How to Stir a Baker's Heart

by Candice Sue Patterson

  Stacey tucked her hair behind her ear. “You lost someone, too?”

  He nodded.

  She leaned back in her seat. “Good to know I’m not the only idiot on the planet.” Her eyes widened. “I mean…”

  “It’s OK.” Blake chuckled. “No offense taken.”

  They talked through the next three songs while Blake sneaked glances at the dark screen on his phone. “I changed my mind. I think I’d like to dance after all.”

  She took his offered hand, and he led her out on the dance floor. “Can we manage to dance in Jefferson’s general direction?”

  He swept her into his arms. “Absolutely.”

  ~*~

  Olivia’s eyes refused to stay open. The strain of tears, of saying goodbye to her last living grandparent, of signing paperwork, and carrying out Grandma’s last wishes had beaten her like an amateur in a professional boxing ring.

  Dad drove, his stony features highlighted by the glowing dash lights. He hadn’t said much after asking for time alone with Grandma that afternoon.

  Olivia didn’t feel up to talking anyway. All she could do was hurt right now. Her eyes slid closed again, and her head bobbed to the side. She jerked upright, blinked her eyes against the pull of sleep, and sucked in a breath. Deep, restful sleep wouldn’t elude her tonight.

  Dad reached over and patted her knee.

  She should let Mom know Grandma had passed away. After all, they’d been in-laws for thirty-one years. Besides, Mom had asked for updates on Grandma’s prognosis. She bent and grabbed her purse off the floorboard. She retrieved her cell tucked in the front pocket. She’d missed a text from Blake. Her heart rate kicked. Her attention sharpened. It was probably nothing more than his condolences. Except no one knew.

  Can we meet? Talk?

  After ten long weeks of silence, he finally wanted to talk? It was like deja vu all over again. Why did it take men so long to get their thoughts together?

  Yes, she wanted to meet. To talk. But first, she had to get through the memorial service on Tuesday. What they had to say could wait a few more days.

  44

  Tears nearly froze to Olivia’s cheeks. She burrowed further into her blanket scarf and held it closed over her mouth. The graveside tent was packed with people but it wasn’t enough to ward off the icy blast of January.

  She stared at the spray of red roses splayed across the oak casket, the preacher’s words mere noise in her ears. The woman who’d offered her a refuge, who’d taught her much in such a short time, was gone. The house, the bakery, all seemed hollow without her.

  Even Sydney mourned, pacing the rooms as if in search for her old friend.

  An arm came around her shoulders and squeezed. Arianne, all red nose and cheeks, pressed the side of her head to Olivia’s. “If you need anything at all, call me.”

  The movement of bodies and whispers registered in Olivia’s ears, and she realized the service was over. “Thank you.”

  Huck thrust out his gloved hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Olivia returned the gesture. She appreciated the phrase but had heard it a thousand times. Minus one. Not a word from Blake. Another ache swelled in her chest. She slipped her hands in the pockets of her wool dress coat and swallowed the lump in her throat. “How is he?”

  Arianne’s brow crinkled for a moment before it smoothed again. “Oh! Good. Really good.” She leaned closer to Olivia’s ear. “He’s at his brother’s wedding.”

  Stunned was not strong enough a word to describe Olivia’s reaction.

  “He called to let me know before he left.” Huck rubbed the back of his neck. His ears were scarlet from the cold. “I texted him as soon as we found out,” he glanced at the casket, “but he’s not responded. Heard there’s a nor’easter hitting Boston right now.”

  At least Blake’s absence didn’t mean he didn’t care. Of course he cared. After all, he’d nicknamed her grandma. He’d have come, even if he didn’t want to reconcile their relationship. Blake was that kind of man. One of the many reasons she loved him.

  Arthur and Eugenia Greene stepped up to give their condolences.

  “Thank you for coming.” Olivia wrapped her arms around the woman. Her powder-scented perfume tickled Olivia’s throat.

  Eugenia sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a lace hankie. “She’s with her Jacob now.”

  From the corner of her eye, Olivia saw her dad stiffen and walk away. Olivia winced but covered it with a false smile.

  Others made their way over. Arianne rubbed a circle on Olivia’s back, the lump beneath her coat swaying. “I’ll check in on you soon.”

  The crowd began to thin. Shivering, Olivia walked to her car, already spewing heat from the exhaust. Her heel snagged on a frozen patch of grass. She caught herself, thinking of the blessed warmth awaiting her.

  Dad sat in the driver’s seat, rubbing his forehead. He looked up when she opened the passenger door. She settled onto the seat, adjusting the panel vents to blow directly on her. Dad reached over and held her hand, keeping his focus on the windshield. All she wanted to do was go home, put on her pajamas, crawl under her blankets, and sleep for days.

  After thawing from the shock of Blake reconciling with his brother. The only joy to be had on such a dark day.

  ~*~

  Delayed.

  Blake hung his head and blew out a frustrated breath.

  They’d been at the airport for six hours, praying the status of their flight would change. Boston was getting hit with a wicked amount of snow, the final total predicted to be around two feet.

  After almost a week in Boston, Blake wanted to go home. Grab a shower, maybe a little caffeine, then head straight to Olivia’s. She’d yet to answer his text. He’d given her time to think about it, consider her reply. But after three days without word, Blake was about to go crazy.

  Was she busy? Had she blocked his number? Had she responded but forgot to hit send? Had she decided to get back together with her ex?

  Blake hadn’t really considered that possibility until now, and it made the hotel’s continental breakfast churn in his stomach. Blake glanced at his watch then paced some more. Airport waiting areas were restricting enough without hundreds of people trying to get home after the holidays. And half of those people were using all the outlets to recharge their phones and tablets, while Blake’s battery was dead.

  “Honey.” Mom wrapped her hand around his arm. “Are you all right? You’re prowling like a lion waiting to be loosed from its cage.”

  Blake glanced around the airport. He had been prowling. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just…ready to get home.”

  Mom smiled, her mother’s intuition knowing exactly why he wanted to get home. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I’m glad you and Lucas have set things right. It does my heart good.” She placed her palm over her chest.

  Blake gave her a side-arm hug. It felt good to finally let it all go. He’d held on to his anger way too long. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Getting a snack from the food court. He’s addicted to those cinnamon rolls.”

  “Who isn’t?” Though it wasn’t post-heart attack food.

  “I’m heading that direction myself. There’s a bookstore I’d like to check out, since it’s looking like we’re going to be here several more hours. I’m hoping they comp us a hotel for the night instead of making us sleep in these uncomfortable chairs.” She rubbed at the small of her back.

  Another night in Boston? Blake sighed. “I need to get home.”

  She reached up and smoothed the hair at his temple the way she used to when he was a boy. “She’s a good girl, and you obviously love her very much. If it’s God’s will for you to be together, there will be plenty of time for making up.”

  Easier said, than done.

  “Now, seeing as our flight is canceled,” Mom pointed to the schedule board, “let’s get us a treat.”

  Blake howled inwardly. He retrieved their carry-ons from the seat they’d been occupying
after another long glance at his phone. Any attempt to vacate an outlet would probably prove futile anyway.

  “Don’t worry, hon. That girl’s put down roots. Olivia isn’t going anywhere.”

  ~*~

  When it rains, it pours.

  The age-old cliché held truth, except in Olivia’s case it flooded to biblical proportions. And figuratively, all she had was a dinghy and one oar. And shore was five miles upstream. Olivia stood in the mind-numbing cold, staring as tiny flecks of white coated the charred remains of the bakery. Would the adversity in her life ever end?

  She’d placed her faith, her trust, her identity in Christ. She no longer questioned if God cared, if He were present in her life, who she was or where she came from. Now, it seemed as if God was testing her to make sure she was legit.

  But did it have to hurt so much?

  She’d spent months caring for Grandma, pouring her life into a woman she wished she’d gotten the opportunity to know long before the Alzheimer’s stole Grandma away. Only for Olivia to lose her.

  She’d spent months pulling the bakery out of debt, saving jobs, and restoring it to a place the community could fellowship. To lose it.

  She’d lost her parents, she’d lost her fiancé, she’d lost Blake. Olivia felt just plain lost.

  “Ms. Hudson?” She turned.

  An older gentleman with a rounded stomach, a thick, white beard, and gold-rimmed glasses returned her stare. “I’m Luther Crane, Chief Fire Inspector for Washington County. May I ask a few questions?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you prefer to talk privately inside the library? They’ve reserved a meeting room for us. I’d rather not be the cause of your hypothermia.”

  Olivia swallowed against the pain in her throat. A reaction from days of endless sobbing. She nodded, noting the crust of ice on the harbor through the smoke of the still-smoldering timbers.

  Once they were settled inside the small room of the library, Olivia barely had enough time to remove her coat before the inspector attacked her with questions.

  “You’d taken charge over the bakery after your grandmother, Elizabeth Hudson, appointed you durable power of attorney, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you keep insurance coverage on the bakery?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your policy covers a total loss of five-hundred-thousand dollars, am I correct?”

  Olivia recoiled at the suspicion in his tone. “That’s correct. It also covers employee wages for six months or until the bakery reopens, whichever comes first.”

  “Do you plan to reopen?”

  She hesitated. She wanted to but there hadn’t been enough time to consult God on His will in this yet. Did He want her to rebuild, or was He telling her to go home to Indiana? “I don’t know.”

  The chief’s head lifted slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, writing notes on his notepad. “Where were you at approximately eight-forty-five last night?”

  Unbelievable. They suspected she’d started the fire? The fireman on scene had told her it was likely a faulty oven. Which was odd, since they’d been closed for the past week. Did they suspect her of arson?

  She chose her words carefully and kept her voice soft. “I was at my grandmother’s memorial service. It started at seven at Starks Funeral home. It lasted until eight-thirty. My father and I stayed a little longer to say one last goodbye. As we were leaving, Jaunita Brown ran out of her home across the street to inform us the bakery was on fire. Her husband is a volunteer fireman.”

  The chief wasn’t good at hiding his surprise at her confession. He scratched his chin.

  Another fireman walked in.

  The chief frowned. His busy eyebrows nearly covered his eyes. “What’s this about, Mr. Crane?”

  “Arson.” He made a few more notes. “Accelerant was found along the east perimeter of the foundation.”

  Olivia gasped. Someone purposely set fire to her business? On the night of her grandma’s memorial service?

  The chief grunted. “Do you have any enemies, Ms. Hudson?”

  Her mind immediately went to Darlene, but Olivia didn’t think the woman had it in her to be an arsonist. Justin had left for Indianapolis weeks ago, and she’d overheard that Blake was with his family in Boston attending his brother’s wedding. She was reeling over that news almost as much as that of the fire. “No.”

  The second fireman leaned his hands on the back of a chair. “We’ve been dealing with a serial arsonist in the area for a while. This particular fire doesn’t follow the individual’s signature pattern, but that doesn’t mean he or she isn’t involved.”

  Olivia wished the room—her life—would stop spinning. “Now what?”

  The chief stood. “We’ll have to confirm your alibi while you file some reports. We’ll continue our investigation. In the meantime, I suggest you inform your employees, discuss things with your insurance company, and meet with a contractor if you decide to rebuild.”

  Her brain could barely compute all the things being thrown at her.

  They ended the meeting, shook hands, and exchanged contact information.

  The chief offered to walk her back to her car, but she refused. She needed space to think. The arctic air would keep her from curling into a ball and sleeping the remainder of her life away. She walked around the bakery, keeping clear of the restricted area blocked by yellow caution tape. Where do I go from here, Lord? What am I supposed to do now?

  The only sound that hit Olivia’s ears was the icy sludge smacking into boat hulls as the wind teased the water. Suddenly, an overwhelming ache to see her mother possessed Olivia. She hadn’t seen her mother in a year. She’d go home. Visit her mom. Spend some time away from Maine to clear her head. To clear her heart.

  Olivia retreated to her car and the warmth of the heater. She pulled out her phone and responded to the text Blake had sent days ago.

  Grandma passed away. Bakery burned down. Going home.

  45

  Olivia was gone.

  Blake trudged back to his truck. Jen still hovered in the open doorway of the Hudson house, arms crossed over her middle to ward off the cold, her face full of pity. She’d just informed him that Olivia had left for Indiana this morning.

  While Blake had been descending into Bangor, Olivia had been ascending from Portland. Jen had just gotten back from driving Olivia to the airport a couple hours ago, while Blake had been showering and settling up with the neighbor boy for taking care of Scooby in his absence.

  Irony was a cruel, cruel thing.

  His cell battery had remained dead at the airport while he’d slept upright in a hard, plastic chair. Mom and Dad had accepted the comp hotel, but Blake chose to stay for a guaranteed spot on the first available flight. He’d gotten Olivia’s text too late.

  He drove past where the bakery used to stand, unable to believe it, too, was gone. The morning paper declared it was arson. Whoever was responsible better hope the authorities found them first because if Blake did, it wouldn’t end well.

  Jen had no idea if Olivia planned to rebuild, when she’d be back, or if she planned to come back. She did, however, have the address to her mother’s house where she’d be staying, though Blake had to practically beg Jen to share it with him.

  He needed to do something to convince Olivia to give him another chance. To prove how committed he was to making their relationship work. He needed to make it and fast, before she spent too much time in Indiana.

  Where Justin lived.

  Problem was Blake wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t know what made a woman swoon or how to write a love poem. He was capable of buying flowers, of protecting her, holding her, kissing her, but none of those things were enough. He went home and made a fire, all the while praying over what to do.

  Scooby sat on his pallet in the corner, spying on him with his head on his paws.

  Blake put his hands on his waist. “What would you do if it was your girl?”

  Scooby
lifted his head and barked. Twice.

  “Thanks for the advice, buddy, but I don’t speak canine.” A picture on the mantel caught Blake’s eye. The selfie he and Olivia had taken on her birthday, a mass of harbor seals sunbathing in the background.

  And then it clicked. Blake knew exactly how to bring Olivia home.

  ~*~

  All play and no work made Olivia a very lazy woman. Not that she’d been playing. Sending referral letters to her former clients and signing her third of the practice over to her to fellow therapists had kept her busy during the past week. Not including keeping up on the dozens of emails sent back and forth between her and the contractor for the bakery.

  Olivia had decided to rebuild. She’d known it all along, actually; she just hadn’t realized it. But after forty-eight hours in the heartland, and she knew this was no longer home. Home was in a small harbor town on the coast of Maine, with its colorful buildings and quirky residents. Home was on a blueberry farm, in an old Victorian house, in the arms of a flannel-wearing farmer.

  The town and bakery didn’t have a choice in her homecoming. Blake, however, wasn’t a given. No doubt, he was back from Boston by now. He hadn’t attempted to contact her after she’d told him she was coming home. He was either giving her space or moving on. Her plan was to tie up all her loose ends here and then return to Maine and figure out the rest later.

  She stretched out in bed, arching her back for full effect. The two-hour nap had been exactly what she’d needed. Dusk approached, which meant it was nearing five o’clock. The long, long nights of an Indiana winter. Olivia walked in to the living room.

  Mom sat up from her lounged position on the couch. “This is interesting. Apparently, our sense of smell is linked to our psyche. Where some scents can indicate euphoria, others can trigger anxiety, depending on the past memory those scents are linked to in our brains.” Mom was watching Dr. Feel, the famous syndicated television network psychologist and best-selling author. He told Olivia’s mother things every day that Olivia had been telling her for years. But they were only true if they came from the celebrity’s lips.