can picture the roll of my mother’s eyes and the ensuing lecture on not only making bad business decisions but the never-ending admonishments over the wasted college tuition money they spent on my freshman and sophomore years. My father will shake his head sadly and then change the subject. If it hadn’t been for the small inheritance I received from my grandmother I would never have been able to afford culinary school. My parents refused to pay for it. If I rebuffed the college of their choice, they wouldn’t cover the costs.

  “You sure you don’t need a doctor to look at your head?”

  A quick shake of my head elicits a wince of pain. It hurts, but my heart hurts more.

  “I don’t remember you being this quiet.”

  I can sense him staring at me, but I keep my gaze fixed on the path at my feet. I wasn’t shy or silent with him, not when it was just the two of us, which it was the majority of the time.

  “That was a long time ago.” I stand. “I have to go.”

  I don’t wait for a response from him. I’m too shattered to care.

  My dream and plan are destroyed.

  I stride down the path with no destination in mind. Mitch has broken my heart. Again.

  Chapter Three

  The predawn sky twinkles with stars, and distant lights shine from across the lake. My reflection stares back at me from the large window at the back of the bakery kitchen.

  I spent my entire day off yesterday bemoaning my fate and cursing Mitch’s return. Sometime after I reached the bottom of the pint of ice cream, it occurred to me that my plan wasn’t completely sunk. Yes, it had been torpedoed, and it was listing to its side, but it was still afloat.

  The building was sold. His offer must have been far above mine for Mr. Brick to accept, so making an offer to Mitch was pointless. I don’t have the money. He did say that my rent wouldn’t change.

  I am finding the positive amidst the wreckage.

  It would mean I needed to continue renting instead of buying, but I can do that. What I can’t do is continue living in my parents’ house.

  My new plan is to contact Mitch, or even better his lawyer, to rent the apartment upstairs. Not ideal, but it still accomplishes my end goal.

  I shake my head and shoulders to clear my mind and focus on the task at hand, preparing all the baked goods to fill the shelves of my bakery when we open in two hours.

  Cinnamon infuses the air from the muffins baking in one of the o
vens lining the outside wall to my left. I check on bread dough rising on the counters in the middle of the room and the bagels cooling on the movable racks lined up by the front wall.

  The solitude makes it one of my favorite times of day. It’s just me in my kitchen creating the day’s offerings.

  I finish making the danishes and prepare them for the ovens. Once the muffins finish baking, the danishes will go in.

  By the time the breads have risen and are ready to go into the oven, streaks of pink and peach appear over the horizon. I step back from the counter and smile. This is why I do most of my preparations on this marble counter under the window, so I can witness the sunrise over the lake. The ribbons of color lengthen and brighten as the ball of orange and yellow rises over the water, casting its light and reflecting on the calm surface.

  Nature’s splendor always has a way of bringing joy and peace to my world. I enjoy the view a moment more, wash my hands, and move over to the smaller counter area in the kitchen reserved for making the allergy free options I have available for my customers.

  Sally arrives while I am filling the glass display cases in the front of the bakery with product.

  “Good morning, Sally.”

  “Mornin’.” She shuffles between the countertop height display cases into the kitchen and returns with a tray of muffins. Sally knows the procedure and does well with the customers. Having lived and worked in town most of her life means she knows most of the clientele. She regales me with the latest accomplishments of the handful of grandkids she has while we work in tandem to prepare for opening.

  At six on the dot Sally unlocks the front door and flips the sign to open from closed with a quick twist of her wrist. She fills the napkin holders on the two small, circular tables under the front window while I do a last scan of the beverage area on the left to make sure the machines are on and brewing and I fill all the accoutrements.

  Customers trickle in, and I slip back into the kitchen to decorate the cupcakes and specialty cakes. Besides the few I always have on hand for the spontaneous customer, I also take special orders for different occasions, including weddings. That part of my business has been steadily increasing and I hope to focus more on it, but now that is up in the air as well.

  The eight o’clock morning rush arrives, and Sally needs me out front to fill orders. I smile and nod while taking orders and handing over cash and receipts. People tend not to linger and chat when they are on their way to work and standing in line for their first cup of coffee of the day.

  Sally rings up one of the coffee travel mugs emblazoned with my logo for The Sweet Spot, a black oval and pink lettering.

  I am about to slip back into the kitchen when the bell over the door rings, signaling another customer. Monica Frasier moseys in, another long-time resident of Granite Cove. Sally is still with a customer, so I remain at the counter while Monica approaches with a smile. Her nut-brown hair is straight as a pin and secured at her nape with a black barrette. Her gray suit jacket and skirt are form fitting, but not revealingly tight. She teaches at the Elementary School.

  “Good morning, Franny. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day isn’t it?”

  “Looks that way. What can I get for you today?”

  “Oh well…let’s see.” She glances over the tops of her black-framed glasses at the contents of the display cases. “Everything looks wonderful and so tempting. How about one of those cinnamon muffins? And a chai tea please.”

  I put her muffin in one of the white bags with my logo on the top and start her tea. Monica follows me to the beverage area. I give her a brief smile and wonder if she will add to her order. She wanders over to the display case on the far right filled with the specialty cakes, tarts, and pies.

  “You really are quite talented Franny. Every time I attempt to bake, something goes horribly wrong.”

  “Thank you, but really it’s a matter of following the recipe to the letter. It’s like a science experiment, the measurements have to be exact.”

  “That explains it then. Science was not one of my strengths. I’ll take that chocolate cheesecake too please. It’s perfect for my book club meeting tonight.”

  Monica hands me her debit card. I slide the tea and muffin across the counter and box up the cheesecake.

  She slips her black purse back up her arm to her shoulder, stacks the bag on top of the box, and places the cup next to them in an orderly fashion. “Would you like to come? We discuss the book a bit, of course, but it’s really just a chance to get together chat and have wine and cake.”

  My response is automatic. “Thanks, but I can’t.” Handing her the receipt and card, I smile absently. “Enjoy.”

  Tucking the receipt and card in her purse and picking up her purchases, she gives me a faint smile. “Maybe next time. Thank you.”

  Monica leaves and I turn towards the kitchen. Sally stands in the archway with her arms folded across her ample middle scrunching up the black apron, so the pink lettering of The Sweet Spot figures prominently across her bosom. A scowl crosses her face.

  Uh oh what faux pas did I manage to do now? Sally never appears to care if she is my employee, she acts as if it’s her duty to instruct or chastise me when she deems it necessary. I guess it’s an old habit from being my teacher in school.

  “That’s the third time I’ve heard you refuse her invitation. What’s so all-fired important you can’t attend?”

  “I have business matters to take care of.”

  “Uh, huh. You need to get your priorities straight missy. People need to come first. I never see or hear about you socializing with anyone. You keep rebuffing offers of friendship and you will end up alone.”

  Friendship? “Monica was just asking to be polite.”

  Sally rolls her eyes. “I know the difference between being polite and a sincere invitation. She’s a sweet girl. I remember her in school always helping and organizing groups. Even spent her lunch hour a time or two tutoring someone in English. I know because she used my classroom to do it.” Planting her hands on her hips and stretching the black apron taught, she leans toward me. “She didn’t spend her lunchtime hiding in the girl’s bathroom.”

  Ouch, direct hit. Yup, that was me. And here I thought no one had noticed.

  “You’re still hiding.”

  Hell yeah, I’m hiding! It’s better this way. I’ve been burned one too many times thank you very much. I open my mouth to defend myself, but I can’t think of a thing to say. Maybe Monica was extending a genuine invitation and maybe I was clueless about it. She had been a couple years ahead of me in school, closer to my sister’s age than mine. It never occurred to me she was offering friendship.

  Damn it. Being more social and making friends was one of the steps of my new plan. I’m failing all over the place.

  Sally brushes by me and pats me on the shoulder when the door chimes and another customer walks in. “Think on it.”

  I shuffle towards the kitchen to do just that when a shiver dances down my spine.

  “Morning Franny. The delicious aromas wafting up through the floor dragged me out of bed.”

  Heat envelops my face and I can’t get the image of Mitch in bed out of my head. His dark locks on a white pillow. His long, muscled form on display.

  Swallowing hard and pasting a smile on my face I spin around and pray he thinks my face is red from the ovens or something. “Good morning Mitch. What can I get for you?”

  A white tank top highlights his well-defined arms. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a former actor and current member of the Hollywood elite. Isn’t it a requirement of some sort for them to be in stellar physical shape? His black jogging shorts hang loose on his frame, but I still glimpse a very toned thigh.

  I’m totally checking him out while he’s checking out the bakery.

  Inwardly groaning, I drag my gaze back up to his face and keep it glued there while I patiently wait for his decision. Mitch is heartbreak wrapped in a handsome package. I’m not opening it a
gain. In fact, I’m securing it with duct tape. No, a chain and padlock.

  I spot Sally puttering with one of the displays out of the corner of my eye and glance in her direction to see if she caught my ogling.

  Despite being old enough to be his grandmother, Sally is regarding Mitch covetously. A slight smile even graces her lips. My mouth drops open when she catches me watching her and gives me a wink and a nod. I can’t hold back the short snort of laughter that escapes me.

  I look back at Mitch, clearing my throat as I do. Let him think I had a tickle in my throat or something.

  Mitch smiles and I blink at him stupidly for a few seconds. Damn, yes, he’s a great looking man. Hell, he’s downright gorgeous. But that’s not it. He smiles with his whole face, dimples pop out, impossibly white teeth grin, and blue eye twinkle. Even the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are sexy.

  Holy cow! No wonder he was a teenage heartthrob. My heart is throbbing pretty hard right now.

  “Any recommendations?”

  “Um…well…the muffins are popular, but I guess it depends on what you’re in the mood for.”

  Wait a minute, he said he smelled them from bed? What bed?

  A sinking sensation invades my body. “Are you living in the apartment upstairs?”

  “Didn’t I tell you I bought the building the other day?”

  “Yeah, but not that you would be living here.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Yes!

  So much for my dream still being afloat, it’s hull is deluged by water and taking a nosedive to the bottom of the sea like the Titanic.

  “Franny, I told you the terms of your agreement aren’t going to change.”

  “Yes, I know. You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “I’m looking forward to living over the bakery and waking up to an ambrosia of scents I can follow downstairs to sample a few of your treats. If you tell me you sell good coffee too, I’ll be in heaven.”

  I take a deep breath and try not to wince at the lash of pain whipping my abdomen or the tears threatening to fall.

  “Yes, we sell an assortment of coffee choices. It’s been voted best in the village two years running by the Granite Cove Gazette, the local paper.” Normally I’m not one to brag, but I’m damn proud of that and hope to extend that accolade to include best on the lake, then to the Lakes Region, and why not, best in the whole state of New Hampshire. Of course, now my future and the future of The Sweet Spot is up in the air.