The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice

by Donna Kauffman

  Preheat oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit.

  In a large bowl, beat together sugar and lard. Add milk, eggs, anise oil, salt, and baking powder. Mix well.

  Add flour, one cup at a time, until the dough is stiff. Roll out and cut into your favorite shapes.

  Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until lightly browned.

  ICING (OPTIONAL)

  2 cups powdered sugar

  1 tablespoon milk

  1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

  ¼ tsp vanilla extract

  Food coloring with your favorite Halloween colors (optional)

  Combine all ingredients. Stir in food coloring if desired.

  Annie cookies taste better as they age and are delicious dunked in coffee. Enjoy!

  Sweet on You

  KATE ANGELL

  To all the readers who find the

  Halloween magic in Moonbright, Maine!

  Dr. Angela Butts, my veterinarian.

  This novella is for you and your love of Halloween!

  Chapter 1

  “We’re breaking up. It’s not me, it’s you. Sorry.”

  “Me?” Lara Shaw choked on her almond cupcake with salted caramel buttercream frosting. She snatched a napkin from the vintage metal dispenser on the white café tabletop and wiped crumbs from her mouth and frosting from her chin. Swallowing proved difficult. She crushed the napkin in her fist. Gripped it tightly.

  She eyed her boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend, from across the table. They had dated for six months. She’d been happy and felt secure. Until that moment. Her stomach now sank. Knotted. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Janice Stanley-Stark happened,” Glen Meyers said.

  Lara blinked. Confused. “Janice? I don’t understand.”

  Glen was slow to explain. He stuffed half a powdered sugar cruller in his mouth. The big bite puffed powdered sugar onto his short red beard. At any other time she would have handed him a napkin. Been considerate and caring. Not so today. Not after his bombshell. The bakeshop was packed, and his public announcement had embarrassed her. She left him sugar-faced. Not a good look on him. Messy and sticky.

  He seemed to feel no compulsion to whisper. His words carried from the glassed pastry display case to the front door. “Look at Janice and look at you,” he said, comparing them. “She’s slender, gorgeous. You’re big, ordinary.”

  Big? His assessment was cruel. She was curvy and carried a few extra pounds. Ordinary? She had dark blond hair and hazel eyes. A natural complexion. Cosmetic free. She was comfortable with her looks. Even if Glen found her average.

  Janice, on the other hand, created a stir wherever she went. She drew male attention. Men looked at her, and she looked back. Guys tripped over their tongues to talk to her. She was as glossy as a photo in a fashion magazine. A male fantasy. She used her beauty to tempt and to entice. To turn guys on. To disrupt couples’ relationships.

  While men wanted to date Janice, women kept their distance. Her personality put them off. The lady was a shark attack. Pushy, pretentious, and used to getting her own way. She’d grown up with one goal in mind: to marry well, not necessarily for love, but for money and social standing.

  She’d left Moonbright the day she’d graduated from high school, moving to Bangor. Only to return years later when her grandmother’s health failed and the older woman was unable to live alone.

  Janice’s own parents lived on the west coast. They’d refused to return to Maine and the frigid winters. But her grandmother rejected the move to California. No sand or surf for her. Maine was her home state. She was staying.

  So Janice came home. What initially appeared a loving, selfless gesture eventually proved to have an ulterior motive. The older woman was well-off, and Janice led a cushy lifestyle. She was far from hands-on in attending to her grandma. Instead, she’d hired round-the-clock nursing care and a daytime companion. That left Janice a lot of free time. To meddle in other people’s lives. Husband hunting was her sport. She was good at it.

  Glen gobbled down the remainder of his cruller. A fresh dusting of sugar settled on his beard. “I’ve always wanted to date Janice,” he stated. “She’s finally agreed to go out with me.”

  The moment seemed surreal. Lara felt chilled. Numb. She drew the outer ribbed green cardigan on her sweater set over her matching turtleneck pullover and curled her shoulders protectively. “You asked Janice out while we were still dating?” she forced out.

  “We were never exclusive.”

  His words were confusing. Disappointing. Not what she wanted to hear. “I care for you, Glen. We’ve gotten along well.”

  “Not well enough.” He downplayed their relationship. “You’re boring. Our dates were dull. Same old. I’m into Janice now.”

  “She’s interested in you, too?” Seemed hard to believe.

  “I’m a catch.”

  Not quite the catch of Janice’s previous Bangor husbands. Twice divorced, she’d parted ways with both an orthopedist and an oral surgeon. Glen’s family owned the local lumberyard. They were solid, community-minded New Englanders. He was an only child. Janice was calculating. Perhaps she saw him as a third husband. Marriage, divorce, alimony seemed a game to her.

  Lara sighed. He had blindsided her. She’d yet to fully wrap her head around their breakup. “I can’t believe we’re over.”

  “Over and done.”

  “Glen . . .”

  “Don’t beg,” he hissed between his teeth.

  Their exchange drew attention. Moonbright was a small town. People seated at nearby tables quieted and openly eavesdropped on their conversation. Her personal business quickly became public knowledge. Men raised their eyebrows, showed concern. Women pursed their lips, commiserated with her. Their sympathy touched her. Lara drew deeper into herself. She wished she was invisible.

  Glen pushed back his chair, stood. “Got to go. I’m meeting Janice later for lunch. See you around.”

  He shoved in his chair with enough force to jar the table. The edge jabbed her in the middle. He left Lara and her half-eaten almond cupcake alone at the table. “A cupcake is happiness with frosting on top,” her mother used to say. Not so today. Sadness squeezed her heart.

  She attempted a small bite of the moist cupcake, now dry in her mouth and difficult to swallow. She felt sick to her stomach. She took a sip of her hazelnut latte. The flavored coffee was still warm. A reminder that she’d only been in the bakeshop a short time. Fifteen minutes seemed like hours.

  Her body felt heavy, unresponsive; her feet lead weights. She didn’t have the energy to get up and go. Customers clustered before the display case, their eyes wide and their mouths watering, as they chose their pastry selections. One pastry was never enough. Most of them walked out of the store with a large bakery box. Tables were in high demand. A few regulars glanced her way, anticipating her departure. She would leave soon enough, once she finished her latte and pulled herself together.

  “Morning, Lara,” her apartment manager greeted as he stopped by her table. Jay Ingram held a small pastry box in one hand and two coffees in a cardboard cup container in the other.

  She eyed the box and managed a smile. “Macaroons?” she guessed. His wife was pregnant and had a constant craving for the French cookies.

  He nodded. “There are so many flavors. Yesterday Holly requested strawberry cheesecake, today lavender coconut. No telling about tomorrow.” His smile slipped slightly, and he grew serious. “Glad I caught you.”

  Caught you sounded ominous. Rather unsettling. “I’m not late on the rent,” she was quick to say. She had another week before it was due. Along with a three-day grace period.

  “You’re a good tenant,” he told her. “Unfortunately with a baby on the way, life got a whole lot more expensive. I need to raise the rent. To make ends meet.”

  More bad news. Glen had dumped her, and now a hike in her rent. “How much higher?” she hated to ask. Her apartment in the two-story brick building was small,
a one-bedroom, located three blocks from the business district. She didn’t have a traditional lease. She rented month by month. She didn’t own a car. There was no need. She could walk to work. Easily. Even in winter. However twenty-five extra dollars would stretch her thin. She couldn’t go much more than that.

  “Sixty bucks,” Jay said. “I have to look out for my family.”

  Her face fell. Pressure built in her chest. “I can’t swing that amount.”

  “I’d hate to see you go. You’ve been a quiet, considerate renter. Try and find a way to stay,” he encouraged.

  “How long before I’d have to move?” Apartment hunting would be a nightmare.

  “Two weeks.”

  Two weeks would put her on the street by Halloween. She lived paycheck to paycheck. Most rentals wanted a first, last, and security deposit. Which she did not have. “I’ll let you know shortly,” she promised.

  He patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll wait to hear from you, then. The sooner the better.” He and his box of macaroons took off.

  Lara dropped the napkin she’d been clutching. Her sweaty palm left the paper as wilted and shredded as her life. She had a lot to think about. She presently worked a thirty-hour week at Keepsake Antiques. She loved her job. The past was more appealing than her present. She’d recently asked her boss for more hours, even though business was slow. He’d hinted that her employment was only secure through the Christmas holidays. He couldn’t guarantee her a job after the first of the year.

  She faced a triple ego blow. Harsh setbacks and let-downs. This wasn’t her day. She wanted to go back to bed and sleep the day away. However tomorrow might not be much better.

  The crowd had thinned, and she stared out the wide front window. Sunshine winked, casting a false warmth. Temperatures played in the forties. There was no sign of snow in the long-range forecast. A blessing. Snowplows wouldn’t have to clear Pumpkin Lane for the October parade. Parents wouldn’t have to shovel sidewalks. Children wouldn’t have to fit their costumes over their snowsuits. There’d be no red noses or chattering teeth.

  The entire town would turn out for Pumpkins, Scarecrows, and Costumes, oh my! Moonbright’s Halloween-themed parade and all the attendant festivities. The town laid claim to the largest pumpkin patch in the state of Maine. Located on the outskirts of the village, the acreage produced palm-sized to 400-pound pumpkins. Designated paths wound through the fields like a maze. Locals and tourists alike bought pumpkins to carve, then display. Both grinning and grumpy-faced jack-o’-lanterns would line the parade route. The procession was family-friendly fun and a sight to behold.

  Lara drew a deep breath. She still felt weak in the knees but slightly more composed. She mentally counted twenty steps to the front door. She had a clear path. For the moment. She could leave without speaking to anyone or reliving her embarrassment.

  She took a last sip of her latte, now cold, and collected her dignity along with her uneaten cupcake. She was focused on the door when it suddenly swung wide and a rush of customers entered. She recognized the courthouse crowd. Mayor Jack Hanson and several of his staff took their daily coffee breaks at Bellaluna’s. He treated his employees well. They spoke highly of him. He was a generous man, honest and approachable.

  He was also young, elected to office at thirty-five. Moonbright born and bred, Jack understood the strengths and positive aspects of a small town. He valued his heritage. No other candidate had come close to his political platform. He’d appealed to both the youthful and older voter. Stability mattered to his supporters. He wasn’t out to make major changes or shake up the community and economy. What worked now would work in the future. He’d given his word.

  He was impressive, Lara thought. Handsome and intelligent. It was casual Friday at the courthouse. Personnel had dressed down. Sweatshirts and jeans. Jack sported a University of Maine Black Bears zippered hoodie and Levi’s. She watched as he greeted his constituents. He called each one by name, shook hands, and smiled. Nothing cheesy. He was sincere. People gravitated to him. His staffers had ordered and taken seats by the time he reached the counter. The majority of the chairs were occupied. All but the empty one at Lara’s table. Jack spent several minutes speaking with Sofia Bellaluna, the amazing baker who owned and ran the shop with her granddaughter.

  Lara studied the mayor. She and Jack knew each other in passing. He’d been two years older than her in school. A hockey jock. The play on the rink was always fast-paced and physical. Back then, she and half the girls at Moonbright High had a crush on him. She had sat in the stands at the outdoor ice rink and watched every one of his games. All red and runny-nosed in the freezing cold, even with her hooded down parka, Joan of Artic boots, and thermal gloves. She’d been one of few fans to last the entire game. She’d worried about her butt freezing to the bleachers.

  To him, however, she was no more than a face in the crowd. There’d been far prettier faces cheering him on. He’d had his fair share of dates, but no serious relationships. It was rumored over the years that two women had asked him to marry them. No ring on his finger. Apparently he’d declined and was still single.

  “Mind if I join you, Lara?”

  She startled. She’d been lost in the past and hadn’t noticed Jack approach. He curved one big hand over the back of the empty chair and politely remained standing, awaiting her reply.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “No need to leave on my account.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me. I wouldn’t be very good company.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  He sat before she could rise. He scooted his chair over to her like an old friend. He surprised her with a fresh cup of coffee and a small china plate of Italian cookies. A considerate gesture. She stared at the treats. The delicate cake-like cookies were glazed with icing and topped with colorful candy sprinkles. Sparkling sprinkles. They looked delicious. Almost too pretty to eat.

  Lara thought back on her earlier arrival. “I don’t remember seeing them in the display case,” she said. They would’ve been her first choice.

  “Sofia offered them as a special treat,” Jack told her. “She noted you looked sad, and hoped the cookies would cheer you up.”

  How thoughtful of Sofia. “It’s been a rough morning.” She wondered if the bakeshop gossip had reached the street, then jaywalked to the courthouse.

  “How so?” he asked, seemingly unaware.

  “You haven’t already heard?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t listen to gossip.”

  Good to know. The grapevine account would be long and detailed. Embellished. She gave him the condensed version. “I was dumped by my boyfriend, had my rent raised, and my future employment is in jeopardy.”

  He gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot to handle before noon.”

  She silently agreed. Life weighed heavily on her shoulders. He sipped his black coffee while she selected a pumpkin spice creamer from a decorative ceramic bowl. She added one to her cup. The scent rose on the steam. Pumpkin and fall.

  Jack soon picked up a cookie, took a bite. One corner of his mouth tipped when he said, “Best ever.”

  She watched him eat. This man with the dark hair and eyes and strong bone structure. A hockey scar marred his forehead, but it didn’t detract from his looks. If anything, it made him appear more rugged. Edgy. She’d been at the high school game that cost him forty stitches. An unforgettable memory.

  Two rival teams had faced off that November afternoon. The score was tied one-one in the third period. Sixty seconds remained when the high-pressure offense crashed the net. Center and team captain, Jack had skated full steam into the goalie’s space, maneuvering the puck with skilled precision. Only to be cross-checked by a defenseman. A dangerous, illegal, penalized move. The hit was so hard that Jack crashed to the ice. He lost his helmet and hit his head on the goalie cage, yet the ace stick handler had miraculously scored the goal. A fierce effort and an astonishing win.

  Cheers had ris
en, then quickly died. Fear compressed the crowd. Jack lay facedown on the ice. Bleeding and unmoving. Emergency medical personnel placed him on a stretcher and transferred him by ambulance to Memorial Hospital. Classmates kept vigil in the waiting room and hallway. He’d remained two days for observation. A brain scan cleared him of head injury. His blurry vision sharpened. Three weeks, and he was back on the ice, as formidable as ever.

  “You’re staring at my Frankenstein scar.”

  Her cheeks heated. There was no getting around her stare. She’d hurt for him. Soul-deep. His scar was a stark reminder of his commitment to the game. His leadership had taken the team to a state championship. One of Moonbright’s proudest moments.

  “No more neck bolts,” he said tongue in cheek.

  He had a sense of humor. Jack had worn a neck brace for a short time. Thick Velcro, no bolts. “I was remembering the game that led to your stitches,” she said honestly. “Hearts stopped in the stands that night you were injured.”

  “Did yours?”

  “Are you asking if I was at the game?”

  “I’m aware you were there.”

  “How would you know?” She’d sat on the top bleacher, where she was slapped by a northerly wind. She’d layered her clothing and wrapped herself in a blanket. She’d been a pile of Sherpa and wool with two eyes peering out. Hardly recognizable.

  “Trust me, athletes know who supports them. Which fans are loyal, which are fair weather.” He ate a second Italian cookie, then nudged the plate toward her. The rim brushed her thumb. “You’d better have one before I eat all four.”

  She made her selection and enjoyed the sweet treat. Then ate a second cookie. Both melted in her mouth. The rainbow sprinkles tasted of hopes and dreams and sugary goodness. She dusted the crumbs off her fingers, followed with a sip of her pumpkin spice–laced coffee.

  Moments of silence passed, and her mood slowly shifted. For the better. Her breathing eased. The knot in her stomach loosened. She no longer felt sad or defeated. A dose of the mayor had done wonders. She managed a small smile. “Thank you for the coffee and cookies.”