by Jenna Mindel
The people who summered at Bay Willows came from all over. Mainly the Midwest, sure, but most were well-traveled and liked to tell where they’d been. They peppered their conversation with travel itineraries the way folks in old movies plastered travel stickers on their suitcases. Raleigh used to tease that he was backward, having never really been anywhere as an adult.
“Hmm.” Bree’s attention zeroed in on the ground. “Oh, here are some more.”
Glad for the distraction, Darren let the matter drop, because it didn’t matter. Bree Anderson was both educated and no doubt well-traveled. She was accustomed to a lifestyle he’d never had and never would have. With the supervisor position came a pay increase that would be more than enough for him. He didn’t care about making scads of money.
If Bree found him interesting, it was only temporary. He wasn’t the kind of guy a girl like Bree would keep for the long haul. Darren wasn’t good enough for the Bay Willows crowd. He’d learned that lesson pretty well. Darren only had to make a mistake once to know he’d never repeat it.
* * *
On the drive back to Maple Springs, Bree peered into her plastic grocery sack at the pile of blackish-tan edibles heaped there. She breathed in the soft, earthy smell of fungi. Nothing too strong or pungent, she had trouble coming up with a comparison for the aroma. She’d picked these delicacies in the woods, with her own two hands.
How cool.
“How many do you have?” Darren’s voice sounded awfully gentle for such a gruff guy.
“Uh.” Bree looked up. She sat up front again, in the passenger seat. “I don’t know.”
Darren’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Considering how long you were staring into that bag, I thought you were counting them.”
“Nope, just smelling them.” She didn’t want to explain what a novel experience this had been for her. Different than what she was used to and, well, it had been fun. Really fun. But more importantly, it had made her feel strong. Capable. Empowered?
Okay, maybe that went too far.
He chuckled, the sound a soft rumble from within his chest. Maybe he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended to be.
Bree’s phone whistled with an incoming text, and she pulled it from her coat pocket. Briefly she closed her eyes after she’d read the name. That made three this week. “Excuse me.”
“No problem.”
Call me when you get a chance. Want to see how you’re doing. Philip.
Bree had no intention of calling him. Instead, she replied with a text.
I’m fine. Helping with one of my mom’s classes. Thanks.
She scanned two previous messages that were similar. One had been Philip checking that she’d made it safely to her parents’ summer cottage. She was okay with that one, but the next two? Really, Philip needed to let it go. He needed to let her go.
Bree slipped the phone back into her pocket as the van pulled up to the community building. Clutching her cache of mushrooms, she got out with the rest of the group and headed inside.
“Gather in the kitchen and I’ll show you how to clean and cook the morels,” Darren called.
“I know how to cook mushrooms.” The grumbly guy named Ed had a decidedly sharp tone.
Bree glanced at Darren. He looked calm enough despite the flush of red that tipped his ears.
“We all do. In fact, you can prepare morels any way you’d normally cook or sauté other mushrooms. Personally, I like to bread mine. It’s no problem if you prefer not to stick around.”
Bree looked back at Ed.
The old guy wasn’t appeased by Darren’s offer to leave. “Now look here—”
“I’d like to know how you cook them,” Bree quickly interrupted.
Others agreed. Situation diffused.
Bree relaxed as the tension eased and Ed nodded for Darren to continue. As if he was somehow in charge.
Darren had been beyond patient when they’d run late because there were so many mushrooms to find and pick. No one had wanted to leave. Including Bree. Who’d have guessed she’d enjoy roaming the woods so much? She didn’t even care that her shoes were dirty or her pants filthy from wiping her fingers on them.
Darren showed that same patience now in the face of Ed’s belligerence as he emptied his morels into a bowl in the sink. “Cleaning is easy. Just soak them in salt water, swish them around a bit, and then rinse and drain like so. Get as much water off as you can. Then you’re ready to cook.”
Bree watched as he laid the washed mushrooms out on paper towels. And the questions started to fly.
“Can you dry them for storing?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“String them up to air-dry or use the lowest setting on a dehydrator. I’ve seen them laid out on an old window screen in the sun to dry.”
That got their class buzzing with chatter.
“What about freezing?” another asked.
“Freeze after drying, or freeze after sautéing. If you freeze after picking, don’t wash them. If they’re wet you’ll ruin them.”
Bree nearly laughed at Darren’s clipped answers. He looked like a man who wanted out of there. His earlier patience had worn thin. She watched as he quickly melted a huge glob of butter in a frying pan before dredging the mushrooms in a flour mixture. He threw the coated morels in the pan.
The group murmured likes and dislikes while the intoxicating smell of melted butter and sizzling mushrooms teased Bree’s senses. Her stomach grumbled in response.
“Not good for my diet,” one of the ladies said.
Several agreed. But Bree didn’t care. Those things looked and smelled delicious.
“What’s that mixture you use?” Ed sounded almost polite. Not quite, but still.
Darren took his time answering, turning the morels over in the pan. “Flour, salt and pepper. Seasoned salt works, too.”
Bree scanned their group huddled around the island waiting as Darren ladled those butter-fried mushrooms onto a paper towel–lined plate.
He lifted the plate to share. “Be careful. They’re hot.”
In this batch, there were enough mushrooms for everyone to try a couple. Bree waited till the end before she took her two. The anticipation was worth it. She closed her eyes while savoring the buttery, mild mushroom taste.
“Well?” He tipped his head. Did he really want to know what she thought?
Bree soaked his interest up like a sponge. “Firm texture and subtle flavor. These are really good.”
Darren smiled. Big and broad like his shoulders.
And Bree was momentarily stunned. At a loss for words, all because of one smile from one interesting, burly man sharing a moment, an actual connection with her—over cooked mushrooms!
She popped the last morel into her mouth and mumbled, “I’ve got to run.”
* * *
Class wrapped up quickly after Bree scurried out. She reminded him of his sisters who’d up and bolt when they’d suddenly remember they left their curling irons plugged in somewhere. But surely that couldn’t be it. Bree’s hair was straight and shiny. Would that thick mass of mink-colored tresses be soft or coarse to the touch?
He scowled. Not the kind of thoughts he should have.
“What? Did you find some grease that we missed?” Stella and a couple other women had helped him clean up in minutes.
“No. No. It’s nothing.” He gave them a nod. “Thank you, ladies. Next week, same time and place.”
“See you then.” Stella walked away and then turned back. “You did a great job today, Darren. Thank you.”
Warmth filled him, mixed with shame at spurning her concern this past year. “You’re welcome. Good to see you again, Stel.”
“And you, as well.” She winked and left with her small ento
urage of elderly friends.
Darren could count on her for good buzz on his class. Maybe this time around, his regional boss would see that he was ready to deal with anyone. Even the Bay Willows crowd.
When he climbed into the van, he blew out his breath. Not bad. His first wild edibles class was done, along with today’s shift. And he hadn’t run into any problems or his ex. All that stressing over nothing. He’d have to face her one of these days, but not today.
Starting the engine, he checked his rearview mirror, caught a glimpse of a pink-and-green-striped bag on one of the seats and groaned. His day wasn’t over yet. He’d have to return that purse to the owner.
He reached back and grabbed it. Hesitating only a moment, he looked inside. Rifling through a woman’s purse was not something he relished, but after digging around lipstick tubes and travel packs of tissues, he found a wallet. As he opened that, a driver’s license with a picture of Stella greeted him.
At least he knew where she lived. He’d been there many times, with and without Raleigh. He used to stop in to fix a thing or two around Stella’s cottage. Who took care of that now? Tony? He doubted that. Tony wasn’t exactly a fix-it kind of guy. He’d call a repair man with the excuse that he had more money than time.
Tony knew all about money. From the world of high finance and investments, his best friend had spoken Raleigh’s language far better than Darren ever had. The sting of their betrayal still lingered. It wasn’t easy to lose his bride and best man in one day—one horrible day that had changed everything.
He pulled into the small driveway of Stella’s cottage with the screened-in porch and looked around. No cars were parked nearby other than Stella’s little black Buick. He stepped onto the porch. Crisp white wicker furniture with brightly colored cushions had been casually arranged. A vase stuffed with tall, fake flowers stood sentinel on the glass-topped side table.
And this was only the porch.
He finally knocked on the door.
“Darren, what a nice surprise.” Stella wore a red-and-white-checkered apron, looking very much like anyone’s grandma, only a lot brighter. She applied more makeup than most. “Come in.”
He lifted her purse. “I’m just dropping this off. You left it in the van.”
“Oh, my. I didn’t even miss it. Don’t get old.” She opened the screen door wide and it squeaked. The thing needed a good dousing of lubricant on the hinges. “Come in for a bit, would you?”
He’d fix the door before he left. Giving Stella a nod he said, “You’re not old.”
“Thanks, but we both know I am.”
He followed Stella into the small summer cottage. She lived alone. Raleigh once said that her husband had died only a couple of years ago.
A lot had happened in those two years. Darren had lost out on his bid for the supervisor position, and then he’d met Stella’s granddaughter. It had been a whirlwind romance, one that Darren reeled from still. Memories sliced through him as he walked past the dining room into Stella’s kitchen. He could almost hear Raleigh’s laughter and the way she’d teased.
It hurt.
“Cookies? I made them this morning.”
Darren sat down with a sigh. “Sure.”
She patted his shoulder. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” Broken hearts mended with time but never forgot.
“Have you talked to Raleigh?” Stella bustled about the kitchen, stacking cookies on a plate and then pouring him a tall glass of milk.
“Not much to say, is there?”
Stella gave him a long look. “I suppose not.”
The question he didn’t want to ask nagged like a loose tooth until he finally spit it out. “Is she happy?”
Stella nodded. “She appears to be. Tony’s always buying her stuff. His last gift was a diamond ring.”
Darren clenched his jaw. He hadn’t seen them in months. Nineteen months, three weeks and a few days, to be exact.
She stared him down with a fierce gleam in her eyes. “You’re a good man, Darren. Much too good for my granddaughter.”
That surprised him, and he grunted around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie. Stella’s granddaughter had stormed into his life and changed it. He’d forever be the spurned groom nearly left at the altar when his bride ran away with his best man after rehearsal. They’d taken off for the honeymoon and had the gall to come back and live under Darren’s nose in town. Was it any wonder that people in town looked at him with pity?
He drained his glass and slammed it down on the table. Fortunately, he didn’t break the thing, but the loud thwack startled Stella.
He stood. “I’ll fix that squeak in your screen door.”
Stella smiled up at him. “Do that and I’ll make you dinner. I was thinking chicken marsala with those morels we picked. Stay and eat with me.”
He looked into her eager face. A few more wrinkles creased around Stella’s blue eyes since the last time he’d seen her. For a woman in her early seventies, she was spry. Energetic and a good listener. She’d always been a good listener. Dinner might be a little earlier than he was used to, but food sounded good right now. What harm could there be in staying?
“Okay. I’ll stay, on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“What else needs fixing around here?”
Stella grinned, obviously pleased. “Well, there is a leaky faucet upstairs.”
“Now we’re talking.” Darren knew where the tools were kept and got to work rummaging for what he’d need. Really, he should have stopped in and checked on Stella sooner.
He could hear her humming while she scattered pots and pans in the kitchen. The phone rang. Stella still had a landline.
“Yup, now’s good.” Stella’s voice dropped to a whisper.
He headed up the stairs so he wouldn’t overhear her private conversation. Halfway up, it dawned on him that Stella might be talking to her granddaughter and his gut twisted. Surely, Stella had enough sense not to invite Raleigh over while he was here. He backed down a few steps and strained to listen, but Stella had already hung up the phone.
She was humming again.
Chapter Three
“How was class? Was there a good turnout?” Bree’s mother sat on the couch, her broken ankle propped up on a pillow. She wore a soft cast-style boot and had instructions to keep weight off it as much as possible for the next week.
Bree slipped into a pair of loose loafers to match the khakis she’d changed into. “It was good. Including me, there were ten of us. Stella was there.”
“How is she?”
“Good. I’m heading over there for dinner.”
Her mother frowned. “We’ve hardly had a chance to talk since you came up. Everything okay?”
Bree hesitated. Really, she was making too much of telling her parents about Philip. About her leaving. “Everything’s good. Really good. In fact, I was offered that residency I applied for.”
“In Seattle?” Aha, her mother had been paying attention all those months ago. “I thought they chose someone else.”
“They did, but something came up and the guy had to decline. I gave notice to the symphony, cleaned out my apartment and shipped out what I’ll need. I’ll leave here in about a month.”
Her mother narrowed her gaze. “What’s Philip think about that?”
This was where it got sticky. “We decided to call it quits. It’s for the best, all things considered.”
“Oh, Bree. He’s got a wonderful future ahead of him. You’re twenty-nine years old. Isn’t it time you stopped studying and settled down?”
Bree had expected that reaction. She’d gone for her master’s degree and a couple of short-term fellowships overseas while working her way up to assistant principal cellist. She wasn’t ready to get st
uck with kids and a husband who’d make demands on her time. She needed to find her real purpose before settling down. Why had she been gifted with the love of music if simply playing was not enough?
Her parents had introduced her to Philip, the son of her father’s golf buddy, years ago, with high hopes. Hopes that Bree had shared until she’d applied for the music residency. Philip had been against it from the start, vocalizing that she didn’t have a chance. He’d been livid when she went ahead with her application anyway.
She shrugged, sparing her mother the details. “It just didn’t work out between us.”
“He doesn’t want to wait. Two years is a long time, Bree. Maybe you should rethink this residency.”
Bree breathed deep. “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at composing, and this is a prime opportunity.”
Her mother didn’t understand her restlessness. She’d never understood her desire to be more. Instead of arguing the point, her mother shelved the discussion for later, when she’d have reinforcement from Bree’s father. “Well, it’s good to have you here for longer than a couple of weeks. You might even catch your sister. She’s finally taking some time off and will be up Memorial Day weekend.”
Bree bit her lip. Her sister had been the role model in the family. She was a dermatologist married to a doctor with two kids. It didn’t get more successful than that in her mother’s eyes. “That’s great.”
Her mother tipped her head. “Thank you for overseeing my class. How’d that officer do? He’s filling in, you know. The woman I met with was supposed to facilitate but went out early on maternity leave. And no wonder, considering she’s got to be in her forties. See, that could happen to you if you wait too long to have kids. It’s a risk, Bree.”
She didn’t bother addressing that issue. She had plenty of time. Even if she didn’t, she’d never been comfortable around small children and wasn’t sure she even wanted a family of her own. “So, you haven’t met him.”
“No. Someone called to tell me about the change a week ago. And then this happened.” Her mom lifted her ankle.