Delicious

by Lori Foster, Lucy Monroe, Sarah Little

  “About time.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Trish laughed. “I think he was the last person in town to come over here, and he works across the street.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a sweet tooth.”

  “Dan loves cookies!” Serena shouted, proudly holding up her own cookie.

  Trish shrugged. “He loves cookies.”

  “Dan? He finally came over?” Adam Connelly, with little Brian in tow, joined the conversation. “That guy swore he’d never eat here! When I see him at our pickup game this weekend, I’m going to give him such sh—” He stopped himself before he could curse and looked guiltily at his son.

  “Daddy said shit!” Brian shouted triumphantly.

  “No, I didn’t. Have a cookie.”

  “Dan always did have a stubborn streak,” said Ms. Abrams, who ran the art supply store down the street. “I always said it would take a strong woman to break him down.”

  “Hear that?” Trish asked Mona. “A strong woman.”

  Mona blushed so hard she thought steam was probably pouring out of the top of her head. “Are you guys gonna buy something or what?”

  “Darling, the only thing sweeter than your cake is gossip.” Ms. Abrams winked at her. “What’s going on with you and Dan?”

  “Nothing! He just had some apple cake, and—”

  “Ooo . . . apple cake. Good choice. That will get to his stomach and his heart.”

  “I didn’t sell it to him. Mrs. Harris gave him a piece.”

  “Grandma Jan shared her apple cake?” Trish looked shocked. “He must have been really suffering for her to share her apple cake with him.”

  “You got any apple cake left?” asked Adam.

  “No!” said all the women simultaneously.

  “Listen, it’s no big deal,” said Mona, handing out paper bags and change. She hoped she was giving people the right change, but she didn’t really care. She just wanted her friends to go away and stop grilling her about Dan. Dan, who was apparently stubborn and nice to kids and played pickup sports. “He just had a piece of cake, and then he came over to tell me how much he enjoyed it.” And then kissed me within an inch of my life and then promised me dinner, she thought. So what if she wanted to marry him now?

  “Uh-huh,” said Trish. “Is that why you’re blushing?”

  “I’m not blushing! It’s hot and I’m busy and you people are bothering me when I’m trying to work!”

  “That’s funny,” said Ms. Abrams. “You were never too busy to gossip before.”

  “That’s because we were never gossiping about her before,” said Adam.

  “Ha ha, you guys are hilarious.”

  “Listen, I think it’s great,” said Trish. “Dan’s a really terrific guy, and you guys balance each other well.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mona said, for the second time in this conversation.

  “Dan is . . . steady. That’s a good word for it, right?” Trish looked to her friends for corroboration.

  “He’s uptight,” said Ms. Abrams.

  “He’s a little stiff,” suggested Adam.

  “Dan’s soooo funny!” mooned Serena.

  “And you”—Trish waved her arm at the pink Apple of My Pie truck—“you’re . . . not.”

  “You mean I’m flaky?”

  “As your pie crust,” said Ms. Abrams. “In a good way,” she added quickly.

  “Why does everybody think I’m some kind of irresponsible nut job?” Mona asked. And these people were her friends.

  “It’s not like that! Not at all!” said Trish.

  “But come on, Mona. You work, like, once a month,” said Adam.

  “So? Maybe I don’t have to work more than that.” There was no need to tell everyone that she couldn’t. Especially not if they thought she was a flake! Telling them that her baking skills were a curse of the lunar cycle—that wouldn’t improve their opinion at all.

  “Listen,” said Trish, reaching up and patting her arm. “We love you. We want the best for you. And we all love Dan.”

  The others nodded, even some of the other people in line. I guess everyone’s in on this conversation, Mona thought.

  “Just give it a try, that’s all,” Trish added.

  Mona didn’t remember resisting Dan, or thinking that she wasn’t going to give anything a try. After that kiss—her knees got a little weak remembering it—she was probably willing to try anything he wanted her to. Even if it meant normal stuff, like . . . filing.

  When her internal monologue went to filing, she knew it was time to move on. “OK, enough dissecting my love life.”

  “What love life?” interrupted Ms. Abrams.

  “Scram, all of you. I have customers with money to deal with.”

  “See you tomorrow?” Trish asked, picking up a sticky Serena.

  “Yeah, I should be here.” Thanks to that extra full moon. That was what was making everyone crazy. Her friends getting up in one another’s business wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary, but she was not usually on the receiving end of their nosiness.

  It was that damn full moon.

  Was that what was making her crazy?

  Was that what was making her give only half of her brain to her business while the other half fantasized about an uptight, stubborn man in khakis who was an amazing kisser?

  That damn full moon!

  Four

  Dan had never talked so quickly in his life. All he wanted was for this consultation with the Shimuras to go smoothly, and to generate minimal questions, so he could figure out his grand plan for dinner with Mona. He was thinking Italian. She was surrounded by sweet stuff all day; she would probably want something salty and savory. Did DiMartini’s do takeout?

  “Is there even a market for a sushi restaurant in Delicious?”

  Oh, sushi. That could be good. Deceptively simple, not as heavy as Italian food. Where could he get sushi in Delicious?

  “Mr. Fields?”

  “Huh? Yes, sushi is a great idea!”

  Mr. and Mrs. Shimura looked at each other. “We know it’s a great idea,” Mr. Shimura said. “We’re just trying to figure out if it’s a viable one, remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Right. Viable. Well—” Dan pulled out the market analysis he had been working on for the past week, the one he had stayed up nights thinking about. It wasn’t the first time he had ever been asked for business advice, but usually it was more along the lines of, should we add a new patio to the Orchard Inn (yes) or what about a karaoke night at the Perk Up Coffee Shop (unfortunately, yes). He’d never been asked for advice on building a business from the ground up.

  So he was proud of this report. He was less proud of the fact that with every table he inserted and with every piece of market data he analyzed, he compared what this report would look like to the one he could make for Apple of My Pie.

  In reality, the one he was working on for Apple of My Pie was much more colorful. He thought Mona would appreciate a lot of graphs. That was what he had decided this afternoon after the mind-blowing kiss, that it would take a lot of colorful graphs to convince her to become a more permanent fixture in Delicious.

  Was that it? Was he afraid of her leaving? That if she didn’t have deep roots in town, she would just up and leave? Was the fact that she could just go any time what was really terrifying him about getting involved with her?

  Or was it the fact that he’d thought he couldn’t stand her but after kissing her he realized how wrong he was. And if he was wrong about that, what else in his life had he been missing out on? Was black coffee the best way to get caffeine? Should he be spending so much time in khakis?

  He was not wrong about sushi. His report didn’t think so, anyway. “I think you could really be successful. The market in Delicious isn’t huge, but we have a good reputation for supporting local businesses like this. And people like you, so you’ll get people from all over town to try out any restaurant you open. You guys have been a fixt
ure around here for . . .”

  “Twenty-five years,” said Mrs. Shimura, patting her husband’s hand. “Mr. Shimura brought me here right after we graduated from college. I thought, How can we raise our children here? But everyone in town was welcoming from the start. It really is our home.”

  “And now that we’re retired . . .” said Mr. Shimura.

  “And the grandchildren have moved away . . .” added Mrs. Shimura.

  “It has always been a dream of Mrs. Shimura’s to have her own kitchen where she can share the foods she loves with the people she loves.”

  That was sweet, thought Dan. He’d have to get them to include that in their business plan.

  “But we need to make money,” said Mrs. Shimura. “We’re not running a sushi charity.”

  Dan went over his findings with them. With the influx of young families from larger metropolitan areas, the tastes of Delicious were changing, or at least becoming more open-minded. He really thought they could be successful.

  “Oh, Dan, that’s wonderful! I will cook for you tonight, OK? Something wonderful because you have been so good to us.”

  “Actually, tonight I have plans,” said Dan. Plans he didn’t want Mrs. Shimura involved in, no matter how much he liked her. He took a sip of his very cold leftover lunch coffee.

  “Oh, with that cute baker?”

  And he nearly choked on it. “Uh . . .”

  “That’s OK. Mr. Shimura says I pry too much. She’s a nice girl, Dan. You be good to her.”

  “She found out Mrs. Shimura has diabetes, so she made her sugar-free muffins. Sugar free, I thought. Disgusting!”

  “But, oh, Dan, they were delicious! Mona bakes with her heart, you can feel it. Don’t you screw this up, young man.”

  Dan smiled weakly and decided this meeting was over. He handed the Shimuras a copy of his report and walked them to the door. Mrs. Harris was just turning off her computer, and she bid the Shiumras good night.

  “So? How’d it go?” she asked him.

  “I think they’re going to do it.”

  “Good. They’re good people. And Mrs. Shimura’s cooking is . . . well, I’ve never had anything like it! Who would have thought, at my age, eating sushi!”

  “You’re not that—”

  “You did good, Dan, I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Harris.” He still felt a swell of pride every time she said that to him. He was happy she liked what he did. He didn’t need her approval—and he knew when he didn’t have it—but he liked it all the same.

  “Well, it’s getting late, and if I don’t get dinner started, Herb will order a pizza,” she said, picking up her coat. “It’s a beautiful night. What have you got planned for this evening?”

  She asked it in a tone that suggested to Dan that she already knew what he had planned for this evening—well, he hoped that she had only a G-rated idea of what he had planned. Everyone in town seemed to know what he wanted to do. That made him feel like there was a lot more riding on this dinner than exploring an unexpected connection with a really hot, really smart woman. In spite of its being nobody else’s business at all, it still felt so public. The fishbowl feeling was just adding to the pressure.

  Why was he going through with this dinner again?

  “Mrs. Harris, do you think the full moon makes people crazy?”

  “Crazy?”

  “You know, do things they wouldn’t normally do. Get crazy ideas and act on them.”

  She patted him on the cheek. “Dan, I think people do what they want to do, and the full moon gives them an excuse.”

  That sounded right. Right enough, anyway. He said good night to Mrs. Harris and promised not to stay too much longer, then headed back to his desk. He would just put a few finishing touches on his report for Mona. Just a few more graphs, maybe. Then it would be perfect.

  Mona waved good-bye to her last customer of the day. It looked like Molly and Deacon were going to share her last piece of apple cheese tart. Mona gave them a discount—the slice really wasn’t big enough for two people—but the way Deacon was looking at Molly, well, he was probably going to let her have the whole thing, anyway.

  That’s love, she thought.

  She checked her watch. It was nearly seven o’clock. She had a lot of prep work to do before the sun set, a lot of stuff to get in the oven before the moon rose. Ugh, and the piles of dishes. Well, it had to be done. The full moon would be waning tonight. That meant tomorrow was her last productive day until next month.

  Her stomach growled. She was starving, but it didn’t look like Dan was going to show. Well, she had no business canoodling tonight, hot khakis or no. She had way too much to do. She tipped open her cash box. It looked pretty flush. She knew it was. She had already counted it and figured that she could get by taking tomorrow off if she woke up in a sexual daze and couldn’t stand up straight because Mr. Khaki turned out to be a great kisser and love god.

  That’s what she got for planning. Ha, said the moon.

  She was just starting to secure all of her empty pans and plates for the drive home when she heard a bang from across the street. She jerked up. It was Dan, running across the street—without even looking both ways first!—clutching a mess of papers and his briefcase stuffed under his arm.

  “Mona! Don’t leave! Don’t leave,” he gasped as he came up to her truck. “I’m sorry. I got carried away, and I lost track of time, and then . . .” He shuffled his papers while he spoke, his sentence barely audible through his heavy breathing. “There’s no excuse, I should have been paying attention, but I was working on this, and then, and then, I’m sorry.” He finally looked up at her, his eyes unsure.

  And she melted like butter in a hot pan.

  “I made this for you.” He handed her the pile of papers.

  “You killed a few trees for me?”

  “No. Well, yes. Sort of. No. It’s a report. Of how profitable you could be if you opened a storefront bakery. And think of how happy people would be if they could eat your baking all the time!”

  This again.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “But why not? Are you concerned you won’t be profitable? The data really support this proposal. You have nothing to be afraid of!”

  “I’m not afraid. I’m just . . .” She sighed, turned to lock the cabinets. “I just can’t. Just forget it, OK?”

  “Mona.”

  His tone of voice had completely changed. Before he was pleading and out of breath and a little whiny—in a cute way, but still whiny. Now, when he said her name, all of the desperation was gone. There was a seriousness, a sincerity in how he said her name, that made her turn. She was just curious, that was it. She didn’t need to hear anything else he had to say, but she was still curious.

  “Mona, I don’t know what’s happening to me.” He reached up into the window for her hands. She didn’t think about, she just handed them right over. “I don’t know what it is between us, but ever since we kissed, I can’t get you out of my head. Do you know why I made this?” He tilted his head toward the report.

  “Because you’re pushy and anal retentive?”

  “No. Well, a little, ha ha.” He raised his eyebrow, but he continued. “Because it was the only thing I could focus on. I tried working on other projects for other clients—”

  “I’m not a client.”

  “I know! I know. I don’t want you to be a client. I mean, if you want to be, that’s OK, but that’s not why I did this. I just had to do something to justify sitting in my office all day thinking about you. I think there’s something between us, and I’m an idiot and a dork, and the only way I could think of to get you to listen was by . . .”

  “Making graphs?”

  “There are a lot of graphs. I thought you would like them.”

  Mona pulled her hands out of his and picked up the report. “I’m sorry you put all this work into this report, but I’m not going to change my mind.” She sighed. She didn’t want to keep havin
g this conversation, or the one that should come after it—the one where she told him she was cursed and then she watched the dust settle on the path he beat out of her life forever.

  But he was right. There was something between them. She felt it when they kissed, too. She had been feeling it since the first time she saw him, his face torn between scowling and smiling as she presented her plan for a pink mobile bakery at the Delicious Small Business Association. Because of that connection, no matter how tenuous, she felt she owed him an explanation. Or maybe she owed it to herself to come clean with him.

  Besides, he had put in a lot of graphs. They were kind of pretty. “But since you put so much work into it,” and since I want to get into your khakis, she added in what she hoped was just her inner voice, “I’ll explain it to you. But not here,” she added quickly.

  “Anywhere.”

  “Hey, I thought you were going to bring me dinner.”

  He reddened a little, looked down at the ground. “I got distracted.”

  “By graphs?”

  He looked up. “By you.”

  “Dammit, that was sweet. OK. Pizza.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Who has the best pizza in town?”

  “DiMartini’s.”

  “Good, you pass the test. Get a pizza, bring it here”—she scribbled her address on the back of a napkin—“and all of your questions will be answered.”

  “All of them?”

  She leaned forward so she was close. “I might try to distract you with kisses. But, eventually, yes. All of them.”

  Before she could lean back, he surged forward and kissed her. It was a quick one, quick and hard and made awkward by their strange positions, but it left her breathless all the same.

  “See you there.”

  Five

  Dan stood on the doorstep of a modest bungalow on the outer edges of Delicious, and waited. He checked the address again—this was definitely Mona’s place. It stood apart from the other houses on the block, a pale yellow home with apple green shutters, surrounded by groves of trees. Apple trees. Of course.

  He wasn’t sure how long he had been waiting, but it felt like just about forever. He wasn’t sure if that was because a lot of time had really passed since he rang Mona’s doorbell or because he was going crazy with anticipation and time just seemed to be passing at a turtle’s pace. But, then, the food was getting heavy, which he thought was better evidence that he had been standing on her doorstep for a while.