by Marina Adair
Hawk was sending Luke all kinds of glares, including What the fuck, bro? and Did you hear that?
To which Luke responded, I’m not deaf and Let me handle this.
And like everyone else in Luke’s family, Hawk didn’t listen to a damn thing.
“Well, it isn’t the real Gold Tin winner, though,” Hawk said. “I mean Fi hasn’t been baking for weeks now, has she, Luke?”
“Don’t know, I haven’t been keeping tabs on my aunt.”
“I know she cooked the pie I had the other day.” Cosmo’s grimace said the meeting hadn’t gone well.
“Well, that’s good then, since Kennedy isn’t Fi,” Hawk added.
“The girl seems to be doing well,” Cosmo said, his tone clear that he was defending Kennedy, which had Luke wondering who the older man felt he needed to defend her from. “Can’t keep pies on the shelf.”
Hawk grimaced. “That sounds more like a supply and demand issue to me. If I ran out of inventory, I’d be out of business in a week.”
Pausing as if to consider Hawk’s words, Cosmo set his glass down. “I guess I never thought of it that way. She and I were talking about a long-term deal.” He looked at Luke, who was shooting Hawk every What the fuck look known to man—and a few he made up on the spot. “What do you think, son?”
Luke knew what the deal could mean to Kennedy. To Two Bad Apples. And to his family.
Hawk knew it as well, which was why he was returning Luke’s What the fuck look with a This isn’t a problem, remember? glare.
Luke didn’t need the reminder. He remembered all right. Remembered the smile on Kennedy’s face when he finally admitted that freaky red vegetable pie was perfect. The way she felt wrapped around him like a blanket when they’d slept. He also remembered the look on his mom’s face when she lost the house. And knew that the next two seconds would decide if the only possibility he’d have left to make his dreams come true was in Chicago, sitting in his McMansion, smoking a cigar, and counting all his coins.
“Kennedy is an amazing baker, but she isn’t a Gold Tin winner,” Luke heard himself saying over his pounding heart, which was beating a hard rhythm of guilt and shame. “Hawk’s right, you might want to talk with legal before you claim that on the boxes.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Neither had Luke until Kennedy brought it up last night, in a private and vulnerable moment. And now it was out there, floating around in everyone’s head, while Luke stood there holding a piece of chocolate pie that was supposed to make everything better.
Chapter 14
Once the rush for the Monday morning pickups and the breakfast crowd had passed, Kennedy lined her staff up in the prep area of the kitchen. After she’d decided to sign Cosmo’s agreement, she’d spent the rest of the weekend and all morning focusing on her new line of pies. It was a better use of her time than thinking about Luke in her bed.
And why he hadn’t been back since.
She’d been hesitant to go to his party Saturday night, afraid that taking it public would be like telling her heart it was okay to open up. At the last minute she’d convinced herself that he wanted her there. Something he’d made clear when she’d walked in and he’d looked at her as if he wanted to pull her into a dark corner and pick up where they’d left off that morning.
Then something shifted. There was no one thing she could point to, except to say he was the perfect gentleman. He catered to her ever need, introduced her to his friends, even gave her a sweet kiss when he’d walked her to her car and explained that he had to take a last-minute trip to Chicago to talk to a potential client and he would be back Monday at the latest.
She wasn’t surprised that he’d jump on a plane to go see a client. Luke took his responsibility to the company and his clients seriously. It was why Callahan Orchards had been so successful over the past few years. She was surprised that she’d missed him so much.
And that could become a problem.
“The apple and cranberry pie is delicious,” Paula said, going in for her third bite. “The tartness of the cranberries makes the apples even sweeter. What kind of apple is this?”
“Honeycrisp,” Kennedy said, unable to hide her pleasure in impressing the most impressive baker she’d ever met. “I used Callahan Honeycrisp apples, locally grown cranberries, and this amazing lemon honey that a chef I know back home makes.”
Saying home when referring to Atlanta felt oddly wrong.
Kennedy remembered what Edna had told her when she’d stayed with her that first summer. Home is where the heart is, child, and your heart knows where it belongs. Even when it’s hurting something painful, it knows.
At the time Kennedy hadn’t understood, because her heart was too afraid to hope. Every time she thought she’d found home, it had been taken from her. But here, in Destiny Bay, the reality of finding home had somehow snuck into her heart when she hadn’t been looking.
“Perfection,” Paula said, and Kennedy noticed that Fi was going in for her first bite of the tasting. Not that she was actually putting the forkful in her mouth, but she sniffed it and licked a bit of the filling.
“So this is a part of the new…How do you say it again?” Paula asked sweetly.
“Mélange—May-lanje—line,” Kennedy said, speaking slowly and phonetically.
“May-lang line,” Paula said sweetly. Kennedy was about to say close enough when Paula elbowed Fi.
“Meh-lang?” Fi repeated, not an ounce of sweet to her voice. There hadn’t been any sweetness to her since she’d come back yesterday stating that, while she would never walk off the job, her coming back didn’t mean she was in support of the current management. Even though Paula pointed out several times that Kennedy wasn’t the new manager, but the new owner.
That Fi was willing not only to try but also to sell the new multifruit pies was enough for now.
“No, the E is accented so it sounds like an A, mélange.” Kennedy extended a hand, as if she were one of the models on those infomercials. “Would you like to sample our new Apple Mélange pies?”
One hand on her meaty hip, Paula mimicked Kennedy and said, “‘Would you like to sample one of our Apple May-lange pies?’”
“Close enough,” Kennedy said brightly, moving on to the next part of the day’s lesson. “If people ask what’s in them, remember that mélange means ‘medley.’ I really listened to what you were saying, Paula, about easing people into new things.” It took everything she had not to glance at the person who needed the most easing. “And I came up with the idea of making Washington apples the star in every bite, while using other fruits to elevate and showcase each type of apple’s unique attributes.”
“That is a lovely idea. Inventive, fresh, and very considerate of the town and Sweetie Pies’ traditions.” Paula turned her attention to the town’s tradition police. “Don’t you think so, Fi?”
Fi’s face puckered like she’d eaten a spoonful of the lemon honey. “Why don’t you just call them Apple Medley pies then, if they’re made from a medley of fruit?”
“Good question.” Kennedy clasped her hands, excited to explain her reasoning. She worked so hard to come up with pies that pleased her customers and her bottom line, while remaining true to Sweetie Pies, and what Kennedy had set out to accomplish. “I thought it was important to use the word apple, since that will resonate best with the locals. And mélange, well, it adds that little Je ne sais quoi that appeals to dessert connoisseurs.”
And people willing to spend twenty-plus dollars on a pie.
“Connoisseurs?” Fi sent Paula a strange look. “We have any connoisseurs here in town?”
“Saul, down at the Gas and Go, eats pie for dinner,” Paula offered, being helpful. “And we sell lots of pies in the morning.”
“I was thinking of customers outside of Destiny Bay.” A little bubble of excitement jumped in her belly. “I was actually thinking of customers outside of the Pacific Northwest. I did some research last night on shops that sell their
pies on the Internet. Did you know people right here, in Washington state, pay upwards of thirty-eight dollars for an authentic Georgia peach pie? Think about what people would be willing to pay for an authentic Washington apple and cranberry pie, or one of your famous HumDingers?”
Paula clasped her hands beneath her chin. “More than twelve dollars.”
The bell dinged, signaling they had a customer.
“While you two talk about feeding the world, I’m going to go feed the people right here in Destiny Bay, who don’t need a fancy name to know good pie. Because Sweetie Pies has all the gene se qua it needs,” Fi said, pointing to the sixteen Gold Tins lining the shop window. Grabbing her apron, the older woman pushed through the kitchen door and headed out front.
Paula took Kennedy’s hand and gave it an apologetic squeeze. “Don’t you worry about her. Your medley pies are delicious; people are going to love them. And once Fi realizes just how hard you are working to please everyone, she’ll come around. She was already tasting your pies this morning, and that was a big jump. She just needs a smidge more—”
“Time,” Kennedy sighed. “I know.”
“Afternoon, Bitsy,” Fi’s voice carried through the window. “What can I get you?”
Kennedy let out a sigh of relief. Maybe Paula was right, and Fi was coming around. She might not be sweet on Kennedy at the moment, but at least she was still working hard to please customers.
“Frank asked if I could pick up his order for tonight’s Bible study class,” Bitsy said. “He needed to do God’s work today, so I offered to do his.”
Frank was the pastor of Destiny Bay Presbyterian Church, and Bitsy was his wife. Every Monday and Thursday they had a standing order for ten pies, and if Fi did her job, maybe a few of those would be replaced with Apple Mélange pies.
Kennedy poked her head out of the pass-through window. “Hey, Bitsy, I got the pastor’s order right here. Give me a minute to box them up for you.” Kennedy gave Fi a parting look, then smiled as if to say, Please.
Fi smiled back. At least Kennedy thought it was a smile—the older woman’s teeth were showing.
“While she’s boxing your pies, might I interest you in something new?” Fi said, and Paula had a silent clap of excitement. “Today we’re introducing the first three pies in our new Ménage à Trois collection,” her French suddenly impeccable.
Paula choked. Kennedy stopped breathing. And Fi went right on smiling.
Bitsy cleared her throat and in the most devout voice asked, “Pardon me, but I don’t think I heard you correctly. Manage a what?”
“Ménage à Trois, dear.” Again with perfect pronunciation. “Three kinds of pies, three kinds of fruit, all living together in the same flaky crust. It’s just sinful, deliciously sinful.”
“Good Lord,” Bitsy said, lifting the cross pendant on her necklace and kissing it as if asking for divine intervention.
Kennedy needed divine intervention, too, but asking for a blessing on her pies seemed a bit frivolous with so much going on in the world, so Kennedy decided that if anyone was going to sell the merits of these pies, it would have to be its creator.
* * *
Kennedy pulled the last batch of Sweetie Pies traditional apple deep dish out of the oven, and slid in a batch of her apple and red currant pies. Her new pies had been gaining fans every day, but today was going to be big—she could feel it. The library had special-ordered ten apple and huckleberry pies to go with tonight’s book club theme, she was meeting Cosmo at seven to finalize the contract, and Kennedy had been so busy in the kitchen she’d barely had time to notice it was Thursday.
Too bad that didn’t apply to Luke, or the fact that he hadn’t called.
She’d considered calling him, to see if everything was all right, then figured if anything had gone wrong, Paula would have said something. Then she thought about calling to say hi, only she figured that if he’d wanted to talk while he was away on business, he would have called her. And when all of that figuring led to a headache, she focused on what was important—her own business.
She could pretend she wasn’t somewhat hurt, but she’d promised herself that she would never pretend again. Not when it meant missing important facts. Like what happened between them six nights ago didn’t mean that their relationship was anything more than temporary. But the way he’d held her as if he didn’t want to let go, how her heart melted every time she thought of the tender way he’d looked at her, how he made her feel as if she was something to be treasured, someone who was worthy of love, Kennedy knew.
This thing with Luke might not last forever, but in her heart, she wanted it to. A dangerous want to have for a girl who didn’t know what forever even looked like.
Paula hobbled into the back room, her hair in disarray and her breathing heavy. “There is a mob of people out front.”
“Do they have picket signs or pitchforks?” Kennedy asked. Wiping her hands on her apron.
“Do bingo cards count?” Paula asked, and Kennedy set down her rag and walked to the kitchen door.
She cracked it open, just enough to peer into the shop unseen, and a comforting warmth filled her chest. Cards covered every inch of table space, and one of those hand-cranked bingo machines sat in the front corner of the shop—which was filled with people.
Not people, customers—talking and laughing and eating. Which made them paying customers. Some of them predated the Constitution, but all of them had gray halos. Including the woman in the lavender sweater set and pearls who was turning the handle and shuffling the bingo balls.
“Is that Bitsy Evans?” Kennedy whispered to Paula.
“I think so.”
Once Bitsy had left the shop the other day, it didn’t take long for word to spread that Kennedy was selling sin in a tin. Representatives from every female organization in town showed up to see how they went about getting their hands on the Triple Threat pies, as they were calling them: pies that satisfied your craving, your Washington pride, and, well, put the sweet back in Sweet Spot. Bitsy claimed she was there to stop any sinning from going down, but she ordered two pies to go.
Kennedy explained there wasn’t the equivalent to Viagra for ladies crushed up in the crust, and after a series of disappointed grumbles and a single hallelujah from Bitsy, she asked the women to stay. She served coffee and tea, and pie all around, and when everyone was done tasting, she shared a piece of herself. Told the women about her grandmother, her recipe journal, and why she loved baking. In return, they each shared stories about their own lives—and passions. By the end, Kennedy had felt a closer kinship with the town and its residents; she’d felt as if she was one step closer to calling Destiny Bay her home, and these women her people.
As the women were getting ready to head home, Kennedy asked them what they’d like to see in their hometown pie shop. Not only were they fans of her “medley pies”—a name a pastor’s wife could get behind when recommending a great place for pie—but they were also interested in smaller pastry items.
It seemed Destiny Bay had a diner, but not a place where friends could meet and share a sweet bite, coffee, and the daily gossip.
Kennedy said she’d provide the coffee and sweets, if they could help her bring in the people. Cautiously optimistic, she’d hoped but didn’t put much weight in it for fear of disappointment. But they had come through.
Not for Paula or Fi, or the promise of free pie. They’d come through for her, and as incredibly foreign as that felt, it also felt comforting.
“What are they doing?”
“Playing bingo,” Paula said with a smile. “And they’re buying pie. Lots of pie.”
And not all of it just apple, Kennedy noticed.
Her part-time help was behind the counter slicing an apple and Bing cherry pie into sixths. Cool and under control, Lauren slipped each slice onto a plate.
“How can I help?” Kennedy asked, stepping in beside her.
“I need a hot herbal, two hot tea lattes, five coffees, one black
, one with cream, the rest the works.” Lauren stacked the plates on the tray and hoisted it up on her shoulder, surprising the hell out of Kennedy. “What? On the weekends I tend bar by campus. A bunch of old ladies got nothing on drunk frat boys and a mechanical bull.”
“Only because we don’t have a mechanical bull.” Kennedy grabbed eight mugs and the coffeepot, then started pouring. “I thought you only wanted to work a few hours a week.”
“You don’t have an espresso machine either. You should get one—it will attract the younger crowd, since they have to drive to the next town for a Starbucks,” she said. “And I’d love to work more, but Paula and Fi only had a few hours when they hired me on.”
Kennedy paused and gave her sometimes baker sometimes cashier in the BOYS ARE FUN. BUT SORORITY SISTERS ARE 4EVER T-shirt a second look. “I thought you were a marketing major.”
Lauren smiled. “Double major, marketing and restaurant management.” Lauren smiled, as if she was overlooked a lot, then delivered the pies, not even missing a beat when Louise Ferndale moved her walker in the middle of the walkway—and right in Lauren’s way.
“She’s a go-getter,” Paula said, coming up beside Kennedy and bumping her with her hip. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”
With a grin, Kennedy went to fill the mugs, enjoying the loud hum of the room. “Did they all come in at once?”
“Yup, started ordering pies and coffee by the table,” Paula said. “Once the pastor’s wife assured me they were betting with coupons and not cash, I figured they were paying customers, and started slicing. But when they kept coming, I came and got you.”
“B-16,” Bitsy said into the mic. “B-16.”
“I got B-16,” Margret Collins hollered, waving a personalized bingo stamp in the air.
“Well, I got B-16 on two of my cards,” the woman next to Margret said, and Kennedy’s eyes tracked to the voice. Then she blinked. Twice.