Lily

by Chris Keniston

  “Here you go,” a deep voice rumbled really close to her ear.

  Both her eyes shot open. Not a pillow. Cole. Cole on the floor, propped against the sofa, smiling down at her. His bad wrist resting against her, the other holding out a buzzing phone.

  “Thanks.” Shifting to an upright position, she sifted through the mental cobwebs of her mind in an effort to put this morning’s pieces together. The only problem—this close to a living, breathing, hunk of a man—who definitely knew how to kiss—her mind was putting very little together. There was no forgetting the fabulous massage, or the breathtaking kiss, and then they talked. That’s right. For hours they shared stories about her grandfather, the Marine Corps general, and his grandfather, the Navy Captain, their childhoods, likes, dislikes. Story after story, they were always stunned at how different their lives were and yet how much they still had in common. The last vivid memory she had was being tucked into his side, sharing the color schemes for the bakery of her dreams. Somewhere between the champagne cream walls and the retro tin ceilings, she must have fallen dead asleep.

  “Are you going to answer?”

  Lily looked over at those deep gray eyes and wished desperately that she had a cup of coffee, or ten, because at the moment her caffeine deprived brain could not care less about the phone. The buzzing stopped, only to begin again. This time she looked at the name—Hilltop Inn—and bolted upright. “Oh, no. I didn’t take the kalockys to the Inn. “Barb, I’m so sorry.”

  “What?”

  “I have kalockys. What time is it?”

  “Just after seven and I’m not calling about my guests. I threw sugar and cinnamon on toast and heated yesterday’s leftovers. So far, this weekend’s crowd hasn’t noticed.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Nothing like being on the precipice of major financial investment and realizing all that’s needed to replace her is a loaf of store bought bread and some cinnamon.

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way. Anyhow, I just got a call from Nan Elizabeth at the Lakeside Resort. They’ve ordered desserts for all their catered events from Sam at Dough’s for ages, and you know your baked goods are better than Dough’s.”

  Keeping her eyes on Cole, maneuvering his scooter in the tiny kitchen, she nodded, though it didn’t matter. Barb couldn’t see Lily, the woman kept right on talking.

  “Sometime last night Sam collapsed in the kitchen. His wife got worried when he stopped answering his phone, went over, and found him sprawled on the floor. Hospital said if she’d waited another thirty minutes to check on him, it might have been too late.”

  It took Lily a few seconds to take her mind off the now brewing pot of coffee Cole had started and process the words collapsed, hospital, and too late. “Oh no! Is he all right?”

  “Should be. It’s a wonder what they can do with a burst appendix. But Nan has a bigger problem.”

  What could possibly be bigger than almost dying?

  “In all the hoo ha, no one noticed the refrigerator door wasn’t shut.”

  Barb didn’t have to explain further. “How long?”

  “There’s no telling how long he’d been down before his wife found him, but at least eight hours that we know of.”

  Whatever had needed refrigeration wasn’t going to be pretty after that many hours above minimum temps. “Too long,” she mumbled.

  “Exactly. Whoever steps in now is going to have to start from scratch.”

  The hairs on the back of Lily’s neck stood on end.

  “Governor Thompson’s favorite niece is getting married tomorrow night.”

  “Did the cake survive?” Pulling out the red vinyl stool, Lily sat at the island, her gaze on the still gurgling coffee pot.

  “Italian Buttercream icing. What do you think?”

  Nope.

  “And,” Barb dragged the single syllable word out, “a Venetian hour.”

  “Oh man.” This was getting worse by the minute.

  “I’ve texted you the quote. It says what they ordered, and how much of it they ordered.”

  “Texted me?”

  “Yep. You’re it. You’ve got about thirty-six hours to put together a killer dessert presentation for the governor’s favorite niece.”

  Cole appeared, setting a steaming mug of caffeine in front of her. “How many guests?” she asked.

  “Four hundred. Give or take.”

  Four hundred? Had Barb lost her mind? Not even with the entire pot of coffee and the Inn’s professional kitchen could she pull off a Venetian Hour for four hundred guests without serious help. “I may be good, Barb, but nothing about me is faster than a speeding bullet. I’m not Superman.”

  Sliding onto the seat beside her, Cole mouthed “yes you are” with a straight face.

  “What about Gerty in Pinefield?” she asked.

  “Nope. She’s already committed for a fiftieth anniversary party for some Boston tourists.”

  Her mind scrambled to think of bakers big enough and close enough to pull this off. “Allison at Sweets to Eat. Didn’t she just take on more people?”

  “She did. She also had to shut down the kitchen when a plumbing repair uncovered asbestos. Like it or not, you’re the best option.”

  “You mean the only option.”

  “Lily, honey, you pull this off and people will be raving about you from here to the Atlantic. Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

  Taking a quick glance at the items on the order, Lily shook her head. Barb had no idea what this would take. And thirty-six hours and one little baker weren’t going to cut it.

  ***

  The way all the color momentarily drained from Lily’s face, Cole feared she might keel over. The woman who’d refused to take no for an answer, insisting on caring for him, and who’d juggled her personal and business world around in order to stay at his side, seemed to have run into what looked to be an insurmountable obstacle. He couldn’t imagine what.

  “Give me a few minutes to inhale some caffeine and I’ll call you back.” Lily tapped her phone to disconnect and began scrolling quickly, then back, then again more slowly. With each pass, the creases in her forehead deepened. By the third pass her head shifted from side to side and her lips were pressed into a thin line.

  “That bad?” Noticing she had yet to take even a single sip of coffee, he nudged the warm brew closer to her.

  Without looking up, she curled her fingers around the handle and gulped a long swallow. The cup back on the counter, she blew out a sigh and shook her head again.

  “Want to share?”

  Tossing her phone on the island, she wrapped both hands around the nearly full mug and took another long gulp. “Making multiple desserts for a crowd of four hundred takes time. Or at least a large team of bakers and a huge facility.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “I have neither.”

  “Okay.” He hadn’t really heard enough of the conversation to fully put the pieces together yet.

  “It’s crazy.”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Insane.”

  He could see the wheels in her head turning. “Superhuman.”

  “Or Superman?” Her scowl of a response had him biting back the grin teasing his lips.

  Her gaze lifted to the tiny oven behind him and then out the window into the distance. From the direction she stared, his guess was her grandparents’ house. The impressive, porch-wrapped, white Victorian structure that stood as a testament to strong family bonds.

  “I gather,” he ventured, “your boss’ help won’t be enough.”

  Lily huffed a curt laugh. “Barb is just fine at turning an oven on and maybe even unwrapping a pan of frozen pastry, but a baker she will never be or I’d be out of a job.”

  “Maybe that’s all you need.” Hurrying up with his thought as her narrowed eyes threw daggers at him. “Helping hands to load and unload trays, grease pans—which, I will mention, I am pretty darn good at if I do say so myself—transfer pastries from pan to dish—”


  “You’re volunteering?” The crease between her brows took on a more quizzical form, but more importantly, the gleam in her eyes was slowly returning. She had an idea. He could almost see it forming in the back of her mind. “We’d need more ovens,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

  At this point he figured silently nodding would be more helpful than breaking up whatever train of thought was building momentum.

  “And more hands. But hands with some skill.”

  “Lucy?” he dared mention.

  A bright grin was his reward. “Lucy and I bet Katie O’Leary would help. That woman definitely has the bakers touch. Poppy isn’t bad with a spatula, either.”

  “You do have an awful lot of family. And if I’m not mistaken, there are an awful lot of cabins with ovens and not that many guests.”

  Her chin dipped briefly as she retrieved her phone and scanned the list again. “We might have to do a few substitutions. The warm fridge may have ruined much of the prep work, but should not have affected the gum paste roses.” Her face brightened. “If Sam has already made those, I might even be able to put this cake together.” This time she lifted her face to meet his. “If I have help, that is.”

  “Of course. I can do a lot one handed. And I can’t lift anything heavy, but my fingers work just fine on the not so good hand.”

  “You mean broken.” She smiled, shook her head, then chuckled. “You know, I really think we can do this.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh, huh. I figured it out the minute you told me the idea was crazy and insane. You had that exact same look in your eyes when you told me that I was staying put and you were taking care of me.”

  Her brows buckled again. “Well,” the creased forehead smoothed, “I suppose I didn’t have a clue how I would make it all work then either.”

  “See?”

  A slowly growing smile made her eyes twinkle. He liked that. A lot. Probably more than those button sized cookies that he found almost irresistible. Much like her. And wouldn’t that put a crimp in his plans.

  ***

  “If you ask me—”

  “I’m not.” Fiona Hart cut her housekeeper off. She loved Lucy, more than a sister, but some days she was just a tad too eager to marry off all the single women of Lawford.

  “Well, we’ve got a handsome as Adonis, strong as—”

  “Luucyy.” Fiona didn’t look up from her crocheting. Every time she did, somehow she wound up with longer or fatter stitches.

  “Okay. Can I at least say single?”

  What was the point in reeling the woman in? Fiona had spent her entire adult life handling a Marine general, she didn’t have it in her to do the same with her matchmaking housekeeper. Even if she’d yet to make an actual match.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of confined space romance? This is the perfect chance to set the stage for love. Some candlelight. Soft music. Wine. But no. Blasted grandfather has people in and out of that house like a stampeding herd of cattle.”

  “You’ve never seen a stampede, have you?” Not that Fiona was an expert, but she’d had to mingle with a local or two over a thousand years ago when they’d been assigned briefly at the joint base in Texas.

  “Yoo hoo.” Rapping on the door, Katie O’Leary popped her head in the back entry and nudged the door open with her hip. “Since I’d be coming this way anyhow, thought I’d save the General a trip to the One Stop for the loaves you ordered.”

  Fiona glanced up at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be at the store manning the cash register?”

  “Fiona Maureen, how can I be in two places at once? I’ve got everything Lily asked for in the car. Could use a hand unloading.”

  “Lily?” Fiona and Lucy echoed, both frozen with confusion.

  Mary Kathleen O’Leary straightened her shoulders and tucked her chin tight against her long neck. “Now what would you two be staring at,” her Irish lilt showing, she clapped her hands, “there’s work to be done.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Lucy dropped the pan she was scrubbing and Fiona jumped to her feet—not a thought for her yarn or stitches—and followed their friend and shopkeeper out the door.

  “Grams,” Lily called from a few feet up the hill, “phone’s off the hook again and you’re not answering your cell.”

  Fiona leaned into the van for the groceries Katie held out. “That’s because it’s on my night stand.”

  “Grams,” Lily whined much like she did when she was five years old and her mother told her it was time to put away her Easy Bake and get ready for bed. “What good is having a cell phone if you don’t have it with you?”

  “Strikes me as plenty good.” She hated those dang contraptions. Seemed like few people remembered how to talk to real people nowadays. The number of times she’d see couples on a date and both with their noses in their phones, she wondered why they’d bothered leaving the house at all.

  “I got everything you asked for.” Grinning from ear to ear, Katie handed off a couple of bags to Lucy, then Lily.

  “I can take a couple.” Cole rolled to a stop in front of Lily.

  Katie’s gaze lifted, and starting slowly from the top of his wavy brown hair, descended past his broad shoulders, continued down to the knee resting on the scooter, and drifted back up again. “Oh, I’d say you could handle a lot more than that.”

  “See,” Lucy snapped at Fiona. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

  Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Fiona ignored the banter and turned to her granddaughter. “May I ask what this is all about?”

  “It’s why I called you. I need some help.” Lily sucked in a heavy breath. “Heaven help me. I’ve—no—we’ve got less than thirty-six hours to bake and feed a near army.”

  Fiona watched her granddaughter march up the porch stairs. What the heck was she talking about?

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Where are the pecans?” Poppy lifted the kitchen rag on her left, moved the package of parchment paper, then looked once again to her right.

  Licking blended cream cheese from the tip of her finger, Lily swallowed and smiled. Just right.

  “Aren’t those for the pumpkin tartlets?” Lucy asked.

  “Nope, turtle cheesecake bites.”

  “That’s right.” Lucy snapped her fingers. “Caramel drizzle and candied pecans.”

  Poppy fisted her hands on her hips. “And Katie needs more pecans.”

  “Are you sure she doesn’t have all the bags?” Lily asked.

  “Right now,” Poppy shook her head, “I’m not sure of anything other than my feet hurt.”

  Bless her family. Everyone had dropped their own lives and responsibilities to come help. Callie wasn’t worth a damn in the kitchen, but her enthusiasm helped when it came to running back and forth from cabins to the house whenever anyone needed something and for cheerleading extraordinaire. Cindy was still stuck at the clinic but promised to do a grocery run for any additional supplies needed when she was through. Planning for twenty dozen of this and twenty dozen of that, the wedding coordinator must have expected each guest to eat their weight in desserts. Poppy was doing a great job at measuring out ingredients and even mixing a few items. She’d been a huge help with the filling for the crème brulee tarts. Only ten dozen more of those to go.

  At least the caterer was doing his share. He’d offered to torch the tops on site so they wouldn’t have to deal with the timing on that. Merrily humming away the song ‘Just Leave Everything To Me’ Lucy monitored the chocolate molding. Lily’s cousin Iris had left early this morning, heading back to work before her boss became totally apoplectic. Violet returned to Boston on Iris’ heels. Not wanting to disrupt everyone’s lives, Lily opted not to let them in on the current chaos or she knew they would have changed their plans. Her cooking team of six, soon to be seven helpers was working out just fine.

  “I don’t know about you,” a tray of gluten free tartlet shells in each arm, Callie l
eaned into her cousin and whispered, “why does that song in particular always make me nervous?”

  Whispering back, Lily leaned closer. “You don’t suppose the use of courted, dated, wed, marriage, and consummated in one song could give any single woman the heebie-jeebies?”

  “And here I thought it was the unpleasant picture of ‘torso pounded’ that bothered me.” The two women laughed softly as Callie carried the trays out the door and across the drive to the Sycamore Cabin for baking.

  “Well foo,” Poppy frowned. “I’m positive I only took one sack full to the cabin.”

  “Is someone looking for this?” Grams held up a large grocery sack bulging with smaller bags of pecan halves.

  “Yes,” Poppy squealed. “Where was it?”

  Grams pointed to the floor by her yarn bag. “Not sure how but it wound up in there. Good thing pecans weigh more than yarn or it could have been a while before I noticed.”

  “Here you go.” Katie walked in the door, kicking it shut with her foot and balancing a large plastic tub as she walked. “Just finished stirring up the last of the pecans and have them waiting to go in the oven and another batch set to cool. Can’t do anything else without more pecans.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” Lily’s chest tightened with nerves. She’d given the job of glazing the pecans to Katie because the woman swore her grandmother’s method was the best. She trusted Katie in the kitchen, but giving up control gave her her own case of heebie-jeebies.

  “Earlier batch cooled and ready for your approval.” Katie held the tub with one corner of the cover lifted up.

  It was like reaching into a black hole. Would this work or not? Would they be great or not? Lily had been tempted to cheat and do a quick sauté and higher temperature bake for shorter cooking time. It would have worked, but Katie was right—slow and easy was always better. Bringing the candied pecan to her lips, she slowly set it on the tip of her tongue. Immediately, her cheeks tightened into a happy grin. “Perfect.”