by Nina Bocci
I smiled and let out a cleansing breath. This would feel good, and I wagered it would go a long way to helping me try to find myself again. “I’ll be the financier of this little ditty. An investor until I get my initial money back. I’ll help get it started and make sure it’s running on all cylinders, but then I’m going to turn it over to the Golden Girls to run. Think of me as a silent partner whom everyone knows about. I’ll be what Lucille was to Charlotte,” I explained, referring to the woman who owned Charlotte’s store. “Once I earn back my investment, we can have a plan in place to roll the money back into the bakery or we can donate it after expenses. I don’t particularly care as long as it’s a group decision.”
“Parker, that is more than generous. But what will you get out of this?” Cooper asked, genuinely concerned for me. It was sweet and, for the first time, it made me realize that Cooper, Emma, Henry, and even Nick were my friends, not just Charlotte’s. They all cared about me. It warmed my heart.
“I’m enjoying just spending time with the Golden Girls, but I’m not being entirely altruistic. I don’t need the money. Once I recoup my investment, everything will roll into the bakery.”
They nodded. “That’s good. As long as it makes sense for everyone in the long term,” Cooper insisted.
“I think I’ve finally figured out what Parker Phase Two is. This space is still open, right?” I asked, placing my hand against the cool window of the empty shop. When I pulled it away, a print was left smudged against the glass.
They looked at one another warily. “Yes, but we’d have to move faster than you may want to.”
I shrugged. “I’m from New York. Fast is what we do. I’ll talk to the ladies and see what they think.”
After my brainstorm session with Cooper and Emma yesterday, the idea of the bakery was fresh in my mind. But today I needed to focus on the videos with the Golden Girls. We were filming our first one.
When I got to Mancini’s I was relieved to see Nick’s massive truck parked in the driveway next to her cherry-red Hummer. We hadn’t spoken since the ill-fated piggyback ride, except for a text to say that he was coming to help with the video that day. Still, with things as uncertain as ever between us, I hadn’t been sure if he would really come by.
I climbed the stairs, absently smoothing my hair back. When I knocked, my hand barely left the wood before Mancini whipped open the door looking excited.
“Hi!” I said, feeling as nervous as I had the first time I’d been on-camera for the Food Network. I hoped Clara wasn’t feeling the same pressure, since she was on deck for a video today. Just as I thought about her, she appeared.
Clara joined us looking lovely with her short, curly hair smoothed back. “All set?” I asked, and she beamed.
“I am. I’m excited, is that funny? I never thought I’d do this and yet, here I am, eager to get this show on the road.”
“That’s good. I’m glad! Just keep that positivity and excitement in your pocket while you’re filming. People will love you. I know it.”
We moved everyone into the kitchen, where I immediately pulled up short. Inside was the kitchen I remembered, but it had been transformed into a makeshift studio. Cameras were rigged up with lights shining down onto the marble island. On it were brand-new supplies: a state-of-the-art KitchenAid Artisan, Le Creuset bakeware, and a handful of Williams-Sonoma utensils, which must have been bought for the occasion, some still having price tags on them. Hanging in the corner was a new rack that included a half dozen aprons with The Baked Nanas stitched onto them.
“Um, Mancini?” I asked, concerned. “What happened to keeping things simple?”
She laughed. “Well…”
“Where did all of this come from?” I asked.
She was looking slightly put off by my question. “Not to worry; we borrowed the camera and lighting equipment from Viola’s son and husband. The aprons were donated by a friend, and the kids at the high school embroidered our names on them as part of a home-ec assignment that Henry set up. We did buy all the bakeware, but that’s only because mine was so old that it would have looked terrible on-camera. Besides, who knows, maybe we’ll get sponsored and we can get more stuff for free.”
“Talk about putting the cart before the horse,” I said, and Nick, who had sidled in quietly, elbowed me.
“You said that out loud too, in case you didn’t mean for it to be,” he explained, his dimples deepening while he tried not to laugh as he reminded me of the last time I blurted a thought.
I elbowed him back lightly. “I meant for them to hear that one.”
Turning toward him, I whispered, “I haven’t heard from you since yesterday. Everything okay?”
He leaned in. “Worried about me?”
I laughed, taking a much-needed step back. “I just didn’t know if you’d show. Without you here, I wouldn’t have a cameraman.”
When I turned to face Mancini and her league of extraordinary grannies, I found them watching us, with smirks and wide, glittering eyes.
“Oh, don’t mind us,” Mancini teased.
“Carry on,” Clara encouraged.
“Don’t let us stop you,” Viola quipped.
“So!” I shouted, clapping my hands. “Let’s get started.” It was the only thing I could think of to get them back on track and not thinking about Nick and me as Nick and me.
“Clara, the first thing you’re going to do is follow the apple cake recipe as we have it. I’ll give you the ingredients to open up some dialogue between us so it sounds natural, not rehearsed and stiff. This is the same format as Nick’s video, except you’re doing more of the baking than he did.”
“It helps that it’s already not rehearsed,” Clara quipped.
I laughed. “Hey, save those one-liners for the filming. I’ll come off as a trained baker, but the thing to remember is that we want people to feel that these recipes are accessible, vintage, and from the heart. That’s where your spin will come in handy. Talk about how it was making these recipes with your grams, and be sure to mention the old-world measurements. I know you don’t remember all of it, but some snippets will go a long way. I think it’s a hook that people will appreciate. Once the apple cake is done and you put it in the oven, we’ll stop the filming and watch what we’ve just recorded to see what needs to be enhanced. Maybe you’ll think of a better memory to include, or just something that we need to iron out. Then we’ll get started all over again and hopefully film what will be a perfect cut. Remember, I’ll edit the video before uploading it too, so it’s in the best possible shape.”
“Then what?” Mancini asked, leaning over the counter with her cell phone in hand. “How do we see how many hits the video’s getting? Or subscribers?”
“Again, cart-horse,” I said, laughing. “We’ll get you guys there, don’t worry.”
* * *
Once Clara had the first cake in the oven, I said a silent prayer that the “real video” was going to go as smoothly as the first.
“You ready for round two?” I asked as she took out index cards from her pocket to read through her notes again. “Here’s the thing, it’s okay to be nervous. It’s totally normal to fumble. I’ve done it, and I can tell you this: in my experience, people react more positively when you’re real and approachable. Stiff and emotionless are never a good look. So, if you flub or say ‘um’ and ‘like’ a bunch, who cares!”
“I know. I’m not really nervous. I just keep thinking about Nick’s video and how fun and fast and loose it was. I just hope this isn’t dorky,” she said worriedly.
“It won’t be at all,” I said, wondering when they’d seen it, since I’d just posted it last night. I sent it to him for notes. Mainly to see if he thought Jillian would take issue with it, but when he didn’t respond, I let it go out. He didn’t bring it up today, and I assumed no one—at least not in Hope Lake—had seen it yet. I had been actively avoiding my social media to see how it was doing.
“The Nick video was most likely a one-off. I
doubt we’ll do another unless it’s really well received and, well, if the stars align and all that jazz.” Meaning if Jillian doesn’t watch it, swallow her tongue, and somehow gives her blessing to do another.
Admittedly, the video with Nick was… charming, for lack of a better word. Of course, I wouldn’t admit that we did have on-screen chemistry or that the banter was funny and at times flirtatious. I tried editing that out as much as I could, but if I was being honest with myself, there were a lot of moments that had me pausing the video to overanalyze the look on his face. Or the longing in my eyes.
What ended up being uploaded was a fraction of the original baking time, but it was the best I could do, all things considered. It was probably part of the reason that I didn’t want to check the comments.
I wasn’t as worried about the videos with the ladies.
“I think your videos are going to be fantastic. I’ve got a good feeling, and I’m usually never wrong when I get those,” I said, squeezing Clara’s hand.
“Thanks, Parker, this means so much. I can’t ever repay you for what you’ve done for me. My kids are thrilled to have their great-grandmother’s recipes. Plus, I think these videos are going to be a lot of fun.”
The YouTube side was a bonus. With the videos, we got to help the ladies while helping others at the same time. Plus, I really did believe people would find them as endearing as I did. Once the world fell in love with the Golden Girls like I had, I knew that people would want one of their aprons too.
Around midnight, someone knocked at the front door of the lake house. The noise startled me and sent the spatula in my hand sailing across the kitchen, along with a stream of expletives flying out of my mouth. Unfortunately, that meant the nearly perfect batch of cream cheese frosting I’d been working on went with it.
“I’m hearing things,” I said to myself, grabbing a knife from the block on the counter.
Just in case.
I tiptoed toward the darkened front door and prayed that I remembered to lock it after the kid from Casey’s Pub delivered my pizza.
Burglars don’t usually knock, Parker.
Peeking out the small side window next to the door, I was relieved to see Nick sitting on the stoop.
Okay, not relieved, per se, but it was better than some woodland murderer who preyed on single girls in lakefront rentals. I would have to ask Henry if there was a book on that because it’s definitely something I would read. During the daytime.
When I was back home safe and sound in the city.
Opening the door, I hid the knife behind my back like a serial killer in the movies and smiled. “Nick.”
I wasn’t mad at him for stopping by, but I wasn’t not mad at him either. I knew there was still a lot of resentment and feelings that were unresolved.
“Can I come in?” he asked, keeping his eyes trained on his shoes. “We didn’t have a chance earlier, and I wanted to talk about yesterday.”
I sighed.
“Parker, please? Five minutes.”
“Nick, it’s midnight. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” When I’m dressed and caffeinated?
His eyes met mine, and it seemed like he’d been drinking. “Did you drive here drunk?” I asked, furious.
“What? No, I drove here, then drank. In your driveway.”
“You were drinking by yourself in my driveway? For how long?” I got home at four, the pizza came at eight, and his truck wasn’t there at the time.
He looked embarrassed. “A six-pack worth of time?” Nick took a deep breath and hiccuped. “It’s okay, I’ll sleep it off in the car and we’ll talk tomorrow. How about at breakfast? I can make eggs?”
“Nick, why were you drinking by yourself in my driveway?”
“If I said it’s a long story, would that be enough of an answer?”
“Nick,” I said again, but I wasn’t sure what else to say.
Turning to go back to his car, he slipped down the first step and had to grab the log railing to steady himself. I looked at the sky, which was clear and smattered with stars. Give me some kind of strength for dealing with this man, I silently begged whatever was up there, hoping she’d give me an iota of self-preservation and courage.
“Come on in, Nick,” I said, setting the knife on the side table. If I was going to have to help him up, I didn’t want to accidentally stab him too.
“It’s okay,” he said, slumping on the step. “I’m not drunk; they were light beers. I just didn’t eat and I’m really tired. I’ll sleep it off in the truck and see you in the morning.”
My sneakers were thankfully by the door. I pushed my feet inside and went out into the blustery cold. The wind picked up again, and I knew there was no way I could let him stay outside overnight. He’d be a Nicksicle in the morning.
“Let’s go, big guy,” I said, pulling him up. He was heavier than I expected, and the two of us almost flopped backward down the stairs. “I got you.”
“You do, Parker. That’s the problem. You got me.”
Ignoring his nonsensical rambling, I focused on moving him into the house. “Help me out here, Nick. I’m not going to be able to pick you up.”
Once I got him safely into the kitchen, I pushed him to sit at the breakfast nook by the windows. He slumped over and, looking at him in the light, I realized that he was likely less drunk than he thought, and melancholy more than anything else. He didn’t have that sloshed look that he had when we had gotten drunk together in the city around Halloween. Drunk Nick was pretty obvious.
“Coffee or tea?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does, though. These are things people know about each other if they’re eventually going to be friends. We never really discussed things like this.” I wanted to keep him talking so I could maybe get at what was bothering him. “Maybe you like coffee with a little bit of sugar. Or tea with honey? Am I getting warmer?”
He smiled, and while it didn’t quite seem sincere, it was better than him looking so morose. “Coffee would be fine. But don’t go to any trouble,” he insisted, putting his hand over mine on the table. “I’ll be fine outside. Just let me say what I came to say first.”
Slipping my hand out, I placed it on his shoulder. “In a bit. I’m in the middle of something, and I need a pick-me-up too.”
Which was not the case at all, but I couldn’t let him leave without hearing him out first.
I already had the coffeepot ready for the morning, so I just pushed the button to start it. There were scones that I’d made earlier sitting on the counter, so I put them and some jam on a plate and handed it to him in case he had the urge to nibble.
“Try those. They’re delish and a potential for the bakery,” I said proudly. “Or I can heat up some pizza. Do you want a slice?”
That perked him up. “Pizza? From Casey’s?” he asked, seemingly more awake than a second ago. When I nodded, he smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I’ll never, ever pass up Casey’s pizza. Although the scone sounds good too.”
“Eat both. I’ll heat them up for us and you can start talking when you’re ready.” I placed the pizza and scones on a cookie sheet and slid it into the oven. The coffee was ready, so I poured two cups and made up a little tray with cups, a sugar bowl, and a small ceramic cow carafe with cream.
“How about I start?” I asked, setting the tray down. “If you want to chime in, you do it.”
Nick took one of the cups and slid his hands around it. When he nodded, I figured I would ask the awkward questions first, since that’s how we rolled. Maybe he needed time to figure out what he was hoping to say to me.
“Did you get to talk to Jillian after you left yesterday?” I took a sip, keeping my eyes glued to the liquid.
He nodded, taking a giant scoop of sugar and plopping it into his cup. His mood had shifted from possibly drunk and exhausted to irritated, judging by the way his lips flattened and his eyes narrowed.
“First things first, I wanted to apologize for bu
tting in. It’s none of my business what goes on in your relationship.”
He swallowed, keeping his eyes trained on the cup. He wrapped his hands around it and mumbled, “S’okay. You’re the only one who’s honest with me.”
“But I’m not,” I began. “I don’t know you as well as your friends do, so I should be the last person to pry. It was rude and I apologize.”
“Parker,” he began, reaching out for my hand before pulling his back sharply. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted. It’s just she—”
“It’s none of my business. You don’t have to tell me,” I urged.
“I have to, though,” he whispered, and let out a deep yawn. Tonight was not the time for this conversation.
But when is, Parker? You’ve been putting it off since you arrived.
“Jillian’s… annoyed.”
“Expected and understandable,” I began, trying to gather the strength to be the bigger person in all of this. I kept repeating I will not get in the middle, and yet here I was, firmly planted in the middle.
“What do you mean, expected?” he asked. “You expected her to be annoyed with you, but why?”
I shook my head. Men didn’t understand feelings like jealousy and insecurity when they were in a relationship. “I hoped she wouldn’t be, but really, I’m not surprised. When you told me she knew something happened between us, I didn’t doubt she was pissed. I would likely be as well, if I saw my boyfriend carrying his… whatever on his back and having a heigh-ho time.”
He frowned, nodding solemnly. “I told her nothing was going on but…” Nick’s large hands rubbed over his face, pushing on his temples.
I had no idea where he was going with this, so I had to be more strategic with my questions to get answers out of him before he crashed for the night. “I’m sorry about that. If you’d like me to talk to her about it, I will. Tell her that you were just doing me a favor because of the sneakers.”
“Well, that would’ve been great until she saw the video…”
“So you did see it. I waited for you to respond, but when you didn’t, I just assumed you didn’t care, so I posted it.”