by Kyle Autumn
“Okay.” My sister blows on a piece of scone to cool it off. “But that’s not what’s happening. You’re baking so much that you can’t sleep. You don’t have time for it. Not the other way around.” Then she holds the piece of scone out toward Aria. “Want some, Ari?”
My niece runs over and pops the piece of scone into her mouth. “Yummy! Thanks, Auntie Melia.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” I smooth a hand down her hair. Then I aim my gaze back at my sister. “Just say what you want to say, Cass. Get it out there already.”
She hesitates, glancing at Gerald before picking at her scone. “I…think you need to move on.” She rushes more words out before I can tell her how ridiculous she’s being. “Just hear me out, okay? How long has it been?”
I gulp, not wanting to think about it. “I’ve dated since,” I say, smoothing the nonexistent creases in my pants out. “Don’t forget that part.”
“I haven’t.” Cass pushes her scone away and brushes crumbs into her hand. “But let’s be honest. Those were only half-assed tries. You’ve done that to make it look like you’re putting some effort into it. We’re not blind. Or dumb. And that’s not what I’m talking about anyway.”
“Cass—” I start, but she won’t hear it.
“No.” She puts her hand up in the air. “Seriously, Amelia. Derek and I are concerned about you.”
I slump back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t bring your husband into this.”
“He’s part of it because we’re all family. That’s how things like this work,” she insists, leaning forward and placing an arm on the table.
I want to remind her that family is precisely why I am the way I am. But I don’t. Gerald surreptitiously takes another scone from the plate and bites into it, keeping his gaze on the table.
“We’re family and we care about you.” Cass pokes the table with a finger to make her point. “We want to see you happy, and baking all the time may seem like it’s making you happy, but it’s really making you lonely. And maybe you aren’t doing this just because you love baking this much.”
“There it is.” I get up from my chair and march back over to the counter. Then I grab the box of scones for my sister and bring them back to the table. “Thanks for your help today, but this is where the conversation ends.”
“Amelia—”
“No.” I put a hand up in the air, mimicking the way she cut me off before. “I’m fine. I’ll move on in my own time. I’ve moved on. Just not the way you want me to, but this isn’t your life.” My next breath comes out shaky.
Cass deflates as she exhales and hangs her head. Then she scoops her daughter and the toys up, propping Aria on her hip. “I just want you to be happy, okay?”
I inhale deeply and nod. “Okay. I’m happy.”
“Happier,” she clarifies. She bends so Aria can grab the box of scones.
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes and then give my niece a kiss. “Keep your mom in line for me, okay?”
She squeezes the box to her chest before saluting me with her free hand. “You got it, Captain.”
My brow creases as I stare at this crazy little girl in my sister’s arms. “What in the…”
“I have no idea. She’s a walking tape recorder now,” Cass says, shaking her head and walking toward the door.
“She’s a walking tape recorder now!” Aria parrots. Then she lets out a loud, harsh giggle that almost worries me for the future.
I hold the door for them in stunned silence as they exit my shop and head home. Man, I love my niece, but she’s getting kind of scary. Which makes me rethink any notion I had of ever having my own children. Not that I have time for that kind of thing anyway.
When I finally turn back toward Gerald, he’s smirking over his scone.
“You better not be next.” I wag a finger at him as I sit back down.
He holds both hands up in a surrender gesture. “I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he insists, but the smile on his lips says otherwise.
“Not you too,” I groan, picking at what’s left of the scone I took before. Rarely do I get to enjoy my own creations, but I thought today might be an exception. Not so much. “I’m fine!”
Gerald takes a moment before responding. He sets his treat down and folds his hands on the table. “We know you’re fine, baby girl.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I am.”
“And that’s just it,” he tells me, tapping his knuckles on the table. “We don’t want to accept fine.”
I draw my eyebrows down. “What’s wrong with fine?”
“Nothing,” he says, sitting back in his chair.
I’m settling into a smug smirk when he adds more.
“But it’s not for you.”
My jaw sets as I raise one eyebrow at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as I get up and head toward the counter.
He’s a little slower than I am, but he follows me. He pulls a stool out and perches on it as I wipe the counter down. “It means that you’re fine, but you’re not fine being fine and we all know it. We all know that you’re destined for more than working day and night in this bakery, even if you love it and do it for a good cause. There’s more to life than that, and we all want you to chase after that too. There’s room for both.”
I press the rag harder to the glass as I clean and think about his words. Of course he’s right, and of course my sister hit a nerve; I agree with them. But it’s easier said than done. A perfect relationship isn’t going to just fall into my lap. It’d require me to get out there. Meet someone. Date again. Get to know them. Fall in love.
Again.
Ugh. A shiver runs through me at the thought.
To get to that point, I’d have to be better at shaving my legs, my armpits, my—
“You know,” Gerald says, interrupting that ridiculous train of thought, “Danny wouldn’t want you to—”
“I know,” I tell him before he can finish that sentence. I don’t need Gerald to remind me what Danny would or wouldn’t want for me right now. Then I pause my cleaning. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He puts his hand on mine, and the warmth seeps in like a grandfather’s would. “I know. I know better than most would.”
I release the built-up tension in my shoulders and sink forward, realizing how right he is. If anyone in this town can relate to how I’m feeling right now, it’s Gerald. And, for that, I’m thankful and so sorry. But it helps to have someone who can truly understand. More than he knows.
“How come you never dated after Sylvia?” I ask, genuine curiosity in my tone.
“Oh,” he says, pulling back, a sullen and thoughtful look on his face, “I wanted to a while back. But the woman I wanted wasn’t available when I was ready, so I never really tried after that.”
“What about now?” I ask him, flipping the rag over my shoulder. “Maybe we could do this together.” My laugh is small, but I’m almost serious. Having a partner in crime would make this easier. And it’d shift some of the attention off me if there were two of us.
“Maybe,” he says around a small laugh of his own. “Though it’s probably too late for me.”
“Don’t be silly, Gerald!” I playfully swat him on the arm as I make my way around the counter to grab the scone dish. “There’s someone out there for you too. I guarantee it.” When I turn back to him, he looks as though he’s hoped for the same thing but it hasn’t come true.
“Ah, well. We’ll see.” He gives me the barest of smiles before hanging his head and rising from the stool. “I guess I better be off. Just do me a favor and—”
“If this is about Danny,” I start as I box the remaining scones, “don’t worry—”
“It’s not,” he assures me, a hand in the air. When he lowers it, he says, “Really think about hiring someone here so you can have some time off, okay? You deserve it with how much you’ve put into this place. Your grandma would agree.”
; “Well, she’s off on some exotic seniors’ vacation, so she’s not here to tell me that,” I say around a smile. “That’s probably what I’ll do when I finally retire. Vacations for seniors. Sounds dreamy.”
“Or you could go on vacation now, you know.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
My smile grows larger as I hand Gerald the box of scones. “Don’t eat them all at once. And thanks for all your help.”
We both decide not to acknowledge that I didn’t reply to his suggestion. Probably because we both know that it’s a pipe dream at the moment. I wouldn’t go anywhere by myself, I wouldn’t be able to decide where to go, and I have no one to take with me. Unless Gerald’s up for a weekend getaway. And, well, that’s a sad, sad thought. I love the man, but he’s way more grandpa than fun vacation. Which is the way I prefer it anyway.
The bell above the door rings as Gerald makes his exit, the box of scones secure in his hand. He waves over his shoulder and then he’s gone. And then I’m alone with my thoughts yet again.
Hire someone for the bakery? To help with what? Bake? No. That’s my job. Maybe someone can work the front of the shop. Pour coffee. Take orders. That kind of thing. Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad. I could probably handle something like that.
But that’d mean less income. And I’d have to post another ad, interview people, and then decide on someone. Ew. No.
Ugh. Back to the kitchen I go. Flour. Applesauce. Chocolate chips. I gather ingredients, mix them up, and bake. An hour later, I have delicious muffins.
But not the first clue why I baked them.
Chapter 2
Amelia
Whenever I see moving trucks in my neighborhood, I bake.
Okay, I do this a lot. Just about every occasion is an occasion for me to bake. So I’m glad I love doing it. Otherwise, I’d be in trouble. But I’m not. Baking is my happy place, and sharing my creations makes me even happier.
Those muffins I made yesterday were delicious, and when I go to my kitchen at home to bake for my new neighbors, I recreate them without realizing it. I sure hope someone there loves chocolate chip muffins. Otherwise, I’ll be in trouble. Because I’ll have to eat them.
Luckily, most people thoroughly enjoy the baked goods I produce. Which is why I’m not eight hundred pounds from all the baking I do. Others do me a favor and buy them up. And, for that, I’m grateful. It’s one thing to enjoy what you do, but it’s another for no one else to enjoy it. Otherwise, I’d be…
Enough of that.
Once I’ve boxed the muffins up, I walk across the yards and knock on my new neighbor’s door. A man answers my knock and swings the door open. The first thing I notice is his eyes. They’re a shade of brown I’ve never seen before. A wonderful melted chocolate. Maybe he’ll like the muffins. And me. He’s a little older, but age is just a number, right?
Wrong. So, so wrong, Amelia.
But then I notice his wife next to him. I assume she’s his wife. They’re both wearing wedding bands, so all of a sudden, I want to punch my sister for making me put dating on my radar. I wouldn’t have noticed his stupid melted-chocolate eyes if she hadn’t. So I thrust the box of muffins out toward the two of them.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I say before spinning around to head back home.
But the woman’s voice stops me. “Thanks so much. Did you make these?”
I twirl back around. “I did.” Then I point to the business card on the box. “I have a bakery in town. That’s me.”
She gazes down to the card. “Giana’s Bakery,” she reads aloud. Then she looks at me. “I remember that place, but I don’t think I ever went there. You’re Giana, then?”
“Giana is my grandmother,” I explain. “She handed the bakery down to me when she retired last year.” Then I stick my hand out toward them. “I’m Amelia Hughes. I live right next door.”
First, she shakes my hand. Then he does.
“I’m Pamela. This is my husband, Roger.” She smiles widely at me. “Our son started moving in two days ago. We’re just here to help, though I’m not sure how much help we are.” Her laugh is a light lilt, and I imagine her being a great mother. “I think he’s ready for us to go.”
I return the gesture, unable to do anything else. “It’s nice to meet you both. I hope you settle in well.” Then I turn to leave again, but that doesn’t feel very neighborly. I didn’t know whoever used to live here, so maybe I should get to know them. “Do you need any help with anything?”
If Gerald and Cass want me to take some time off, maybe this would be a good enough reason. It’s not love, but it’s something.
“Oh, thanks for the offer,” Roger says, “but our kids seem to have it handled just fine.” He flashes me a grin. “Do you have any children? Our daughter could use a friend or two.”
“Oh, I don’t,” I say. “It’s just me over there.” I point to my house like they don’t know where I’m talking about and feel like an idiot.
My sister was right. I need to get out there more. Dating probably isn’t the answer, seeing as I’m a fumbling doofus right now. But, for now, I should at least try to do something outside of baking. That’s a good idea.
Luckily, I’m saved from more mumbling when a girl comes down the stairs. She approaches the door, a phone in her hand and a pout on her face. She looks to be in high school, and I wonder if she’s the daughter they were talking about. Do I look like I’d have a daughter her age? Oh god. How much has working this hard affected me if I look—
“I didn’t get the job with Jenna,” she says, a sadness tingeing her tone.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Pamela puts her arm out to hug her daughter. “There will be other jobs,” she says as she squeezes her daughter to her.
“I know, but I can’t stay here if I don’t find one, and I want to stay so bad.” She wipes a tear from her eye as her father puts a hand on her back.
“Have you applied to more?” he asks. “The more you apply to, the more chances you have.”
“I’m trying, Dad. I swear.” She unwinds from her mom and backs up from her dad, noticing me for the first time. “Did I interrupt something?”
I shake my head but find no words. Luckily, her mom easily picks up where I can’t.
“This is your brother’s neighbor, Amelia. She brought these”—she holds the box of muffins up—“over for us as a welcome gift.”
The girl takes the box from her mother and opens it. Then she gasps. “Chocolate chip muffins? These are my favorite!” She bites into one and moans, pressing the box closer to her chest. “Holy crap. I need all of these.”
A smile takes my face over. This is why I bake. That look on her face, that noise she made while eating my food, that desire for more—I bake for that. And I clearly made these for her. All of this makes so much sense now.
“Sorry,” she says around a mouthful of muffin. Then she swallows. “I’m moving in with my oldest brother for the summer, but only if I find a job. And seriously, these are the best muffins ever. They totally make up for not getting that other job.”
I give her a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then I add, “And I can teach you how to make those if you want.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really? That’d be awesome!”
I nod. “It’s pretty simple, but you have to promise not to tell. No one will buy them from me if they can make them at home so easily.” I scrunch my nose as I smile.
She cracks up. “People are lazy. They’ll definitely still buy from you when they’re this good.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I tell her. “And I hope you really do want to learn how to make them. I could use some help at the bakery, actually. So, if you need a job…” I twist my hands in front of me, nerves settling in now.
“Really?” Her eyebrows rise as she looks between me and her parents. “That’d be even more awesome!”
I laugh at her excitement. It’s really adorable. “As long as you’re old enough. It’d save me the trouble of ha
ving to interview and decide on a candidate… You’d be doing me a favor.”
She squeals and claps her hands the best she can with the box in her hand. Then she throws an arm around me. “Thank you! I can stay for the summer now!”
“Introduce yourself, Danielle.” Her mom nudges her with her elbow.
“Oh, sorry!” She passes the box back to her mother and brushes the crumbs from her hands. Then she reaches that hand out to me. “I’m Danielle. Sixteen and ready to work! Though my friends call me Dani.”
My heart stutters as I slide my hand into hers. She shakes my hand with purpose, strong and sure. And I’m almost jealous of her strength and confidence, but her nickname rocks me to my core instead. I’m overcome with memories and the fresh sting of old wounds still healing. She’s a female Dani, not a male Danny, but still. The name is enough to crush part of my spirit and drive me to end this encounter for now.
I take my hand back and step off the porch. “Nice to meet you, D-Danielle,” I stutter. “Come by at one tomorrow afternoon, okay? I’ll see you then.”
“Okay! Thanks!” she shouts as I speed away.
Her parents also send their thanks to my back, but I don’t turn around. I keep my head down, my gaze on the ground, and rush back to my house.
And plow right into a solid brick wall of a man who grabs my arms to hold me up.
He jerks me forward, up against his hard chest, and holds me to him. “Whoa,” he says in a deep, raspy voice, his chin on the top of my head. His grip on my arms doesn’t lessen though. And, if I’m not mistaken, he takes a deep breath.
I’m completely frozen in his arms. My lungs won’t pull any air in. Part of me is still stuck in the moment when Dani announced her name, awash with heartache and pain. It’s been years, but I still can’t seem to move past it. Yet a small bit of the heartache eases away while I’m in his arms and I’m able to take a small breath.
One that smells of clean man, cardboard, and hope.