Paige dove into her pancakes. After the first heavenly bite of maple and pumpkin and spiced nuts, she wanted to literally dive into her pancakes. As in, stick a giant fluffy one outside, hop into the middle, and eat her way out.
She made quick work of her food, then sat back, completely satiated. "Oh, that was so good. I'm going to have to beg the recipe from Rachel so I can serve these at brunches." She let out a satisfied sigh, then noticed Wes watching her with a strange expression. She swallowed. "What?" she said, feeling a bit self-conscious. Did she have syrup on her face? Had she chowed down like a starving animal?
Wes took his time to reply, opening his mouth like he was about to say something, then shutting it again. Finally, he said, "I'm kind of surprised that you actually eat. There's not much to you. My—someone I used to know would only eat a bite or two before she'd say she was stuffed. It's just nice to see a girl really enjoy a meal, that's all. Makes me feel better about inhaling my own breakfast." He motioned to his plate, which only had a few crumbs left.
Paige laughed and wiped her lips with her napkin. "Well, if I'm ever going to run my own business, I need to research any recipes I'd hope to serve. And these would definitely fit the bill."
Wes took a sip of his coffee. "You want to run a restaurant?"
"I'm not completely sure. Not something really big. Maybe start out catering on my own, then have a café. Or a combination of both." If she ever got up the courage to go out on her own. It was one thing to think about opening a business, dream about the possibilities, and a completely different one to actually do it.
Working for Gretchen was fine for now. At least, Paige tried not to think about much else until she could pay off culinary school. A huge chunk of each paycheck went to paying off those loans. “It would be at least another year before I could seriously consider opening my own place.”
Wes toyed with his napkin. “Well, if you cook other food as well as you did those raisin rolls, you’d have my business. I swiped one from the judge last night, and I doubt there’s any left by now.”
“Thanks.” That was unexpected, but nice to hear. “I learned to make them from my grandfather. They’re an old Norwegian Christmas tradition.” A shadow briefly crossed his face. Had something she said bothered him?
Rachel came back and took their plates. "Well, they must not have been terrible, considering how fast you guys ate!" She winked at Paige.
"Can you blame us?" Paige said. "Those were the best pancakes I've ever had, and I've had lots."
"Glad you liked them." Rachel brushed a strand of hair from her face with the back of her hand. “I'd better get back to the kitchen, but I'll be over after lunch to help with the dinner prep."
"That's great!" Paige said. "I'm really looking forward to it."
"Me too." Rachel grinned, then went back to the kitchen.
Paige swallowed her last mouthful of cocoa, then decided she needed to burst Wes’s bubble. "Um, you know how you said you liked to see a girl enjoy a meal?"
"Yes . . ." he said warily.
"Just so you know, I don't eat like that all the time. In fact, Christmas is about the only time I allow myself to do that anymore. My first year of culinary school? I gained thirty pounds. Took me forever to get it off. So during the holidays, no holds barred, but the rest of the year, I stick to a lot of salads and chicken breasts."
"Oh." Wes played with the corner of his napkin.
Why had she said that? She didn’t care what Wes thought. Did she? But she never wanted anyone to think something about her that wasn't true. Yes, that was it. Even if telling him made her sound like a weirdo.
"Well," he said, "we'd better get over to Stephen's and get the groceries to the community building." He stood up and helped Paige with her coat, then put on his own and opened the door.
They walked quietly to her car. Something was on Wes's mind—she could tell. He stood there in silence as she opened her door and slid in. The chill sank through her jeans. She should have started the car before having breakfast.
As she was about to close the door, Wes gripped the corner. "I—uh, I don't know why I mentioned your eating habits. I didn't mean anything by it, but I shouldn’t have been so impolite. I’m sorry."
Was that what had been weighing on him? Paige held back a laugh. She couldn't believe he was apologizing. Granted, it had been kind of a strange thing for him to say, but she figured he'd been grasping at a way to make conversation. "Really, it's fine. No worries. Plus, you had twice as many pancakes as me, so you're going to have to tell me your secret for staying trim." Had she really said that? Oh, boy, if he'd only let go of the door so she could leave.
He chuckled. "Splitting wood. I have propane heat, but it’s not cheap, and I like to save money. But more than that, I love the smell of a wood fire in the stove. So I haul dead trees to my yard in the summer and split and stack the wood."
An image of him decked out like a lumberjack flitted through her mind. He already had the flannel shirt, so why not?
"Really?" she said. “That’s all you do?”
"Partly. I also go to the gym in Cameron a few times a week. Gotta keep in shape to handle the pesky criminals around here."
"Like those awful speed-limit breakers. I've heard they run fast." She laughed.
"Exactly." He smiled, the first genuine smile she'd seen on him. It transformed his face from attractive to drop-dead gorgeous. A dimple appeared in his left cheek. "You know, you can come with me if you want and leave your car here. No use driving two all over town."
Was . . . was he actually being nice? It would be kind of fun to continue their banter, but she didn't want to encourage him. "As much sense as that makes, we both know I don't do what makes sense—as evidenced by my poor driving choices. Plus, I have all this food in my car, and I'm worried that if I leave, someone's going to break in and swipe it."
Wes not only smiled now, but laughed. If she’d thought his smile was gorgeous before, now her heart actually skipped a beat. He said, "Well, I don’t know if I could blame the thieves. Those rolls were so good. What were they called?"
"Boller. Raisin-studded cardamom rolls, and Sheriff Carlston practically stole them from me. But it’s not just the boller I’d be risking— the pepperkaker, krumkaker, and julekake would be in danger too." Not that she was showing off. Well, yeah, she was showing off a little.
"Follow me, then. Just make sure you don’t ‘accidentally’ get lost." He winked, and something fluttered in her chest.
"Oh, I’ll stay close. I don't know if I'd be able to find my way back if I lost sight of your truck. With all of five streets in this town, there are so many opportunities to get lost." She winced. She was only playing, but had she gone too far?
Wes sighed, playfully shaking his head. "See here, the thing about city folk is that sometimes, the simple things confuse them the most. They can't understand the rural life." A shadow briefly crossed his face again as it had at breakfast, so quickly that Paige wondered if she'd imagined it. His teasing grin was back almost as if it had never left. "So really, it wouldn't be your fault if you got lost." He shut her door and went to his truck.
Paige lowered her window and called after him, "Look, I'm from a little town in Iowa! Can't get any more rustic than that, cowboy!"
He turned and raised an eyebrow. "Cowboy, huh? Couldn't have paid me a nicer compliment. Well, let's git along, little dogie. We have work to do."
Oh, boy. She couldn't let that one slide. "I can't believe you just called me a dog."
"I didn't. Google it." He hesitated. "On second thought, don't. I didn't think that one through." He ducked his head and blushed slightly, and before she could say another word, he tipped an imaginary hat, got into his truck, and in a few moments, left tire tracks in the snow.
Paige put her car in gear and followed him. She hoped he'd be a purposeful jerk again soon, because if he wasn't, she was in serious danger of being attracted to this guy. Not that it mattered—Michael was waiting. He’d had always seemed l
ike a dream barely out of her reach, from the day he'd walked into high school the first time, fresh from California, and asked her if she knew the way to English. While she didn’t know quite what to expect, it was possible that their connection could turn into something. Couldn’t it?
This Wes guy was just good-looking—okay, really good-looking—when he smiled. That was all.
Chapter Eight
Wes pulled into the parking lot of Stephen's Grocery and drove around to the rear near the delivery doors, then backed up his truck. Paige parked ahead and waited until he'd maneuvered the Ford into position. What had gotten into him? He hadn’t flirted that way in a long time. There was something about Paige that made him actually want to laugh and goof off. He'd even fought the urge to toss a snowball at her just to see how she'd react.
At least now there was no time for fooling around.
Paige got out of her car, and the cold instantly brought a bright pink flush to her cheeks. Her brown eyes sparkled. While she was in the car, she'd put on a Nordic hat with tassels, and she was completely adorable. She clapped her hands together in her matching gloves and rubbed them in anticipation. "I want to make a few changes to the menu, if you think that's all right with Stephen."
"Changes? The menu has been set for months, and you want to change it now?" She was already trying to take over, make everything the way she thought it should be. Typical city girl.
He'd said it a little harsher than he'd meant to, from the flash of hurt he saw in her eyes. But she stood up straight, hands on her hips. "Look, I do this for a living. I know how much time it takes to cook things. With all those hams, there’s no way we can have three dozen pies baked and ready in time, not even with frozen pie crust already in the pans."
"Oh." He felt a bit sheepish. That was an awful lot of pies. Come to think of it, Betsy had said they should start making them a few days ago, and oh, shoot. He was supposed to get in touch with a few of the women, but had forgotten.
Paige stood waiting, and he could swear she was about to begin tapping her foot. "I apologize. You're absolutely right. I was supposed to ask some people to do that a couple of days ago, but I was in the middle of something at work when she called, and it completely slipped my mind." Three dozen pies. That was a lot of pie. What would they do instead? “I guess we could toss the filling in a huge bowl and serve it that way.”
Paige laughed, her face lighting up like . . . like Christmas. Funny that comparison would come to mind. "That’s one thought,” she said. “I don’t know how well it would go over, though.”
She stood in front of him, looked him earnestly in the eyes, and placed a hand on his arm. "Wes. Hey. It's going to be okay. I told you I'm an expert, right?" She glanced at her hand on his sleeve, then took it away, folded her arms, and continued. "Well, we'll find a bunch of big pans, whatever we can get—the large disposable foil ones would be ideal, but we can use roasting pans, anything huge. Instead of round pies, we're going to make ginormous rectangular ones, sort of like cobblers, and just put crust on the tops. That way, we'll maximize our use of the ovens. We'll be able to bake a lot more dessert in a way shorter amount of time."
He had to admit, he was impressed by her problem-solving skills. "All right. You do sound like you know what you're doing.” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “I have only one question . . ."
"What's that?"
"I get to taste them first, right? I mean, we wouldn't want to serve experimental pie without it being tested, would we?" She reacted by scrunching up her nose. Man, she really was cute.
"Now that you've mentioned it, I must share the top secret, most important rule about cooking." Paige put her hands on her hips. "The thing is, I don't know if you can handle it."
Wes stopped fighting himself and decided to be in the moment. "Try me."
"Well, the Rule That Must Not Be Broken is this—never, ever, ever serve an untried recipe to guests if you want to be a professional. It could cost you your career in the industry. I heard of this one guy who did one of those competitive chef talent nights and tried to make his lemon custard a brilliant shade of yellow by adding turmeric." She tried to stay serious, but he could see a corner of her mouth attempting to turn up.
"Really?" he asked, playing along. "What happened? And be prepared—I actually know what turmeric is."
"Huh. Who would've guessed? Anyway, he didn't taste his custard, but it was a lovely shade of yellow. The problem was that he'd reached for ground mustard instead of the jar of turmeric by mistake."
"Oops."
"Oops is right. Now he's cooking for prisoners in Azkaban." The sun came up over the horizon, lighting Paige from behind, and Wes stopped breathing momentarily. She glowed like an angel.
He struggled for the words he'd had a second ago. "Azkaban . . . he cooks for locked-up Death Eaters?"
"Exactly. I'm impressed that you read Harry Potter. Unless you just watched the movies . . ." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought you might have been too old to know much about The Boy Who Lived."
He clutched his chest in mock agony. "Ouch. Good gracious, woman, how old do you think I am?"
A mischievous giggle escaped her lips, and she put a hand over her mouth. After composing herself, she replied primly, "Fifty-five."
Ha! As much as he tried to deny his attraction, this girl was delightful. "Really. Fifty-five. So it'll shock you to find out that I'm twenty-seven."
"Flabbergasted. But you're five years older than me. Still ancient."
"Well, for your information, I own every book in the series. Hardcover. And who uses the word flabbergasted at twenty-two?"
"I do. Congratulations—you proved you're not a total dinosaur. Now can we go inside?" she asked. "My nose is about to freeze off." She went to the door and jumped up and down to stay warm until Wes opened it and ushered her through. He hadn't felt the urge to hold a shivering girl in his arms for a very long time, and darn it if he didn't feel that way now. His old memories still stung, but yes, after all the busyness of the holiday was over, maybe he should start getting out there. Find someone to have fun with. Someone a lot like this Paige girl.
Chapter Nine
The community center sat in the snow—a large, beige, squat box. Paige hoped it was a little more festive inside.
Wes pulled around to where the kitchen had to be, then got out, unlocked the door, and went in. Paige parked, whipped out her phone, and quickly Googled the word doggie. After finding out that what she’d thought was a weird way to say “dog” all her life was actually a word for “calf,” she snickered. No wonder Wes had told her not to look it up. He’d essentially called her a cow.
Paige laughed until her stomach hurt, then composed herself and went to Wes’s truck. She hefted a few bags of supplies and took them inside, then set them on the spacious counter. After debating whether to call Wes on his unfortunate mistake, she decided he’d been embarrassed enough. And so had she, really. Living in the Midwest and not knowing what a dogie was? Shameful. A giggle escaped in spite of her efforts to control herself, but she finally managed to keep a straight face.
Wes came into the kitchen. “I got the heater going. I’ll get the rest of the bags.” Paige raised the metal window that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, leaving a large open space where food could be served from the counter for small gatherings. The interior of the center was surprisingly light and spacious. Simple, yes, but the floors were clean. There wasn't much in the way of decorations, but a large Christmas tree stood in the corner, with lights and a few red and silver balls.
She went over to the tree. Paper cutouts in Christmas shapes hung on it with something written on them. Curiosity aroused, Paige picked up a few and found that they said things like, "boy, eleven, bike" or "girl, six, Barbie doll." Some had extras like "coat, women’s large" or "men’s pants, thirty-two" written on them.
"What are these for?" Paige asked as Wes set a few hams down on the counter with a thunk. She picked up a cuto
ut and waved it at him.
"What? Oh, the donations? Those are for people to take who have something extra to give. We've had the tree up since Thanksgiving, and most of them are gone now. We keep the gifts in a room at the courthouse, then deliver them on Christmas Eve. When work is slow, I wrap presents.”
Paige motioned to the tree. "What happens to the papers that aren't taken?"
"The money comes out of the community charitable fund. You say you’re from a small town—don't they have something similar?" He watched for her reaction, and a flash of embarrassment went through her.
"We do, but we're not as close knit as this. Eight thousand people means that everyone doesn't quite know everyone else. Most do, though." She put back the paper ornament she’d waved around, then turned to Wes. "It's a wonderful idea.”
He went to the outside door, then paused. "We don't just help people at Christmas. We care about our town all year." He left without another word, then came back in with a load of food, then went out again.
Wes didn't seem angry, but Paige could tell that something bothered him. By now, she knew he had some hang-ups about Christmas, which made no sense, considering all he was doing to make it pleasant for others. She shrugged off those thoughts and tied on her trusty apron, then started organizing the food by when it needed to be cooked. Then she heated up the six—yes, six—ovens. These people must really like to socialize.
By the time Wes had finished hauling everything in, Paige had half the hams ready for the oven and began peeling potatoes. She'd hoped they were using instant, but nope—nothing but the real deal. There were several gallons of milk and pounds of butter to mix in them, too.
"Didn't you say we'd have some helpers?" Paige asked. "These potatoes alone are going to take all day. We may just have to boil them whole and make smashed potatoes with the skins on. They're more rustic that way, but still really tasty."
Wes set an industrial-sized bag of gravy mix on the counter. "Rachel's coming in a few hours, and Audrey will be here about the same time. I couldn't find anyone else. But I did come up with a plan."
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