by Dana Mentink
Bill stared, an electric tingle starting up his arm as she brushed by him into the kitchen area.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“You need help to get those truffles done and delivered by noon,” she said, avoiding looking at him.
He could not explain his surge of happiness. “So you want to help? Really? What about Twin Pines?”
“A couple hours won’t make a difference.” She rested her hands on her hips. “What should I do?”
He pulled his mind back to the task at hand. “If you could make the strawberry cream, that would be great.”
She chewed a lip. “I can do it if you’ve got the recipe.”
He tapped a finger to his temple. “I have it all up here. I’ll tell you what to do.”
She grabbed a spatula and saluted. “Carry on, Chef Bill.”
He laughed and began to guide her through the process of warming the frozen berries and pureeing them in the blender. Misty worked with all the precision of a surgeon in an operating room. Her fingers danced nimbly over the simmering pot of puree, straining out the seeds through the sieve, adding the butter, salt, and flour until she had made a mouthwatering pink filling.
“Now the finishing touch,” he said. “Chop up some freeze-dried strawberries and fold them in before you chill it down in the fridge.”
Her eyes, as rich and glossy as the ganache, opened wide in surprise. “Never would have thought of that.”
“Candy is my life,” he joked.
“Genius,” she said, chopping the berries.
“I wish,” he said, but the comment thrilled him nonetheless.
Fiona padded into the kitchen, hair wild, a book tucked under her arm. There was a smear of jam on her chin from her morning toast. She clutched a sparkly wand with a foam star on the end.
“Hey, Fee. Oh, that’s right. Today is your special show, isn’t it?”
Fiona nodded.
“She’s going to be a snowflake in the winter recital,” Bill explained. “Miss Dina says she’s an amazing twirler.”
“Let’s see,” Misty encouraged. “Can you do a twirl?”
Fiona lifted her arms, dropping the book, and executed a jerky turn, smiling at the applause from Misty and Bill.
“Bravo,” Bill said, eyeing the clock. “She has to get to school at nine. Normally, Gunther would mind the shop while I ran her over there.” He frowned at the digital clock. “Oh, man. Almost eight thirty already.”
Misty wiped her hands on her apron. “I can get you to school, Fiona, but let’s brush your hair first, okay?”
Fiona shot her a doubtful look.
“She hates having her hair brushed,” Bill said under his breath.
Misty raised an eyebrow at Fiona. “If you’re going to be a snowflake, you have to look your best.”
Fiona considered for a moment, and then she put her wand on her chair, nodded, and trekked back toward the stairs. Misty hung up her apron and followed.
“Hey…uh, I sure do appreciate this,” Bill said. “I mean, you don’t have to do the child care thing.”
Misty cocked her head, her bangs falling over her forehead. “I’m happy to do it. I’ve always liked hanging out with kids. They never seem to mind if I’m clumsy or awkward.”
“You aren’t either of those things to me.” Immediately, his stomach dropped. What had he just said? And why? It was the truth—he couldn’t deny it. He didn’t see awkwardness in Misty, only earnestness. Where she stumbled, he felt only the desire to help her up, to be the one whose hand she grasped, whose shoulder she leaned on.
Crazy thoughts. He could not think of anything to say to dilute the emotion in his last remark. She watched him, frozen, before she ducked her chin, mumbled something he could not make out, and trotted up the steps after Fiona.
She’s leaving at the end of the week, remember? He began reaching for the ingredients to start on the next recipe.
Bill Woodson, just make your candy and keep your mouth shut.
Fourteen
Misty was satisfied with the neat pigtails she’d achieved on Fiona. She’d had to carefully comb through many tangles and balled-up bits in the back, but they’d managed to get the job done. Now two blond crescents of hair were secured on either side of her plump cheeks, a white bow pinned on each one.
Misty held her up to the mirror, and Fiona tossed her head from side to side to set the pigtails in motion. She smiled.
Job well done, Misty.
“Okay, let’s get your wand from the kitchen, and I’ll take you to school.”
Fiona pounded down the stairs into the kitchen, where Bill was engrossed in some confectionary magic whereby he was covering white filling with robes of silken chocolate.
Fiona peered over the edge of the table, frowning.
“Where’s Fiona’s wand?” Misty said, looking under the table. “Did you move it?”
Bill jerked his attention away from the candy making. “What? I haven’t left this spot.”
“It’s gone.” Misty turned a slow circle, a feeling of dread gathering in her stomach. “Uh-oh. I must not have closed the door to the yard all the way.” She and Bill came to the same conclusion at the very same moment.
“Jellybean!” they hollered in unison, dashing out into the backyard.
Outside, the terrier froze as if in a spotlight when they rounded on him, the wand clamped in his teeth.
Fiona let out a soft whimper.
“Drop it!” Misty called.
Jellybean’s tail arced into a C and began to wag in a playful pendulum.
“This isn’t a game,” Misty said severely. “Drop that right now.”
It could not be an impish grin that graced the thin, whiskered mouth. Misty had read somewhere that dogs did not show human emotion, yet Jellybean appeared to do just that before he sprinted into action, Bill in pursuit.
They made a speeding circle around the yard. Misty tried to cut Jellybean off at the far end of the yard, but there was no stopping the zany dog who easily outstripped both of them, dodging between legs and zigzagging around outstretched arms with his prize in his mouth.
No amount of yelling made the slightest difference. Neither did Misty’s idea to offer one of the dog treats she’d purchased after she’d seen how they worked for Phyllis the trainer.
Jellybean ignored the offered treat as he gleefully zoomed around the yard. When they all stopped to pant and catch their breath, Misty noticed that Fiona was crying.
She knelt in front of the child. “It’s okay. I’m going to get that wand from Jellybean. Don’t you worry. He’s going to get tired soon.”
But Jellybean did not look at all tired, the clockwork tail marking time until his next burst of activity would commence.
Bill was flushed red. “That dog is the worst-behaved animal I’ve ever met, and that includes a mule I once worked with. He earned the name of Crank honestly.” He checked his watch, shoving a hand through his hair. “I can’t chase this dog around all morning. Maybe we should take Fiona to preschool without the wand.”
Tears leaked out of the little girl’s eyes.
“I know how to do it,” Misty said, in a moment of inspiration. “How did we get him out of the tank?”
Bill’s face lit up. “Do you have your violin handy?”
“It’s in the car.” She sprinted to her trunk and brought back her instrument. “Okay, Bill. Get ready for the grab.”
“I’m on it.”
Misty played a soft peal of Bach’s Chaconne. Jellybean stiffened, ears perked. As she continued to stroke the bow over the strings, the dog crept closer and closer. When she was twenty measures in, Jellybean plopped himself at her feet, not reacting in the slightest when Bill took the wand from his mouth.
“Yes!” he crowed, but Misty was captivated by something else. Fiona was staring, arms outstretched toward Misty’s violin.
“Do you like the music, Fiona?” Misty asked.
She nodded.
“Wo
uld you like to play?”
Fiona looked Misty full in the face. “Uh-huh,” she said.
Though joy danced inside her as she knew it must be doing in Bill, she was careful not to react as she knelt down and held the instrument for Fiona.
“Your chin goes here,” she said, “but I’ll bring you a smaller violin later if you want. For now, let’s rest it on your shoulder.” When the violin was balanced, she curled Fiona’s fingers over the bow, and together they stroked the bow over the strings. With the tiny fingers tucked inside her own, they played a tentative scale.
When the first note came, Jellybean barked his approval. At the end of the scale, he rolled on his back and wriggled. Misty felt like doing the same.
Fiona was satisfied with her first performance and relinquished the instrument to Misty.
Bill stood frozen, an incongruous picture of a burly man holding a sparkly wand, a look of rapture on his face as if he had witnessed something far more momentous than a child’s first attempt on an instrument.
“You know, Bill, I think I was wrong,” Misty said after a beat. “Maybe Fiona is ready to learn the violin.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Maybe so. Can you…” He swallowed. “Will you teach her?”
Was he asking her to stay? Implying that he wanted Misty to stick around? The thought warmed her until the voice of doubt rose up.
It’s not you he wants. It’s help for his daughter. It could not be you.
No, she thought sadly. Surely not. “We can work out something for Fiona after I leave,” she said. “She will need direct teaching. Skype won’t do for a young student like her. I can get you a referral for someone local.”
Someone local. Someone charming and witty. Someone who was not paralyzed by rejection. Someone who was not Misty Agnelli.
“Come on, Fiona,” she said, forcing a bright smile. “Let’s go to school.”
As Misty walked Fiona along the sidewalk, breathing in the sea-scented air, her own sense of panic ebbed slowly away. Why had she freaked out exactly? Bill Woodson liked her—maybe more than liked her. He’d encouraged…no, directly invited her to be involved in his life and Fiona’s. Her spirit sang at the prospect.
And then she recalled how she’d practically bolted from his shop.
But what if she allowed herself a moment to consider that she was worth pursuing? How amazing would it be if Bill really didn’t see her awkwardness and social ineptitude? His words rang in her ears.
“You aren’t either of those things to me.”
What if she dared to believe that Bill saw a light in her that she didn’t see in herself? What if that was the truth?
What if she was a light to Bill and Fiona?
They reached the preschool before she’d come to a conclusion of any kind. The place was abuzz with activity, full of kids with wands similar to Fiona’s, alternately waving them around and using them as swords or lightsabers. She was happy to see Fiona scurry immediately into the gang, waving her wand with gusto. A parent was tacking a paper garland around a small raised platform that had been erected for the recital. Another was setting up several rows of folding chairs.
Dina caught sight of Misty as she was about to leave, and waved.
“Hi.” She frowned. “Where’s Bill?”
Not Mr. Woodson or Fiona’s dad. Bill. The familiarity of it poked at Misty. Just friends?
“He has a delivery. He’ll be here in time for the show.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said. “I know he wouldn’t miss it. We’d love for you to come too.”
But Misty was already hurrying from the school, eager to get back.
Bill tried not to stare too much at Misty as she rolled the chilled strawberry filling into perfect balls, but it was so cute the way her nose wrinkled in concentration and she clamped her lower lip between her teeth. Thanks to her help, they were ready at ten minutes after eleven to load the cardboard boxes into the coolers, sliding them into the back of Bill’s van.
He held up a palm.
Misty was perplexed. “Stop?”
“No. High five.” He laughed.
“Oh, right.” She palm slapped him with a giggle.
“Thanks to you, I’m going to make this delivery on time, and Fiona has added to her spoken repertoire.”
Misty slapped him a follow-up high five. “That part deserves another five.”
“We’ll make it ten then.” He could not wipe the grin off his face. “The psychologist said it would probably be like that, a few words here or there as she felt better about things. That’s good, because if she broke into a speech or something, I’d probably have a heart attack.” Gunther met them in the parking lot.
“Lunk’s okay,” he said. “Just suffering from exhaustion. Dunno where he made off to last night, but it tuckered him out. He’ll be right as rain, ’cept the doc said he needs to lose some weight, so he’s got some diet food. Smells terrible. Glad I don’t have to eat it.”
“Poor Lunk,” Misty said.
“Hope he learns a lesson this time.”
Bill told Gunther about the movie set delivery. Misty agreed to accompany him before she set off for Twin Pines.
“I’ll mind the store while you’re gone,” Gunther said.
“Keep an eye on Jellybean, okay?” Bill said. “He’s already made off with a magic wand today, and I think he’s back to working on his tunnel.”
“Not like we’re gonna get any customers anyway,” Gunther said, waving a weary hand and trudging into the shop.
They drove to the movie set and found the harried Yolanda, who had left the message. She was still frazzled but doing her best to hide it. She pumped both their hands and led them to a linen-covered table set up under a canopy where there was a pitcher full of ice water with lemon slices and a half dozen glasses. “I’m so relieved,” she said. “Nothing has gone right on this movie since day one. Now we’ve got Todd Bannington wanting to see the set.” She dropped her volume to a dramatic whisper. “He’s a private investor on the film. If he pulls out, we’re in an even worse mess than before.”
A worse mess than having your star missing? Bill puzzled over that one.
Yolanda leaned closer. “Have you found Mr. Tucker yet?”
“No, but we’re getting closer,” Bill said when Misty did not answer. “Shouldn’t be long now, right, Misty?”
“Uh, right. Not long. We hope.”
Yolanda let loose with a gusty sigh. “Great. Maybe I will still have a job next week, then. I’ve got a kid who needs braces like you wouldn’t believe. He looks like a crocodile with freckles.”
With a valiant effort, Bill did not laugh. Misty busied herself arranging napkins on the table, but he saw her lips pressed together, possibly to contain a giggle.
“There they are now,” Yolanda said, eyeing a BMW pulling to a stop near the trailers. “It’s showtime. Be right back.”
He set out the candies on long silver trays and was filled with satisfaction to see the mouthwatering chocolate gems. Chocolate making would never leave him rich or paint him as a success in his father’s estimation, but his fruits made people happy, if only for a moment.
What was a moment of sweetness worth? He thought of the impact a single word from Fiona had on him, the thrill he got from hearing Misty play her violin, the comfort he felt from a single prayer. He considered how supremely delighted Jellybean was at the prospect of a quick belly scratch or a moth to chase after. What was a moment of sweetness worth?
Everything, he thought.
Misty was already edging away toward the van when the group of well-dressed men approached. He followed, intending to stay with Misty until the mucky-mucks were done sampling the chocolates and he could retrieve his trays. Though he did not shy away from people generally, this time he figured he’d take a clue from Misty and err on the side of discretion.
He got to the van first and opened the passenger door for her.
She blushed and rested her hand on his arm, giving him anoth
er rush of sweetness.
“Misty?” a voice called out from behind them.
It was one of the well-dressed men, with neatly styled hair, dress pants, and a sport jacket over his shirt.
“Misty Agnelli?” the man repeated, breaking into a smile as he came closer. “I thought that was you. Come here and give me a hug.”
Bill watched as Misty’s face turned a brilliant shade of pink. The man caught her up in an embrace that lifted her feet off the ground. When he kissed her cheek, Bill’s jaw clenched.
The man put her down. “I am so glad to see you. I didn’t know you were working in the area.”
“Yes,” Misty said faintly. “Uh…Bill, this is Jack.”
Jack. From the Jack and Jill connection. Jack, the man who had loved Misty.
That Jack.
Fifteen
The shock washed over Misty like a rogue wave.
Jack was staring at her with wide blue eyes, resplendent in his nice clothes and leather wing tips.
“What…what are you doing here?”
“Todd Bannington’s an entrepreneur friend of mine. I help him with real estate deals now and then. He asked me to come along with him on this set visit since he’s a major investor. There have been rumors that the shoot’s falling apart, that the star walked off and isn’t coming back.”
“He’s coming back,” Misty blurted. “I mean, by Friday. I’m sure he’ll be back by Friday.”
Jack cocked his head in that way he’d always done, a mixture of boy next door and corporate CEO. “What’s your role here, Misty?”
“I’m…” And then her words floated away like a life preserver tossed just out of reach. The weight of his gaze stripped away her power to say anything intelligible.
“She’s the violin tutor and assistant to the star, Lawrence Tucker,” Bill put in.
“Oh, hey,” Jack said, extending his hand. “Rude of me not to introduce myself. Jack Golding.”
“Bill Woodson.”
“Do you work on the set too?”