Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

“Nice,” Hank murmured.

  “The mayor?” Miss Thing’s voice went up an octave. “Reginald?”

  “Yeah, he’s so cute,” said Pammy. “I love that gap in his teeth that makes him whistle his S’s. And he’s got hair like a monk. I call him Reggie. I think he wants to jump my bones too. But I’m not ready. I mean, I don’t have the right underwear.”

  “Stop talking, Pammy,” Hank said. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Get over it, Hank,” Pammy said. “I have to see your naked butt on a large screen at the movies. Right? You owe me, cuz. Samantha, scoot over. I want a cookie.”

  Samantha scooted over, almost onto Hank’s lap. So he scooted over, almost onto Ella’s. She liked it. She couldn’t lie. Their thighs were squeezed so tightly together, she could barely breathe from the delicious tingling feeling that overwhelmed her. And then it got worse when her side touched his. Not just touching, smashed up against.

  Hank was hot. Hank was next to her. Dear God, why? Why was she being tortured? What had she ever done so wrong that she had to endure having such tempting, wicked thoughts about the only single guy in the world who was off-limits to her?

  Miss Thing poured Pammy a cup of tea, and Pammy grabbed the now-vacant spot on the bench and then a cookie.

  “This is really exciting news, Pammy,” Ella said, “and I want to talk about it, but first—”

  “He’s forty-one, practically an old man.” Pammy paused. “Sorry, Samantha. I mean, you’re not forty-one yet. At least according to the tabloids.”

  “No apology needed,” Samantha said with spirit. Okay, it was with a somewhat dampened spirit, but still. She was being pretty nice about Pammy’s stark observation about her age and the sly implication that maybe the tabloids didn’t have the real facts—maybe Samantha was even older, in other words.

  Hank glared at Pammy over Samantha’s head, but she ignored him.

  “Uh, this all sounds fascinating,” said Ella, “but we really need to move on to Roberta and an idea we have for her. Pammy, you want to stay?”

  “No can do,” Pammy said, reaching over Samantha for another cookie. “I’m off to Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Try Bits of Lace,” Roberta told her. “That’s everyone’s favorite lingerie shop around here.”

  “Great advice,” Pammy said. “I’ll be a local for real, prancing around in my sexy new underwear from a Charleston boutique.”

  Samantha, Ella noticed, sat completely still as Pammy clambered off the bench. At one point a lock of Samantha’s beautiful chignon flew up in the air where Pammy’s watchband accidentally caught it. But then she lifted her teacup to her mouth, seemingly recovered.

  Ella breathed a sigh of relief.

  Hank blew his cousin a kiss. He was wedged, still, between Ella and Samantha, but not as much, which was too bad because Ella had loved being squished next to him.

  “See ya later,” Pammy said, and slapped the side of the kitchen entryway with her palm when she left.

  “She’s a force of nature,” Hank explained into the silence.

  It was true the room felt a little empty without Pammy there, but Ella was sure they could liven things up. “Okay, Roberta,” she said. “Thanks for your patience. I’m going to let Miss Thing explain, since it’s her idea.”

  Miss Thing put her teacup down. “All righty, so the tarot card reader said, ‘A penny for your thoughts, the ten thousandth for your tongue,’ right?”

  “Right,” said Roberta. “And I thought maybe he wanted me to give him a thousand bucks. Because ten thousand pennies equals a thousand dollars. But he said it wasn’t about money and wouldn’t take it. I still donate a thousand dollars to different charities, hoping that’ll do the trick. But to this day, I still clam up on dates.”

  Miss Thing smiled grimly. “Honey, he knew what he was talking about. Giving him a thousand bucks would be too easy. When you’ve been cursed, you need to put some real effort into getting out of it, not just pull some money out of a bank account, especially one that can afford to lose it.”

  “So what did he mean then?” Roberta asked.

  “He was from Mobile, Alabama?” Miss Thing asked.

  “Yes. From an old family there.”

  “It all fits,” Miss Thing said.

  “What?” Roberta’s eyes widened.

  Ella was on the edge of her seat too, even though she already knew what Miss Thing was going to say.

  “He meant cheddar pennies.” Miss Thing smiled triumphantly. “Not real ones.”

  There was another brief, underwhelmed silence. Ella knew this would happen. She’d been that way, too, when Miss Thing had first told her. It was an idea that needed time to build.

  “What are cheddar pennies?” Samantha finally asked.

  “I know what they are, but this is weird,” said Roberta. “As weird as Operation Shrimp Trawler. I had no idea you people at Two Love Lane were so off the wall.”

  “It’s what makes us so very successful,” said Miss Thing, bragging only just a little.

  “Be patient,” Ella told Roberta. “I promise it will start making sense.”

  Hank leaned over and whispered, “What’s in those cookies of Miss Thing’s?”

  “Sugar and butter,” Ella said, trying not to enjoy the feel of his warm breath on her ear. “And lots of love.”

  Miss Thing looked sympathetically at Samantha. “Cheddar pennies are a big tradition down here, the Southern version of cheese straws.”

  “Cheese straws?” Samantha asked Hank.

  He shrugged. “You got me.”

  “They’re a savory snack,” said Ella. “Cheez-Its are the closest I can come to describing their taste.”

  “I love Cheez-Its,” Hank said.

  “Never heard of them,” Samantha said.

  “We’ll get some on the way back to the set,” Hank said. “Now I have a craving.”

  “You won’t after you’ve had my cheddar pennies,” Miss Thing said. “They come out at happy hour. I always keep some in the freezer for when guests come over after five o’clock. I’ve got a wonderful recipe for them passed down from my grandmother.”

  “I have a family recipe for them too.” Roberta drew in her chin. “But this makes no sense.”

  “What was that curse again?” Hank asked.

  “‘A penny for your thoughts, the ten thousandth for your tongue,’” Ella and Miss Thing said together.

  “I think”—here Miss Thing put both her hands on the table and stared at Roberta—“I think that lawyer wants you to bake ten thousand cheddar pennies and eat the ten thousandth one. And that’ll break the curse. Plus”—she raised her index finger—“the silver lining is that you can freeze thousands of them for your next ten years’ worth of happy hours.”

  “That’s insane,” said Samantha.

  “I agree it’s outlandish,” Ella said, “but honestly, if you look at what the tarot card lawyer said, and where he’s from, there’s a slight possibility Miss Thing is right. And I believe we should try it. We should bake ten thousand cheddar pennies to help Roberta find her voice.”

  Roberta sat there, saying nothing. Ella couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  “That’s a helluva lot of cheddar pennies,” Hank said.

  “It is,” said Miss Thing. “But we could split up the baking duties.”

  “Roberta?” Ella asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just thinking,” said Roberta. “I have a lot of friends who keep cheddar pennies in their freezers. Maybe I could get them to give them to me. That would be a good start. You think those would count?”

  Miss Thing brightened. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Roberta grinned. “I’m sending out a group text right now.”

  Ella put up a hand. “Wait. Miss Thing, you said getting past this curse would take real effort. If Roberta simply asks for cheddar pennies from her friends and we bake some for her, how is that any harder than her pulling money out of her bank account?”r />
  Miss Thing’s arched eyebrows dropped. “It’s not, really.”

  “Whether you believe the curse is real,” Ella told Roberta, “or it’s simply a mind game, your putting in effort is what is going to get you past it.”

  “Are you saying I have to make all the cheddar pennies myself?” Roberta cringed slightly. “I’m not a baker, honey. I buy all my cakes and cookies at Saffron. I get my bread from the Tiller Baking Company. When I have a hankering for cheddar pennies, these days I hand off my family recipe to my chef who comes in once a week and preps all my dinners.”

  “You might just have to try to bake them yourself,” Ella said. “The more I think about it, the more I’m sure this is the way to go. But I don’t see why we couldn’t at least help you shop for the supplies and help you count the pennies after they’re baked.”

  Roberta blinked. “My momma’s recipe usually makes eighty a batch, but my chef makes them small and can get double that. That’s a hundred and sixty from one log.”

  “You roll the dough into a log, chill it, and then slice it,” Miss Thing explained to Hank and Samantha, which was a good thing because they both appeared clueless.

  Ella took out her phone and opened the calculator. “That means you’d have to make around sixty-three batches to reach ten thousand.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Roberta.

  Hank’s expression was cute—he was trying so hard not to pity Roberta. Ella could tell he wanted to help, but in this case, there wasn’t much anyone could do but encourage her.

  Roberta released a huge sigh. “It takes my chef about forty-five minutes, including the thirty minutes putting the dough in the freezer, to make one batch.”

  Ella tapped her phone again. “That’s about forty-seven hours in the kitchen,” she said. “If you worked eight hours a day for six days, you could do it.”

  Roberta brightened at that. “So if I took a week off work.…”

  “You could do it,” said Ella.

  “But I can’t take a week off work,” said Roberta. “I simply can’t. Y’all, I have to make a living. That comes first, before romance.”

  “Amen,” said Miss Thing.

  “A hundred percent agreement here,” said Samantha.

  A slightly bleak silence hovered.

  But Ella forced herself to rally. “Okay, then,” she said, “let’s regroup. You need a date for the Aquarium fundraiser in less than four weeks, Roberta. It’s got to be a good date too. Someone who will not only be happy to see you shine, but someone you’ll be proud to have at your side.”

  “True,” said Roberta.

  “But before you can get a date for the fundraiser,” Ella said, “you need to go out with several men over the next several weeks. I’ve got a list of them ready to have dinner with you. Hopefully, one of them will be the right guy.”

  “That would be nice.” Roberta smiled wistfully.

  “But going on dates where you don’t speak is unlikely to net you the right man to take to the fundraiser,” Ella said. “You really need your voice.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Roberta sighed.

  “So we need to try this theory of Miss Thing’s,” Ella continued, praying that Roberta wouldn’t give up, “and have you bake ten thousand cheddar pennies in the hopes that the curse will be behind you for good, whether because it’s a real curse or it’s a psychological block that you’ll break down by going to extreme lengths to dissolve its power over you.”

  “Exactly.” Roberta nodded vigorously. “‘A penny for your thoughts, the ten thousandth for your tongue,’” she murmured. “My, oh, my.”

  “So many hurdles,” said Samantha, sounding sympathetic.

  There was another small silence at the table.

  “It’s too much right now,” said Roberta, then bestowed a grateful smile upon Miss Thing. “Next time I get time off, which probably won’t happen for a few months, I’ll bake those ten thousand cheddar pennies. I just can’t do it before the Aquarium fundraiser.”

  “I understand.” Miss Thing patted Roberta’s hand. “I’m glad you’re going to work on it later. Meanwhile, Ella can try to find you a decent date for the Aquarium shindig.”

  Their friend in purple shook her head. “No, that event is too important. What if I can’t speak to him? It will ruin my whole night, and I need to be on fire. I’ll play it safe by taking my brother. But thanks.”

  Ella wished she knew what to do. “Maybe we could all chip in and bake with you, after all.”

  Roberta shrugged. “But then I wouldn’t be making the whole effort myself. And I’d hate to have y’all go to all that trouble, only for it to fail. I’m going to do this right. I don’t want to bake ten thousand cheddar pennies for nothing.”

  “Or maybe—” Hank began.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “What?” asked Roberta.

  “Maybe you rent out a block of time in a commercial kitchen,” Hank said, “on your own, make a couple of huge batches of dough, roll ’em out into logs”—he said logs as if he couldn’t believe they used that word in baking circles—“freeze ’em for a little while, then slice them up and bake them—all in a day. Or two days, at most.”

  No one said a word.

  “That’s brilliant,” Miss Thing finally said.

  And it was. Ella was so proud of Hank. She had no right to be, but she was.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hank looked around the table. Samantha and Roberta had little grins on their faces, but it was Ella’s face he wanted to see. Her mouth was slightly open. Her eyes were sparkling.

  He’d hit a home run!

  “I love that idea,” she said.

  Hank couldn’t help feeling sort of shy. “Good.” He grinned. “But you do all the research,” he said to Roberta, “so this curse doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

  “I don’t even need to,” she said. “I know exactly where to go. There are a couple of commercial kitchens in Charleston. I have a friend with a food truck who’s used them. Both have giant mixing bowls. That’s what I need. And ovens with a lot of racks.”

  “Time to get baking,” Samantha said.

  Roberta stood up. “If I can rent one out in the next couple of days, I will. And I’ll check back with y’all to let you know how it goes.”

  Everyone else stood too. Ella gave Roberta a hug. “Best of luck. I’ll be on pins and needles waiting to hear what happens.”

  “You’re crazy, you do know that,” said Samantha. “But I admire you for thinking outside the box.”

  Roberta chuckled. “At least I’m trying something new.”

  Miss Thing hugged her too. “I hope this does the trick.”

  Hank stood back, not sure what to say. He’d made his contribution. He caught Roberta’s eye as she was stuffing her cell phone back into her purse. He lifted his hand in goodbye. “Hey,” he said, “I’d go out with you even if you never spoke a word.”

  Roberta paused. Smiled. “That was a very nice thing to say, Mr. Rogers.”

  “Please call me Hank.”

  “Hank, then.” Her eyes got shiny. “You’re a sweetie.”

  “I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “You’ve got presence. You walk into a room and don’t have to say anything, but people are aware of you. In a good way. That’s highly valued in the acting community.”

  “I have presence?” Roberta sucked in a little breath. She was too dignified to gasp outright.

  “Yes, you do,” Hank insisted.

  “I agree,” said Samantha. “A very warm presence. You’re delightful, in fact.”

  Roberta’s mouth dropped open. “Thank you both so much.” She paused. “Can you come? To the fundraiser?”

  “I wish,” said Hank. He loved dolphins and other sea creatures—who didn’t?—and it was always a good thing to help local charities when he was on location. “But we’ll be finished shooting here in a week.”

  “Yes, I’ll be in England,” Samantha said. “And then we take up f
ilming in Montreal.”

  Roberta’s shoulders dropped. “What a shame.”

  It struck Hank then, how temporary his life felt in general. He was always going from place to place, following the work, and then heading back to Brooklyn to regroup. But staying home never lasted longer than eight or nine months, tops. Often, he was only there a few months. On rare occasions, he’d get two weeks’ break between jobs.

  So why was he here to try to get Ella’s notice? Had he assumed if things worked out between them that she’d drop her life and hang out in New York or L.A. with him? He hadn’t thought about that. And he was embarrassed.

  But Ella looked happy. Maybe he had something to do with it. He managed to get close to her a few seconds later, while everyone else was chatting in front of them as they walked toward the front door. “Did that just really happen?” he murmured. “You told your client to bake ten thousand Southern, savory happy-hour treats? We call it nosh in New York.”

  “I remember,” she said. “Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker.”

  “Well said,” he answered. “But I like it down here. It’s kind of exciting. You guys—y’all—are a little impulsive, in a good way.”

  “You will be too. It only takes about a week. It’s all that sun we get. It keeps us happy. We can afford to joke and take chances. And you’re already starting to. Look at you, thinking out of the box. Giving Roberta such a good idea about the commercial kitchen. I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  They stood and looked at each other a second too long.

  I did it for you, he wanted to say. But instead he said, “I’m proud to know you. You have a really amazing calling in life.”

  She swallowed, then said, “Wow, that means a lot. Thanks, Hank. I’ll do whatever it takes to make love happen.”

  “Really?” Hank didn’t want to be obnoxious, but he didn’t quite believe her.

  “Well, for other people,” she amended, sounding sheepish.

  “Why not for you?” He knew he was pushing his luck.

  “Because I’m too busy. And—”

  “And what?”

  “I’ve been lucky.” Her brow furrowed as she considered something. “At least,” she said carefully, “I’ve experienced it before.”