Baking for Keeps

by Jessica Gilmore

  “Aunt Patty and Priscilla are bakers,” Lacey said, taking pity on the bemused expression on Zac’s face. “They have a professional kitchen through there. No matter how enticing the smells, do not follow your nose. The witch in Hansel and Gretel has nothing on these two if you enter their lair.”

  Silence. She was making quite the impression here. Two strikes down. She had one chance left. “So, Zac. An auditor huh? That must be interesting?”

  “Keeps me busy.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and nodded over at Aunt Patty. “Thanks for this. I appreciate it.” And with that he was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Five days later Lacey was still none the wiser about her aunts’ latest houseguest. She knew that Zac Malone liked to get up early and go for a run, despite the freezing darkness of a Marietta early morning. He breakfasted in his rooms and had usually left for the Town Hall by 7.30—the same time Lacey was blearily falling out of bed and following her nose to the kitchen and a strong cup of coffee. He arrived back before she’d returned from the station and ate alone in his room, refusing her aunts’ invitations to join the family for dinner, to sit with them in the evening, or to accompany them to a talk at the local library.

  The only consolation was it wasn’t just Lacey he seemed to be avoiding. Several young women had, upon learning he was staying at Crooked Corner, subtly and not so subtly pumped her for information on her hot new houseguest. It seemed Zac Malone was as little interested in making friends at work as he was at home.

  “Leave the poor boy alone,” Aunt Priscilla told Lacey that evening as Lacey related the latest gossip she’d heard directly from the Town Hall. Her aunt pulled her famous maple cake out of the oven and set it down on the counter top, turning to face her niece with an admonitory expression on her pleasant round face. Priscilla Hathaway was the complete opposite of the sister-in-law with whom she lived and worked. Short and round, her gray hair dyed an improbable chestnut red, she dressed in comfortable slacks and sweatshirts, usually sporting a cheery slogan—a startling contrast to her elegant, fashionable sister-in-law.

  “I do leave him alone,” Lacey retorted indignantly, her stomach rumbling as the aroma of the cake drifted across the sunny kitchen. “I have no choice in the matter. But it doesn’t make any sense. He speaks to no one. All he does is work, sleep, and run. Run in the snow.”

  “Maybe he likes to be private.”

  “But it gets lonely traveling around all the time.” There was a wistful note in Lacey’s voice. She’d spent her childhood traveling from town to city to town, never putting down roots, never fitting in. “He’s here for at least six weeks I heard. You’d think he’d want some human contact. He’s already been asked out on at least three dates, been invited to several suppers, a pool game, and that poker tournament over at Grey’s. He’s said no to all of them. Maybe he’s nursing a broken heart. Or he’s not an auditor at all but on the run.”

  “That’s his business, Lacey. You’ve no call to be poking around in it.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, Aunt P.” But when that business involved a taciturn if gorgeous stranger right here in her own home the temptation was harder to resist than Aunt Patty’s double chocolate fudge caramel cake.

  And she never could resist that cake…

  Her chance came the very next evening. Both aunts had gone out and, not wanting to entrust their lodger to their niece’s cooking, had left supper warming in the oven. The aunts usually put Zac’s supper on a tray and took it through to him but Lacey had no intention of acting as his waitress. Instead she set out cutlery at one end of the big scrubbed pine kitchen table, cut up the still-warm bread, and ladled the homemade macaroni and cheese onto two plates, sniffing appreciatively as she did so.

  Luckily she was tall, active, and had a healthy metabolism, but she ruefully acknowledged that she’d probably be a good dress and cup size smaller if she lived on her own. Smaller but infinitely more miserable.

  She poured water into two tall glasses, took the green salad out of the fridge, and surveyed the table thoughtfully. If she put the jug of flowers on the dresser and put the big overhead light on then the scene looked friendly as opposed to intimate—she didn’t want Zac Malone to think she was trying to seduce him after all.

  “Okay then,” she muttered and took a deep breath, suddenly a little nervous. Tall, dark, and taciturn tended to have that effect on her. “Let’s do this.” She eyed the tray, ready and waiting on the sideboard. It would take two seconds to load it up and carry it through to him. She turned and marched decisively through the kitchen door before she chickened out and headed down the back corridor to the guest suite, skidding to a halt and knocking loudly on the door before she had a chance to change her mind.

  “Come in.”

  Here went nothing. Lacey turned the handle and pushed the door open a few inches, half twisting around the door so her head and torso were over the threshold but her feet were still firmly planted on the hallway floor. Zac was seated at the table, his laptop open, papers spread all over the floor and table. They were the only personal items in the room; otherwise the sitting room was exactly as it had been when Lacey helped her aunts clean up at the weekend. There was not so much as a stray book or a pair of shoes to be seen. “Hi.”

  He looked up at that, surprise clear on his face. “Hi.”

  “The aunts are out. Bingo. Or choir. I can’t remember. Anyway they left us dinner, luckily for you. I’m no cook. I’m not even much of a microwaver.”

  “Right. That’s fine.”

  “So, I thought it might be nice, as the house is so empty, if you wanted, to eat in the kitchen. Both of us. As housemates. Not a date. Obviously. But you’ve been here a few days now. So…anyway.” She stuttered to a halt and glared at the floor.

  Why did he not say anything? Not rescue her from what must be an obvious case of verbal diarrhea?

  The silence stretched for several excruciating seconds and then Zac stood up in one decisive movement. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” It was a great start. “It’s ready now, if you want to come through.” She held the door open for him to exit through, managing to resist a curtsy as he swept past her with barely a nod, then she followed him down the corridor to the kitchen trying not to notice just how nice his rear view was. No wonder every single woman at the Town Hall was asking her for the lowdown on Crooked Corner’s latest guest.

  Lacey busied herself with passing around the plates and water, hoping that Zac might pick up the conversational baton. No such luck. He simply nodded when she passed him a glass of water, muttered a brief “thanks” when she handed him his plate, and took the seat she indicated wordlessly. Lacey took her own seat at right angles to his and forked up a large mouthful of mac and cheese but, in the awkward silence, the creamy pasta, artfully spiced with Aunt Priscilla’s own secret blend of herbs, didn’t taste quite as ambrosial as usual.

  “Bread?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Salt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “More salad?”

  He just shook his head and Lacey regarded him half in despair, half amused. But no way was she giving in; she just needed to try harder. When in doubt drop back on the clichés… “So, Zac, how are you finding Marietta?”

  He raised an eyebrow and put down his fork. “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?”

  Lacey stared. “Um, really want to know, I guess.”

  “Because the polite answer, the answer I think you want to hear, is that Marietta is charming, that I love how quaint it is, the people are so friendly, I’ve never been anywhere so pretty, and I wish I could stay here forever. Am I right?”

  Her chest squeezed painfully at the thinly veiled sarcasm in his voice. That was exactly how she felt about Marietta. To her it was perfect in every way from the mountains ringing the town to the selection of local stores lining Main Street. Most importantly it was home. “That’s what I think, yes, but I didn’t ask you to read my m
ind and channel my thoughts. I asked you what you thought of Marietta. It’s no big city but that’s why some of us like it.” She set her fork down decisively, defensive of her adopted home.

  “It’s a small town. They’re all the same: charm on the surface…” Zac didn’t finish but he didn’t need to. She understood where he was going.

  “It’s not just surface! Not at all—in Marietta people really care. Look at this Bachelor Bake-Off I’m involved in…”

  “This what?”

  “Every year we run some kind of Bachelor fundraiser. It’s great publicity; draws people into the area during the post-Christmas slump and provides opportunities for some of the single men to get out and meet people—this is ranch country so there’s a lot of single men. It’s fun and useful and we always raise lots of money for some good cause.”

  “I know small-town fundraisers. What is the good cause? Blankets for old donkeys? Bootees for puppies?”

  Lacey picked her fork back up and stabbed at a piece of macaroni. Do not rise to the bait, she warned herself. She only had herself to blame. She’d wanted to know if there was any substance behind Zac Malone’s style and now she had her answer. No. Not unless she counted cynicism as substance.

  “Actually this year we’re raising money for an after-school club.”

  She paused but he didn’t comment. Lacey went on determinedly. “It’s for all the town’s kids to use. You’re right, no town is nothing but charm and Marietta has its fair share of poverty—and some disadvantaged and problem families. Only in this town we like to help when we can. Harry’s House will hopefully give some of those kids a hand while providing a fun place for their peers to hang out too. And if we can have fun while we’re raising money for it then that’s what we’ll do. Harry would have wanted it no other way. I bet he’d have been the first volunteering to be a baking bachelor.”

  She looked straight at Zac with a defiant tilt of her chin and to her surprise saw the cynical gleam had gone from his brown eyes. He had leaned forward while she spoke, focused on every word.

  “That sounds like a really good idea. What will the after-school club do?”

  Lacey blinked. A genuine-sounding question. Wonders would never cease. “It’ll be open before and after school and at weekends. Somewhere kids can do their homework, hang out. There’ll be workshops and classes, fun things as well as educational, sometimes both. My aunts will do baking classes, I’ll do some film and documentary workshops, plus there will be woodworking, help with homework for those who need it, that kind of thing. It’s something the town has wanted to do for a long time but Harry’s death kind of made it a priority. It just seems like the right way to remember him.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hit and run,” she said flatly. “He stopped to change a tire for an elderly couple when it happened. That was the kind of guy he was, always helping others.”

  “I’m sorry. Were you close?”

  “Not really but you know small towns.” She shrugged. “We all know each other to some degree. Harry was at school with my brother, Nat, for a year. He was a good guy.”

  “He sounds it, and it sounds like a good project. Let me know when it’s on and I’ll bid for a cookie or whatever. Every child needs somewhere to go especially when things get tough at home.” His voice was bleak and he pushed his plate away. “Thanks for dinner, Lacey. That was delicious but I have some work to do. See you around.”

  And while Lacey was still searching for something to say he strode out of the room leaving her staring at his empty place, no closer to knowing Zac Malone than she had been when he’d first sat down.

  But nor was she ready to give up. For a moment there he’d been interested in what she had to say and that Zac, eyes alight with interest, his focus on her, was a Zac Lacey wanted to see more of. But she sensed opportunities would be slim and she’d have to tread carefully. No matter what the aunts said she could be subtle when she turned her mind to it and right now her mind was firmly made up.

  Zac Malone was a mystery she was going to crack.

  Chapter Three

  Zac was surrounded by paperwork. Spreadsheets populated his laptop screen, reports piled high on the table and the floor. Marietta had grown so rapidly that the Town Hall’s systems had failed to keep up. He was there to audit the finances and suggest the right method and software to see the town safely through the period of growth, install them, and train all the users. Work he should—he usually could—do in his sleep. Time-consuming and meticulous? Yes. Difficult? Not at all.

  But it was difficult to concentrate when messy, unwanted emotions were jostling around his brain demanding his attention. Memories he’d spent the last twelve years trying to suppress. And worst of all, it was his fault they’d resurfaced. He’d allowed himself to get companionable with the youngest of Crooked Corner’s inhabitants and then lowered his guard when Lacey mentioned the scheme to set up a club for the town’s kids. He’d even experienced a tinge of curiosity about the Bachelor Bake-Off—even though it was the kind of cute community gathering he would usually take a mile-long detour to avoid.

  And, let’s face it: he was also experiencing a certain amount of curiosity about his dining companion of the evening. He might have a no dating on assignment rule but he was still flesh and blood, and Lacey Hathaway was an attractive girl. Tall, leggy, and blonde with the kind of curves women in California spent their time exercising and starving off their frames—but the kind of curves that were nice and easy on a man’s eyes. Not that Lacey seemed aware of how attractive she was.

  The long blonde hair was usually scooped up in a messy ponytail, no makeup lined the candid blue eyes, and she seemed to live in a uniform of blue jeans and soft sweaters. Zac stared at his computer screen barely taking in the long lists of figures. That was far more information than he’d known about the receptionist at the last motel he’d stayed in. He wasn’t even sure if her name had been Marla or Marlene. Maybe Maria.

  But he couldn’t help but be aware in this case despite his very best efforts to the contrary, probably because Lacey insisted on being noticed. She was everywhere—her spicy cinnamon and vanilla scent perfumed the whole house, her scarves and books and keys and bags littered every room, and she spent half her time tearing through the house like a tornado searching for whatever she’d last mislaid. She talked all the time. Even here, shut away in his private rooms, he could hear her yelling a question to her aunts, singing along to the radio or laughing—a surprisingly low, melodious laugh that made even the most resistant listener crack a smile in return.

  It would be all too easy to dismiss her, put her in the same box as all the other happy-go-lucky, charmed people who floated through life never noticing anything that could burst their comfortable bubble. But there had been a look in her eyes when she leapt to her town’s defense, a wistful loneliness that he recognized all too well. A look he’d seen in the mirror until he’d trained every inch of weakness out of himself.

  And the project she was helping fundraise for did sound pretty amazing. It was the kind of project that could make all the difference to a troubled kid’s life. The kind of project that would have made all the difference to his life. His life back then. His life right now was pretty damn fine. Under control. His control.

  Zac pushed his chair back restlessly. This was exactly why he steered clear of places like Marietta, exactly why he preferred the anonymous monotony of a chain motel. He could rock up, do his job, and leave with no thoughts more troubling than where he was heading to next. But here, in this warm, cozy sitting room, knowing coffee was brewing in the kitchen down the hall, that freshly made doughnuts and apple cake were waiting in the pantry, that there were three friendly faces he could just sit down next to and make conversation with or not depending on his mood… Here it was far too hard to concentrate on the matter at hand, far too hard to shut out the memories knocking insistently at his brain. Memories he had no intention of letting in.

  He shot a glance at
his watch and sighed. It was still early, barely eight p.m. He couldn’t work, wasn’t much of one for TV, avoided bars, had already eaten, and had no idea of what—if anything—happened in Marietta at night. But he couldn’t sit here any longer, staring at the screen and trying not to think of the past.

  Zac grabbed the warm, padded jacket he’d picked up just a few days ago and pulled on the equally new waterproof boots, their tread guaranteed to protect against all but the slipperiest of ice. He needed fresh air, no matter how cold that air; nor did he care that the snow was once more falling steadily from the winter-dark sky.

  He’d heard the two elder Ms. Hathaways come in a few minutes earlier and knew the family had all congregated in the kitchen. It really was the heart of the home, a warm chintzy space with no pretensions to fashion. Crooked Corner’s kitchen was painted a sunny yellow, the wooden cabinets a warm cream. Flowery blinds matched the oilskin tablecloth that covered the vast table dominating the room, a table used just as much for mixing cakes, tapping away at a laptop, drinking coffee around, and gossiping as it was for eating at.

  A noticeboard was covered in fliers for local events and recipes ripped out from magazines and photos. More magazines were piled up on the old dresser and vases and jugs were dotted around, filled with an eclectic selection of dried and fresh flowers, dried leaves, and twigs. It was always busy, an endless stream of neighbors, customers, and local kids streaming through for coffee, cake, and a chat with one or the other of the elder Ms. Hathaways. There were moments when Zac almost wished he could just avail himself of the open invitation to pour himself a cup, pull up a chair, and allow himself to become part of this warm family. For a while at least.

  The voices were a little louder than usual as he exited his room—an undercurrent of worry in the mingled tones—and Zac’s footsteps faltered as he reached the kitchen door. Was everything okay? Should he check in and see if there was anything he could do? He might not want to get pulled any further into this family but he still had his basic good manners. He paused, torn.