by Shirley Jump
Oh, God. How was Carolyn supposed to make this better? For the thousandth time, she questioned Sandy’s reasoning in leaving her daughter in Carolyn’s care. Carolyn didn’t know the right words. Didn’t know what to do.
You have so many of Sandy’s memories in your heart. Speak from there, from the center of your heart, and you’ll find that connection to Emma.
Her mother’s words came back to her, settling into Carolyn’s chest. Speak from the heart—from the memories and, now, the grief she shared with her niece. From the place that loved and knew Sandy.
Carolyn put a tentative hand on Emma’s back. “I know you want to be with your mommy, sweetie, but I can’t go get her. She’s not here anymore.”
Emma’s face was red and tear-stained, her eyes puffy. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Cuz she died, like Gramma said? Daddy too?”
It was the first time Emma had used the word died. The first time she had begun to grasp the concept. Carolyn wished she could go back in time, rewind Sandy’s life to before the car accident, and wipe away the pain in Emma’s face.
Carolyn took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, she is. Your daddy too. I’m sorry, Em. I really am.”
“But Gramma says Mommy is in heaven. Can we go there? I wanna see her.”
“We can’t go there, not now.” Carolyn smoothed Emma’s damp bangs back. How she understood Emma’s pain, that ache for Sandy, for a person who would never be here again. And maybe, she realized, maybe there she could build a bridge between them. “When I was a little older than you, Emma, my grandpa died. I loved my grandpa so much. He was the best grandpa in the world. He’s the one who taught me how to cook, and on Sunday afternoons, I’d go to his house and help him make the family dinner.”
She’d been closer to her grandfather than her own father. Sandy had been the one who Dad had taken under his wing, bringing her along on his errands to the hardware store, or to make furniture deliveries. Sandy had been the one who bonded with Mom, helping to hang the laundry on the line in summer, or sitting by the fireplace on cold winter nights and learning to crochet. Except when she was with her sister, Carolyn had always felt like she lived on the outskirts of her family—until she went to her grandfather’s house.
Grandpa Roy had been widowed before Carolyn was born. He had worked in a roadside diner when he was younger, and never lost his love of cooking. In the kitchen, Carolyn had found her calling. The preciseness of measuring the ingredients, the surprise of creating something new, the puzzle of discerning how a favorite dish was made.
“Was he a nice grandpa?”
“He was the best. And when he died, I cried a lot, like you. Because I missed him so much.” Grandpa Roy, she realized, had been her connection to Marietta. Was losing him the event that made Carolyn begin to pull away from the town? From feeling like she belonged?
And would that happen to Emma if she lost her bond to her parents?
“I miss my mommy and daddy a lot,” Emma said. “I want Mommy to tell me stories and make me cookies. And I want Daddy to take me to the park.”
“I wish they could, Em. I really do. I miss your mommy so much.” Tears burned the back of Carolyn’s eyes, and the grief washed over her in a wave. All these days, she’d been holding back that tide, keeping busy with getting Emma to Marietta, trying to figure out a plan for going forward. She’d pushed those emotions to the side, and until now, had yet to really face what had happened—
Just like Emma.
The two of them were more alike than she’d realized. Strong, determined little Emma who was orphaned, untethered from everything she knew. Feeling lost, alone, misunderstood.
How Carolyn understood those emotions. She thought of all the times she had been on the playground, and Sandy had come over, tugging her sister into the circle of a game of kickball. Or found her little sister, in her room instead of at a family gathering. Sandy had taken Carolyn’s hand and made her feel like she belonged. Like she wasn’t alone. Only one other person had done that for Carolyn, and in the end, she had left him. Thinking she was better off alone.
But she hadn’t been. And neither was Emma.
Sandy had given Emma to her because Carolyn was the one who knew Sandy best, who held all the memories, and who could fill in the gaps that would exist in Emma’s life for all the years to come. Because she could help heal the wounds in Emma—
And maybe Emma could do the same for Carolyn.
But for now, there was a heartbroken little girl who needed something to hold on to. Some stone to rebuild her fractured life from, and help her deal with the grief in her heart. Carolyn’s gaze went to the night sky, and she swore she heard her sister whisper in her mind. Remember the stars.
“You know, Emma, when your mommy and I were little,” Carolyn said, “we used to sit here, on your mom’s bed, and we would look out at the stars and try to count them. We never did count them all because we’d always fall asleep before we could finish. And you know what your mom told me about why there are so many stars?”
Emma shook her head.
Carolyn could almost feel Sandy beside her, comforting her little sister on the night of their grandfather’s funeral. She could see Sandy pointing at the sky, and whispering in her ear until Carolyn’s tears dried up, and she finally fell asleep. “Because there’s one for every person we love who went to heaven. There’s one for my grandpa, and there’s one up there for your mommy and one for your daddy. Those stars will be there every single night, shining down on you, because your parents are watching over you. They are so proud of you and they are so sorry they can’t be here where you can see them. But you can still talk to them, and when you see those stars twinkle, you’ll know they’re smiling at you.”
Emma turned to the window. “Which star is my mommy?”
“The brightest one, Emma. Because your mommy was a one-of-a-kind special person and I think God made her star the biggest one He could find.”
Emma studied the night sky for a long, long time. Then she pointed at a star just south of the crescent moon. “That’s my mommy’s star. And that one, the one next to it…that’s my daddy.”
The moment echoed the one Carolyn had had all those years ago with Sandy. She’d like to think her sister was watching them, and nodding in approval. “I think you’re right, Emma. And I think I see them twinkling right now.”
Emma raised her hand and gave the stars a little wave. “Hi, Mommy. Hi, Daddy. I miss you.”
“I miss you, Sandy,” Carolyn whispered to the star. And she swore it really did twinkle in response.
Emma lowered her hand and her eyes welled again. She gathered the sweater to her chest, and buried her nose in the soft fibers. “But I don’t want Mommy to be in heaven. Or in the stars. I want her to be here.”
“Maybe if we both talk about her a lot, it’ll be like she’s still here.”
“Like when I made the picture for her?”
Carolyn nodded, and gave her niece a smile. “Just like that.”
Emma’s tears spilled over and her lower lip trembled. She clutched the sweater tighter. “But…but…I forget her sometimes. I don’t want to do that.”
“Oh, Emma, honey, you won’t.” Carolyn drew Emma against her. Her niece hesitated for a moment, that awkward wall still between them, then Emma released the sweater. It tumbled to the floor as Emma’s thin arms circled Carolyn’s back.
Emma leaned into her aunt, her tears dampening Carolyn’s shirt, mingling with the tears sliding down her own cheeks. Carolyn tightened her hold on her late sister’s only child, and Emma tightened her hold on her mother’s only sister. The moon washed over them while their grief erased the space between them. And in that moment of heartbreak, Carolyn found the first buds of hope. “You won’t forget your mommy, Em, because I’m going to help you remember.”
*
Matt hadn’t been prepared for the questions. On Wednesday afternoon, a few days before the Bake-Off, he took a call from Lacey Hathaway, a
local DJ who was doing a drive-time radio show that would promote the Bake-Off. She was interviewing each of the participating bachelors, drumming up a little pre-event excitement.
Matt had blocked off a half hour from his schedule, gone into his office, and closed the door. Lacey started with easy questions: who he was, what he did in Marietta, why he had agreed to participate, then she moved on to the harder ones.
“So, I heard a rumor,” Lacey said, “that Carolyn Hanson is back in town and helping you learn how to bake.”
“How did you…” He cut off the question. Marietta was a small town. News traveled faster than snowflakes during a blizzard. “She’s an accomplished chef in New York City,” he said, “and I’m lucky to have her expertise.”
“That’s not all I heard you had. Didn’t you guys used to be an item back in high school?”
“Uh…yeah.” Matt glanced at the clock. Only three minutes into his allotted half-hour interview.
“And did the baking in the kitchen turn up the heat on an old romance?”
Yes, but not enough. “We’re, uh, working together for the good of Harry’s House,” Matt said. “It’s all about raising the funds necessary to launch that project and remember all that Harry did for this town.”
Lacey laughed. “Way to deflect my question, Dr. West. So you aren’t going to give me any tidbits about you and Carolyn?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Except for a heated kiss. A few stolen moments. And a permanent ache inside him for her.
Lacey changed the subject then, into safer ground about the recipe, then how he knew Harry, how his practice was supporting the fundraiser. At the end of the interview, Matt hung up the phone and let out a deep breath.
Sheryl poked her head into his office. “Things heating up in your kitchen, Dr. West?”
He scowled. Clearly his assistant had been listening to the live interview. “Don’t ask.”
Sheryl laughed. “Hey, listen, I think it’s a good idea. You’ve been alone too long. Though if anything big transpires with Carolyn Hanson, then you won’t technically be a bachelor.”
He grinned. “So if I get married before the end of the week, I don’t have to bake anything?”
Sheryl shook her head. “Leave it to you to see getting married as a way to get out of making cookies. Anyway, your three o’clock patient is here.”
Matt pulled on his lab coat, then headed down to the exam room. He’d thrown out the words about getting married as a joke, but they held a sting inside him. Ten years ago, he would have married Carolyn in a heartbeat. Then she had broken up with him and broken his heart. A smart man learned his lesson.
A smart man didn’t start cooking a recipe he already knew was flawed. Matt’s mind drifted to Carolyn’s smile. The way she’d felt in his arms.
Yeah, smart was definitely not his middle name right now.
*
At the end of the day, Matt drove down the snow-crusted streets of Marietta, back to his house. Harley had come to work with him today, and the Lab lay on the back seat, quiet and content, knowing his dinner was moments away.
All Matt could think about was the baking lesson he was going to get in a little while. Carolyn had texted earlier to see if he was available to do a practice run for the competition recipe. She hadn’t mentioned the dinner at the restaurant, hadn’t talked about anything other than the cookies.
But he still had the anticipation level of a twelve-year-old going up for his first time at bat. He fed the dog, took a quick shower and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then did a quick swipe of his kitchen. He rarely used anything other than the microwave, so the place was still clean and tidy.
At six-thirty, Carolyn showed up, in a repeat of the first time, with a bag of groceries and her giant mixer. She was all business, distant and firm. “Are you ready to get started?”
“Sure, sure.” He took the mixer from her, then set it on the counter while she laid out the ingredients. She fished a recipe out of the bag and started talking about the steps they’d take to make chocolate macadamia cookies.
But as she talked, his man brain kept his focus on her. Carolyn was also wearing jeans, tucked into short brown leather boots. Her jeans skimmed over her curves, accentuated her hips and waist. She was wearing a dark cranberry sweater that dipped in an enticing V, and she had her hair back in a clip. One stubborn tendril curved against her jaw and made him forget his own name.
“So, Matt, what’s the first step? Remember, on stage, I won’t be there to help you, so you have to have a good handle on what you’re doing.”
“First step?” He looked down at the counter, and thought back to how they made the peanut butter cookies, but being this close to Carolyn kept muddling his brain. “I mix the dry ingredients? No, wait. Mixing the butter and sugar?”
“After you preheat the oven.” She gave him a smile. “Won’t do any good to mix everything if the oven is cold.”
“Oh yeah.” His mind was still thinking about her touch. About how damned good she looked in those jeans. About how her smile made his heart flip. “Uh…what temperature?”
“What’s the recipe say?”
The recipe. Duh. He glanced at the sheet, then spun toward the oven behind him and thumbed the dial to 375 degrees. He forced his brain to focus, to shift into work mode, as if this was just like an ordinary day in the office. Except he wasn’t in his office and the mere fact that Carolyn was standing in his kitchen made it far from an ordinary day.
To be honest, he didn’t care about the recipe or the cookies or the Bake-Off. He didn’t want to know how to bake chocolate macadamia whatevers. He wanted to know why Carolyn kept on running. Why she got close, then distant again, and whether he should just give up on her for good.
Instead, he turned back to Carolyn’s mixer, and slid the butter into the stainless steel bowl. Then he measured the brown sugar, being careful to tamp it down and slide a butter knife across the top of the measuring cup to get the exact right amount.
“Perfect,” Carolyn whispered. Her breath tickled along his neck.
He nearly fumbled a smattering of sugar onto the floor instead of into the mixer. Matt flicked on the machine and glanced at the clock. Already five minutes had elapsed—in the blink of an eye. Was that too fast? Too slow for the competition?
He turned to grab the flour, and Carolyn tapped his shoulder. “Uh, are you done with what goes in the mixer right now?”
Matt glanced at the recipe and realized he’d missed the next three ingredients that needed to be added. “Sorry. Little…distracted.”
“That’s okay. That’s why I’m here.”
He couldn’t tell her that her presence was the whole reason he was distracted. He doubled down on concentrating, and started going down the list. White sugar—check. Egg—check. Vanilla extract—check.
“Awesome. Now start mixing the dry ingredients while you’re waiting on the mixer,” she said.
He looked over at the containers of pre-sifted flour, salt, baking soda. Read the baking soda box twice to make sure it was the right ingredient. “Are you sure you don’t want to pitch in?” he said. “Because we all know how well that went the last time.”
She laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. Matt’s brain short-circuited.
“I have confidence in you,” Carolyn said. “Besides, this is a bachelor bake-off, not a bachelor’s ex-girlfriend bake-off.”
The “ex-girlfriend” word brought him back to reality. She wasn’t his now, wasn’t going to be his in the future. She was part of his past—and determined to keep it that way. She’d walked out of their dinner just a couple days ago, cementing the point. This was a quid pro quo deal—baking for dog training—and nothing more.
“Plus, you have to do it all yourself on Bake-Off day anyway. Hey, don’t forget to turn off the mixer,” Carolyn said. “You don’t want to overbeat the wet ingredients or create a flour bomb. Remember?”
He flicked the switch to OFF, then measured and st
irred together the dry ingredients. “Add them now?”
“You can. But I think you should chop the nuts first.”
“Wait…chop? We didn’t practice that.”
“That’s why we are practicing the whole recipe today.” She laughed. “I do believe someone who graduated veterinary school and does surgery can handle a little chopping.”
He chuckled. “Surgery is a lot different from this.” He measured the macadamia nuts and set them on the cutting board. Carolyn handed him a knife, and he bent down to start cutting the nuts. They rolled and rocked, tumbling off the side of the cutting board. Matt cursed under his breath.
“Want a little advice?”
Carolyn’s hand was on his shoulder again and the distraction almost made him chop off a finger. “Yeah. Sure.”
“You want to walk the knife over your nuts.”
“Walk the knife?” He arched a brow. “That sounds like it could end badly for me.”
Carolyn gave him a gentle swat. “I mean the macadamias, silly. Here, let me show you.”
She slipped in front of him. Unless he was completely misreading her, Carolyn was flirting with him. Was she just as conflicted about them dating again as he was? Or was she still holding firm to what she said in the restaurant? Instead of asking her, he tried to stay a respectable distance behind her, even as everything inside him wanted to get closer.
“You keep the heel of your hand on the top of the knife like this—being sure to keep your fingers up and out of the way—then walk the handle up and down and across the board.” She did as she described, and the nuts went from round to chunks. “Here, you try.”
He switched places with her. “Like this?”
“Almost.” She took his left hand and put it in position on the top of the blade. “Go easy. No need to rush it.”
Yeah, tell that to his pulse right now. He chopped the nuts, then added them to the mixture. Like he had done the other day, he added the dry ingredients a little at a time, waiting for the mixer to incorporate them before adding more. The flour and nuts swirled into the mix until everything became homogeneous, blending into one.