The Café between Pumpkin and Pie

by Marina Adair

  Nick had left the card the other day. On the semigloss stock was the Rossi Construction logo and a picture of Nick. It wasn’t the greatest photo—truth be told, it looked more like a mug shot. But it was Nick just the same.

  When she put the card back on the counter the image in the toaster reappeared. “Aha, not the legend. Just a simple reflection of a picture. Sorry, Gram.”

  She buttered her toast and ate at the kitchen table, listening to the fierce wind blow outside.

  * * *

  Monday morning, Syd surveyed the leftover Halloween candy. Most of the good stuff was gone, which was a blessing even though a Snickers with a cup of coffee would’ve revved her engine right about now. Even one of those mini Paydays. But the little scavengers had wiped her out.

  She settled for a healthy plate of eggs and polished off the rest of her ciabatta toast while baking a pumpkin bread. If she had time today, she’d work on perfecting a new recipe for maple scones she’d been mulling. First, though, she had an appointment with Moonbright’s premiere Realtor. Dot James was a Mainer through and through, who’d made a killing selling New England real estate.

  She drove a 1979 International Harvester Scout that looked as if it had survived a nuclear holocaust, and her wardrobe resembled an L. L. Bean catalog, circa 1951. Her signature was a dun-colored man’s wool fedora. People either loved or hated her. But if you had a house to sell, Dot was your agent.

  She’d agreed to come to the house and give Syd a quick lesson on what and what not to do when selling a house in Moonbright. Dot had been Nick’s idea, and he was coming too.

  As soon as Syd finished breakfast, she hit the shower and took a little extra time with her makeup. For Dot, she told herself. She hadn’t seen the woman in years and wanted to make a good impression. “Who are you trying to fool?” she asked herself in the mirror.

  Her phone rang and she raced into the bedroom, nearly tripping over her towel. One look at caller ID and she let it go to voicemail. This was the fourth or fifth time Gage had tried to call her. Whatever it was, it could wait. She had no desire to talk to her ex. In fact, she had hoped never to talk to him again.

  She had just changed for the fourth time when the doorbell rang. Show time. Syd dashed down the stairs to find Dot pulling weeds in the front yard.

  “Gram’s gardener is coming next week,” she said, embarrassed that she hadn’t seen to the garden since the funeral. But it was getting cold and soon the landscape would be covered in a blanket of snow.

  Dot straightened, putting one hand at the small of her back and using the other to shield her eyes from the glare of the morning sun. “Well, look at you. The spitting image of Stella. Last time I saw you, you were an ugly thing. Gaumy as a toddler.”

  Syd wasn’t sure whether she’d been complimented or insulted. “Thanks for coming,” I think. “Nick should be here any minute.”

  “Let’s get started without him. I’ve got to be in Bangah in two hours.” She climbed the porch stairs and assessed the front door. “Paint this red. Buyers think it’s a lucky color.”

  While Syd scrawled “red door” in her notebook, Nick’s pickup slid up the driveway. He parked next to Dot’s Scout and hopped out. Syd had never been much for men in plaid woolen shirts, but call her converted. The flannel stretched across his broad chest, and a crisp white T-shirt peeked out of his collar. His hair was damp as if he’d just jumped out of the shower, and his face was clean-shaven.

  “Mornin’.”

  “Mornin’,” Dot called back.

  “Dot thinks I should paint the door red.”

  He nodded and joined them on the porch.

  “The rest of this looks fine,” Dot said, assessing the railing posts. “Maybe freshen up the trim with a coat of paint.”

  She let herself inside the house. And for the next thirty minutes they tailed her from room to room as she called off a long list of repairs and renovations that would make the house more appealing to buyers.

  “We’ll want to stage it,” she said. “Put Stella’s stuff down cel-lah. Put all your focus on the bathrooms and kitchen, though. That’s where the return is.”

  Dot crossed the kitchen to the mudroom and stared out the window at the refuse pile next to the carriage house. “What’s that mess?”

  Syd caught Nick’s eye and shot him a look, then turned to Dot. “Before my grandmother died, she hired Nick to put in a commercial kitchen. How well do you think that’ll go over with prospective buyers?” She couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her voice.

  Dot let herself out and headed to the carriage house, where she examined the outbuilding, a mini replica of the Victorian. “I wouldn’t put it on the market until it’s done. The month before Thanksgiving is dead anyway.”

  Syd followed her. “But . . . a commercial kitchen . . . won’t that be weird?”

  Dot shrugged. “If the new owners don’t like it, they can pull it out.” She climbed over the construction debris in her duck boots. “Add a bathroom in here.”

  Great. Just what Syd needed, more construction. “Is it really worth the headache?”

  “That and then some,” Dot said with authority. “Moonbright’s wicked popular. All those Portlandahs looking to get out of the rat race. A nice family will scoop this right up.” She went back outside and stared up at the big house. “But to maximize the price you need to put the work in. Update it without stripping out the charm.”

  Nick, who had tagged along, gave Syd an I told you so nudge. Five weeks of Nick Rossi. Ugh.

  Dot finished her assessment of the house and its selling potential and drove off in her ancient Scout for Bangor—or Bangah—leaving a cloud of exhaust behind her.

  “You want a cup of coffee before you start?” Syd asked Nick. She’d brewed a fresh pot and it would be small of her not to offer.

  “I could use one, yeah.”

  They went inside the kitchen, where she served him a piping-hot cup at Gram’s little kitchen table along with a large slice of the pumpkin bread she’d made that morning.

  “Mmm, good,” he said around a full mouth. “You make this?”

  “Yep.”

  “Best pumpkin bread I’ve ever had.” He took another bite, washing it down with a sip of coffee.

  She liked watching a man with a healthy appetite eat. The fact was she liked watching Nick eat. The way he chowed down her pumpkin loaf with unabashed gusto was hot. But given the way he’d once burned her, it wasn’t wise to like anything about the man, she reminded herself.

  Syd leaned against the counter. “Based on Dot’s recommendations I suppose we should add a bathroom to the commercial kitchen.” She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it. “And what about the other stuff on her list?” As long as Nick was here for the carriage house conversion, she might as well have him do the rest of the work.

  “I’ll have to do some juggling and check with my brothers about their crews. We’ve got a lot of jobs going and are a little shorthanded on workers. But if all the stars align, yeah, I can do that too.” He eyed the rest of the pumpkin bread like a dog would a juicy bone.

  She served him another large slice and topped off his coffee. “I’ll need a bid and a contract, of course.” Every dime she had was going into her new bakery. Still, being a good shepherd of Gram’s pride and joy before passing the house on to the next family was important to her.

  “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Let’s make sure I have the resources to even do it. In the meantime, let’s walk through the carriage house and see about this bathroom.”

  He finished the last crumb of bread and drained the rest of his coffee, surprising her by taking his dishes to the sink, rinsing them, and putting them in the dishwasher. Gage never dreamed of getting off his ass to do something someone else would do for him.

  She grabbed a jacket off a hook in the mudroom, and they walked together to the carriage house, where Nick proceeded to inspect the plumbing of the old farm sink where Gram used to wash her paintbrushes.r />
  “I’m thinking we use this corner here.” He pointed to the back of the room. “The sink for the kitchen will stay where this one is. But if I don’t have to take the new plumbing too far, it’ll save you money and me time.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You want a shower too?” He started pacing off the area, seemingly calculating how much square footage he’d need.

  “I don’t know. I guess I should’ve asked Dot. What do you think?”

  “It should be easy enough as long as we don’t do anything fancy like tile or frameless glass doors. I’m thinking one of those fiberglass deals, a curtain rod, and call it a day.”

  “Okay.” She nudged her head at the sink. “Can we repurpose that?” The cast-iron sink would forever remind her of her grandmother. Syd thought Stella would have wanted it to stay with the house.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s all doable.”

  “Exactly what I like to hear.” For all his other faults, he was the most amenable contractor she’d ever worked with. The construction company that had done her build-out at Bread & Cie had given her every excuse in the world why they couldn’t accomplish what seemed to her fairly simple tasks.

  The building’s too old.... That’ll cost you an arm and a leg.... Lady, are you out of your mind?

  But with Nick everything was possible.

  * * *

  Nick grabbed a sandwich at the Corner Café and was headed to the office to look at the schedule and work up a bid for Syd. The woman was wound tighter than a spool of thread. Most of the time, he gave his clients a simple time and materials bid and they sealed the deal with a handshake. But Syd had made it clear she wanted something in writing, which meant more paperwork for him.

  He turned the corner on Juniper Street, where more than a decade ago his old man had bought a small building to house Rossi Construction. Nick had converted one of the back rooms into office space and a conference room. It was nothing fancy. But it was more professional than meeting prospective clients at his house.

  He’d had a sign made, hoping it gave the company a little more presence in town. While the old-timers knew Nick and his brothers were here, Moonbright was seeing an influx of newcomers or, as Mainers liked to say, folks “from away.”

  He pulled into the alley, parked, and ducked under the partially opened roll-up door. Sal was sitting in the office with his feet on Nick’s desk, eating a bowl of chowder.

  “Where’d you get that?” Nick prodded his chin at Sal’s soup. It smelled good.

  “Rory made it to warm the kids up after trick-or-treating. I’d share with you, but I’m a stingy bastard.”

  Nick swiped Sal’s feet off the desk and pulled up a chair. “I got an Italian at the café.”

  “You getting the Byrne place knocked out?”

  “Yeah. Syd wants to hire us to spruce up the Victorian too.”

  Sal let out a low whistle. “The woman can’t make up her mind, can she?”

  “I think she’s resigned to the kitchen now. Dot came over and gave her a laundry list of minor renovations that should be done before she puts the house on the market.”

  “We’ve got ’em stacked up.” Sal sighed.

  “Yep. But we’re there anyway, seems foolish to turn the business away.”

  Sal hitched his shoulders. “I don’t know. Between the Thompsons’ new garage and the Michauds’ second-story addition, we’re stretched thin. That’s not to mention the kitchens and bathrooms we’ve promised to our other clients before the holidays.”

  “I know,” Nick said, still trying to figure out why he was letting Syd’s job take priority over clients who were at the front of the line. Ah, he knew damned well why. Pretty face gets the space, which was bullshit and unevolved on his part.

  “What, you got a thing for Sydney Byrne?” For a giant lug, Sal was smarter than he looked. “I remember a time when you wouldn’t give her a second look. Though there were those rumors.” He waggled his brows. “Wasn’t she madly in love with you?”

  “No, she wasn’t. And that was like a hundred years ago, so grow up.”

  “Testy, aren’t you?

  “It’s for Stella,” Nick said. “She loved that old house. The least I can do is bring it back to its former glory.”

  “Ayuh, but why can’t it wait until January?”

  “Because we’re already there. It doesn’t make sense to do the kitchen, leave, and come back again. If it makes you feel better, I’ll do most of the work myself and leave the crew to our other obligations.”

  “That’s mighty generous of you, big brother.” Sal went back to his chowder.

  Nick unwrapped his sandwich and took a big bite. Despite the pumpkin bread and coffee he’d had at Syd’s, he was starved.

  “You see Jen?” Sal asked. “I saw her this morning at Bella-luna’s. She was trying to get in touch with you.”

  That was news to Nick. He hadn’t gotten a call or text from her. The truth was he was hoping to avoid her visit altogether. “She say how long she was staying?” After the breakup, she’d taken a job in Manhattan and moved in with two of her friends in a fancy high-rise with a doorman.

  “Nope.” Sal pushed his bowl away. “Just that she wanted to say hi.” He poked Nick in the arm. “You two will be back together by New Year’s Eve.”

  No, they wouldn’t, despite what his family and the rest of Moonbright thought. No one puts off a wedding for ten years unless they don’t really want to get married. Unfortunately, it had taken a decade for Jen and him to figure that out. A lot of lost time.

  “How’s the Thompsons’ garage coming?” Anything to change the subject.

  “Good.” Sal nodded. “We’re rushing to button it up before the first storm hits.”

  Sal washed out his bowl at the makeshift kitchenette. Tino, their baby brother, strolled in, holding a lunch box.

  “A family reunion, huh?” he joked. Rarely were they all in the same place at the same time, unless it was Sunday supper at their parents’.

  “As much as I’d love to catch up with you, Tino, I’ve got a garage to build.” Sal gave Tino a noogie and headed out.

  “What about you?” Tino asked Nick.

  Nick held up what was left of his sandwich. “I got five more minutes; then I have to get back to the job site.”

  “Stella’s kitchen, right? Marty saw you and Sydney Byrne at the Corner Café after the parade. Said you looked real cozy. Didn’t you two have a thing in high school?”

  Here we go again. “Nope. She was my math tutor. That’s it.”

  “Not what I heard, but whatever. According to Marty, she’s smokin’ hot.”

  “Isn’t Marty married?” The guy had been Tino’s best friend since the fourth grade. Last Nick had heard, Marty had tied the knot with a waitress from Hampden.

  “Divorced.” Tino stuck a frozen lasagna in the microwave.

  Well, that hadn’t lasted long.

  Nick tossed the wrapper from his sandwich in the trash and ducked into the head to wash his hands. He didn’t have all day to shoot the shit with his brother. Like their father always said, “daylight was burning.”

  Nick grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. The temperature was getting colder. The previous night he’d had to double up on blankets.

  “You’re on your own,” he called to his brother as he crouched under the roll-up door. “Stay out of trouble.”

  He’d just climbed into his truck when his phone chimed with a text. All he needed was another fire to put out. These days he spent more time hunting down materials that had gone MIA or making emergency trips to the lumber store than he did actually building anything. Sometimes it sucked being the boss.

  He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, glanced at the message, and grimaced. Jen. She wanted to meet for drinks, which he had no interest in doing. Nick sat in the cab of his truck, contemplating his options. None of them good. If he said he couldn’t meet with her, she’d find a way to corr
al him at his house and they’d be there all night, most likely fighting. At least in a public place he could have one drink, claim exhaustion, and leave. It was the safest bet.

  He quickly tapped out a message that he’d meet her at seven at the usual place and hit the send key. Shit. Nick banged his head against the steering wheel a couple times, then got on the road back to Maple Street. He hoped, if he kept his head down and focused on work, he could avoid a certain brunette.

  No such luck. Syd was in the driveway, getting out of her rental car, wrestling with an armful of grocery bags.

  He exited his truck and blew out a breath. “You need help with those?”

  “There’s two more in the trunk if you wouldn’t mind.”

  He grabbed them and followed her through the mudroom into the kitchen, trying to avert his eyes from the sway of her ass. “You planning on doing some cooking?” The bags were heavy and appeared to be filled with baking supplies.

  She began unpacking flour and yeast from the sacks. “I’m testing a few recipes.”

  He considered volunteering to be her taster, but that sort of defeated the purpose of keeping his distance.

  “When do the new appliances come?” she asked. “I’d love to get my hands on that commercial convection oven. It’s similar to the one I have at Bread and Cie.”

  “Appliances are usually saved for the tail end of the job.”

  “Any chance of installing them early,” she asked, but the inflection in her voice told Nick it was more of a demand than a question.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” She stopped putting away her ingredients and stood with her arms crossed.

  “Because it’s not the way I roll.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That it’s a construction site and I don’t want to risk damaging a twelve-thousand-dollar oven while putting up drywall and cabinets.”

  “I’ll take the risk,” she said.

  He leaned against the wall, trying to hide his annoyance. “Fine. But if anything happens to the ovens, I’m not eating the cost.”