by Nina Bocci
“Name it,” she said, walking over to sit on one of the brown leather Queen Anne chairs that didn’t match the décor of the room. They seemed out of place. Classic for a not-so-classic lady.
I took a seat in the chair opposite her. “You know I used to have a YouTube channel and be on the Food Network, right?” She nodded and motioned for me to continue. “I was thinking of starting it up again. I did a couple of test videos using your recipe, and I wanted to know if you’d let me—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. She stood, ignoring my gaping mouth and anxious eyes.
“Yes? But you didn’t even know what I was going to ask.” I laughed, but she wasn’t kidding.
“Parker, if you want to do something, go for it. Record it, publish it in a cookbook—I don’t care, as long as it helps you move your needle.”
“Move my needle?”
She sat back down, taking my hand in hers. “Yes, dear. Move your needle. Get your fire lit, put some air in your tires. Whatever metaphor you need, use it. I want you to have some spark back in those gorgeous blue eyes of yours, and if the YouTubey or whatever is the way to get it, go for it. I want to see happy Parker again. Like the one I saw last fall before you stopped coming around.”
I smiled, wringing my hands together in my lap. Last fall, I’d been running around town with Nick trying not to get caught. Of course, that failed because we ran into the one person who could have told everyone: Mancini. Surprisingly, though, she didn’t say a word, because if she had, the entirety of Hope Lake—both permanent resident and tourist—would have known about Nick and me.
“We’ll chat about that another day. You know that I know about you and Nicholas, but I see that talking about him dims your light and we’re not about that right now. We want you to shine, Parker.”
I nodded, grateful to not have to get into a Nick-related conversation right now. “Thanks, Mancini. I was thinking that if I did a video featuring your recipe, maybe you could appear with me as a costar of sorts. Or even better, I could interview you and you could explain the recipe and how you got it from your family. I had some ideas about videos and the recipes to run by you ladies, and this was one of them.”
Her eyes lit up. “Me, on a video? Well, I think that would be exciting. Are you sure? Wouldn’t you get more whatevers—thumbs-up, compliments—if it’s just you? I mean, I’m a bit old for the YouTubes, right? I’m almost seventy.”
I leveled her with a disbelieving look. “Okay, seventy plus twelve,” she sighed. “But really, Parker. What does a seasoned woman like me do on a video?”
I stood side by side with her as we faced a large oval mirror that hung on the wall before us. “Well, for starters, just be you. I think that alone would be a hoot. You may be seventy plus twelve, but you’re sharp as a tack and your humor is off the charts. Add in an awesome family history and a kick-ass recipe, and I think we’ve got a winner.”
She smiled and patted my hand. “You know how to make an old lady feel, well, not so old. Okay, we’ll do it. I want to make sure my hair is done, so I’ll call Giavanna to get an appointment. I need to look my best for my appearance on the line.”
I pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “I don’t know that the line is ready for you, but I can’t wait to see how much you guys kick ass once you’re on it.”
The following day, I was getting out of the Uber to visit Mancini when I stopped abruptly in her driveway. Nick was standing outside of Mancini’s front door, smiling like I hadn’t yelled at him in the library. He offered a small wave.
“This is a surprise,” I mumbled, as I climbed the steps to her house. I knew full well he would be there for dinner tonight, I just didn’t anticipate being met at the door. Nick’s truck wasn’t in the driveway or the garage. Where had he come from? I considered staying inside the Uber and heading back to the lake house. Weren’t we just saying that we had no time to chat because people were always around? How did he manage to find the one minute when no one was eavesdropping?
“Parker, listen,” he began, but I shook my head.
“Please don’t. I came here to see my friend. Not to argue, or whatever else will happen if we continue talking.”
“I just want to explain a few things. Things I should have months ago.”
Nail meet head. “That’s just it. You should have done it months ago. Or even the other day when I texted you and you, once again, didn’t respond.”
I surged up the stairs, saying a prayer that I wouldn’t slip this time. Thankfully, I made it to the front door unscathed. Turning, I said, “Nick, I—”
“You asked for the cookbook so I figured I would bring it today. I stopped by my house on the way over here. I don’t want to push you into talking to me any more than I think you want me to, but we have to talk and I want to make things right. We have the same friends, and while you’re in town, I don’t want to avoid you or have you avoiding me.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
“Parker, you hid behind a mailbox so you wouldn’t have to talk to me and Jillian the other day.”
“I wasn’t hiding, I was tying my shoe.”
“What about at the pharmacy when you dodged behind the reading glasses display when I came over to say hello?”
“I was, uh…”
“If you’d rather I pretend you don’t exist, I’ll try, but that’s pretty hard to do. We have a history—” he began, but the door opened, and Mancini stepped outside.
“It’s too cold out here for a deep conversation. What are you two standing there for? You’ll catch your death,” she said, ushering us into her front room as she closed the door. “Kids today. You think you’re invincible.” I was feeling anything but.
We crossed the threshold into the formal sitting area, which faced Gigi’s house next door. Mancini said she’d be right back, but by her time standards that could mean twenty seconds or an hour.
I slid off my coat and hung it in the closet, then waited with my hands in my pockets while he did the same with his. “So,” I started, prompting him to give me some reason why he was here besides the book. Which he could have just as easily left on my porch and not tracked me down with.
“So, that?” I asked, pointing to the thick tome in his hands. “I’ll take it and put it with my coat so I don’t forget.”
It was almost as if he had forgotten he was carrying it. He looked down at it before handing it over. At first, he didn’t let go, giving the impression that we were engaged in a tug-of-war.
“Thanks for this. I’ll be sure to give it back when I’m done,” I said, strengthening my hold on the book.
He looked confused, with furrowed brows and flattened lips and with his hands still gripping the book. “I don’t need it back. I’m just hopeful it helps. I’m miserable in the kitchen, and a book like this won’t help.”
I took a small step back, tugging the book along with me and forcing him to let it go. I pulled the plastic off and stuffed it into my pocket before opening the book. The spine creaked the way brand-new books do.
“Told you I never used it,” he said with a laugh.
Nick rolled back on his heels as I perused. Just as I thought, it had a good amount of odd and old-fashioned measurements that weren’t used in today’s recipes. Only certain editions had them listed these days. Closing it, I tucked it under my arm and said thank you. Again.
But with nothing left in the conversational wallet, the room felt stifling with thorny tension. We stood there staring at each other. Mancini hadn’t come back in, and I didn’t know if she was giving us space on purpose or if she was still getting ready for dinner.
Whatever she was doing was keeping Nick and me alone together, and God, it was awkward. I wanted to say that to him. “Why is this so weird? Why can’t we act like normal, rational, thinking adults?”
He frowned, and I realized that I had said it out loud. “I don’t mean for things to be awkward or uncomfortable for you. If you’d rather I not be here, Parker, all you have to
do is say so.”
“No, no, it’s not that. They’re your friends too. It’s just hard for me.”
I almost wondered if Nick would be easier to deal with if he was being a dick about everything. Like the first night I met him, he was a bit of a pompous shit, but it didn’t stop me from having a one-night stand with him that ended up lasting months. What could I say? I had a type, and he was it.
He stepped toward me, his hand reaching out before he yanked it back. “I’m sorry, I wish—”
I shook my head. “Now isn’t the time or place, but—”
We didn’t get to continue the conversation because Mancini decided, with her impeccable timing, to join us.
“Table is set, I’m just waiting on the timer to ding. Oh, and Clara stopped by. She wanted to talk to you quickly before dinner,” she explained, and Clara popped out from behind her.
“Parker!” Clara beamed. “How is my favorite baker?”
Clara pulled me into a huge hug. The others stood by, with Mancini hovering just behind them watching. “Thanks for everything you’re doing,” Clara said, letting me go but keeping my hand in hers. “I’m just so grateful that you figured out the recipe the way it was intended. I can’t ever repay you for what you’ve done for me. My kids are thrilled to have their great-grandmother’s recipes.”
I pulled her into another gentle hug, and quickly wiped my tears away while no one was the wiser. Bringing joy to people like Clara was the whole reason I had agreed to help in the first place.
Dinner was stuffed shells, both meat and cheese, and dessert was Mancini’s cookies that I’d made. Charlotte had two, insisting that Henry do the same. “They’re so good, they’ll all be gone tonight and you’ll be sorry.”
“There are plenty,” Mancini explained. “I have Parker here to thank for that.”
“Seriously, Parker. That’s really great,” Nick said, before taking a bite of the cookie. When he moaned around the mouthful, I looked down, not wanting to see that face again: the one of pure delight, his handsome face serene.
“It’s too bad you’re appalling in the kitchen, Nick. You could learn a thing or two from this one,” Mancini said, laughing when Nick jutted out his bottom lip in mock sadness.
“I’m not terrible. Charlotte is worse,” he said, pointing a cookie at my friend.
“You’re not wrong. She’s hopeless. You, on the other hand, have at least some skills in the kitchen. Your ideas for mixing ingredients are great,” I said, and immediately felt all eyes turn toward me.
“How do you know Nick has skills?” Charlotte asked, not missing a beat.
Emma’s eyes narrowed as she waited for my answer. Henry and Cooper continued eating cookies, having no idea the mental war games their girlfriend and fiancée were putting me through.
Nick didn’t know where to look. It was anywhere but at me, because he knew if our eyes locked, the memory of me trying to teach him how to bake while we were semi-naked would come soaring back, and I wouldn’t be able to hide the look on my face. He might not have been able to look me in the eye, but I watched as he discreetly rubbed a spot on his leg. A spot that I knew had left a small mark thanks to a splash of hot oil hitting him.
“Parker?” Charlotte asked again.
I pushed aside a memory of Nick wearing my apron with nothing underneath, but trying to ignore the past wasn’t helping. “At the Fourth he made me a hot dog, and it wasn’t burned to a crisp. Besides, no one is worse than you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte seemed mollified but Emma didn’t look convinced. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “So, Parker. Charlotte said you tried recording some new material for your YouTube channel. Have you thought about bringing on someone else as a student? Someone to teach in a video to help to make it more exciting?”
The idea had merit. “Well, I was talking to Mancini about doing some cooking shows with the Golden Girls, almost like a channel within a channel.”
Emma took the bait and ran with it. “I love that idea. We could help promote it throughout town. But you can’t have the ladies in your videos. They already know how to bake and cook. They’re rock stars. You need a hot mess like Charlotte to make the videos interesting.”
“Yeah, no, thanks,” Charlotte said. “I’ve actively avoided her recording me for years. I’m not going to put myself through the ringer now. Besides, we want people to tune in for help, not to see how shitty I am. The focus needs to be on Parker’s vast knowledge and ability to help people get through the process of baking. And then the ladies and their recipes. Focus on the classics with some classics.”
“I think I love that. Classics with the classics,” I said, blushing under the compliment. “I do like to help.”
Charlotte laughed. “Of course you do. Did you know that in culinary school she used to tutor some of her classmates to make sure that they made it through their lessons? Everyone is jockeying for position to be the best of the best in each course, and here’s Parker just trying to make sure that people aren’t failing.”
Emma smiled. “That sounds like a great hook for a series. Helping the woefully inept bakers create a masterpiece.”
“I’ll do it,” Nick blurted, and everyone turned toward him. “You can teach me how to bake.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the lump sit right in the middle of my throat. “Nick, that’s a kind offer, but—”
“Oh my God, that’s an amazing idea. You guys have great banter, and the tension will read really well on-camera. I mean, hell, it reads well in real life. How can it not show up online too?” Emma cheered.
“Emma, I didn’t realize you were a pro at what works on-camera?” I said, snappier than I intended, but as a person thrown, quite effectively, under a bus, I wasn’t in the mood to mince words.
She smiled. “I like to think I have a good idea of what is interesting to see, yes. Don’t you think it’s a good idea? I mean, you and Nick are friends—right?”
My smile was thin and positively fake. “I think it’s a swell idea. Can’t wait to get started.”
* * *
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I howled the moment I sank into the passenger seat of Nick’s truck. Charlotte’s car had been filled with boxes of vases, Mancini had been busy cleaning up her kitchen, and Emma had been headed in the opposite direction, which meant Nick was my only option for a ride.
Which was perfect because it gave me a minute to unload on him.
“Why would you offer yourself up for this?”
Nick white-knuckled the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “Nick?”
“You’re making me crazy. You being here again is literally driving me mad. I can’t think straight,” he said very matter-of-factly, as if me being there wasn’t weighing heavily on me too. He continued staring out the windshield as we sat in the driveway.
“Let me get this straight. Me being here is driving you insane, and your bright idea is to spend more time with me? I’m in the Twilight Zone.”
“Not insane. Mad, crazy, wild—I can’t get my head on straight with you here again, Parker. It’s brought up a lot of—”
“Don’t you dare say feelings!”
“They’re not all good feelings! Most of them are bad. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m sad that you’re here. I’m confused that you’re fucking here!”
I yelled right back. “Then why the hell did you volunteer?!” I couldn’t take him not looking at me anymore so I shoved his shoulder as I shouted. “Why, Nick? Why would you willingly spend time with me if I’m making you crazy?”
“Because I want to spend time with you. Jesus Christ, Parker. I’ve been trying to see you since you got here and you keep running away.”
I slumped back against the seat. “Where was this urge to see me in November, huh? When you cut off contact like I was some random woman you met on Tinder, not someone who spent months with you in every way imaginable?”
“Parker, I wanted to—”
“Just dr
ive me home, Nick. I don’t want to talk about it now.”
He laughed. “Of course you don’t, Parker. You don’t want to talk about anything that’s not pretty and wrapped in a goddamn bow.”
“Now’s not the time for this.”
“Why the hell not? What are you waiting for? Jillian isn’t here. Mancini, Emma, Charlotte, or any random witnesses aren’t here to watch us implode all over again. Let’s get this over with.”
I turned, pointing an angry finger at him. “Want to know why? I’ll tell you. I wanted to talk about this months ago, and where the hell were you? You dropped me like a bad habit. You don’t get to dictate when we talk about all the crap that went down. We do it on my terms, and right now, I don’t have it in me to go down a memory lane that’s covered in spikes.” I took a quick breath before continuing. “What you need to know is that you hurt me. Whether it was intentional or not, you did it and you haven’t apologized for it. I need that. I need to know that you even hazarded an errant thought about what you did to me over the past two months. I want to know that it bothers you that you left me high and dry without an explanation. I want to know that you thought about me at all.”
Nick looked pained, the skin beneath his eyes dark, giving him a haunted and tired look. His hands were still gripping the steering wheel tightly, and his breathing was labored. A few moments of silence passed. I groaned in frustration.
“Fine, don’t say anything—it doesn’t matter.”
He shook his head. It was a small move, but I still caught it.
“Parker, I think about you all the time. It’s not right and it’s not fair. I’m more than well aware of this.”
After days of stewing about how I ended things with Nick, I finally returned one of his calls. There had been a half dozen, plus texts and even a Snapchat. Ignoring wasn’t my style, but inviting him over to record the video wasn’t high on my list of things to do either.
But it was what I had to get done.
Of course, I could have said no. Insisted that someone else do it or just not have a guest at all, but I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.