Sugarberry, it turned out, was as much wilderness retreat as it was small southern town, and the relaxed, slightly more eccentric island vibe surprisingly reminded him of the mountain town he’d called home for the past eight years.
Other than Dr. Gabriel Langley at the research center, he didn’t know anyone on the island, as yet. But in the short time it had taken to find the cottage and move in, he’d found the same feeling of familiarity that he connected to, the same small town unity and sense of openhearted welcome he’d experienced when he’d set up his practice out west.
Knowing the rocky past Lilly’s maternal grandmother had had with her daughter Delilah and with his own mother, Morgan had been a little uncertain of his initial welcome on Sugarberry. Ultimately, he’d felt confident that once the islanders met him and Lilly and realized how sincere he was in reuniting family and putting down solid roots, they’d be welcomed. He never would have moved there otherwise. While Sugarberry was already calling to him in ways he hadn’t known it would, so was Lilly.
He loved her to death, had since he’d cradled her in shaky hands just after her birth. The first baby he’d ever held, she’d captured his whole heart with nothing more than a gurgle and a smile. Even though he hadn’t seen her as often as he liked, that bond had only strengthened through the following years. With their lives turned upside down and wrenched inside out, she was surprising him and fascinating him at every corner, clutching at his very heart and soul in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined. He’d never felt anything like this before.
The idea of running his office from anywhere but Sugarberry, where he’d be right there when she needed him, anytime she needed him, seemed unthinkable.
“Moggy?”
He looked up from the next box he was slicing open to see Lilly in the doorway to what was going to be his future home office. “What’s up, sweet pea? Did you get the rest of that page colored in?” He walked over to where he’d arranged his desk and filing cabinets in an L-shape and pointed to the side of the filing cabinets angled toward his chair. “I was thinking it would look great right there.”
“I don’t know what color the paddle feet are. I forgot.”
Dr. Langley had pulled in just as they were pulling out of the research center lot earlier that morning. Morgan had turned the car around, they’d gone back into the facility, and Dr. Langley had given Lilly a tour. She’d been quiet bordering on painfully shy around the older man, but there had been no missing the avid curiosity and delight in her eyes when he’d taken her to see the turtles presently residing in the facility’s rehab tanks. When she’d realized some of them were injured or sick, she’d whispered a dozen urgent and highly concerned questions in Morgan’s ears for him to ask the good doctor. In turn, he had ever so graciously taken the time to gently explain why the turtles were there and what he was doing to help them get better.
Gabe had given her a loggerhead coloring book school kids received during their visits, and she’d been bouncing in her seat all the way back to the cottage. Then they’d had to go back out in search of crayons. What kid didn’t have at least one giant, beat-up box of half broken and half worn-down crayons?
Well, him, for one. So, now they both had a fresh box.
“I’m not sure either,” he told her. “You know, I have a bunch of stuff printed out about them right . . .” He turned in a slow circle, looking at the disorganized chaos surrounding him. “Somewhere.”
She just stood there expectantly, so he began to dig.
“Aha!” He unearthed the folder Gabe had given him during their first meeting and started to hand her the fund-raising brochure right on top of the pile, which featured a big loggerhead photo on the front. Thankfully, he saw the sickly and diseased loggerheads on the back before she took it from his hand. Not exactly appropriate for five-year-olds, he tucked it back into the folder. “Uh, wait, let me find the perfect one,” he said, flipping through the rest of the folder. He finally settled on carefully tearing the front cover off the first brochure and handing it to her. “Looks like they’re kind of green, maybe a little brown.”
She studied the photo with great intent, then looked up. “Thank you, Uncle Moggy.”
He smiled. She might behave too excruciatingly proper at times, but other times her politeness was simply too sweet for words. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Let me know when I can come see it.”
He watched her go back to the kitchen table, which he could see through the open archway of the den-turned-office. She was such an odd little mix. A lot of the quiet reserve was from the tumult that had so recently occurred in her life, turning her world and that of everyone around her upside down. But she had always been something of an observer, at least in the times they’d spent together. She’d always had a smile and a giggle for him, and early on in uncle-hood, he’d made it his mission to make her laugh as often as possible.
She’d always struck him as a pretty normal kid, naturally curious, smart as a whip—too smart for her own good sometimes—all wrapped up inside the perfectly poised and groomed little Westlake clone his mother was determinedly turning her into, much as she had with Asher, and again, with his young wife Delilah. Morgan had been her only great failure—at least, to her way of thinking.
It was precisely that way of thinking Morgan had been determined to get little Lilly away from as quickly as possible. When Delilah had been alive, she’d been able to run only a little interference, given Olivia had long since cowed her into submission. With Delilah and his brother gone, his mother would have been left with unfettered access to Lilly. No way was Morgan letting that happen.
He loved his mother in his own way, understood she was a product of her upbringing and a way of life that had worked well for the Westlakes for centuries. He understood her determination to stick with the program as set forth by their ancestors.
Morgan saw things differently—for himself and now for Lilly. His mother was, and would continue to be, an important part of Lilly’s life. But she wasn’t going to be Lilly’s whole life. Exactly what that life would have been like under Olivia’s control became immediately apparent, even as the funerals were being conducted. It was one of the main reasons he’d moved away from the family estate as quickly as feasibly possible.
With such a devastating loss, Lilly’s life was in complete flux, so he’d thought it best to make the move sooner rather than later. Even so, it had taken the better part of a year to get them out the door.
Morgan might not know anything about raising a kid, but he had been a kid once himself. Specifically a Westlake kid, as was Lilly. He knew there was much more to do and see, to understand and learn, than the restrictive and suffocating boundaries their family environment would allow—not to mention how much more there was to feel. Morgan wanted to show Lilly all of that and provide her with access to the whole wide world, while hopefully keeping the bridges back to Atlanta intact.
A tall order, for sure, but having goals was a good thing.
He didn’t want to take anything else away from her; he only wanted to add to her life. Worried about his decisions, his choices, where she was concerned, he had decided moving to Sugarberry was the best way he knew how to do that. Up until nine months ago, he’d only had himself to consider. But he knew for a fact, what life had been like for him, and would continue to be for her, in Atlanta. He wouldn’t return to it, and he wasn’t about to let her stay in it.
I Regarding that, he knew he’d made the right choice. Coming to Sugarberry? Bringing Delilah’s mother into Lilly’s life? Taking her out of such privileged surroundings and raising her in a cottage on the beach? Who the hell knew about those questions?
At the moment, he’d be happy to figure out how to make her laugh again.
“Moggy, I’m done,” she called out, snapping him out of his reverie.
He tossed the folder onto the cluttered surface of the desk and went out to the kitchen. “Let’s see.”
She handed him the coloring book.
>
“You did great.” It was clearly the work of a child, but he noted how painstakingly she’d made sure to stay inside all the lines. Was that her nature? Or a result of the How Young Ladies Behave indoctrination handed down from dear grandmama? He’d figure it out in time. “Can I do one?”
She nodded and flipped through the small booklet. “This one,” she said, laying it on the table and pointing. “That’s a boy turtle.”
“It is, is it?” he said, charmed. He had a million things to accomplish if he was going to get moving on the project with Gabe, not to mention the consultant work he was still doing for his clients out west. But, for the moment, nothing seemed more important than doing a little coloring. He pulled out the chair and sat down. “So, was yours a girl turtle?”
Her eyes widened and she might have looked a little hurt. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“Oh, sure, sure,” he said, becoming a floundering guardian again. Please don’t ask me how I can tell, he silently begged, needing all the parenting street cred he could build.
She slid the book away from him and turned back to her page. “See? Her tail is short.” She turned back to his page. “Boy turtles have long tails.” She looked up at Morgan. “Didn’t you listen to Dr. Langley?”
Morgan didn’t know whether to laugh or melt. Sometimes she sounded wise beyond her years, like a tiny little professor, yet she pronounced turtles with no /r/ sound, and added a good syllable or three to the esteemed doctor’s last name. Feeling utterly defenseless in the face of her kind of nerdy adorableness, he could only hope he got a better grip on that before she grew any older or he’d be the worst kind of pushover. “I did. But I guess I missed that part.”
“These are the colors I used.” She slid the pile over to him.
“Are you sure these aren’t girl turtle colors?” he teased.
“They’re the same color,” she responded. The look on her face told him she wasn’t sure if he was as smart as she thought he was.
“Of course. I was just testing you.” He’d been kidding, but she nodded, as if she expected no less than to be grilled on the accuracy of a simple coloring book picture. It made him feel like . . . well, like a Westlake. He generally tried to avoid that.
He started coloring, but his big boy hands and a little kid coloring book weren’t always a good match. He didn’t miss the slight intake of breath every time he went outside the lines. Smiling, he glanced up at her. “I’m not much of an inside-the-lines guy.”
“That’s why the lines are there,” she said, in the way someone might gently help the totally clueless. “So you know where to stop coloring.”
His smile grew. “I see them as more of a general guideline.” When she kept looking at the page, frowning a little, he asked, “Does it bug you if it’s a little messy? You know, you can color however you want. It’s your picture. As long as you like it, that’s all that matters.”
She looked up at him, appearing truly curious. “Do you like it that way?”
He pretended to give his half-colored turtle a serious once-over. “I’m good with it.”
“Okay.” But clearly, she didn’t agree.
Stifling a smile, he kept coloring and tried not to laugh every time she sighed when he went outside the lines. He might have done it a bit more than necessary, telling himself it was good for her to be exposed to new ideas. At least he’d learned it was her natural inclination and not something that had been drilled into her.
He signed his name at the bottom with a flourish when he was done, then spun the book around to face her. “There. What do you think?”
She studied it every bit as seriously as he’d pretended to earlier, then looked at him. “You did your best job, Uncle Moggy.” She reached over and covered his big hand with her tiny one. “Can we go show our pictures to Dr. Langley? Maybe he will give you a book so you can practice and get better.”
Morgan barked out a laugh, then lifted up her hand and kissed the back of it. “That sounds like a good idea.” Maybe it’s just as important for me to be exposed to new ideas, too.
Chapter 3
“ As you know, I’ve been planning this for almost a year, but with everything going on, running the shop and finishing the cookbook with Baxter, making Babycakes happen was just one too many things to tackle. So, we’re still in the beginning stages. Charlotte has said so many good things about you. I’m really glad it’s working out for us to meet, though I’m so sorry about the reason for it.”
Kit hadn’t known what to expect from Leilani Dunne—Lani, as she’d asked Kit to call her—other than Charlotte’s gushing about how amazingly talented she was and what a good friend she’d been. Kit was relatively close to her in age, and both had achieved a fair amount of responsibility and success already. Lani had made her own way, whereas Kit had been born into her career, but both paths resulted in the forging of two women who weren’t afraid to tackle a big project and had the confidence to believe they could pull it off.
Lani had already proven that with Cakes by the Cup. For Kit, the question of whether she could build something entirely on her own, without the Bellamy women and Mamie Sue’s team supporting her, was far more in question. For so many reasons, it was vital she find out what the answer would be. She needed to make amends for the loss she’d allowed to happen and to prove to herself that she wasn’t a complete failure.
She was nervous bordering on slightly terrified, taking on such a big responsibility for someone to whom it clearly meant so much, but Kit couldn’t deny she was a lot more intrigued and excited than she’d been when she’d rapped on the door almost an hour ago. Alva had made introductions, then gone out front to man the shop counter so Lani could conduct the interview. Kit had expected a thirty minute or so conversation . . . leading to a more serious, lengthy talk later if she took the job. Or a long drive back to Atlanta, if she didn’t.
But an instant connection had occurred between the two, beginning with their mutual affection for Charlotte, extending into their shared love of pastry, and progressing into the more serious conversation about the trials and tribulations of running a business, though their individual endeavors had been on somewhat opposite ends of the spectrum.
They were finally settling in to the heart of the actual meeting.
“We’ve leased the space next door,” Lani continued. “Used to be a tailoring shop, but when the owner became ill and had to move, Baxter and I snapped it up, thinking it might be our only chance, if we want to expand.” She grinned. “Folks here don’t run businesses for only a few years. It’s a life commitment, sometimes for generations. We weren’t sure when we’d ever get another chance.”
“I understand all about generations of commitment,” Kit said, her smile somewhat bittersweet.
Lani surprised her by reaching across the desk and taking Kit’s hand. “I know, and . . . honestly, I hate what happened to you. It’s because you have that kind of commitment and dedication that you’re so appealing and special to me.”
“Thanks.” Kit meant it. The compliment didn’t exactly mitigate the guilt she still carried around, but it was good to know her entire life hadn’t been a complete waste, that what she’d learned and earned was worth something to someone else. “You understand, and that means a lot to me, too.”
Lani grinned and settled back in her seat, her expression lighting up with excitement again as she talked about her new endeavor. “The building has the space for conversion, but it will take a lot of renovation. It might seem premature to be hiring someone to manage the place, but I thought it would be a good idea to have that person get involved, literally, from the ground up.”
“I think it’s a solid idea. Speaking for myself, I’d like to be involved as early in the process as possible. I know it’s ultimately your show,” Kit said, “but working as a team always seems the best way to go.”
“Well, that’s exactly the thing. We each bring something different to this project. With my work here, and even back in New York
running Baxter’s place, Gateau, we did everything but mail order. Gateau did catering, and we do a fair share of small scale parties and orders for events here on Sugarberry. But we don’t have the capacity to do anything bigger, not on a regular basis. Charlotte’s catering business in Savannah is really taking off and though they do both sides—”
“I really like how she and Carlo set up their business,” Kit offered. “That’s how we met, working together on some events in Atlanta. I think Sweet & Savory is a great idea, a great business name.”
“Right?” Lani agreed enthusiastically. “And her connection to us is getting out there, too, so requests are coming to her to work with us and bring Baxter’s whole Chef Hot Cakes cache to some of the bigger functions.”
“How does that go over with Charlotte?”
“Fine, fine. We both know word of mouth is how to grow a business. While it’s important to me to keep Cakes by the Cup small and intimate and focused on life here on Sugarberry, Charlotte has bigger dreams and hopes for her company. She knows I send every request we can’t handle her way, and her business has really profited from that. But she’s almost got more than she can handle now, and she and Carlo don’t really want to expand quite yet.”
“So, what is your ultimate goal in opening Babycakes? And where did the name come from? It’s so cute. Is it because it’s the offspring of the cupcakery?”
“Well, that, and it’s also something personal to me. A nickname my dad calls me.”
“Aw.” Kit smiled. “I love that.”
Lani’s eyes shone with love and emotion. “Me, too. And I can’t talk about it or I get weepy, which is ridiculous.”
“I bet your dad is really honored.”
“He’d rather I was naming a child after him. His hints are of the brick to the side of the head variety. But then, the sheriff isn’t known for his subtlety. I think he started approximately two seconds after Baxter and I said our vows. But yes, he was very touched.”
Babycakes Page 3