“So.” Olivia shifted the letters to her other hand. “You farm blueberries, help run the town council, and restore relic homes. What else do you do, Blake Hartford?”
“You forgot to mention rescuing little old ladies.”
That earned him a genuine smile. “Yes, you’re a regular knight in shining…flannel.”
He chuckled and ran a hand down his shirt. Little spitfire. “I coach Little League and help with our local 4-H. What do you do besides run a bakery and care for your grandma?”
She shrugged. “Between the bakery and Grandma, I don’t have time for anything else.”
“I guess that means you haven’t changed your mind about helping me.”
They’d reached the bakery. Vanilla and warm sugar scents filled the space between them.
“I’d like to help but…”
But someone or something had done a number on her. “I don’t see why two people of the opposite sex can’t save a town while remaining professional. Who knows, we might even become friends.”
She ran her tongue over her top teeth. “Is that why you think I’m hesitant?” Her gaze skittered away, and she shifted. “Truth is, I’m not the right person for the job. I honestly don’t have anything to contribute.”
“You’re wrong. What you’ve already contributed meant everything to these people.”
She blinked.
“You gave them hope.”
Olivia swallowed then disappeared through the bakery’s entrance.
Blake let her go. He’d pushed her far enough.
For today.
6
Hope. The word had been circling Olivia’s brain for the past five days. “You gave them hope.” The sincerity in Blake’s voice, in his piercing dark eyes, held on and refused to let go.
The sweet smell of the bakery curled around her on the bakery’s outdoor patio. She gazed up at the swirl of orange and purple cresting the tree tops across the harbor. The still water reflected the scene, broken only by the occasional lobster boat or brightly colored buoy.
If hope had an image, this would be it.
Olivia pulled her grandma’s journal from her hoodie pocket and scanned the entry she’d read last night. Her grandparents had enjoyed a similar sunrise on Cadillac Mountain in the fall of 1949. They’d been courting a few months and had to be chaperoned by Grandma’s big brother, Bobby.
Those last couple of years had been a dark time for me, trying to return to civilian life after the war, after the things I’d seen. Then I met you. And you kept agreeing to let me see you. Once again, my life was filled with light. That light was hope.
That morning on the mountain with you on one side and, unfortunately, Bobby on the other, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You gave me hope. Now I’m giving it back.
Rejoice in hope, Elizabeth. Be patient in tribulation. Continue in prayer. Romans 12:12.
Her grandpa’s advice had collided with Blake’s words in such a way that Olivia could no longer remain idle. One of the first things she counseled her patients to do was to find a place to serve. A soup kitchen, daycare, church—anywhere they could serve others. That simple gesture took the focus off self for a while and proved that no matter where a person was in life, there was always someone else worse off.
She hadn’t followed her own prescription, though. After her father had initiated the divorce, and her fiancé, Justin, had buried himself in his work, her mental health had spiraled at a rate too fast for her to keep up. Before she knew it, she was the patient in the facility where she volunteered twice a month.
Olivia couldn’t guarantee that helping Blake on this town project would reap positive results, but there was something about Stone Harbor she couldn’t ignore. As if every wave that rolled ashore brought her a small piece of hope.
The weight of the phone in her back pocket prodded her to take the leap. She removed it and pressed send on the text she’d spent too long typing before bed last night. Brittany, one of her hardest working employees, had offered Blake’s number when Olivia asked if anyone knew how to contact him. Apparently, Brittany had dated him a few times, which chafed Olivia for reasons she’d rather not examine, and warned her that even a simple friendship with this man was dangerous.
Blake was too good to be true with his earthy lifestyle, rugged attractiveness, and pristine reputation. Territory best left uncharted.
Olivia had more baggage than O’Hare International and not six months ago had been engaged. That was enough to remind her even the closest people couldn’t be trusted, promises were broken every day, and she was better off alone.
The chilly temperature weaved its way beneath her layers. Olivia retreated to the warm kitchen, where a smooth tenor crooned from the radio. The smell of yeast and sugar solidified her resolve to nix any thoughts of a relationship and concentrate on building the bakery’s reputation. She’d work with Blake to help this town, but she had to keep her priorities in focus. Not to make friends with the local farmers.
Brittany whizzed past carrying a large tray of packaged sourdough bread. “Red velvet’s in the oven.”
Olivia inhaled. “Smells amazing. Employee meeting in five. Spread the word.”
The leggy, twenty-something brunette disappeared through the swinging doors to transfer the bread to the display case.
Grandma wiped the remnants of flour from the stainless-steel island. Though Grandma’s health limited her in many ways, Olivia strove to include her in as much of the business as possible. Grandma was the heart of this place, and being involved seemed to make Grandma happy, even if she didn’t fully understand what was going on. Including her also helped Olivia keep an eye on the wandering woman.
Olivia turned down the radio and raised her voice to be heard by all seven employees. “When you reach a good stopping point, I’d like to have a few minutes of your time.” She went to grab paperwork from the office. By the time she returned to the kitchen, the giant mixers had stopped humming, two cakes were on the cooling cart, and the employees were clustered by the time clock. She took a deep breath. “To be successful, we must adapt to our customers’ needs. Grandma and I have discussed this”—several times—“and we’ve decided to update the menu. We’ll keep staple items, of course—breads, cookies, brownies. But now we’ll offer new and seasonal desserts on a rotating schedule. My goal is to not only bring in new customers, but also to satisfy our local ones as well.”
Darlene crossed her arms.
“Change can be a good thing.” Or not. She’d had her share of both kinds. “During the peak of this bakery’s success it offered a variety of goodies so delicious and unique they beckoned food critics and travel magazine writers. Unfortunately, the menu has gone stale. Let me prove it to you.” Olivia handed a packet to each employee. “On page one, you’ll see that the new items we’ve offered the last couple months have lifted sales by twenty-five percent.”
Darlene’s lips puckered like a grape left out in the Texas sun.
“We’ll also start offering our customers specialty cake options—birthday, wedding, anniversary, graduation. These will require a consultation, to get a vision of what the customer wants, and a down payment.”
Amelia’s green eyes smiled along with her mouth. “Like the Cake Boss?”
Olivia chuckled. “I doubt we’ll ever become that popular, but, yeah, that’s the general idea.”
Grandma splayed her fingers, palms up. “That takes hands.”
“Yes,” Olivia continued, “that will take extra time and hands. If you’re interested in joining the cake decorating team, let me know. We’ll also be hiring two additional employees.”
Darlene’s arms fell to her sides. “We don’t need to hire more. We can handle this just fine.”
Why did this woman oppose her at every turn? “The decision stands. If you have any further suggestions or concerns, I’ll be in my office.” Staccato voices and laughter floated through the doorway as Olivia retreated to her tiny haven. Confi
dent these changes would take the bakery in the right direction, she inhaled a cleansing breath, closed her eyes, and massaged the knot in her right shoulder.
The office door slammed. Olivia jumped, heart pounding.
Darlene stormed toward the desk. “We’re barely staying in operation as it is. If you go adding fancy things and more employees, you’re going to bankrupt us.”
For at least five seconds Olivia couldn’t speak, stunned by the woman’s brashness. She’d been nothing but kind to Darlene since her arrival, despite Darlene’s crusade to make Olivia look like a fool.
Everyone had a breaking point.
“I’m not some inexperienced teenager giving orders. This place is my grandma’s legacy, and I have everyone’s best interests at heart. Including yours.”
Darlene’s fists settled on her ample hips. “I’ve worked here since the day this place opened twenty-three years ago. I’m the one who’s stayed faithful to Elizabeth during good economies and bad. I’m the one who’s managed this place in Elizabeth’s mental absence. Then you come in and take over everything as if I haven’t worked hard to keep this place going. What makes you more qualified?”
So that’s what this was about. Olivia cleared her throat and tried for gentle. “Grandma and I appreciate all of your help. You’ve proved your loyalty, and are a valued and respected employee.” Her comment earned an un-ladylike snort. “We no longer need you to make management decisions for the bakery. I can, however, offer you the position as head of the new cake department. This would include paid off-site training as well as a raise.”
Darlene reared back as if Olivia had slapped her. “I decline. You’ve no legal grounds to demote me.”
Olivia hated confrontation with every cell in her body. As a therapist, her job had been to analyze confrontation, not become embroiled in it. She was a peacemaker, not a pot-stirrer. “Actually, I do.” Olivia reached into her stack of mail for the official document then handed it to Darlene for inspection. “As Grandma’s legal Durable Power of Attorney, the bakery and everything that goes along with it falls under my care. Please, take some time to think about what I’ve offered and let me know by the end of the week.”
The skin around Darlene’s eye twitched as her face turned from pink to red to an unhealthy purple. Darlene tossed the papers on the desk and left in the same manner she’d arrived.
Much the same reaction Olivia’s father had as well, according to his contesting the judge’s decision.
So much for hope.
7
If Blake had a dollar for every time he’d told himself this was a bad idea—he’d be dead broke. His boots thumped across the bakery’s wooden platform to the entrance, which had been built to resemble a pier. The paint had peeled, and the nautical lanterns on each side of the door were rusting. The sign read Closed, but Olivia had promised to leave it unlocked.
Should he slow down for once and consider the ramifications? He tended to do stupid things based on impulsive decisions now and again—because he was a man, as his mother liked to say. Blake knew his strong attraction to a practical stranger fell into this category, but did that stop him? No. He opened the door and went in anyway. Because if he had a dollar…
And what awaited him inside? Something more enticing than sugary dough. A yellow apron with tiny white flowers pinched around Olivia’s waist, the apron strings swaying along with her ponytail and every swipe of her cleaning rag.
Her gaze met his and looked him over good before she blushed and turned away. She’d best watch herself or he’d think she’d finally warmed up to him.
“I know you’re closed, ma’am, but I heard this is the best place around to get some pecan pie.”
She turned, a smile lifting her mouth at his terrible attempt at a southern accent. At least now he knew there was a sense of humor behind that ice house she liked to hide in.
Olivia snapped her fingers. “Darn, I just sold the last piece. I can, however, offer you something new to the menu. On the house in exchange for an honest review.”
“Best offer I’ve had all day.”
She left for the kitchen, and Blake moved to the nearest table. His mom would go crazy in here. The room was styled like the front cover of one of those coastal home decorating magazines she always left lying around. The table seemed to shrink now that he was sitting at it, but he didn’t mind getting cozy if Olivia was willing.
A moment later, the swinging kitchen doors opened, and Olivia presented a fancy bouquet-thing. She placed it on the table, cupped her hands on her hips, and smiled as if she were enjoying this way too much. Blake looked from the vase to her, then back again. Where was the pie?
“They’re cake pops.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat.
Those glitter-coated puffballs were cake?
She pointed to each one. “Strawberry swirl, orange dreamsicle, cinnamon bun, and devil’s food coated in chocolate ganache. If you like rich dessert, that’s the one to try.”
“Devil’s food, it is.” He turned his head from side to side. But how?
Raising a brow, she reached into the bouquet and yanked on a stick. “Surely, a big flannel man like you isn’t intimidated by a little bite of cake?”
“Of course not.” It was just the sissiest dessert he’d ever eaten. He took the stick from her hand and frowned at what looked like a little girl’s magic wand with all the sprinkles and bling.
“The glitter is edible, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Olivia rested her chin in her palm, waiting.
Blake wasn’t worried, he was intimidated. Since he’d never let that stop him before, he leaned forward and bit into the flashy circle. And actually moaned.
Olivia smirked. “Glad you like it. Have as many as you want.”
Like it? Good thing his mouth was full or he might propose marriage. He finished that cake ball and started on another.
Olivia went behind the counter and returned with a notebook, pen, and two foam cups of black coffee. “You seem like a basic coffee drinker to me, but if you need cream and sugar I can get them.”
“Your perception is correct.” He looked into her cup. “Hmm.”
“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”
“Seems to me you could use some sugar and cream. You’re a little tart.”
The blue of her eyes sharpened, and her mouth fell open.
Blake laughed.
She slid the vase to the end of the table with a frown, proving his point. “Where do we start? Seaside Books or the winery?”
All business, that one. Did she ever have fun?
Blake wiped his mouth on a napkin and placed the empty stick on top. “I think we should start with the B&B. Glenda’s already contacting past guests to offer them a forty percent discount if they stay before October twenty-fifth. Her sister is helping update their website, and Caleb Dugan is installing a bike rack to help transition the rental end of things.”
Her pen scratched across the paper. “I talked to Hugh, my friend in marketing. He thinks he can get a generic version of the town website up and running within the next two weeks, including links to the different businesses. Then he can revamp as the new photographs come in. As for the Maine Tourism ad, he said he’ll email a few different mock-ups we can vote on at our next meeting.”
“That’s a lot of work to do for free.” Blake hated his curiosity.
She fidgeted with her pen. “It’s an exchange of talents.”
Blake leaned forward, prodding her to continue.
Olivia sighed. “His teenage daughter has Down Syndrome. Baking is her passion. I taught her what I know.”
“And you wouldn’t accept payment.”
She concentrated on something outside the window. “The fun we had together and what she taught me far outweighed money.” She went back to scribbling on her paper. “He told me if I ever needed help with marketing or web design to give him a call.”
Blake leaned back in his chair. All he really knew about this woman wa
s that she’d taken responsibility for her grandma with Alzheimer’s, she gave free baking classes to kids with chromosomal handicaps, and she called in favors to help an entire town. He knew nothing else about her, but she had one of the biggest hearts he’d ever seen. The million dollar question was: why did she seem so miserable?
“We need to brainstorm ways we can incorporate the art gallery into our plans.” She made another notation. “Oh, and Glenda told me some retired New York hotshot is inquiring about the empty building on the east end of Main. Something about homemade soaps and essential oils.”
“Where did you attend cooking school?”
She stilled. “Why?”
“Curiosity.”
Olivia’s slender fingers folded in front of her. “Le Cordon Bleu.”
He was a weak man to let three little French words send him reeling.
Olivia placed her hands on top of her notebook. “If Marcy agrees, what do you think about each business taking a painting from her gallery and hanging it in their establishment for sale? That way her work is exposed to people who may not visit the gallery.”
“Great idea. Did you work in a bakery before you moved here?”
“No.”
“What’s your favorite thing to make?”
“Peanut butter and jelly. Now, about the winery.”
Blake chuckled. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”
Her lips flattened. “It’s irrelevant.”
“Not to me.”
She stared at him, her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. “If I satisfy your curiosity, can we please get back to this meeting?”
“Yes.” And then he could get back into the spring air and warm up.
“Despite the put-together woman you see before you, I was a very rebellious teenager.” She looked at her lap and blushed. “My parents were about to crack when my counselor suggested I throw that energy into extracurricular courses. My father agreed to pay for Le Cordon Bleu if I would agree to bake whenever I felt the impulse to be reckless. It worked. I settled down and became a contributing member of society. That’s all the juice you’re getting for today, so on with the meeting.”
How to Stir a Baker's Heart Page 4