Eugenia Campbell set her magazine on the vacant chair beside her, then pushed on the chair’s arms to steady her ascent. She fluffed her new do with a shaky hand, grabbed her large red purse, and gave the stylist a fifty.
Olivia had been trying to get ahold of the woman for almost a week. Here was her opportunity to convince the woman to act rationally and talk to Mr. Greene.
As Eugenia headed for the door, she noticed Olivia and paused. The woman’s slumped posture straightened, and her mouth turned down in a frown.
Olivia stood. “I’ve tried calling several times, but I haven’t been able to reach you.”
“You didn’t get Harrison back. What’s left to say?” She continued shuffling to the exit.
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Olivia moved past and held the door open for Mrs. Campbell. This conversation was best out of earshot of the parlor gossips anyway.
“A little?”
“Mr. Greene is willing to give the cat back if you’ll pick it up and hear what he has to say.”
“Harrison. He’s not an it. Furthermore, I have nothing to say to Arthur Greene.” She dug for her car keys.
“He loves you.” Not that Mr. Greene had confided that to Olivia, but it was obvious. “He doesn’t want you to talk. He wants you to listen.”
Keys rattled together as Eugenia unlocked her Cadillac. “I’m through listening to that man. It’s not as if I get a say in what he decides anyway.” Bitterness oozed from her words. The acidic kind that resulted from years of fermentation.
“Does that comment have to do with him joining the Army?”
Eugenia froze. Her entire body wilted. “What do you know of that?”
“Arthur told me everything. You’ve reconnected after years apart. What did he do now that’s made you angry?”
“He proposed,” she whispered, tears springing in her blue eyes.
Fear. The four letter word that kept so many people from living a full life. The life this woman had envisioned with her fiancé hadn’t worked out any better than Olivia’s had. It changed a person when they gave their heart to someone who’d mistreated it—friend, fiancé, or parent.
“What is it you’re afraid of, Mrs. Campbell?”
Eugenia opened her door and dropped her suitcase of a purse in the seat. She thought for a moment, rolling her tongue along her top teeth. “Losing him again.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that this time.”
“But I do. We’re not twenty anymore. I don’t want to become widowed a second time.”
Oh. That.
Eugenia moved her purse and eased onto the seat. Olivia held the door to keep it from closing. “You love Arthur, whether you remain a couple or whether you marry. If he passes, you’ll mourn him either way. Why not let go of your fear and let yourself be happy?”
The engine started. “Easy to say, harder to do. Thank you for trying.”
Olivia let her go, watching her drive away until she disappeared onto Main Street. Who was she to tell someone to let go of their fear and be happy when that very fear had prompted her to quit her job and move across the country? And refuse a perfectly good dinner invitation from a perfectly wonderful man.
~*~
Blake had bent to sweep chunks of drywall and splinters of paneling littering the floor when a car door sounded from the bakery’s parking lot. He turned toward the window. Olivia was helping Mrs. Hudson from the car. He propped the broom against the wall and met them outside.
Arms propped against his tailgate, Olivia stood on tiptoe to see inside. Her fitted jeans were cuffed, revealing the curve of muscular calves. “What’s the damage?”
He gazed at her over studs too long for the bed, which stuck out with a little orange flag attached. “Not much. A friend of mine opened his own mill a few years ago. That’s where I get what I need for the house. Any business I bring his way comes with a discount.”
Blake handed her the receipt. She glanced at it then lowered her shoes back to the ground. “Thanks. I’ll cut you a check.” She tucked the receipt in her pocket. “What can I do to help?”
“You should’ve brought work clothes.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “These are my work clothes.” She tugged at the bottom of her blue shirt. “See, a paint spot.”
No, he didn’t see. But he noticed how beautiful she could make a simple T-shirt look.
Mrs. Hudson joined them. “Brian.”
Olivia opened her mouth to correct her grandma, but Blake put up a hand. “Beautiful day, isn’t it, Mrs. Hudson. How about we go for a walk around the harbor once the work is done?”
Mrs. Hudson wrinkled her nose. “I’m married.”
Blake chuckled at how quickly Olivia’s face turned from rosy peach to deep red. “Just a walk, nothing more.” He leaned in and whispered, “Besides, I’m sweet on your granddaughter.”
The woman’s face brightened. Olivia cocked her head to the side. “What are you conspiring?”
“Don’t worry. Be happy.” Mrs. Hudson slipped her arm in Blake’s. The woman looked different somehow, younger maybe, though Blake couldn’t pinpoint why.
They went inside the bakery.
Olivia tucked her hands in her back pockets as she observed his progress. “Wow, you’ve already gotten a lot done.” She grabbed the broom and began sweeping his mess into the dustpan.
“I can get that.” He reached for the broom.
Olivia jerked it away. “I can too. I’m good for more than food, you know.”
Heat climbed up the back of his neck. He didn’t doubt that one bit. He set up his circular-saw stand on the sidewalk, then snapped on his tool belt. The sun beat down on his shoulders, but the breeze off the water made the day too nice for working indoors. According to Glenda, the bed and breakfast had acquired several new reservations, and he wanted to get this finished before the projected influx of tourists arrived.
“Help.”
He turned, expecting to see Mrs. Hudson hurt. Instead, she was staring at the boards he’d stacked next to the saw. He pulled a pair of work gloves from his tool belt and handed them to her. “I’ll cut the boards if you’ll hold them steady.” She nodded. He hoisted a board onto the saw stand, measured the length he needed, and marked it with a pencil. He lowered his safety glasses, realized he didn’t have an extra pair, then took them off and gave them to Mrs. Hudson. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Olivia stood in the doorway watching them, a faint smile teasing her lips. The saw spun to life and bit into the wood with ease. High quality Maine pine.
They cut four more boards before Blake turned off the machine. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
“Thank you.”
He was pretty sure she meant to say you’re welcome.
She tugged off the glasses, messing up her hair.
“That’s what’s different today. Your hair. It looks nice.”
Mrs. Hudson fingered the ends.
Olivia joined them on the sidewalk. “You do look fantastic, Grandma.” Olivia’s hair, so dark it was almost black, framed her face with little pieces she’d failed to secure in her ponytail. “There’s sliced fruit on the table, along with chocolate dipped nuts. Help yourself.”
Always thinking of his belly. “Peanuts?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll let you stay and help me then.” He winked, lifted all four cut boards and carried them inside.
“You’re so kind.”
He lowered the boards to the linoleum.
“I appreciate you covering the display case and counter.” Olivia held out the platter of goodies.
“I think the construction zone is far enough away from the food it would’ve been fine, but I didn’t want to take any chances.” He removed his gloves and took a strawberry and a handful of chocolate covered peanuts. That’s when he noticed a tinge of purple beneath her eyes. “You look worn out. Still not sleeping?”
He nodded his head at Mrs. Hudson, who�
�d sat at a corner table to eat a cup of yogurt.
“Not really. There’s a guy coming at five to install a wireless alarm system so I’ll know whenever she tries to leave the house. I’ve been leaning toward getting her a cat but maybe a trained dog is the better option.”
“You could always say yes and eat with me. Let her spend more time with Scooby before you make a decision.”
She reached for a peanut and popped it into her mouth. “We’re eating together right now.”
Her defiant smile flamed his competitive nature. “Doesn’t count. It’s not a meal unless there’s meat.” Blake stepped closer until their toes touched. He lowered his voice. “What is it you’re afraid of, Olivia?”
“Afraid?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
Her gaze darted around the room before finally settling on him. The spark of attraction, which he’d convinced himself he’d misread before, blazed along with her cheeks. He fought the urge to fist pump the air. “Cincinnati’s playing Saturday night.”
“I’m not a fan. Besides, I promised Grandma we’d go to the shelter. I’ll need to drop off your dinner early that day.”
“How about a live game then? Friday night. Little League practice. You can help me coach.”
“I don’t know the first thing about coaching baseball.”
Blake leaned a little closer. “Don’t need to. You can follow my lead.”
She just stared at him with those amazing eyes, clutching the tray of snacks like a lifeline. Without moving away, he took the tray and set it on a nearby table. “It’ll be fun. I’ll put your name on the shirts as a sponsor and everything.” He made a circle on his shirt. “Harbor Town Bakery, with a picture of a growling cupcake slapping a bat in its palm.”
Her gaze followed his finger as he demonstrated on his torso.
“Will the shirts be flannel?”
“And sleeveless.”
She rolled her eyes and backed away. “You seriously better be joking about that.” She plucked a few grapes off the platter and walked to the stack of cut boards. The heated tension between them snapped like a stretched rubber band.
Blake lifted a board and positioned it at a ninety-degree angle from the one that served as the bottom stud of the new wall. “I’ll bring Scooby. He can hang out with Grams while we play. I’ll even take you both out for pizza afterward.”
“Grams?”
He shrugged.
Her lips closed around a grape. She studied him as she chewed.
And he studied her lips.
“Are you trying to wear me down?”
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Friday, then?”
She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe she’d agreed to live on the same planet as he did. “Friday, it is, Flannel Man.”
17
Had she just agreed to a date? A bead of sweat trickled down Olivia’s temple. She swiped it away with the back of her hand. Surely not. It didn’t classify as a date if they were accompanied by a grandma and a dog, right?
The board she was holding in place for Blake shuddered with the force of the drill. He was right. She was afraid of him. Blake was selfless, handsome, and had talent to spare. When he’d leaned in to whisper, she’d had to stop herself from closing the remaining distance.
She couldn’t handle anything serious with him now—she’d been un-engaged for barely six months. But she couldn’t ignore her attraction to him any longer, either. He’d made his intentions clear. And she liked it. In fact, it caused a crack in her heart to let in what felt like…sunshine. A glimpse of light in her darkened life.
Blake pulled another screw from his tool belt, and they moved on to the next board. Stubble covered his chin and cheeks. The hair on his upper lip was slightly darker, and surrounded very kissable lips.
Wow. She’d never been the head-in-the-clouds, sit and daydream like a hopeless romantic type. She liked everything in her life to have order, make sense. For things to be planned in a monthly calendar with a sharp, number two pencil. No surprises.
Desiring the company of a man when every other man in her life had let her down was not logical. Not in her plan.
Blake drove the screw enough to get it started, then stopped and looked her way, hand braced against the board. She tried to say something, come up with some lame excuse as to why she’d been staring at him, but there was no point. He winked and zipped the rest of the screw into the wood.
She enjoyed those winks, too. Wondered if he saved them just for her.
Metal clinked as he fished for another screw. “Tell me more about the teenage girl you taught to cook. The one with Down Syndrome.”
It took a moment for her brain to register one of their first conversations. “Oh, you mean Cassie.” The warmth of affection bloomed in her chest every time she thought of the girl.
“Her dad did a great job with the website.” Blake knelt to screw into the bottom of the board.
“I thought so too. They started going to our church my junior year of college. She loved helping in the kitchen during fellowship meals and prayer breakfasts. When her mom was diagnosed with cancer, Cassie started acting out. She was seventeen. The same age I was when cooking replaced my unruly behavior. Church members took turns keeping her occupied while her mom endured chemo treatments. Cooking was her favorite. We had a great time together.”
“I thought you went to cooking school.”
“I did.”
“At a four-year college?”
“No.”
Blake set down the drill. An arm draped casually over his knee as one brow arched up at her. She searched for words to evade the truth yet not tell a lie. His scrutiny made her efforts useless. Olivia sucked in a deep breath and released it, defeated. “You can farm, you can build, and you can save a town, but can you keep a secret?”
Three of his fingers raised in a Scout’s Honor pledge while his other hand made an X over his heart.
“I have a master’s in psychology.”
He blinked. “Huh.”
Blake returned to his drill as if she’d never said a thing.
When the drill stopped, she said, “What do you mean, ‘huh’?”
He shrugged. “Impressive. You’re here, though, baking cupcakes in Stone Harbor. Judging by the way your eyes are clouded over, I’m guessing there’s a story behind that.”
It would be easy to reveal herself to this man. To seek refuge in his trustworthy kindness. Blake was safe. Then again, she’d been wrong before. “A heavy tale for another day.”
Blake nodded and together they raised the wall frame. “Until then, if you start feeling rebellious, I’ll gladly eat anything that results from it.”
She grinned, grateful he hadn’t pressed her for answers. “What do you do when you feel rebellious?”
He looked up at the ceiling and squinted. “I wear an extra layer of flannel.”
“Ugh. I’ll introduce you to my friend, polyester.”
“Is she single?”
Olivia gave him a playful kick.
He dodged her foot, laughing.
“What about the rest of the Hartfords? Are you all one big happy flannel family?”
The light in his eyes dimmed. His mouth fell into a grim line as he stared at something behind her.
She instantly regretted her remark. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one with a story to tell. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He went to work, securing the frame to the existing wall. Once finished, he slapped it to test its sturdiness. “Don’t be sorry for asking. I’m close with my parents.”
“Are you an only child?” Olivia was so used to prying into people’s lives that it was a hard habit to break.
He dropped the drill in the loop of his tool belt. “I have an older brother. Lucas. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in almost three years.” He double-checked his work us
ing a level.
“Can I ask what happened?”
His jaw worked. “He took off with something very important to me.”
So, it was Blake’s choice not to speak to his brother. The action was a paradox to his character. She should stop asking questions, but her curious nature wanted to know the backstory of this too-good-to-be-true farmer. “He won’t give it back?”
Blake’s face turned to granite. “It was my fiancée. They can have each other.”
Air escaped Olivia’s lungs so quickly she went dizzy. “Oh, Blake. I’m sorry.”
He grabbed another board to start a new frame on the other side. “I should’ve learned to cook.”
“Instead, you started restoring a Victorian home.”
His gaze bored through hers. Understanding dawned like the sunrise. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
A home that had probably been intended for a wife and family that wasn’t to be. The woman was an idiot, whoever she was. A hot, ugly sensation crept under Olivia’s skin. She knew the crushing weight of broken dreams all too well. How could that woman hurt such a wonderful man? Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Maybe I’ll teach you how to cook.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
She nodded.
“I accept.”
~*~
Olivia assisted Grandma across the gravel lot to the baseball diamond, feeling a hundred kinds of silly. She didn’t know the first thing about coaching sports. She wasn’t athletic, no matter how much she’d wanted to be.
“Where we at?” Grandma asked.
“I promised Blake I’d help him with his Little League team tonight.” The answer she’d given Grandma the last ten times she’d asked.
Scooby lumbered around the dugout, wriggling his backside. A rush of kids followed him out and ran onto the field. The air was sticky with the brunt of the day’s heat clinging to the last few hours of daylight.
She dropped the small cooler she was carrying onto the bleachers. “If you want to rest here, I’ll find Blake’s dog for you. He can keep you company while we practice.”
“Where we at?” Grandma frowned.
Olivia took a deep breath. “I’m helping Blake coach his Little League team.” She fished two cold bottled waters from the cooler and handed one to Grandma. “Stay here. I’ll bring the dog to you.”
How to Stir a Baker's Heart Page 10