by Cindy Kirk
“I’ll definitely review the lineup with you.” Prim pulled her brows together. “But I don’t understand the walking-the-route thing.”
“We could drive it. But it’s a nice day and I know you like to walk.” Max took a step closer.
She inhaled the clean, fresh scent of him and angled her body to him. “No, I mean what’s the purpose?”
Without taking his eyes off her, Max gestured widely. “To look for obstacles that may have popped up since the route was selected, that kind of thing.”
Prim lifted her face to the warmth of the sun, moving even closer in the process. “Actually, a walk sounds good.”
“Wow.” Max rocked back on his heels and grinned. “That was quick.”
She winked. “You caught me in an agreeable mood.”
“In that case . . .” He paused. “Will you do my laundry?”
“Nope.” She laughed. “My agreeability has limits.”
“Would you have done it if I’d brought it up before I asked for the parade stuff?”
“No.” She tilted her head. “In the interest of full disclosure, I will, however, bake you a pie.”
A look of startled surprise crossed his face. His eyes lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. “What kind?”
“Cherry.”
“I love cherry.” His slow grin had her insides melting like butter.
“Of course you do. It’s a requirement if you live in Door County.” Prim gestured to her car. “I can drive.”
Max glanced back at his house. “Let me grab the papers and lock up the house. No more leaving doors unlocked during the day.”
Resting her back against the warm metal of the car, Prim watched Max jog back to his house and disappear inside. The day wasn’t going the way she’d planned, but that was okay.
That was one of the benefits of being back in Good Hope. Each minute of every day was no longer regimented. She could spend time with family and good friends . . . and even bake a pie if the mood struck her.
She smiled as Max returned, a leather satchel dangling from one hand. Yes indeed, this was turning out to be a stellar day.
“Your sister needs to give some serious thought to expanding,” Max told Prim when they stepped inside Blooms Bake Shop.
A line snaked from the front counter across the dining area. Max noted most of the congestion came from a group of tourists having difficulty making a decision.
He shot Hadley a sympathetic smile before he and Prim ventured to take their place at the back of the line.
“Hey, Brody, shouldn’t you be working?”
Max easily dodged David Chapin’s quick jab.
“I could say the same about you,” Max volleyed back, but the architect had already shifted his gaze to Prim.
“Primrose. I’d say this is a surprise, but given this is your sister’s bakery, it’s really not.”
David’s daughter, Brynn, stood at his side. Max remembered her as the one who’d chased a butterfly during T-ball practice. He didn’t hold that against her. He could imagine Prim doing something similar at the same age.
“Hey, Brynn.” Max offered the little girl a warm smile. “Good to see you.”
The girl smiled shyly and gripped her father’s hand.
“What did you think of T-ball practice?” Prim asked. “Did you have fun?”
“I hit the ball twice.” She glanced up at her father for confirmation.
David nodded. “Camille said you did very well.”
Brynn thrust out one hand. “My mommy painted my fingernails last night.”
“If I had a daughter, I’d paint her nails, too.” Prim studied the outstretched fingers. “Very pretty.”
“Whitney is home catching up on her sleep,” David said in answer to the unspoken question. “She’s got a weekend trip with friends to Las Vegas coming up.”
Prim kept her face impassive. Hadn’t the woman just gotten home? How could she be leaving again so soon?
Not your business, Prim reminded herself. But she could empathize. She knew what it was like to shoulder the parenting burden alone, especially when the spouse was alive and well.
“Mommy is going to fly on a plane again,” Brynn announced. Her lips drooped and she kicked the floor with the tips of her red sneakers. “I asked if I could go with her, but it’s only for big girls.”
“Mommy isn’t going anywhere until Saturday, sweetheart. You and she will have plenty of time to spend together before then.”
David and his daughter had reached the front of the line, so there was no opportunity to say more.
“Love the pink polish with glitter, Brynn.” Hadley’s gaze lingered on the child before shifting up to her father. “Good to see you again, David.”
“You’re busy,” David observed. “Working solo this morning?”
“Just like you.” Hadley’s smile remained pleasant, but there was something, a look in her eyes, Max couldn’t quite decipher.
“Whitney is home.” David rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “We thought we’d surprise her this morning with some of her favorite pastries.”
“That’s very considerate of you.” While Hadley filled the white box with an assortment large enough to feed an army, Brynn regaled the clerk with details of her T-ball practice.
Hadley asked questions as she boxed up the order. When she praised the little girl for hitting the ball two times in a row, Brynn was all smiles.
As David and his daughter left the store, Hadley’s eyes followed them until they were out the door before refocusing on Max and Prim.
“You just missed Ami,” Hadley explained. “She’s over at Muddy Boots. They got slammed and Janey and Tom were having difficulty keeping up.”
“They must be busy if they needed to pull Ami from the bakery.” Max knew both cooks were seasoned and could usually handle even the stiffest rush.
“What can I get you?”
“A kouign amann and a medium skinny latte,” Prim answered without hesitation.
What was it with women and their fancy drinks?
“Same except black coffee for me.”
Hadley nodded her approval and placed two round, crusty cakes containing layers of butter and caramelized sugar onto pretty flowered plates before lifting a matching cup for the latte.
When they turned around with their plates and drinks, they had the place to themselves except for Clint Gourley, who sat on a stool by the window.
Prim chose the same pink table Eliza had picked when he’d met her here.
“It’s like at the grocery store,” Prim announced.
Max inclined his head, pulled out a chair.
“Everyone comes in at once, then leaves at once.” Prim gestured to the nearly empty shop.
He chuckled. God, he was glad he’d invited himself along.
“Oh, before I forget, seeing Brynn reminded me that the boys are going to miss a few T-ball practices. I’m taking them to visit my in-laws in Appleton.”
“That’s too bad.” Only after the words left his lips did Max realize how they’d sounded. “I mean there are so many events for children at this time of year that it’s a shame they’ll have to miss them.”
“I know, but Rory’s parents want to spend time with them, too.” Over Prim’s shoulder, Max caught Clint staring at Prim.
Max didn’t like the guy. He hadn’t had any use for him since he’d heard Clint had beaten a possum to death with a baseball bat in middle school.
“My mother-in-law is insisting I stay while the boys are there.”
“That will be fun.”
Prim rolled her eyes. “What did Hadley put in that coffee?”
Max laughed and opened his satchel. He pulled out his iPad. Last night he’d loaded the parade entries onto a spreadsheet. “Ready to get down to business?”
She smiled up at him with such warmth his heart stumbled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Fourteen
Your pie is ready for pickup.
>
Prim sent the text, then returned to the living room, where the boys sat playing Legos in their pajamas, their hair still slightly damp from the shower.
“Ten minutes,” she told them. “Make sure you pick out the books that you want me to read.”
“Okay,” Connor said.
Callum nodded and carefully added the piece that linked the span of the curved bridge.
Prim lifted her glass of wine. “Anyone want to come and sit on the porch swing with me?”
Two identical red heads shook at the same time.
“I’ll be right outside on the porch.” Prim glanced down at Boris, who lay sprawled out on the floor beside the boys, chewing on a rawhide. “Boris, you’re on duty.”
Prim took the merlot to the porch and settled on the swing. Despite it being nearly eight o’clock, the air was warm. Though she still wore the sleeveless dress she’d had on that morning when she and Max had walked the parade route, she wasn’t at all chilled.
Speaking of Max . . .
She lifted the phone. No response to her text.
“Where’s my pie?”
She jumped, the wine sloshing in her glass. Setting the phone down, she tried to hide her delight, but it rang in her voice. “You didn’t have to come tonight.”
“It’s cherry pie. Of course I did.” He sauntered to the swing, motioned her to scoot over, then dropped down beside her. “Are the boys already in bed?”
“They’ve got another ten minutes.” She breathed in the scent of lilacs and pine. “It’s such a nice night, I wanted to enjoy it a little.”
He nodded as if he understood. But of course he did. He’d always understood.
“We got a lot accomplished today.”
Prim sipped her wine. “Eliza is bound to be impressed.”
“She’s a tough audience.”
“She won’t be able to deny that the changes we made in the lineup will make the parade even better.” Just the thought of Eliza having to give them a compliment brought a rush of pleasure.
“It’s good we walked the route or we wouldn’t have noticed that patch of road construction.” Max glanced at her glass of wine. “That looks good. Do you have any more?”
“I’m not sure how well it will go with cherry pie.”
“I like to live dangerously.”
Prim snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, me too.”
She saw his eyes darken, and he turned toward her, his hands rising up to grip her shoulders. “Prim.”
He opened his mouth, but before he could say more, “Flight of the Bumblebee” filled the air.
“Sorry.” Slipping the phone from her pocket, she silenced the alarm.
“What was that?”
“I set the alarm so I could know when ten minutes was up. After a day of fishing, they’re exhausted.” She dropped the phone back in her pocket. “Give me a few minutes to read a quick story and tuck them in.”
“Would you let me?”
Prim dropped back down, not sure she’d heard correctly. “You want to tuck them in?”
“Sure. I didn’t get a chance to see them today. And this way you can relax. Callum and Connor aren’t the only ones who had a busy day.” He leaned over, brushed the hair back from her face, and planted a kiss against her temple. “You need some pampering, too.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say yes.”
“Ah, sure, fine with me.”
“Smart woman.” He stood, shot her a wink. “I’ve got this.”
Prim leaned back in the swing. Through the open screen door she heard Max’s deep rumble and the boys’ squeals of delight.
Slowly she swung back and forth, letting the light breeze ruffle her hair as she sipped her wine. She thought about what it would be like to be married to a man who was committed to his family, like her father had been.
The boys wouldn’t just have her to care for them, to love them, to be there for them, they’d have a dad, too. And she would have a husband, a helpmate, a lover to be with her through the good times and bad, to share her joys and her sorrows.
Not all marriages were the kind she’d had with Rory. Not all relationships were equal. It could be different.
She could see Max . . .
Prim shook her head in an attempt to banish the image. It had been good at first with Rory. They’d enjoyed each other’s company, had done activities together. All that had changed once the twins were born.
She knew she hadn’t given Rory the attention he craved, but she’d been so tired. Between working full-time and two demanding babies, there had been nothing of herself left to give. Little by little, he’d become more focused on his life and less on her and their sons.
However much he’d loved her, however much she’d loved him, it hadn’t been enough to keep him home. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to focus on only good memories.
“Don’t tell me I’m going to have to put you to bed, too.”
Prim’s eyes flashed open.
Max chuckled. “I thought that would get your attention. Here.”
She stared at the neatly cut piece of pie in his hand. “You brought me a piece of pie.”
“I got one for myself, too.” Max held up his other hand. When she took her plate, he sat beside her. “You were right about the twins being tired. I didn’t even make it through the first book when they conked out.”
He’d not only tucked them in, he’d read them a story. Tears filled her eyes. Turning her head, she blinked them back before he could see.
Max took a bite, closed his eyes for a second. “This pie is amazing.”
Prim sampled the pie, the cherries tart against her tongue. “Not as good as Ami’s, but pretty good.”
Max lowered his fork. “You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Put yourself down.”
She stiffened. “I’m simply stating a fact. It stands to reason Ami would be a better baker than me. It’s what she does for a living. I—”
“Hey.” His hand closed over hers.
“Ami’s the baker in the family,” she repeated.
“Okay, Ami’s the baker.” He forked off another piece, chewed. “Though, seriously, this pie is excellent.”
She couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure. “Thank you.”
“What about Marigold?”
“What about her?”
“What is she?” He gestured with his fork. “Ami is the baker. Marigold is the . . .”
“She’s the artist.” Prim didn’t hesitate. “A genius with hair.”
“Fin?”
Prim thought for a second. “Fin is the social one. She’s . . . charismatic.”
“I agree.” He watched her eat a bite of pie before speaking again. “What about you, Prim?”
“I’m just me.” She gave a little laugh, lifted her shoulders, let them fall.
“C’mon, you can do better than that.”
If his tone hadn’t been so light and teasing, she might have taken offense. Instead, she stopped to consider.
“You’re not going to like this answer. But truly there’s really nothing all that special about me.” She dropped her gaze to focus on her pie. “Sometimes you have to accept the truth even if it hurts.”
Why, oh why, had she added that last little bit? She should have cleared her throat so it wouldn’t have given the false impression she was all emotional about something that didn’t really matter.
Max placed his pie plate on the porch rail with careful, deliberate movements, then took her plate from her hands.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished with that yet.”
“You can have it back.” The smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just give me a minute.”
She lifted a hand. “If you’re going to yell at me—”
The look of horror that crossed his face had her stopping.
After setting the plate aside, he took her hands in his.
“It’s often difficult to l
ook at ourselves objectively. That’s why I, Max Brody, neighbor and lifelong friend”—his eyes met hers and he waited until she nodded to continue—“am going to tell you everything that’s special about Primrose Bloom.”
Prim considered telling him not to bother but had to admit she was curious what he would say. As she stared into those now-serious blue eyes, her heart began to thump like a bass drum.
“The Primrose I’ve known since childhood is incredibly smart. When we were in eighth grade she scored at the college level in math. She’s not just book smart. She knows how to make people feel good about themselves.”
“Thank you—”
He put a finger to her lips. “I’m not done.”
A look of tenderness crossed his face. “She’s a person who values home and family. When her mother got sick, she quietly went about making sure things got done at home, then spent time reading to her mother when she was bedridden and too ill to read herself. She did all this quietly, without fanfare, not because she had to but because when she loves, she loves with her whole heart.”
Tears stung the backs of Prim’s eyes.
“You’re a wonderful mother. Having one child is difficult, but two at one time is an extra challenge. You take care of the boys and the house, you make sure they have what they need, and you don’t complain.”
“I’m their mother. I love my sons.”
“I know you do. It’s only one of the many things I . . . admire about you.” His gaze was soft as a caress. “You’re also a true friend. You stepped up when Gladys was in trouble and took over her burdens even though you’d barely had a chance to get settled in your new home.”
His hand closed around hers. “You’re an amazing woman, Prim. You’re incredibly special. Don’t let anyone—even yourself—say differently.”
Prim wasn’t sure who made the first move. She wasn’t sure it mattered. All she knew was his arms were around her and he was kissing her and she was kissing him back.
Inside, a tiny hope blossomed. Maybe Fin and her other sisters had been right. Twelve years was a long time to wait . . . when you’d found the right man.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” Max stood beside her porch, hands in his pockets, the morning breeze cool against his face.