by Linda West
Dodie waltzed out of the backroom feeling like a million dollars. Ethel gave her a hug while Carol clapped her on the back and told her she was well on the way to being the Nigella Lawson of the south.
Dodie found a grin spreading over her face. “I can live with that.” She took a deep breath. “I think I’m gonna enter the bakeoff myself.”
“Great idea,” Carol said, without so much as a raised eyebrow. She picked up a thick book of baking ideas and handed it to her. “Some bedtime reading.”
That night, Dodie snuggled under the covers at Earl’s and looked through the glossy pages by the soft, golden light of her bedside lamp. The rooms were so luxurious – the duvets and pillows thick and downy, the atmosphere warm and comforting – so much so that she looked forward to returning to her room at the end of the day.
She had soaked in a hot bubble bath, the room illuminated by candles, dreaming of the possibilities her new life could bring. The depression she had brought with her to Kissing Bridge was slowly fading and the last of it drained away with the water as it swirled down the plug. She had chosen a flannel nightgown, just to feel its softness against her warm, clean skin.
Though it all looked delicious, the passionfruit cake was the first thing to catch her eye. She imagined the combination of passionfruit’s sweet tang and the creaminess of the filling and frosting and her stomach purred, even though she had eaten cookie after cookie, unable to quite believe they hadn’t been burned or undercooked.
But a couple pages after, she was swayed to the pomegranate and chocolate torte. She deliberated on the raspberry and white chocolate cupcakes, a selection of shortbread hearts and a batternberg cake, but in the end decided on a cake that was red velvet on the inside, white and dark chocolate marble on the outside. Raspberry coulis was piped on in elaborate heart-shaped patterns and tiny gold detailing added.
It was perfect.
Page 43, she memorized.
The book was too nice to fold a page over and her bookmark was at the other side of the room.
That was what she was going to bake!
Chapter 10
Each of the Landers women was blessed with their own unique special gift. While Ethel had the gift of color, able to tune into its nuances and come up with just the right shade for any occasion or circumstance, Aunt Carol had the gift of eavesdropping.
She had ears like a bloodhound has a nose, primed to pick up the tiniest clue and deduce the truth before anyone else knew what had even hit them.
The only thing was that she couldn’t hear B’s, but that wasn’t about to stop her.
“You can’t have everything, but you can do the best with what you’ve got,” she always said.
Besides, she could always work out where the B’s went afterward.
Aunt Carol had long given up on love.
She was a firm believer in the Landers curse, the one that made the Landers women lose the men they adored.
For Summer’s sake she hoped it wasn’t true, or that Summer could break the curse and that the Landers women could finally move on and find romance in their lives without the fear of being cruelly cut loose by fate.
She sat at the table in the bakery, dawn’s light streaming through the windows in a rosy haze.
She pulled the edges of the lace tablecloth until they were exactly equal all around, pondering over the list of their Valentine’s Eve Sweetheart Bakeoff participants.
Beginners
Tassy
Justine
Stephanie
Carina
Plus Shayne and Faith, who didn’t show up
Intermediate
Abigail
Tori
Naomi
Harley
Lenora
No show: Gina
Advanced
Addison
Hannah
Skylar
Some of them already had their eye on specific young men, and others were more interested in baking than love. She crossed these ones off the list, until she was left with the names of the young women who she knew wanted a man, but where not sure quite who.
She was left with Justine, Naomi (a sweet, shy scrap of a girl), a studious, willowy redhead named Harley, Addison (a young beautician with an edgy blonde haircut), and Hannah, a lithe girl who favored long sleeve basketball jerseys and miniskirts. After a rush of realization, Carol scribbled Dodie at the bottom of the list.
She wondered who the heck would be a good match for Dodie. Though Carol had encouraged her to participate in the Bakeoff, she hadn’t really thought it through. Who was single in the town, within a suitable age-range, eligible? Dodie was a good-looking woman and Carol wanted to find her an equal match but no one sprung to mind.
There was only one place to go.
That evening, Carol sidled into where all the young men and women of Kissing Bridge hung out, the old cabin café. Her plan was to cozy up at a table right in the middle of the café so that she could tune in and out to each conversation that happened around her. She wasn’t one to drink but felt like a chardonnay. The bartender nodded and told her he’d bring it over.
She scoped the room like a criminal cases a joint, keeping her eyes open for every detail and her ears pricked up for any pertinent information. She took a loose piece of her hair from her massive beehive and twisted it around her finger, coaxing it back into its natural curl. She was trying to give off a relaxed, sociable vibe, like she wasn’t here on business, on a secret eavesdropping mission. Only Ethel knew she was there, what she had come for.
There was a group of young skiers in the corner, a few hunks among them, but as their laughing and jokes got louder she could hear they were speaking in a language she didn’t understand. Perhaps Dutch? Since they definitely weren’t Amish, she figured they were tourists. She tuned them out so successfully it was like there was a brick wall between them.
She’d had many years of practice.
By the bar, a couple of young men threw back beer after beer after beer. For all their fervor they looked like they’d just turned twenty-one and would meet their end before twenty-two from alcohol poisoning. They blathered on about parties and hot actresses and how much liquor they thought they could drink before vomiting. Carol wasn’t about to set them up with anyone. They got the brick wall treatment too.
The third group was more promising, and she was surprised her eye hadn’t been drawn to them immediately. Though they were mostly in sweaters and jeans, she could tell by their heavy duty boots and a helmet rested on a free chair that they were firemen. The jackpot!
Already she was figuring that she’d check out the Kissing Bridge Mountain firefighters’ website to find their names. Maybe they even had bios with pictures. Perfect!
There were a good mix of ages, too, and of course they were all fine physical specimens. Carol had to keep her wits about her to keep herself looking casual and not letting her eyes linger over them too long. She was almost beginning to wonder about baking for one of them herself, but remembered the Landers curse just in time.
“So, Hunter,” she heard one of the young men say. “Found yourself a new girlfriend yet?”
They all nudged each other and laughed.
“Nah,” the man who must be Hunter replied somewhat defensively. “Have you?”
More laughing. “No. Everyone knows there aren’t enough women in Kissing Bridge.”
A slow smile crept over Carol’s face.
“I can help with that,” she whispered.
Chapter 11
Jason stood at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. He pushed a strong, bronzed hand through his espresso-colored waves, finally growing out of their military stubble.
He stared at himself in the mirror, his gray eyes more steely than he ever remembered. He barely recognized himself and wanted to dive under the covers so no one else could see him either.
Although he was so glad to see his family, their joy was disconcerting. After all he had seen at war, it was a
ll he could do to keep the horrific images his mind had collected flashing through them and sending him spiraling down into depression.
The house was still decorated with tinsel and baubles and lights, but he could find no comfort in it as he had before he had gone. It was as if all the joy in the world had seeped away and left a big empty hole.
It was only the letters that had kept him sane. There were times he had concluded he lived solely for those letters. Signed “Dodie,” they had never given any personal details, but had been full of comfort, telling him that things would eventually get better and that sometimes things just had to be the way they had to be.
He couldn’t get a finger on how he knew, but he got the sense that she was suffering a great deal more than she let on in her letters. He’d come to realize that happy people said the most infuriating things to people who were depressed, but she wrote things that cut right through the core of an issue and straight into his heart. He figured she couldn’t have been all that happy.
“Jason? The food’s getting cold!” his mother called out from downstairs. Her tone was caring and overly careful, as if he were made from the most delicate glass. He didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him.
He cleared his throat and walked down the stairs with his head high. His resolution would carry him through, he told himself. There was no need to break down or to fear he would crumble under the pressure. Everything was all right.
A Christmas feast was laid out in the kitchen, even though they were already into January. His father stood beaming next to Jason’s mother. “Merry Christmas, son.”
Jason surprised himself by bursting out laughing. “Christmas in January, who knew?”
His father laughed along. “You didn’t think we were going to let you miss it, did you?”
At that moment, Brad led Summer into the kitchen by her hand, both of them laughing at some private lovers’ joke. It was so strange to see them together, even though Brad had sent him a letter to let him know their romance was firmly back on.
“Merry Christmas!” they both said, rushing at him and enfolding him in a hug.
Hugs still felt strange.
For the past few months, his body had been an agent of destruction. Affection was so foreign and so welcome that it sent a strange tingle through his skin.
When they pulled away he found his eyes were wet with unfallen tears.
“Let’s all sit down,” his father said, rescuing him.
This gave him the chance to turn and wipe his eyes as they all sat down at the table. Hunger was mauling in his stomach and tears stopped threatening as he took in the magnificent spread. There was a generous portion of roast beef on the plate his father passed him and all his favorites were piled high in white ceramic dishes. Stuffing, mashed potatoes, squash, roasted vegetables. A gravy boat steamed. Pumpkin pie, marzipan, and his absolute favorite: chocolate pecan pie. All laid out on the kitchen counter.
He used to love apple pie but had developed an allergy to every kind of apple in his teens and could never eat it since without breaking out in a rash and throwing up.
His mom picked up the stereo’s remote and soon Rocking Around the Christmas Tree filled the room. Jason felt the heaviness of war lift a little as he looked around the smiling faces of his family, though it seemed like there would always be a hole in his heart.
He tucked in eagerly, spooning large helpings of just about everything into his mouth. Apart from the Pizza Hut van stationed in camp that he would occasionally go to, he had otherwise been stuck with his standard MRE packs, of which he could mostly only stomach the crackers, peanut butter, and M&Ms, chucking the rest of the foil-sealed packages right into the trash. A Christmas meal such as this was an unheard-of luxury.
“How does it feel to be back?” Brad asked him.
“Heaven,” Jason replied through a thick mouthful, not thinking of much else other than the food.
“And you’re not going back?”
Jason looked up to see Brad’s eyes full of hope. Their mother glared across the table.
“Let your brother eat.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Jason said. “I don’t mind talking about it.” He gathered his strength to say the thing he had written but dared not speak aloud.
The Army had been his dream for so long it was terrifying to let it sail away into the past. “No, I’m not going back.”
Brad smiled into his dinner.
Jason could tell he wanted to jump up and pound the air and hug him over his shoulder, but didn’t want to upset Mom.
“I want to serve my country in a different way,” Jason continued. “I want peace.”
His father’s expression radiated. He had never wanted him to go to war in the first place.
“I’ve just got to think about making some money.”
Brad glanced at Summer, eyes bright, and she squeezed his hand.
“Join my pilot business,” said Brad.
Summer sat up in her chair. “He’s going to team up with Earl and take VIPs up the mountain.”
It wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but it would pay the bills.
Jason managed a smile. “All right then.”
Chapter 12
It was a Breakfast at Tiffany’s Sunday, as usual at the Landers’ household. Summer pulled a warm quilt up to her neck and snuggled down, a breakfast tray on her lap. Cinnamon cake and a cup of strong coffee were the perfect accompaniment to Summer’s favorite movie, and both Ethel and Aunt Carol seemed to agree as they chomped and sipped away at their own portions, tucked up on each side of her on the couch in the living room.
The snow fell steadily outside the window as they watched cozily inside by the fire. There was something about Holly Golightly and her escapades that could brighten up even the dreariest day.
As she watched the romance unfold on screen, she thought about her own love life.
“I don’t want to speak too soon, but it looks like the Landers curse has been lifted just in time for the Valentine’s Day Ball!” she said with a smile.
She looked from Aunt Carol’s resigned expression to the smile her mom tried to keep off her lips but didn’t manage.
It was pretty clear Ethel was thinking about someone, and to Summer, it was pretty clear who.
She elbowed her mom playfully.
“I think Earl likes you,” she said, watching carefully for her mother’s reaction.
Her mom blushed a little and tried to hide her cheeks with the coffee cup as she took a sip.
“You think so?”
“I know so,” Summer said. “And I know you like him too.”
Ethel shifted on the couch.
“Let’s just watch the movie.”
“You’re changing the subject,” Summer said in a sing-song voice, reaching over to pinch her mother’s cheek.
Ethel jogged her arm away and gave her a warning look. “Stop it, Summer.”
It was the same look that would have made an infant Summer drop the third cookie she had sneaked from the jar, her wide eyes full of guilt and mischief and feigned innocence. Summer knew when her mother meant business. She gave up picking on her mother and put another log on the fire. They settled into silence again as they watched the movie.
“I think you should enter,” Aunt Carol said out of the blue.
At first Summer thought Aunt Carol was talking to her. “But why would I enter when—”
“Not you,” Aunt Carol cut in, then reached over to pat Ethel’s knee. “You. This curse business has gone on way too long.”
“First Dodie, then me?” Ethel said.
Summer took a sip of coffee. “Looks like old ladies are starting a Kissing Bridge revolution!”
“Get out of here, you’re not old ladies,” said Summer. “You should get out there, start some fireworks!”
Ethel stared resolutely at the television. “Hmmm.”
“No, really, Mom, you should,” Summer said. She gasped with the brilliance of her own idea and turned t
o Aunt Carol. “And I’m sure if you put your ear to it you can use your eavesdropping skills to find out Earl’s favorite food! That way we can be sure he’ll choose what mom bakes and it’ll all be so perfect!” She swooned. “Imagine dancing together at the Valentine’s Day Ball. That’s exactly what you need, Mom, some romance!”
Aunt Carol grinned. “I guess I could do just that! Count on me to find out what Earl likes!”
Ethel said nothing, but a smile danced at the corners of her lips, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
Summer sat back on the couch, feeling like the world was finally coming into order. She finished her slice of cinnamon cake and snuggled back under the quilt, daring to believe that the Landers’ curse was really coming to an end.
“You’ve found eligible men and all their favorites for everyone else, I take it?” Ethel asked.
Though Aunt Carol was quite happy to be single herself, her favorite pastime for Valentine’s Day was matchmaking others. Every January would start her eagle eye a roaming and her ears a eavesdropping as she tallied the town singles. Many a marriage was due to her earnest endeavors to help others find love.
“I’ve got one for everyone but Dodie,” said Aunt Carol. “I can’t think of anyone who’s the right age. Mid thirties would do just fine, but every single man in this town seems to be little more than a baby!”
Summer flipped through every man she knew like a virtual rolodex in her head, but came up with nothing. Everyone had a wife or girlfriend or had moved away to more exciting locales. Then an idea that made her feel stupid for not thinking of it earlier rushed through her head. “What about Jason? Brad’s brother?”
Aunt Carol rocked forward to look at her squarely, her beehive tipping a little. “He’s back in town?”
“Just came back,” Summer said. “Didn’t you know?”
“I can’t keep up with what every young man in the army’s doing,” Aunt Carol said with a sniff. “He wasn’t on my list of servicemen to write… I wonder who had him on their list and wrote to him. I can’t remember.”