“I’m sorry. That’s got to be hard.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“What about Portia’s mother?”
“She passed away.”
“Really?” Link knew his face showed his shock, but he was curious why Shayla hadn’t said anything before. That seemed like the kind of thing you didn’t just forget to mention. “I’m so sorry. That’s got to be tough. Portia seems really . . . well-adjusted. I wouldn’t have expected that.” He felt like he was saying all the wrong things.
But Shayla didn’t blanch. “Daddy and I have tried to keep things stable in her life.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean—”
She waved him off. “I know. It’s an awkward situation. People don’t know what to say.”
“It’s not that.” He hesitated and hoped he’d managed to look sheepish. “Well, I guess it is that.” He held up a hand. “I’m really not meaning to be nosy. I just wondered.”
“She’s probably going to be part of our lives—my dad’s and mine—for a long time. I don’t blame you if that scares you off. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Did it scare him? If he was honest, yes. A little. He’d had enough experience with nieces and nephews that he wasn’t uncomfortable around kids. He wanted kids of his own someday. He hadn’t really considered that he might get them “ready-made.” He released a sigh. “I’m still thinking about that, I guess. Just trying to be honest.”
“I get that.”
Except he wanted to ask her out again. He knew that. “Do I have to decide before you’ll go out with me again? I’d really like to ask you out again.” He was diving into the deep end. Sink or swim.
She tilted her head in that winsome way she had. “I don’t suppose you’d be content to just be a friend for a while?”
“Is this your way of saying you like me but . . . not in that way?” The disappointment hurt more than he expected.
But her smile gave him quick relief. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m saying—” She pushed her chair back from the table and grabbed a bar rag from the bakery counter. She rubbed it in circles on the table until Link thought the finish might come off. Finally, she straightened and looked at him hard, a nervous half-grin on her lips. “Why are we having this conversation? Tonight was only our first date. Can’t we just take it one step at a time?”
He shrugged. “Hey, that’s all I’m asking for—the next step. Will you go out with me next week?”
She scrubbed the table with a vengeance. “Let me see if I can find a sitter for Portia. Are you thinking Sunday night again?”
“You can bring her if you want.”
“You don’t understand. If we take her out with us again”—she motioned between them—“then it’s a ‘thing’ with her. And if we never see you again after that . . .”
“Okay. I get that. You’ll let me know? If you can get a sitter?”
“Can I text you?”
He shrugged. “Sure. You have my number?”
She nodded.
He rose. “How about next Saturday night? Does that work for you?”
“Unless you want to do breakfast. Like really early breakfast.”
“Saturday?”
“Any day.”
He grinned. “I figured you got free breakfast here.” He eyed the case of pastries. “Man, if I lived here, I’d never eat anywhere else.”
“Yeah, and you’d weigh four hundred pounds.”
“At least.” He wanted to see her again. Soon. “How about I’ll come by some day this week and we’ll figure out a time then.”
“It’s a free country.” But her smile said she wouldn’t mind if he did.
7
Come on, baby girl. It’s time to get you to school. Run get your backpack now.” Daddy scraped his chair back and grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door.
Shayla gave Portia’s skinny butt a playful pat. “Hustle now, girl. You don’t want to be late.”
Portia dashed upstairs while Shayla cleared off the table. She took a clean apron off the hook behind the stairway, slipped it over her head, and tied it behind her back.
The bells on the front door jangled as someone tried to get in.
“Unlock that, Shay, will you? We’re running behind.”
She ran to flip the sign in the front window to Yes We’re Open, and unlocked the front door. “Good morning. Come on in. Sorry we had you locked out.”
“Oh, no problem. I’m a little early.” The woman stomped the snow off her feet on the front mat, then pushed back the hood of her down jacket. “It’s cold out there!”
Shayla closed the door behind her, making sure it remained unlocked. “I haven’t been out yet, but I saw the forecast. Looks like we’re in for a few days like this.”
The customer slipped off her coat and folded it over her arm. She sniffed, then inhaled deeply. “It smells heavenly in here! I’ll take one of everything.” Laughing, she finger-combed her long blonde curls, and turned to face Shayla.
Recognition hit her. This was Link’s sister—the one who lived here in Langhorne. She and her husband sometimes brought their little towheaded twins in for doughnuts.
Shayla’s stomach fluttered with foolish nerves. “May I help you?” She wondered if Link’s sister knew he’d gone out with her. And Portia.
Link’s sister put out a hand. “I’m Landyn Spencer.”
Shayla shook her hand, feeling immediately intimidated—and a little confused—by Link’s sister’s professional demeanor. People didn’t usually formally introduce themselves before ordering a latte and a doughnut.
“Hello.” She tried to mirror Landyn’s tone. “I’m Shayla Michaels. What can I get for you this morning?” For a brief moment, panic inched up her spine. What if Landyn had come on the sly to warn her to stay away from Link?
“Oh. Sorry. I should have explained.” Landyn’s poise slipped a notch. “I’m meeting my sister-in-law here so we can sample some of your pastries. We’re trying to decide on cakes and pastries for her wedding reception in December.”
Shayla grinned. “That sounds like one of those tough-job-but-somebody-has-to-do-it problems.” It was a joke she heard at least twice a week, but it still got a smile from Link’s sister. Who was drop-dead gorgeous. With hair the color Shayla’s mom’s had been. Except Mama’s hair had been straight as a stick.
Landyn laughed. “I’d better have a cup of coffee to go with that tough job.”
Shayla smiled. “Just black, or can I make you a latte?” She reached for the coffee pot. Link’s sister had the figure of a black coffee gal.
“Better just do black. Keep the palate clean. And go ahead and pour one for my sister-in-law too if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Shayla grabbed two cups and the coffee pot and took them to the best table in the bakery where the sun would warm them and make the dishes and glasses sparkle. It was where she sat herself if there was ever a lull early in the afternoon.
Portia’s patter sounded on the stairway and Shayla heard her niece chattering to Big Daddy as he helped her into her coat. The back door closed behind them, but it was only quiet for a moment before the bells on the front door jangled again, and another woman about Shayla’s age entered. The woman blinked while her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.
“You made it!” Link’s sister went to her, and the two women embraced. They were both so beautiful and stylish.
“You didn’t think I was going to miss doughnuts, did you?” the sister-in-law said.
Shayla recognized her. She’d been in here before for breakfast. With a man. Probably her fiancé. A twinge of envy pinched her. And tried to quash the hope that glimmered briefly. Hope that tempted her to believe she had a prayer of ever being part of a family like Link’s.
No, not part of a family like Link’s. But rather part of his very family—the Whitmans. It was the kind of family she’d always dreamed of having—and that she’d been blessed to have once upon a time.
>
And then Mom got sick. And everything had gone downhill from there. Worse than downhill. But she didn’t want to dwell on that now.
Landyn and her sister-in-law got settled at the table near the window, and while they talked excitedly, Shayla fetched menus. She carried them to the table, then remembering what Landyn had said, she stopped. “Would you rather I bring a sampler? You can choose from the menu, or I can just bring you an assortment of our favorites if you’d prefer.”
Landyn gave the other woman a questioning glance. “Your call. Oh! And by the way, this is my sister-in-law, Bree Whitman—soon to be Brooks.”
“Congratulations.” She smiled and started in on her canned spiel. “I’m Shayla Michaels. If you choose to go with Coffee’s On, I’ll be your contact.” That part felt a bit disingenuous, given that she was essentially the only contact. Daddy was the chef and baker, but she ran the cash register whenever their part-time help wasn’t there and did most everything else, including being chief janitor and dishwasher. She also handled the few catering jobs they took on.
“Oh, we’re definitely going with you. Drew—my fiancé—gave strict orders.”
“That’s great. We appreciate your business. So a sample platter for you two ladies? Complimentary, of course.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Bree said. “We’ll be happy to pay for it.”
“Oh, no. It’s part of our package. And”—she laughed and lifted a brow—“you’ll pay for it. Just not today.”
The women laughed with her, and Shayla heard Link’s voice in his sister’s laughter.
“Well, bring it on then!” Landyn clutched her upturned fork like a hungry longshoreman.
Shayla hurried to prepare a small platter of the pastries and brought them back to the table. “I think I left these such that you’ll be able to tell which is which, but I did cut them into smaller bites so you can taste several. Most people order a variety, but if there’s anything you taste that you’d prefer not to be in your order, we can certainly accommodate that.” She always felt so prissy when she spoke that way. But she’d learned that people responded better when she spoke in a professional tone. White people anyway.
Landyn and Bree dove into the plate and made appreciative sounds as they tasted each pastry. Shayla couldn’t help but smile at their swooning oohs and aahs. And feel a little proud that they’d chosen Coffee’s On to cater Bree’s wedding. Never mind theirs was the closest location. And probably the best price. Still, a lot of people went to Cape or even St. Louis for their catering needs—especially for a once-in-a-lifetime event like a wedding. So she was happy. And grateful. The bakery did fine and they managed to pay the bills each month, but they were by no means getting rich.
And the older Portia got, the more it cost to take care of her medical and dental needs, let alone the pretty clothes she liked so much—and changed three times a day if Shayla let her.
“Shayla?”
She turned at the sound of the voice. Both women were eyeing her with questioning looks.
“I’m sorry. What was that?” She had to quit daydreaming when she was supposed to be concentrating.
Landyn smiled.
Was her expression condescending? Shayla couldn’t tell.
“We were just wondering about the cake. Are these the only sizes you have available?” Link’s sister tapped the catering menu with a manicured nail.
“Those are our most popular, but we can probably make just about anything you request. There might be a small surcharge if we have to order odd-sized pans, but it’s very reasonable. What did you have in mind?” She turned to include the bride-to-be in her question even though Link’s sister seemed to have taken on the role of wedding planner.
Bree pulled a sheet of paper from her leather bag and showed her a tall stacked hearts cake that Shayla had admired on Pinterest just a few nights ago.
“Oh, sure. We can do something like that.” She flipped the menu over and showed them the pricing for a similar cake. “Does that sound about right?”
Bree nodded. “That’s very reasonable. Could you do it in pink? A very very pale rose shade though. I’m not sure my groom would be too happy if it came out bubblegum pink.” She dug in her purse again and came up with a swatch of fabric. “This is what my dress will be.”
“Ah, champagne pink.”
“Is that what it’s called? This is . . . not my first wedding.” Bree glanced at Landyn with a mournful expression that caused Shayla to remember how these two women were related. Bree had been married to Link’s brother—his only brother. Shayla had forgotten his name—or maybe she’d never known it—but he’d been killed in Afghanistan. Four or five years ago, she thought. She silently chastised herself. She had a bad habit of forgetting that other people’s families had tragedies too. She wasn’t the only one. And yet, somehow the Whitmans’ felt easier. Yes it was tragic, but it was honorable. There was no shame attached.
“Anyway,” Bree said, “I won’t be wearing white, and things will be a little more informal than the typical wedding you probably cater.”
“We’ve done all kinds, so no worries. You just tell us exactly what you want, and we’ll make it happen. I know the last thing you need to worry about is whether the food and the cake will be perfect. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Thank you.” Bree gave her an appreciative smile. “I think we’re ready to place our order then.”
“Sure.” Shayla pulled a chair out from their table. “May I?”
“Of course.” Landyn patted the seat of the chair.
Shayla took a pad from her pocket. “Now what’s the date of the wedding?”
Bree smiled. “December 13. I hope people don’t think that’s too close to Christmas, but it just worked better for us.”
“No, that’s perfect! December weddings are so special.” It came out with more . . . emotion than she’d intended. She’d always dreamed of a winter wedding and a gown with white fur trim. But they didn’t need to know that, nor would they care. But the sisters seemed pleased with her reaction. Nevertheless, she tempered her voice and tried to regain a professional tone. “That’s on a Saturday. The first weekend in December is when the holiday orders really ramp up.”
Landyn frowned. “Is that a problem?”
“Oh, not at all. You’ve given us plenty of notice.” She helped them finalize a light supper for seventy-five guests and a variety of other cakes to serve alongside the stacked-hearts wedding cake.
Twenty minutes later, as they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Landyn pointed at the doorway to the storage room. “I love the way you have that burlap curtain hanging in the door.”
Shayla looked behind her, wondering for a minute if Landyn was being sarcastic. She didn’t seem like the type to gush over burlap curtains. But she seemed genuinely enthralled with Shayla’s spur-of-the-moment solution to hiding the clutter of the room where they stored the coffee beans and other supplies. She laughed. “It’s just a coffee sack. That’s what our whole beans from the roaster come in.”
“How clever!” Bree exclaimed.
Landyn’s eyes sparkled. “Bree, wouldn’t that make perfect curtains for Chase’s studio?”
“Oh, it would!” Her sister-in-law gave a little clap. “I could see those in a kitchen even.”
In unison, the women turned questioning eyes on Shayla. “Would you ever consider selling a couple of those sacks?” Landyn asked.
“Oh. We usually just throw them out. You’d be—”
“Oh, no!” Landyn clasped her throat comically. “Don’t throw them away!”
Shayla cringed. “Sorry. I never thought about reusing them except when I hung that curtain up. It was just going to be temporary. But it’s kind of growing on me.” She was pleased with the way the makeshift curtain turned out and had already decided to leave it up.
“I saw a coffee shop in St. Louis where the whole place was decorated with a burlap theme. I bet those were coffee bags too.” B
ree looked around the bakery. “They’d be cute as curtains at the windows.”
“In here?” Shayla wasn’t sure whether they were talking to her.
“Yes,” Bree said. “You could put them on rods with curtain clips . . .”
“Or for a bulletin board.” Landyn touched Shayla’s arm. “Don’t you dare throw any more away!”
She laughed nervously. “Who knew I was throwing out such valuable treasures all this time?”
“I’m serious, I’d be happy to pay whatever you think is fair for a couple of them.”
“Oh, you’re welcome to just take them.” Shayla waved her off. “I don’t have any empty right now, but maybe check back in a week?”
“I definitely will.”
Shayla walked them to the door and waved as they each climbed into their cars and drove off in opposite directions.
She liked these women, Link’s sister and sister-in-law. It had been such fun to talk decorating and parties with them. It made her miss the friendships she’d enjoyed once upon a time. The truth was, most of her friends had drifted away after Mama got sick. And the few who’d hung in through that awful time bailed when the whole thing with Jerry happened.
She’d allowed the customers who came in to the bakery to fill the spot her friends had once filled. But it wasn’t the same. She missed having someone to confide in. Someone whose history you knew and who knew yours—and loved you anyway, warts and all.
Sometimes she worried that she’d forgotten how to be a friend. Watching Link’s sisters, old insecurities had crept out like cockroaches in the dark. Had Landyn and Bree only been putting on an act with their friendliness toward her? Were they, even now, laughing on their phones together about the crazy “bag lady” who hung old coffee sacks in doorways?
Mama would have said, “Take people at face value, Shay. Expect the best of them and you’ll usually get it.” Her mother could always reassure her.
Now, for the first time in a while, Shayla became aware of the depth of that awful ache—that empty place inside that only a mother—her mother—could fill.
And there would be no filling it this side of heaven.
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