The Sweetest Match

by Abby Tyler

  When she turned, the skirt of her dress flared out just a little, and he suddenly pictured her at a high school dance, twirling to take his arm as they circled the gym floor.

  As a teacher at the high school, he often chaperoned prom and the Harvest Dance, so these visions were easily kept fresh in his mind. But they hadn’t felt so personal until now. He realized he’d never quite gotten over Sandy Miller after her abrupt departure from their high school.

  She handed him the saucer, and for the briefest second their fingers brushed against each other. Andrew wasn’t surprised at the electric zing that coursed through him. He remembered feeling it before, and marveled that it could have this much power through another eighteen years.

  So much time lost since then.

  Of course, he’d seen her now and then in the intervening years. He’d taught her son Caden twice. Sandy hadn’t come to parent-teacher night, but she’d been at graduation.

  “Did you go to Caden’s football games?” he asked.

  Sandy sat back down behind the cake. “I did,” she said. “I like to sit up high so I can see the whole field.”

  And so no one would notice her, he’d bet. “I had him in class.”

  She picked up her brush again. “I’m sorry I never came to any meetings. He seemed to be doing well enough. I’m not one to interfere when it’s not necessary.”

  Andrew found it hard to meet her eyes. She seemed chagrined that she hadn’t been more involved with her son’s schooling, but he couldn’t blame her for turning her back on a town that had treated her so abominably when she had needed them most.

  “Well,” he said. “It sure is good to see you back around Applebottom.” He gestured toward the cake. “I think you’re going to be mighty popular.”

  She touched the brush to more petals. “I’ve been lucky. When that society column ran a picture, we started getting plenty of orders.”

  Her smile was shy and unassuming, and his heart tightened in his chest. He glanced quickly at her hands, pleased that there was no jewelry there. She had never married. What had she done all those years in the house in the woods? Did she still pine for Jerry Lavinski, the one that got away?

  He dropped his tea ball on the saucer and sipped from his steaming mug. Arnold might be annoyed at his tardiness, but he was glad for an excuse not to leave quite yet.

  “Can I take a closer look?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “Betty has me decorate them out here instead of in the back now. I’ve become a bit of a dog and pony show.”

  “It’s remarkable.”

  She wiped her brush free of pink dye, then switched to green to add shadow detail to the dainty leaves beneath one of the fairies. “I can really only do one of these a day.”

  “I love how it’s natural and magical at the same time,” he said. He had the urge to reach out and touch it, but it was a cake, not a sculpture, so of course he couldn’t do that.

  “They’re having a fairytale wedding. She’s arriving in one of those Cinderella pumpkin carriages.”

  “Sounds fancy. You took art with Mrs. Hutchins, didn’t you?”

  “I loved her classes. I wish I could’ve done more.” The last word cut off abruptly, as if she realized she was bringing up a sore point.

  “The current art teacher at the high school is great,” he said. “I hear she teaches a community class on Thursday nights.”

  “Does she?” Something sparked in Sandy at that, and Andrew smiled to himself that he was the one to bring that extra little bit of light in her eyes.

  “You should think about it. This canvas isn’t very permanent.”

  She laughed, and it was just about the best sound he’d heard in years.

  “It’s true. But I try to treat each cake as though it’s going to hang in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. That way I’m sure to do my best work, even though some two-year-old flower girl is probably going to stick her finger in it before the pictures.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. He’d forgotten, or perhaps never even knew, that Sandy had a sense of humor.

  Their eyes met over the cake, and it felt both as awkward, and as miraculous, as when they had locked gazes in their tender teen years.

  He watched her a little longer, until all the green petals were painted, and she picked up a squeeze tube to put on more. His mug grew empty, and he had no more excuses.

  “Well, I should let you get back to it.” He set down the mug and had taken two backward steps, when he suddenly remembered where he was. “Oh, I need to pay for this.”

  Betty whizzed through the back kitchen door, almost as if she had been waiting.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Betty said. “That was a thank-you for the book. You come back in a few days and fetch it, okay?”

  She kissed his cheek. That woman was up to something.

  But he didn’t care. She’d brought Sandy back to him.

  “Next time, I’ll order some sandwiches, too,” Andrew said. He took several more steps back, stopping abruptly when his backside hit the door. His face flushed.

  “I hope you come back here real soon,” Betty called with a wave.

  Andrew reluctantly turned to the door. He might look like a bull in a china shop, his tall frame on those dainty chairs, but he’d definitely be back.

  Chapter 3

  Betty still watched her.

  Sandy lifted her frosting brush to add pinpricks of fairy glitter to the cake, but found her hand shaking so hard that her aim wasn’t true.

  “Now, wasn’t that just the nicest visit,” Betty said. “We adore Andrew around here.”

  Sandy nodded, not trusting her voice.

  What did Betty think of that encounter? It definitely hadn’t gone like the others.

  Sandy’s cheeks grew warm at the thought of it. Did she care if Betty knew? If the town did?

  Sandy turned the cake carefully on its decorating wheel, suddenly remembering she had done it again, that morning, before she knew Betty’s plan. Evidence, right there in front of her.

  The words second chance were hidden in the swirls of the frosting, white on white. She took up a thicker brush, dabbed it in water, and carefully smoothed the letters out. There, gone.

  “You really going to Spain?” she asked Betty.

  “I might decide to travel in my old age,” Betty said. “Especially now that I have such perfect help to watch over my shop.”

  Sandy didn’t believe it for a minute, but she let it go.

  “I didn’t see Andrew much this summer,” Betty said. “But he often travels while school is out. It helps him teach history when he goes to the places that he’s talking about. I wonder if he longs for a companion.”

  Aha. Sandy kept her head down and added another layer of sparkle.

  So Andrew was a traveler. Sandy hadn’t been outside Applebottom since she was twelve years old. Her father had still been around then, and they had driven through the Ozarks down into Arkansas and stayed a couple nights in Eureka Springs, where there was a passion play at Easter. He’d taken off a year after that, leaving her to pick up the pieces with her brokenhearted mom.

  Her father had not shown up at her mother’s funeral five years ago. As far she knew, they’d still been married, but they had seen neither hide nor hair of him since he left. Maybe he was dead.

  She was acutely aware that she was all the family Caden had. Well, at least all who would claim him. She thought for just the briefest moment about Jerry Lavinski and all his illustrious family. Not that it did them any good. Maybe one day Caden would take one of those fancy DNA tests and figure out his father for himself. She couldn’t be faulted for his curiosity. She’d held up her end of the bargain.

  Betty strolled up to the table. “My girl, I think this is the prettiest one yet. We need to make sure we get some pictures for the Insta-telegram feed.”

  “You mean Instagram,” she said.

  Betty waved the words away. “Whatever it is. Every time you post a cake, we
get a dozen more people calling.”

  It was true. So was what she’d said to Andrew. These cakes had become everything to her since she’d taken the position with Betty. She was lucky.

  This job was a fresh start for her. She could come back into town, visit with people, even though some of them might not be worth their salt. She knew what had been said about her eighteen years ago, when she turned up pregnant without so much as a driver’s license to her name.

  But she couldn’t be bitter about it. Her cakes were popular, and her earnings were more than fair. On top of an hourly wage, Betty gave her a commission on each cake. She was doing just fine.

  And now Andrew had materialized at their door.

  Despite what he might’ve thought, she hadn’t singled him out as the only teacher whose school meetings Sandy hadn’t attended. While Caden was still around, she’d avoided talking to anyone who might make life harder for her son.

  Caden was thriving and popular, and the last thing she wanted to do was upset that delicate balance. Caden had enough baggage to carry, no father, no grandparents, no real legacy. He had done all right, and she was mighty proud of him. If he was the only thing she ever achieved in this lifetime, it would be enough.

  Except now she had this little slice of wonder of her own. She looked down at her cake. It truly was her best yet. What had Andrew called it? Both natural and magical.

  When she looked at it, she felt all the promise for happiness that could be found in the world. Like weddings. Like family. Like love.

  Betty had moved on, settling back on her stool. She probably listened to the whole conversation with Andrew.

  Sandy checked the swirls on the frosting and chided herself for having been foolish enough to write the messages in the cakes. Now that Andrew himself was here, and given the sly look on Betty face, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.

  In the years she’d had time to paint again, with Caden at school and after her mom was gone, she’d put plenty of hidden messages in her art. It expressed her longing, her dreams, and recently, her loneliness.

  She never should have put any of it in the frosting.

  But it had been so fun, sneaking those words into the decorations. She had been almost like her teen self, silly and secretive. She bet it was the torte that gave her away. One long line of swirls, and she just couldn’t resist hiding a word. Forever.

  Betty hummed to herself as she slathered sandwich filling on bread, more content than usual. Sandy watched her from the corner of her eye. Yes, her boss was definitely on to her.

  It seemed like Sandy was destined to be the talk of the town all over again.

  Chapter 4

  At school on Monday, Andrew struggled to focus. He was, after all, right there in the scene of all the moments when he’d known Sandy in their tender years.

  He could point to the chair where she’d sat in his very room, back when he also occupied a desk, rather than the lectern. He remembered where she sat in the cafeteria with her girlfriends.

  And the table where she’d moved during the brief time she’d hung out with Jerry Lavinksi’s crowd.

  He had to shake it off. He taught five history classes, plus a course in civics and government. This needed his attention.

  During his lunch hour, a band of students arrived in his room to work on their debate team briefs. He’d formed the organization when he first returned, and this year he had a pair who might make it to nationals. They were devoted and well-spoken. He was proud.

  The paternal feelings he had for them had been enough to compensate for his own situation. His mother needed him, since his sister seemed unwilling to visit the small town where she’d grown up. Her relationship with their mother had always been contentious, and without their father around to run interference, she’d only grown more distant.

  Family was important to Andrew, and this was one reason Sandy’s son Caden had stuck in his mind. Andrew had been right there when Sandy went crazy over Jerry Lavinski. But she’d never forced Jerry to take any sort of responsibility for what had happened. She’d removed herself from view, allowing Jerry to become the big man on campus, running through girls and, if rumor could be believed, some of the older women in town as well.

  Even the teachers were charmed by him. But something was off, particularly whenever anyone spoke of Sandy. Perhaps Andrew had been too biased to see the reality of the situation. He always advised his debate team to be prepared to switch positions on any topic. You never knew which side of an issue you might be forced to defend.

  He’d just never been able to see the other side of what Jerry Lavinski had done to Sandy.

  During his off period, the school secretary popped into his room with an air of importance that set off his alarms. He knew that some of the ladies of Applebottom had something up their sleeve besides an unnecessary travel book delivered to Tea for Two.

  “Sadie, what can I do for you?” he asked the woman, who was dressed in her usual colorful attire, a scarlet dress with a gold shawl and bright red flowers pinned in her hair.

  She waltzed across the room in a swish of layered skirt, bringing with her a strong floral perfume. Andrew tried not to breathe too deeply as she plunked a sheet of paper in front of him on his desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “Something right in the area of your expertise,” Sadie said. She liked to wave her arms to express herself, and her dress had flouncy sleeves that made her look a bit like a flying squirrel.

  He scanned the information on the page. “It’s the one hundredth anniversary of the school?”

  Sadie sighed dramatically. “As our history teacher, I thought you would have known. The historical date of our centennial will occur this November. We’re having a great celebration in honor of this milestone.”

  This woman must have been an actress in her former life. Or maybe this one. He didn’t know that much about her, other than her son ran the flower shop on Town Square. And that she was a hopeless gossip.

  She did not need to work, having been left an impressive fortune by one of her late husbands. But she kept her position at the high school because it was the hub of all the best information on the town.

  “I knew that Applebottom itself was over a hundred years old,” he said. “And I knew the high school was built about sixty years ago.”

  “We were originally one unified school,” Sadie said. “The original charter was signed in 1918, and as our illustrious man of history, we would like you to serve on the committee to plan a celebration in honor of our achievement.”

  Andrew knew when he was being strong-armed. “Okay. I’ll do that. Do we have any other members, or do I need to round them up?”

  “The first meeting is tomorrow,” Sadie said. “I believe others have been recruited.”

  Andrew tilted his head at her. “So, if I’m in charge, who is putting people on the committee?”

  Sadie waved her arms as if to brush aside his question. “Never you mind that,” she said. “Just be at the first meeting.” She tapped the page with her finger.

  “All right. I’ll be there.”

  As Sadie exited the room, Andrew read the contents of the paper more closely.

  Centennial celebration of Applebottom schools.

  First committee meeting led by Andrew McCallister, Applebottom high school history teacher.

  Tuesday evening at 6 o’clock. Main office conference room, Applebottom High School.

  He wondered who else had been invited, if that was truly the case. Or possibly he’d be sitting in the conference room alone.

  Somehow he found that unlikely. Sadie was too invested in something she normally wouldn’t care one whit about.

  He’d find out tomorrow.

  Sandy reviewed her sketch of the cake, unsure of what she had done.

  This one was unlike anything she had pictured herself doing. Not that being a cake decorator had ever been on her radar either. But certainly the creation in front of her was way beyond even her w
ildest imagination.

  The entire surface would be black. Betty wouldn’t even have enough black fondant to get the job done. Sandy would have to drive forty-five minutes to Branson and buy up literally all the black fondant in town to make this cake happen. But she would.

  The theme to this birthday party was Gothic Punk.

  Technically, it was a Sweet Sixteen party. The mother had shown up with her daughter, who definitely lived up to the style of her cake. The girl wore long black pants, backed by a skirt-like contraption that dragged on the floor behind her.

  She had matching spiked wrist cuffs and a collar. At least ten ear studs lined one ear. The thing that had stood out, however, was the girl’s golden blond hair. For some reason she hadn’t dyed it to match.

  Her mother seemed rather typical in yoga pants and a light jacket, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She did assess both Sandy and Betty as the girl, who went by Fierce, put in the request for her cake. Betty excused herself, leaving the order to Sandy.

  Sandy had carefully taken down each detail. Three tall sections, completely black, some silver flourishes. Black latticework. No use of the words happy birthday or sweet. Or sixteen. In fact, there would be no words at all, not even Fierce.

  When Sandy asked for the location of the party so that they could deliver the cake, the mother informed her that it was a secret. “We are concerned with some of Fierce’s classmates’ juvenile behavior,” she said. “All the guests of the party will be transported there by us.”

  “We have security,” Fierce said with a hint of pride.

  “Did you want to have someone pick up the cake?” Sandy asked. “It’s going to be pretty heavy and elaborate to feed this many people. I’m just concerned that it may get damaged.”

  “I see,” the mother said. She stared Sandy up and down for long seconds. Sandy must have passed some sort of test, because she said, “I tell you what, if you will be the person to personally deliver the cake, then I’m okay with that.”