by Adrianne Lee
“Not yet, and I’m not staying.” They exchanged a quick hug, and then Callee stepped back and looked at her friend. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but you look fabulous.”
“I look ragged. Two little boys will do that to you.” Andrea laughed, her brown eyes sparkling as she shoved at her long, thick blond hair. She was taller than Callee, a fact made more pronounced by the skinny jeans and platform pumps she wore. “Since you’re not staying, what brings you back to Kalispell?”
“Tying up some loose ends.”
Andrea nodded, her lips pressed together. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m delighted to see you. And Molly will be, too. Besides, I hate being the only guinea pig.”
Guinea pig? Callee found herself being pulled farther into the shop. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where’s Molly?”
“In the kitchen with Rafe, her new assistant pastry chef. She’s teaching him something, I think.”
Muffled voices issued from the kitchen, one female speaking English and one male speaking Spanish. Callee smiled. “Do they even understand each other?”
“No clue, but Molly will be out in a minute. I’m sitting over there.” Andrea pointed to a booth. “Go ahead. Sit. I’ll bring you some coffee.”
“Okay, but I can’t stay long.” Only long enough to give Molly the ring and a hug good-bye. Callee settled into the booth and began to take in the décor. The interior reflected the colors used outside, but in reverse. The walls were tan, the crown molding and trim white, and the tablecloths and napkins a ripe red. This was all café, display cases, cash register, and an espresso/coffee and tea counter. Seating consisted of a row of four high-backed booths on one wall and round tables scattered throughout the space.
“Isn’t it great?” Andrea handed her a cup of steaming coffee. “The kitchen consumes the largest portion of this building, an L-shaped chunk that isn’t visible from this room.”
“It’s wonderful. Right down to the framed, poster-sized photos of juicy pies with sugar-coated crusts.”
“Mouth-watering, huh?” Andrea took a sip of coffee.
“That’s the idea, right?” Callee couldn’t get over the size of the room. “I didn’t know she was going to do a café. Last I heard, the pie shop would be take-out only.”
“Yeah, well, the café was kind of last minute,” Andrea said, quickly downing more coffee. “Molly told me the design was yours.”
Callee shook her head. “Nope. Only the colors.”
“All the same, I think you missed your calling, lady.”
Callee smiled. “I missed a lot of things.”
“So, how are you doing?” Andrea touched her hand.
The gesture made Callee feel less alone. Andrea had once been where she was now, figuring out how to be single again. The difference was that Andrea had had the burden of two little boys relying on her to get it right. Callee had only herself. Thank God. “I’m looking forward, not backward.”
“I’m glad. I’ve been worried about you.” Andrea offered a commiserating smile.
“I promise, I’ll be okay, eventually.” She smiled weakly.
“This whole thing is such a tragedy.” Andrea shook her head, but never one to hold back how she was feeling, she added, “When Quint comes to his senses, he’s going to be real damned sorry. I wish you’d stick around, Callee. I know he said and did some awful things, but that man loves you. Even if he can’t see past his grief right now.”
“If that’s what he thinks love is, I want no part of it.” It didn’t matter if he did love her, or even if she still harbored tender feelings for him. He was, after all, her first true love, but she had never been a priority with him, and watching the love his parents had shared, she realized she deserved better than what Quint was giving. One day, maybe she’d find her Mr. Right. But Quint McCoy was not that man. “My U-Haul is parked right across the street. As soon as I have a minute with Molly, I’m on my way to Seattle. I’ve enrolled in college,” she said, keeping the type of college to herself. If she ended up with her degree then she would share details with trusted friends, but for now, it was her secret. “Classes start next week.”
“That’s awesome. I’m so excited for you.” Andrea’s smile flashed, then quickly faded. “Uh, by the way, Molly just spoke to Quint. He’s on his way here.”
“What? I thought he was still in Alaska.” The news tweaked Callee’s nerves, and she gulped down a swallow of coffee, the hot liquid burning its way to her stomach.
Andrea was studying her. “He got back last night.”
Callee set her mug aside, snatched hold of her purse, and scooted toward the end of the banquette. “It’s been wonderful visiting with you, but right now, I need to see Molly and get out of here.”
“Okay, Andrea, I hope you’re hungry,” Molly called, emerging from the kitchen. Quint’s mother, a bubbly, middle-aged redhead with short spiky hair, was followed by a tall, handsome Latino in his early twenties, who carried a serving tray with fragrant goodies on dessert plates.
“Callee!” Molly squealed, foiling Callee’s attempted escape. Molly wiped her hands on an apron spotted with flour, chocolate, and fruit juice and hugged Callee. “Oh my God, you’re like a gift from Heaven.”
Callee returned the hug, wishing she never had to let go, but she did, and since the memory of this moment would have to last her a long time, she held on a beat or two longer than she might have. Even though Molly would always welcome Callee into her home and her heart, Callee understood their relationship would never be the same once she left here today. Tears stung her eyes.
Molly stepped back, and Callee did a quick assessment. There was a smidge of flour in her choppy red hair and on her pert nose. The bedroom eyes she’d passed on to her son seemed weary, and the wide smile that lit up any room she entered seemed less brilliant. She was like a clock someone forgot to wind; not quite up to speed. Still missing her husband, Callee figured, still worrying about her son. At least the shop would joyfully fill a lot of lonely hours.
Callee glanced at the wall clock, wondering how soon before Quint arrived. She had to leave. Now. But Molly urged her back into the booth.
“I know why you’re here.”
How could she know that? Callee lowered her voice. “In that case, could I see you in private—?”
“You’re going to stay and come work for me.” Molly cut her off, hope erasing the worry lines near her mouth.
“What?” Callee’s eyebrows rose. “Work for you doing what?”
“A pie shop can always use more than one pastry chef.” She handed Andrea and Callee forks and napkins.
“A pastry chef?” Callee blushed, recalling the time Molly tried to teach her to bake a pie. Callee kept hearing her grandmother’s voice, taunting, telling her that she was only fit for washing dishes and taking out garbage. Not for cooking or baking anything. The end result had been a crust that resembled lumpy clay, and although Molly had been kind, Callee couldn’t stop cringing at the memory.
Callee gave Molly an indulgent smile. “You know perfectly well that my kitchen skills are limited to coffee and scrambled eggs. Period. Not pies.”
“Oh, all right.” Molly sighed. “But since you don’t have anything against eating pies, you can help us figure out which of these three items belongs on the menu.”
“I really need to go.”
“I’m opening next week, and I need to tick this off my to-do list.”
“I can’t st—”
“Nonsense. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Molly slipped into her side of the booth, blocking her in. As stuck as gum in cat fur, her grandmother was fond of saying. Resigned, Callee turned her attention to the tray, which held three colorful pie slices. Her mouth watered. Her early morning breakfast had consisted of a grande latte. Eating something now meant one less stop along the road later on.
Andrea said, “If presentation means anything… wow.”
Molly beamed. She handed Andrea a small green tart. “It’s ke
y lime.”
Molly gave Callee a slice of chocolate pie and gestured for Callee to try it. “This is tar heel pie.”
Callee tried a bite. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s chocolate chips, coconut, and pecans. A word of caution. It’s very rich and should probably only be eaten in tiny increments.”
“Ooh, I like this,” Andrea said. “A definite ten.”
“This is to die for,” Callee exclaimed, her sweet meter tilting off the charts. She shoved the slice toward Andrea. “Try it.”
Molly pointed to the next item. “This last one is Daiquiri pie. Cream cheese, condensed milk, concentrated lemonade, and my own twist, ninety-proof rum.”
Andrea and Callee dug in while Molly watched, waiting for their verdicts.
But Callee and Andrea could only moan in pleasure.
Molly glanced at Rafe. “So much for narrowing the menu.”
He muttered something in Spanish that sounded like “a bucket of Tequila” and headed back to the kitchen.
Outside, tires crunched on the gravel parking lot. Inside, forks stopped halfway to mouths. The three women exchanged knowing looks. Molly scooted out of the booth, then stood frozen beside the table. “Quick, Callee, go see if it’s Quint.”
“Me? Why me? I don’t want to see Quint.” She would just mail the ring to Molly. Feeling none too composed, Callee slipped from the booth. “Do you have a back door?”
“Please, Callee.” Molly’s face had gone a worrisome gray.
“What’s going on?” Callee looked from Molly to Andrea.
Andrea winced. “A sort of intervention.”
“Shock therapy,” Molly said.
“What?” Callee had no clue what they were talking about, and she didn’t want to know. She stole to the window and peered out through the blinds. The second she saw Quint, her heart began to thrum with a rhythm akin to a love song. He was sitting in his SUV, phone to ear. “It’s him.”
“It’s for his own good,” Molly muttered, as though to herself, as though her actions needed defending. “It’s true what they say about tough love. It is harder on the giver than on the receiver. If I hadn’t spoiled that boy to the edge of redemption…”
“What’s he doing?” Andrea asked, still seated in the booth, sucking up Daiquiri pie like she was downing shots in a bar and ignoring her cell phone, which kept announcing a new voice mail.
Callee had a bad feeling. “He’s putting his phone away.”
“What’s he doing now?” Molly asked, her face drained of color.
“Getting out of the car.”
“Does he look angry?” Molly asked.
He looks heart-stopping delectable—like always. Damn. Callee hated that her pulse still skipped whenever she laid eyes on Quint, hated that every nerve in her body seemed to quiver as he shoved back the Stetson revealing his incredible face. God, how she adored that face. His smile, his touch, the things he did to her body, the responses he elicited… just recalling left her breathless. No. Stop it. You’re over. He never put you first. Never. “He’s glancing up and down the street as though he can’t understand why he isn’t seeing what he expects to see.”
“Like he’s wondering if he’s on the right street?” Andrea said, sounding… anxious?
And then Callee realized. Shock therapy. “You didn’t tell him you were turning his office into the café portion of your pie shop?”
Molly gulped. All the answer Callee needed. Before she could ask what the hell Molly was thinking, a fist hit the door. All three women jumped. But no one moved to let him in.
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Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
WELCOME
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAP
TER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY ADRIANNE LEE
AN EXCERPT FROM DELECTABLE
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NEWSLETTERS
COPYRIGHT
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Adrianne Lee
Excerpt from Delectable copyright © 2013 by Adrianne Lee
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner
Cover copyright © 2015 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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