by Meg Muldoon
While Laila did some more giggling, Kara dug into the pie, shoving a large heap of it into her mouth. She closed her eyes as she chewed, an expression of pure bliss on her face.
“My goodness, Cin. You’ve outdone yourself with this one,” she said, shaking her head. “No wonder they’re lining up outside your shop like hungry zombies. This is ridiculous.”
I smiled, touched by the compliment.
“Best not joke about hungry zombies,” I said. “I’ve been having nightmares about them rioting in my pie shop.”
Kara laughed, breaking off another large piece and inhaling it.
“You know, today we ran out of pie at 1 p.m.,” I said, nibbling at the slice on my plate – the oranges were exceptionally sweet today. “If it keeps up at this pace, we’ll be closing before noon tomorrow.”
“Seems to me you need to get some more employees and maybe expand the shop,” Kara said, finishing off the last of her piece.
She reached out and cut herself another slice.
“You think?” I said.
She nodded.
“That, and maybe a second location somewhere else.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Aw, c’mon,” she said. “Don’t tell me that thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”
It had, in a distant, abstract kind of way. Like any bakery owner or restaurateur would, I had dreamed of my establishment becoming so popular, that something like that would be necessary. But I guess I had never believed I’d actually reach that point in real life.
I shrugged.
“To be honest, I’m just trying to survive one day at a time right now,” I said.
“Well, you should do some thinking about it, hon. You know, if you opened up a location in Portland, I bet you would kill it. All those indie hipsters over there would go nuts for your pies.”
I shrugged again.
“It might be kind of risky,” I said. “Plenty of places fail when they try to expand.”
“You should strike while the iron’s hot. Go big or go home. Start thinking bigger for yourself, Cin.”
I furrowed my brow.
“You don’t think I think big enough for myself?” I said.
She looked up from her empty plate and held up her hands.
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “I just think that this right here, this pie you make? It’s a freakin’ work of art. You have a gift, Cin. Why wouldn’t you try and get this out to as many people as you could?”
She got up from her chair and started making up a fresh pot of coffee at the kitchen counter.
“I’m just saying,” she continued. “If I was in your shoes and didn’t have any familial obligations, and I had a talent like yours, there’s not a thing I wouldn’t do to get out there and make it as big as possible.”
She sighed.
I wondered if Kara’s encouragements weren’t a reflection of her feelings about her own business. Since having Laila, Kara had hired a couple more employees at her ornament shop to cover for her during maternity leave. I knew that being the smart, dedicated business woman that she was, it was probably a little difficult for her to relinquish control of her shop like that, even if it was just for a few months.
“That’s what I think anyway, Cin. But maybe I’ve just been watching too much Shark Tank,” she said, looking back at me and smiling. “Laila’s a big fan of that show. She absolutely loves Robert, but I tell you, she’s not too keen on Mr. Wonderful. The other night, she threw that stuffed elephant you gave her at the TV when he came on.”
I laughed, looking back at Laila.
Kara might have had to sacrifice some parts of her business these days to be a mother.
But from where I sat, Laila was every bit worth it.
We spent the rest of the afternoon catching up over coffee, with Laila letting out occasional fits of shrieking until Kara finally rocked her to sleep. .
By the time I had to get going to the baseball game, Kara had burnt herself out on talk and coffee and pie, and had fallen asleep in the living room’s rocking chair.
And there wasn’t but a small sliver of Orange Creamsicle Pie left in the tray.
Chapter 12
“Ball one!”
It was the bottom of the fifth and the Pohly County Sheriff’s Department Lawmen were up by two against the Christmas River Police Department Wildcats in the annual fundraiser showdown.
Much of that lead had to do with the Lawmen’s pitcher, who had caught two impossible-to-catch fly balls and a low grounder to keep the Wildcats from tying the game.
Though how Daniel Brightman was able to pitch so well on just a few hours of sleep was a mystery to me. All I had to do was sit in the bleachers and cheer when the Sheriff’s Department scored, and I was practically falling asleep doing that.
Still, despite my fatigue, I was enjoying myself. It was hard not to on such a lovely evening. Meadow Diamond Park was situated right alongside the rushing Christmas River. It was bordered with aspens and cottonwoods that kept the field cool, even on hot days like today. Muted orange sunlight filtered through the leaves rustling in the wind, and I felt calm and peaceful sitting there, watching the boys of summer play.
Plus, having Huckleberry and Chadwick sitting at my feet, and having good old Warren sitting beside me eating from a bag of roasted peanuts was just icing on the cake.
“Aw, c’mon, you call that a ball, Harold? You must be starting to lose your sight, my friend. No way was that a ball,” Warren grumbled.
Harold turned around and gave Warren a sour face before returning his focus to the game. Harold, who was The Pine Needle Tavern’s bartender, had been recruited to umpire the annual Christmas River Law Enforcement Ballgame Fundraiser because many, many years ago, he had once played shortstop for Portland’s minor league baseball team. Though it had become quickly apparent an inning into the charity game that Harold’s supposed skills as a player didn’t exactly translate to being a good ump.
“Ball Two!” Harold shouted as Daniel let fly another perfect strike.
Warren jumped to his feet and looked like one of those major league managers about to blow his top and get himself thrown out of the game.
“What a bunch of hogwas…” Warren started saying, but stopped himself suddenly as something in the parking lot caught his attention.
I followed his gaze and saw that Aileen had just pulled up in the used flatbed truck Warren had bought her back in January after she’d decided to leave Scotland and move to Christmas River with him.
Warren sank back down onto the bleacher like a busted Jack-in-the-Box.
I leaned back, smiling to myself.
“And what’s so funny?” he said, noticing.
I shrugged.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just something about the way you sank back down in your seat when you saw Aileen pull up. Trying to show her that you’re on your best behavior. Don’t you think she already knows who she ran away with by now?”
Warren tossed a couple of peanut shells in my direction.
“Pish-posh, Cinny Bee,” he said. “I’m the most well-behaved man this side of the Christmas River.”
“I guess that’s relative to who’s standing on the opposite bank.”
Daniel threw a ball that looked more like ball three, but thanks to Harold’s poor judgement, was declared a strike. That strike was quickly followed with another, bringing the count to 2 and 2.
“Anyway, Aileen knows exactly who she married, in case you’re wondering,” Warren said, watching her cross the parking lot. “She doesn’t mind if I get a little vocal at a baseball game.”
To some, Warren and Aileen’s relationship may have seemed like a whirlwind romance. They’d gotten eloped back in February out in Las Vegas after having known each other for only seven months. In fact, their decision to get married had been so sudden, we still hadn’t had a proper reception for the two of them. But despite the quickness of it all, they seemed like a perfect fit for each other. In a
ddition to being the most knowledgeable beer brewer Warren had ever met, Aileen was a woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Especially when it came to Warren himself – something I knew the old man pretended to be exasperated by, but something I also knew he secretly liked. He liked a woman who was feisty, and in that department, I got the feeling Aileen could give him all he could handle.
But Aileen was also down-to-earth, caring and loving. And when she looked at Warren, I could tell she was just as smitten with him as he was with her. She took good care of him too. She’d limited his beer intake – something he complained about to no end, but something that was good for his health nonetheless. She also had him exercising regularly and on a diet that was heavy on kale and spinach. Warren often accused her of conspiring to turn him into a rabbit. Aileen would just laugh in her deep Scottish brogue and tell him she’d always wanted a pet bunny.
The two of them loved each other deeply.
“Ball three!”
Mark Bellingham, the Christmas River police officer at bat, grinned brightly, knowing he was only one ball away from an easy walk down to first.
“Dammit, Harold,” I mumbled, mostly to myself.
The man had to be going blind to make that call.
Daniel ran up and muttered something to Deputy Owen McHale, who was acting as the Lawmen’s catcher, before heading back to the mound.
Then Daniel readjusted his cap, wiping away sweat from his matted hair. He stared straight ahead with a laser look of concentration that could have clear-cut a forest. He nodded at Owen, and then a second later, he let a fast and low ball fly at the batter.
It was too tempting for Bellingham. The young man fell for it hook, line and sinker, swinging hard, confident that it was headed for beyond the fence.
He hit nothing but air.
“You’re out!” Harold shouted.
I clapped wildly and started whistling. Daniel looked across at the crowd, finding me. He coolly tipped his cap, as if he’d orchestrated the entire sequence for maximum drama. The teams traded out positions, with Norma Welles, the Pohly County Sheriff’s Office dispatcher, first up at bat.
“I can’t say I know much about baseball,” Aileen said, coming over to our side of the bleachers. “But it seems to me that your husband’s mighty good at it.”
I smiled, and stood up to greet her. She hugged me back with a big, welcoming, motherly hug that couldn’t help but make a person feel good.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” I said, noticing she hadn’t come alone.
“Me as well. And I’m sorry to be late,” she said. “I was brewing some Pale Ale, and it took longer than expected, as those things tend to.”
I glanced behind Aileen and smiled my warmest, friendliest smile at the tall, awkward teen standing there.
“Hi there, Ian.”
The youth shifted nervously from one foot to another, meeting my stare for half a second before breaking it and looking away.
“Hi,” he said in a deep and heavily-accented voice.
“I’m glad to see you made it, too. We weren’t sure if you could.”
“Uh, yeah.”
Ian Watters, just barely 19, was the type of kid who scared little old ladies and made old men shake their heads and wonder what the world was coming to. Ian had a modified Mohawk that was died a shade of blood orange. He sported a nose piercing and an assortment of tattoos up and down his arms. Most days, he wore ripped-up jeans and old T-shirts with the names of 90s American alt-rock bands like Jane’s Addiction and the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
He was a kid who looked completely out of place in the small town of Christmas River.
But even though Ian had a somewhat aggressive exterior, it didn’t translate to his personality – or at least the little I’d seen of his personality, anyway. He was quiet, reserved, and reminded me of that old adage about still waters running deep. I’d only seen him smile once in the three weeks he’d been in Christmas River – it had been at a backyard barbecue at our house, after trying a slice of Blueberry Peach Pie. He’d displayed only a hint of a smile after tasting it, but it was the closest I’d seen him to looking happy.
In many ways, Aileen’s grandson reminded me a lot of myself at his age. A misfit of just about every sort, I had dyed my hair jet black, cut it short, and even had a few ill-placed piercings in my youth. Looking back, it was clear to me that my dark sense of fashion had been a reflection of the inner turmoil I’d gone through following my mother’s death.
I wondered if Ian didn’t have his own dark demons he was dealing with, though he had been pleasant enough since arriving in Christmas River. He’d spent much of his days at the brew house, helping Aileen and Warren get the pub ready. From what Warren had told me, Ian was a hard worker who never complained and said hardly anything for hours at a time. Warren said the kid seemed to inhabit a world all his own.
Aileen squeezed between me and Warren on the bleachers and gave the old man a big smooch on the lips. Meanwhile, Ian awkwardly took a seat at an empty space in the row behind us.
“So what did we miss?” Aileen asked.
“Not much,” Warren said. “Just an umpire who’s got himself a bad case of temporary vision loss. The Sheriff’s Department ought to be up by at least five by now, I’d reckon.”
“Well, I’m sure he’s just doing his best, love,” Aileen said.
“If that’s his best, then I’d like to see his worst,” Warren grumbled. “Couldn’t be much of a difference.”
“Now you’re just wittering on for no reason,” she said.
Aileen turned toward me, half-rolling her eyes.
She and Warren hadn’t been married all that long, but I suspected that Aileen had already heard plenty of grumbling from the old man.
“Cinnamon, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” she said.
I turned my attention toward her just as Billy Jasper swung and missed a sneaky curve ball.
“Sure thing.”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know how much your grandfather and I have appreciated all your help so far in building the brewery up.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “It’s been my pleasure to help out.”
Starting a brewery was something the old man had dreamed of for a long while. To see the excitement and sparkle in his eyes when he talked about Geronimo was thanks enough for me. Besides, I hadn’t put in that much time helping them out – just a couple hours when I could spare it to help move furniture or paint the walls. My biggest contribution was set for tomorrow, when I was going to help waitress the grand opening.
“Well, nonetheless, you’ve helped a great deal,” she said. “And I know you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t say if we were taking up too much of your time.”
“Aileen, it’s not a big dea—”
“Well, I was thinking,” she said, situating herself a little closer to me. “I know you’ve been short-handed at the pie shop lately. And I was wondering if you could use a little extra help, what with the Independence Day tomorrow.”
I smiled at the way she put a “the” in front of Independence Day.
“Well, to be honest, I could use a little extra help,” I said. “Things have been crazy at the pie shop lately. And I’ve been dragging my feet on hiring new employees.”
I shuddered silently, thinking about all those zombies that would be waiting outside the door tomorrow morning.
“Well, I’ve got a solution to that,” she said, glancing back at her grandson. “Ian here would be free to work in the morning. Mind you, he hasn’t ever worked in a pastry shop before. But he does have some experience. He was an assistant at a bakery for several months in Glasgow. And he’s a very hard worker when he puts his mind to it.”
I found myself surprised by the offer. And by the revelation that Ian had worked in a bakery. He had never mentioned it.
“That’s very kind,” I said. “But I’m sure Ian’s got better things to do than to work in a hot kitchen
all morning. He’s on vacation, isn’t he? Thank you, though, for the offer. I really do appreciate it.”
She placed a hand on my arm.
“No, we mean it, Cinnamon. It’d be good for Ian. And besides, he’d be really grateful for the opportunity. Wouldn’t you, lad?”
She glanced back at him, and I followed her stare, feeling slightly awkward about the whole thing.
Ian’s cheeks turned red, and he had trouble meeting my eyes again.
“Sure,” he said in such a low, quiet voice that at first, I didn’t hear him.
“Strike two!”
Billy had swung and missed a second time.
“You don’t have to,” I said to him. “Working in a pie shop isn’t exactly how I’d spend a vacation.”
“He’d love to,” Aileen interjected before Ian could say anything.
Ian nodded in agreement.
“Well, that’s very kind of you,” I finally said.
I still wasn’t quite comfortable with the notion, but if Ian wasn’t going to fight his grandmother on it, than neither was I.
“What time should he be there tomorrow morning?”
I shrugged.
“Eight would be fine,” I said.
“Eight it is then,” she said, glancing back at her grandson.
He didn’t say anything.
“Strike Three!”
“Oh, for the love of Kris Kringle, Harold!” Warren shouted, shooting up from his seat, pieces of honey roasted peanuts flying out of his mouth. “What kind of call was that!? If I didn’t know better, I’d—”
But the old man stopped mid-sentence, noticing Aileen staring at him with an amused, if not somewhat exasperated, expression on her face.
He glanced at her and smiled a giant, charming smile, then sat back down abruptly.
“Well, I suppose he’s just doing the best he can,” he mumbled.
She leaned over and kissed him on his wrinkled cheek.