by Maymee Bell
We said our good-byes. In the next hour, I made three more trays of cookies and the bakery smelled of cinnamon and sugar with a hint of honey like I remembered it. Only, the glass displays weren’t filled with the golden, sweet pastries. I imagined rows and rows of my puffs with all different fillings lined along the top. Croissants, tarts, mini-pies, Derby pies, pecan pies, banana pudding cupcakes, Dutch letters, and éclairs, to name a few.
My imagination filled domed glass cake platters and pastel doilies with decorated petit fours displayed along the tops of the glass cabinets. I could practically smell the freshly brewed coffee that I’d get contracted from Small Talk Café. All the ingredients would be bought from local vendors and I’d cater every event this side of Kentucky.
The warm smell of the chocolate chips melting in the baking Crunchies brought me back to the present. The reality was that I wasn’t a sleuth. The wedding appeared to be going off with Evelyn still as the number one suspect. If there was anything I’d done to help save the day, it was that I’d practically begged my father into representing her.
The timer dinged. The Crunchies were cooked to perfection. Quickly I used the spatula to take them off the cookie sheet and put them on a cooling rack. I topped each one with a few more chocolate chips just for eye candy.
My phone chirped a text. It was Mama. She said supper was going to be ready in ten minutes and she’d made me a chuck roast with all the fixings and asked me to come over. My favorite meal and she knew it. Like a good daughter, I texted her back to let her know I was on my way.
With a few cookies packed in a borrowed container from the old bakery, I pulled into my parents’ driveway. I could smell the yummy dish from outside and could almost taste the fat, juicy carrots and soft round potatoes. Delicious. My stomach gurgled. In the wake of the murder, I’d practically forgotten to eat anything that wasn’t made from pure sugar.
“I’m home,” I called through the house when I walked into the front door.
“In here,” Bitsy called from the kitchen. “You’re just in time.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I said when I walked in. “I’ve had a…” I stopped shy of the kitchen counter as I was getting ready to place the bag of fresh-baked cookies on the counter. “Carter, what are you doing here?” I asked, still embarrassed because I hadn’t remembered him from school.
The kitchen table was set in Bitsy’s good china for two.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.
What was Bitsy up to?
“I thought it would be nice to cook you two a nice supper for helping out the Friends of the Library today. Since we can’t pay you, I cooked your favorite.” Bitsy walked up behind me and ran her hand along my hair, subtly trying to spruce me up. “You’ve got flour in your hair, dear,” she whispered.
* * *
“I’m a baker. Flour is part of my makeup routine,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
“I should really go.” Carter stood up. “Clearly you didn’t know I was going to be here.”
“For goodness’ sakes, I won’t hear of it.” Bitsy gave him the wonky eye and pointed for him to sit right back down. Which he did.
The sheriff had nothing on Mama.
She placed both hands on my shoulders and pushed me over to the table. The pot roast was displayed on one of her blue-and-white platters with all the trimmings around it. There were even homemade biscuits and gravy made from the juices of the finished roast.
“I’m not going to tell you I attempted to make dessert, because I didn’t.” Bitsy folded her hands in front of her, smiling like the dickens. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“This is uncomfortable.” Carter eased up in his chair. “When she called me, she said that you suggested I come for dinner as a thank you. When I got here, I could tell she’d lied. Again.”
“Isn’t there a law against lying or manipulating that you can arrest Bitsy on and put her in jail?” Not that I was serious.
“Bisty? In jail?” He eased back in the chair. “No way can I imagine that.”
“Welcome to the world of Bitsy Cummings.” I grabbed the glass of wine and held it up in the air. He took his and we did a cheer. “You’ve only seen one side of her.”
“I’m afraid there’s many more I haven’t seen.” His smile was warm and easy.
There was something so natural between the two of us that it really wasn’t as uncomfortable as it should’ve been.
“Well, I’m hungry.” I reached for the platter. “I’m truly sorry I didn’t realize who you were. My mind hasn’t exactly been on high school since Emile’s death.”
“It’s no big deal.” He grabbed the edges of the platter while I filled my plate. “We can just pretend that the stress of seeing a dead body played a role.”
“Thanks.” I returned the favor and held the platter for him. “I appreciate that, Carter.”
“What made you want to become a cop?” I asked.
“The usual. I wanted to put the bad guys behind bars. All those nights while you and your friends were hanging out in high school, I was watching cop shows with my dad,” he said. “Nothing else really appealed to me when I graduated, so I decided to go into the academy to see if I’d like it.”
“Here you are today,” I said between bites.
“What about you? I mean,” he looked up at me with those big brown eyes that reminded me of chocolate chips.
I knew if I stared at them too long, they’d be gooey and yummy from showing his warm soul, just like the effect the fresh-baked cookie had on the chocolate chips.
“I’ve always known you loved baking, but it’s different when it turns into a job that you do day in and out.” He did have a point.
“It’s not so much about baking as it is the people.” By the confused look on his face, I could tell he didn’t follow. “It’s the faces of enjoyment that make the job still a hobby for me. Of course”—I picked up the glass of wine and took a sip—“I have those who complain and I can never make happy, but the majority are customers who really enjoy the taste of a good dessert.”
I looked up from my plate. His eyes had softened. His jaws had relaxed and there was an easy look on his face that made my heart flip-flop. My mouth dried.
“Enough about that.” I grabbed the glass again, this time taking a swig.
“You really want to go back to New York?” He asked the question so suddenly it hurt me to answer.
“You know…” I set the glass down and scooted the chair back from the table, giving me more distance between us. I needed space and air from the feelings that were making my heart beat rapidly. “I love being home, and if I didn’t have my dream job, I might move back.”
“Dream job?” He eased back in the chair. Lightly he drummed his fingers on the table. “Working for others, creating all sorts of designs, because that’s really what you do, is a dream for you?”
I answered with silence.
“Everyone around here talks about all the basic desserts you make with the funny names and the twist only you can add. That’s job appreciation.” He dragged the wine glass across the table, closer to him and the edge. He fiddled with the stem. “I’m just saying that there’s some sort of gratification that comes with being able to create and sell, not create and hope your manager wants you to make it and not the same humdrum desserts that most fancy restaurants make.”
“You have a point. But as the head pastry chef, I do get most of my creations approved.” I didn’t tell him the real truth. Fifty percent of the time, the owner of The Manhattan wanted me to make a go-to favorite that was a guaranteed sell for the after-dinner dessert diner.
“From what I could see, you looked very comfortable working in Ford’s.” He dug the dagger deeper into my heart.
“I’m always comfortable when I’m baking, no matter where I’m at.” I tried to cover up any notions that told him he was spot on.
While I’d been at at Ford’s, my heart was singing, my thoug
hts were clear, and I was happy.
My phone chirped a text.
“Excuse me.” I was happy for the distraction. I was tired of talking about me. I was already confused and he only made it worse.
The text was from Madison letting me know that she and Charlotte were going to the Blue Line Bar since it was the night before her wedding and Brett had to work, Madison figured we’d better spend it with Charlotte.
“It looks like that’s important.” Carter stood up. “I’m going to get out of your hair.”
“Nah. It’s just Madison. I didn’t mean to run you off,” I said. “It’s just that I want to visit with my friends as much as possible while I’m in town. I guess it’s like a relaxing girl’s night before the wedding.”
“I get it.” He headed to the front door. “It was nice to get to talk to you even if your Bitsy set it up for us.”
“Thanks, Carter, for understanding. She can be a bit much.” It was nice that he didn’t make it any more difficult than it already was for me.
* * *
“I understand.” The twinkle in his eyes extended and softened his face.
I opened the door. He stepped outside.
The full moon hung like a shiny globe in the dark night sky above his head. The stars blinked in a soft dance.
“We’ll have to make a rain check.” His voice was a whisper just before he leaned in a little closer.
Our eyes met. I leaned in a little closer. My lips quivered as his lips descended to meet mine with a sweet, tender kiss. With my eyes still closed, I felt his lips brush my brows. It sent shivers down my spine and into my toes.
I took a big inhale and opened my eyes.
“We’ll definitely do a rain check.” Though I knew I was needed elsewhere, I sure didn’t want to be. “Or you can just go with me. To the bar, I mean.”
“Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?” He asked.
“Absolutely not.” And if he was, oh well. They’d have to get over it.
After we got into the car, we casually talked about things we remembered from being in high school while he helped me clean up the kitchen. We even ate a couple of cookies. I made sure to text Madison to let her know I’d invited Carter. She was beyond excited and hired a sitter for the kids so her husband could join us.
“It’s a miracle I’m not a million pounds,” I said to Carter before I stuffed my face with another cookie.
There he was, sitting in front of me, enjoying the fruits of my labor, so to speak. My heart that’d been so empty and sad was full for the first time in a long time. I loved baking. It was the look on Carter’s face that told me I was doing my purpose in life. Even here in Rumford. I was doing what I loved. But was I doing what I loved where I loved?
“There were so many stars out that I know it’s going to be a beautiful day for Charlotte tomorrow.” I stared out the car window and enjoyed the ride to the Blue Line with Carter at the wheel.
The old country tale was that if there were stars out, there wouldn’t be rain the next day. It always held true. My thoughts turned back to the empty bakery. My heart sank as I thought about what on earth it could be other than a bakery. I wasn’t sure I’d ever forgive myself if someone put a clothing shop or, worse, a thrift shop in, where an old musty smell would replace cinnamon, sugar, and fresh yeast that warmed everyone’s soul.
A few daydreams later, we were in the gravel parking lot looking up at the Blue Line Bar. It had once been a run-down barn that someone had seen the beauty in and restored. Many times I’d driven by the joint, but I’d never been old enough to go in. That was before I’d moved away from Rumford.
The place was packed. They’d used the old tobacco loft and turned it into a pool table area with all the wooden beams exposed. The bar ran along the entire right side of the barn. In the front was a stage with a bluegrass band belting out some old George Jones. The sounds of laughter and singing meshed together as people celebrated the end of a work week.
“Sophia! Carter!” I turned when I heard our names. Matthew was wildly waving in my direction. I lifted my hand and gave a slight nod.
“I’ll grab us a drink and meet you over there.” The warmth of Carter’s palm on my lower back was very comforting.
Weaving my way in and out of the crowd, I made my way over to the table, smack dab into the middle of Charlotte’s conversation about Noah and how his creations were like tasting gold. It took a lot of restraint to not roll my eyes and say something awful about him. It would’ve been a personal dig because, in reality, he was the best damn chef I knew. His food was flawless, but his relationship skills sucked.
“I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t talk about him.” Charlotte curled her bottom lip under her front teeth and gave me a hug, then Carter.
“No.” I waved her off. “His food is really good. I’m sure you’re going to have an amazing supper for your wedding.”
“How are you?” Matthew handed me my drink. “I know about the affair and all, but at least you aren’t married.”
“Very true, Matthew. I’m fine, though.” I turned the questioning off me and onto him. “So, two little ones.” My eyes danced around his face. Matthew of all people having little kids was something I wouldn’t have imagined just a couple of weeks ago.
Carter walked up with the two drinks and handed me one.
“Yep. Stay-at-home dad, too.” He held his glass up, tipping it slightly for us to say cheers and take a drink. “My wife tells me that you’re trying to figure out who killed the chef at the RCC. If you ask me, he was a jerk. I tried to send my food back once, and he came storming out of the kitchen saying something about hillbillies liking their steak burnt and not the true way it was supposed to be.” Matthew said,. “I told him, ‘Listen, buddy, when you start paying for my bill, then you can have a say about how I eat my steak.’”
“No, you didn’t!” I laughed.
“You bet your britches, I did.” He nodded and let out a yeehaw when the band started playing some Johnny Cash. He grabbed Madison by the hand and dragged her out to the dance floor along with Charlotte and Brett, who’d just showed up after his long day at work.
The dance floor had all sorts of white lights draped overhead going this way and that. I moseyed up to the front and leaned against one of the empty bourbon barrels the Blue Line used as circular bar tables and watched my friends take a twirl around the dance floor.
They all looked so happy and content with the life they were leading. A bit of jealousy stung my heart. They were all living the life they’d always wanted, and so was I, but why was I feeling so disconnected to the past ten years I’d been living?
Carter leaned over the small table. “I was going to fuss at you at supper, but Bitsy had gone to such great lengths to make it nice, I decided to wait until we were on equal ground.”
“What did I do?” I asked, a bit surprised to see him.
“Yep.” He patted his stomach. “I have to keep in shape for my job. I got on the scale today and I’ve gained six pounds.” There was a bright pleasure in his eyes. “I’m blaming you and those cookies you keep feeding me.”
We shared a smile. Somehow it breathed life back into me. It was as if he was a fresh breath of air in the musty old confused brain of mine.
“I’m more than happy to take the blame, since you seem to enjoy them so much.” I leaned a little closer than I should have. His cologne tickled me down to my toes, something I’d not expected. I gripped the edges of the barrel with my hands to steady myself. “I thought you were going to say that I somehow wrecked your investigation.”
“You’re doing a bang-up job at that too. The way I figure, you somehow make an impression everywhere you go and everything you touch,” he said with a glint of wonder in his eyes. “Supper was really nice.”
That kiss was really nice.
The tempo in the music had slowed to a Dolly Parton love song. Carter put his hand out for me to take.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, br
eaking the tension between us.
My eyes darted back and forth between his before I caught someone out of the corner of my eye. My gaze slid over Carter’s shoulder. Noah was on the other side of the dance floor looking around. He’d yet to spot me.
“I’d love to.” I grabbed Carter’s hand and dragged him out to the floor in the perfect line of sight for Noah to see.
I snuggled up to Carter a little more than I should’ve and enjoyed not only the warmth from his arm around me but the smell too. Making Noah a bit jealous didn’t hurt either. We swayed back and forth as Dolly belted out her love in the song. With Carter’s arm around my waist and the other holding my hand between our hearts, I could feel his beating. Surprisingly, he was a very good slow dancer. He led with his hips and swayed me along with him. The feel of his body up against mine made me forget the real reason I’d taken him up on his offer.
I closed my eyes as my forehead rested again his cheek and listened to him hum low along with the music. My face tilted slightly to the right as he dragged his coarse cheek along my face, sweeping his warm lips up to my ear.
“Let’s really give him a show.”
My eyes popped open, and the feeling of getting lost in the song immediately went away. I pulled back. Both of our bodies stopped. The music and the people around us continued to dance. It was as if I couldn’t hear the music anymore.
“What?’ I asked, looking into his eyes.
“I said let’s give your boyfriend something to really be jealous about.” The twinkle in his eyes faded. “I mean, it’s why you decided to take me up on dancing.”
“I’m sorry.” It was time to apologize. “I’m that transparent?”
“Maybe I know you better than you think.” He gave a wry smile. “Or I’m just good at my job of reading people. Like tonight, when we were at your mom’s table—I know you loved baking in Ford’s.”
“Yes. I do like Ford’s.” The confession felt so good to hear out loud.
He tugged me a little closer. His feet started to move again. “Why not finish our dance and not try to impress anyone? Just enjoy a dance?”