The Sweetest Match

by Abby Tyler

  Andrew choked on a laugh. “Yeah, we could really liven that party up over past sins.”

  So could Sandy. Her past was a littered with land mines.

  “I guess it could be all pine trees, mountains and lakes.”

  Andrew sat back in the booth. “Now, I’ve only talked to you twice since your big return, but I think I already know you want to be a little more devious than landscapes.”

  “Oh, my dear co-conspirator, you have no idea what I can hide beneath little trees and swirl into mountain streams.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at that, and Sandy realized she already had some ideas.

  Chapter 7

  Thursday proved slow, with no cake to decorate and the case full of petit fours, these without any secret messages.

  Sandy sat at her designated table in the back corner of Tea for Two, idly sketching ideas for the centennial cake. Without even trying, she and Andrew had spurred quite a bit of talk about the two of them, having spent hours at Annabelle’s Café working through their ideas.

  Only when Annabelle herself came up to say that it was closing time had they realized exactly how many hours had passed.

  And speaking of closing time, it was almost the hour for the tea shop to lock up. Betty had already put away most of the items that needed refrigeration overnight. Sandy felt a little suspicious of the woman, though, because she kept looking at the clock in a way she never did on an ordinary end of day. Sandy was tempted to ask Betty what she was waiting for, but something told her to let it lie.

  She’d started packing up her own sketchpad and supplies when Betty said, “Sandy love, I’m going to let you close up. I have an appointment to make, and I’d rather we not shut down early.”

  Sandy glanced at the clock. It was only five minutes until the time they always locked the door. No one was in the shop. This seemed a little suspicious. But she only said, “I’d be happy to.”

  Betty headed to the back to collect Clementine. After a moment, she came back through with her dog and a wave. “Put away those last few lemon cake slices, if you don’t mind!” she called as she walked out.

  “Will do,” Sandy said, still feeling suspicious.

  She waited until precisely four o’clock, then slid the lemon cake out of the case to take to the back room. As she closed the refrigerator, the front doorbell jingled. Someone had come into the shop.

  “Technically, we’re closed, but I could get you some coffee or tea before I clear it out,” she said as she entered the main room.

  Then she stopped.

  It was Andrew.

  Aha.

  “Betty asked me to drop by at closing time to collect my book,” Andrew said. “She was quite adamant that I arrive specifically at this time.”

  Sandy laughed. “That’s why she skedaddled out of here so quickly. She wanted to get us alone.”

  Now it was Andrew’s turn to laugh. “They’re really throwing us at each other, aren’t they?”

  “They are.” Sandy walked to the windows to peer out. “I bet they’re watching right now.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t particularly need the book right now,” Andrew said.

  “That’s a good thing, because I don’t see it anywhere.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Which means I’ll have to come by yet another time to fetch it.”

  “And Betty will be so apologetic that she forgot that you were coming today.”

  “They’ve really got the number on us,” Andrew said. “Since I’m here, can I help you with anything?”

  Sandy headed to the door and switched the sign from open to closed. “Should I lock the door? Just seems salacious under the circumstances.”

  “I say give them a little more to talk about. We’re two adults. Besides, what are we going to do in a tea shop?”

  Sandy’s cheeks grew hot, but she kept her thoughts to herself and twisted the lock.

  “Did you come up with any sketches for the cake yet?” Andrew asked.

  “I did. They’re over here.”

  They headed to the back corner.

  “Should I brew us some coffee since we’re here?” Sandy asked.

  Andrew glanced at the front of the shop, which was completely made of windows. A couple townspeople walked by, glancing in at them.

  “Maybe we should take this to the back. I feel like we’re being watched,” he said.

  Sandy surveyed the windows. “You know what, let’s go down to the pie shop for coffee. I’m sure Gertrude and Maude would be more than happy to serve as chaperones. They keep their shop open for another hour.”

  “Good thinking,” he said.

  Sandy made one more walk-through to make sure everything was put away, then the two of them headed out onto the square.

  The air was brisk. Fall had definitely arrived, and leaves skittered across the pavement as they left the tea shop behind.

  The sidewalks were mostly quiet. They turned the corner to walk past the doggy bakery. Betty was inside, feeding Clementine a cookie while speaking with Delilah, the owner.

  “So much for having an appointment,” Sandy said. “She didn’t even leave Town Square.”

  “I bet it wouldn’t take three guesses to figure out who they’re talking about,” Andrew said.

  Betty glanced up and spotted them through the windows. She didn’t seem to care that she was busted and gave them a knowing smile.

  Sandy clutched her sketchpad to her chest. “I feel like it’s the 1850s and you’re walking me without a chaperone along the downtown streets of Savannah or something.”

  “Applebottom can sure feel that way,” Andrew said.

  They passed the floral shop. Inside, Topher and Danny stood around a tall table, putting the finishing touches on an elaborate autumn arrangement filled with brown and orange leaves, twisted sticks in sparkling gold, and, inexplicably, a cluster of red feathers.

  “I don’t know where that’s going, but it’s bound to be some fancy place I’ll never be invited to,” Sandy said.

  Andrew laughed. “Sometimes they make strange concoctions just to get people’s attention in the shop window.”

  They turned another corner to arrive in front of Gertrude and Maude’s pie shop. “Is Maude still giving Gertrude grief for spelling her shop with an extra p and e?” Sandy asked.

  “That will be the never-ending controversy in Applebottom Town Square,” Andrew said. “And if that’s as controversial as we ever get, I’m definitely okay with that.”

  He pushed open the door to the pie shop.

  Both Gertrude and Maude were inside, talking behind the glass case full of pies.

  Maude saw them first, her dark eyes lighting up at the sight of them.

  “Oh, my heavens, look who it is.” She touched her hands to her short curly hair, black sprinkled with gray, as if Sandy and Andrew were suitors rather than customers. “Good Lord, Sandy, I haven’t seen you since you were a girl.”

  “You haven’t been down to Betty’s tea shop then,” Andrew said. “She’s been there for two months.”

  Gertrude sniffed, tugging on her apron. “We’re having a bit of a feud with Betty at the moment. Seems that she thinks her petit fours are more appropriate for Thanksgiving than our pies. Can you imagine! Tiny cakes rather than a pie!” She shook her head so violently that her helmet of perfectly sprayed gray hair shifted from side to side.

  “According to this one,” Maude said, pointing at Gertrude, “I’m not allowed to step foot inside Tea for Two until November twenty-fourth.”

  Andrew walked up to the counter. “Now ladies, is that any way to set an example for the fine people of Applebottom?”

  Gertrude’s face screwed up like she’d just eaten lemons. “Andrew McCallister, I have been running this pie shop and feuding with Betty Johnson since before you were born. Save your lectures for those kids at the high school.”

  She pointed a long, crooked finger at Andrew, but Sandy could see she didn’t really mean it. Gertrude had always been a
sourpuss, but in her heart of hearts, she loved this town and everybody in it. That included Betty Johnson and her evil petit fours. Sandy had heard all about it from Betty since the feud began two weeks ago at one of the Town Square shop owner meetings.

  “Well, I do hope you’ll stop by and see me anyway,” Sandy said to Maude. “I’ve been making the petit fours myself lately, and I can speak for their quality.” Her eyes traveled along the baked goods inside the case. “But there sure is nothing like pie when you need something sweet.”

  “Oh, I like this girl,” Gertrude said. “You have grown into a fine young woman.”

  Sandy found a lump had formed in her throat. It wasn’t easy acting friendly and brave when inside she was still a scared fifteen-year-old girl being shamed by an entire town.

  She seriously doubted that Gertrude, of all people, had been kind. But she would accept that things could change for both of them, and that maybe Gertrude saying she liked her was her best effort at an olive branch.

  “Could I have a slice of that cherry pie and a cup of coffee?” Sandy asked.

  “Make that two,” Andrew said. “Sandy and I have official Applebottom business to discuss, since it seems some of our citizens have taken it upon themselves to make the two of us in charge of the centennial of the school.”

  Gertrude and Maude glanced at each other in a way that made it perfectly clear that they were absolutely part of the reason she and Andrew had been recruited for this task. Maude slid open the door of the case. “Since this is official Applebottom business, your pie and coffee are on the house.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Andrew said. “Given neither of us had a choice in the matter.”

  Gertrude rolled her eyes that Andrew would dare suggest that his civic duty was anything but a joy.

  Sandy giggled. She couldn’t help it. She had so forgotten what it was like to roam about town. Until Betty had forced her to work out in the open, she had managed to keep to herself.

  Since this whole thing with Andrew, she’d talked to more people than she had ever planned. She’d even eaten at Annabelle’s Café.

  What would be next? Selling sodas at the school concession stand? Decorating for the Harvest Dance? Chit chat with the quilting women or the Applebottom beautification society?

  Sandy knew she would never do any of that. Some of the things these people had said to her eighteen years ago would ring in her ears all her life. It was one thing to forgive, but quite another to completely forget. She wasn’t sure she ever would.

  Maude heated up their pie, added a scoop of ice cream to both and carried the two plates to the farthest corner of the pie shop. They would definitely get no privacy here, but then nothing untoward could be said about them, either.

  Sometimes Sandy could hear them say, “Looks like Sandy Miller is looking to get knocked up again,” and there was no stopping the emotions it brought, even if she was thirty-three now, with a kid in college to boot.

  When they were seated, and the steaming cups of coffee resting next to their plates, Andrew said, “Show me the sketches.”

  Sandy swallowed a mouthful of pie before pulling out her sketchbook. She paused for a moment to savor it. There were no pies like Gertrude and Maude’s.

  “So here’s the part we talked about at first,” she said, pointing at the bottom tier of the cake.

  She described the details. The Missouri Purchase. The establishment of Branson as a tourist attraction, leading more people to move there. The founders of Applebottom, and the famous pie it was named for.

  Gertrude’s voice carried over the shop. “Seems strange to make a cake for a town named after a pie.”

  Maude pulled Gertrude by the arm toward the back of the shop. “Hush your mouth, Gertie. Nobody wants to make a pie to feed two hundred people. Leave the young people to their work.”

  “I did it thirty years ago at the Applebottom Centennial,” Gertrude muttered, but she followed Maude out of the room to the back.

  “Looks like we have the place to ourselves,” Andrew said.

  “Good,” Sandy said, shutting the notebook. “I just realized I don’t want them to see what some of the other tiers have on them.”

  Andrew grinned. “I definitely like the element of surprise.”

  They sat in companionable silence, eating their pie before the ice cream melted. Only when the plates were pushed aside did they take up conversation again.

  “That’s good pie,” Sandy said. “I could come over here and eat it every day.”

  “I’m sure they’d love that,” Andrew said. “Particularly in light of the feud they’re having with Betty.”

  “I guess they just need drama to keep going.”

  “I imagine so. That sometimes happens to people who never leave their small town.” Andrew sat back in his chair. He still had his bow tie on today, and Sandy smiled at seeing it.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Seems like you were on the path to leaving Applebottom for good.”

  “I still probably will,” he said. “But not for now. My degrees can wait. I’m needed here.”

  “Tell me what it was like to be at college.”

  Andrew stared down into his cup. “The words college professor sounded like just about the smartest, grandest thing I could do. I got to be a teaching assistant during my doctorate study. I actually had my own subset of students that I taught in a smaller setting.” One of his fingers traced the rim of the cup. He didn’t meet her eyes.

  “I guess that’s how you had the experience to come in and teach Applebottom’s finest.”

  “It was. I didn’t have a teacher certification when I got here, but it was easy to add to my degrees. And I’m not saying I regret it.”

  “But…”

  “But I would eventually like to get back on my career path. I just don’t know where that direction will take me.” He looked up then, and Sandy’s heart fluttered at the vulnerability in his expression. “So, for right now, I’ll be content right here.”

  Sandy was glad for that, but she couldn’t say it out loud. Not with Maude and Gertrude only a room away.

  “What about you?” Andrew asked. “What were your dreams?”

  “I’m not sure that I’ve had any dreams for long time. It was all about raising Caden.”

  “But now?”

  Sandy gripped her mug. “I guess I would love to learn more art styles. I don’t have any delusions that I’ll ever actually do anything with my work. But if I had a dream, it would be to have something in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.” She flashed him an easy smile. “Although it does seem that being dead a hundred years is helpful in that matter.”

  “What are you doing to get you there?”

  “For dying plus one hundred years?”

  He laughed. “No, for learning new styles.”

  “I still draw and paint. And now that you told me about the art class, maybe I’ll do that.”

  “If your paintings are anything like your cakes, you’ll succeed.”

  Sandy shook her head. “I don’t think it’s hard to overachieve on a cake. For real art, that’s a whole different matter. I read some magazines. There’s so much to it. Getting in galleries. It doesn’t even have to be how good you are. There’s millions of really good artists all over the world. It’s who you know. I don’t really want to aspire to something I can never have.”

  Andrew leaned forward. “Well, for the record, I believe you will absolutely see your work in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. I have faith.”

  Sandy mustered up her courage to look him in the eye. “That just seems ridiculous,” she said.

  “I think our biggest dreams always seem ridiculous. That’s what makes them our biggest dreams.”

  She could see that he meant every word. Her chest loosened a little. This was the Andrew she remembered. Both practical and a dreamer.

  Her life had been so lock-step for eighteen years. A mother to endure. A child to ra
ise. Meals, clothes, school, schedules, homework.

  Now her life was hers.

  Maybe she could afford to dream a little.

  Chapter 8

  Andrew struggled all day Friday to focus on his students. It didn’t help that his classes were in review, ramping up for when they would start new material.

  On top of that, it was pep rally day, and the football team, which actually started to show some promise, had brought on a new era of school spirit.

  Between the altered schedule and everything feeling off, Andrew decided to escape his room for lunch to commiserate with other teachers in the faculty lounge.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised to find the room empty. The abbreviated schedule often meant teachers were running around more than usual. He unpacked his turkey sandwich and stared out the window at the empty backfield. He was on good terms with most everybody on the faculty at Applebottom High School, but he wasn’t sure he could call any of them actual friends.

  Normally, this didn’t matter. Most everything that concerned him involved the school itself, so he could easily speak with other teachers.

  But this was an affair of the heart. It needed someone familiar with Applebottom, but who also understood the complexity of dating. Especially when trying to pursue someone you’d known your entire life and who had a difficult history.

  Paul Hinkle, the math teacher, came through the room to heat up his microwave lunch. Andrew discounted him out of hand. Paul had been married for thirty-some-odd years. He doubted anything Paul could advise him on would be relevant to a modern situation.

  They struck up a friendly light conversation about the annoyance of the pep rally day, then Paul took his lunch and left.

  Two women came in next, elective teachers who covered Home Ec and technology. Both married. They talked quietly and kept to themselves.

  The two of them hung out near the copier. As Andrew finished his sandwich, he decided he would just have to figure this out for himself.

  But then the football coach, Carter McBride, walked in, heading straight for the refrigerator.