by Laura Quinn
“I hope you like a bit of bubbly” Ed said, pouring the champagne himself. “I thought we could use some cheer.”
“Just what I needed, to be honest,” Claire affirmed with a toast. “Between the stress of the season and Ruth’s sudden death, I could do with a little escape. Thank you!”
“I’ve had a chance to look at the menu and thought we should start with the bruschetta and Panzanella. Tonight’s special is butternut squash ravioli in brown butter sauce topped with crispy sage leaves.”
“That sounds absolutely perfect!”
“Good, because I already ordered,” Ed said. “I became a bit of a foodie since traveling internationally as a volunteer youth sports coach.”
“Really? Where have you been?”
“All over. I’ve spent summers in Mexico, Brazil, Nepal, India, Ukraine, Poland, Malaysia, and China. I’ll go wherever there’s a need,” he said. “I tend to learn about new cultures through their food. China has amazing street dishes, like this fabulous Zhajiang noodles stand I frequented in Beijing.”
Claire sat transfixed, staring at the vision of what surely must be too good to be true. Ed summoned the waiter and placed the rest of the order. He asked Claire about her day, but she kept it brief. Time away from the shop needed to remain shop-free.
“I’ll understand if you need to cut tonight short, if you need to go back to bake a few batches,” Ed said. “I don’t want the dogs of North Haven to hunt me down for a biscuit shortage.”
“No, I left early and I intend to keep it that way. A girl is entitled to play hooky once in a while, isn’t she?”
“No argument here!”
“Besides, I usually bake the stronger scented cookies, like liver lovers late at home, and I’m caught up with those…at least until tomorrow.”
“I suppose the dogs would go wild if you made liver while the store is open?”
“Just one mad dog,” Claire commented. “It’s our neighbor, although he won’t be there tonight anyway. In fact, he’s hardly ever there, which is good, because he complains about everything.”
“Not a very pleasant man?”
“Not especially, no, but I’m not going to spoil our dinner by talking about him. His wife is an absolute saint to put up with him, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
“Is that the woman who works at the antique store? I met her when I was shopping for my aunt’s birthday. I found the perfect item, but apparently, it was one of the gaudy prize winners. Shows the taste level I have.”
Claire laughed, assuring him there were many categories and beauty, after all, was in the eye of the beholder.
“Well, since I couldn’t buy it until after Auntie’s birthday, I got a broach instead, which she will probably prefer. Though Fluffy’s toy will be the top gift, I’m sure.”
“You would have paid too much, anyway. I’m sure Donald will mark those winning pieces up at least ten times more than they’re worth. I probably shouldn’t say this, but there have been concerns about his business practices. How that dear Mrs. Prescott stays with him, I don’t know. She’s always so pleasant and polite, never a cross word about anyone, exactly the opposite of her husband.”
“It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” Ed said.
“You’re the second person to say that! Delilah would never do anything to hurt anyone, especially not her beloved husband. She never complains, even though he’s never at the shop to help her, or when he is actually at work, he is snarky or snobby, or both.” Claire’s cheeks felt flushed, and she drank half her glass of water.
“So, I gather he’s not first on your Christmas list.”
“Maybe my Christmas hit list. I think he was planning to frame me for a fake rodent infestation and now one of my best customers is angry with him, and Mart…” Claire stopped herself short of betraying her friend’s theories. “Martha, another customer, believes he’s making illegal deals on the side. I hope not, or at least that his wife is protected from it. She would die if she were ever associated with anything that wasn’t strictly above board.”
“Or kill!” he joked. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Let’s change the subject. Tell me about yourself. How did you come to open a dog bakery?”
Claire presented a brief history of herself, from growing up in North Haven to her years in Manhattan as a marketing director. When her parents retired and moved to Florida, she found herself taking over her childhood home and working as a freelance marketing consultant. She began making homemade dog treats when she adopted Baron, who was an extremely fussy eater. When the retail space opened in the spring, her best friend convinced her to take a chance.
As the entrees were served, Claire asked Ed about his background. He had grown up in Michigan in a well-to-do suburb like North Haven, and was lucky that his only job was to focus on football. He was a star quarterback and received a full scholarship to college. Hoping he would be picked up by a major team, he chose PE as a major. However, his backup plan was a minor in health science. Finding he preferred working as a mentor to teens, he started coaching high school football. “NHHS hired me to be their head coach, to improve a pretty desolate sports program,” he said, before remembering his date was an alumna of the high school. “No offense,” he added, and poured another glass of champagne for Claire as recompense.
“Absolutely none taken,” Claire said. “During my time there, our field hockey and volleyball teams won the state championship and our tennis team finished third in the state, but the football team never fared too well. Until now, that is. It’s remarkable how they’ve turned around, and I’ve heard it’s all thanks to you.”
“Running a successful program takes a lot of hard work and dedication. I always screen potential candidates with their parents, outlining the number of hours we practice and the commitment they face. My boys have to be prepared for what may lie ahead in college or even pro teams.”
“Emma said her boyfriend is in fantastic shape, though he never goes to the gym. I’m a bit jealous.”
“We do more calibrated calisthenics than any gym could offer. So many young athletes try to take the easy way out, with steroids. My boys work for it.”
“I might need to visit your workouts a few times if I eat all these carbs. I can’t help myself, though. The pasta here is freshly made and hand-rolled to order.”
“From what I see, you have nothing to worry about,” Ed said with an approving glance. “Besides, you must burn a ton of calories making all those recipes.”
“You flatter me,” Claire blushed. “You’re right about the workout, though. Some of those batches feel like I’ve gone through a pirates--I mean Pilates--class.” Claire drank the rest of her water and Ed’s.
“I suppose after dinner, you’ll go back to the kitchen.” Ed pulled off an effective pout as he topped off Claire’s glass with the remainder of the bottle.
“I’m so thirsty, like a fish. Glub.” Claire gulped down the glass. “I’m taking tonight off and Barbarakins is opening tomorrow, so I can be a teensy-weensy bit late.”
Ed pulled out his phone and excused himself from the table to take an urgent call. Claire took the opportunity to sop up the sauce with chunks of freshly-baked bread. The owner stopped by the table to see how Claire was enjoying her dinner.
“Luigi, it’s delicious and I’m making a pig of myself.” Claire snorted while wiping away the evidence from her chin.
“How can anyone abandon such a beautiful signora during a romantic meal?”
“Oh, no, no, no. This is a thank you for a jand hob well done.” Claire snorted again. “I mean mandy han job. Anyway, I’m sure it was a mucho urgente call.”
“Well, I hope so. It must be a special man to win the heart of our Claire, especially after that last rascal.”
“Unlike that rat Nick, Edward Coachy-hands is verrry communalative, a talky-talk type.”
Luigi tactfully suggested strong coffee to round off the meal. Ed returned to the table a few minutes
later, apologizing for the disruption.
“I saw it was my mother calling, and thought it was about my father. He has been in ill health of late, but it turned out she was calling about a black-tie fundraiser she is arranging at the country club. She couldn’t decide on the menu, and thought I could help from a nutritional standpoint. As if anything from caviar to the gold-leaf covered chocolates has any nutritional value anyway.”
“No poblano! I talky-talked with Luishi, I mean Luigi.” Claire giggled, then yawned. “Oops. All these late nights must be carting to statch up with me.”
“Perhaps this will stimulate you,” he said as he leaned in for a passionate kiss.
Claire’s surprise was overtaken by the sensuous touch of his lips. The spell was only briefly broken by the arrival of their waiter, delivering a tray of espresso and desserts.
“Luigi sends this with his compliments,” the red-faced teen squeaked before fleeing.
“Allow me to sweeten this for your sweet lips,” Ed said, stirring sugar into the black liquid. Claire played with her ponytail as he placed his hand on her knee. She felt like she was back in a high school daydream, but it was real. Ed made exaggerated “mmmmmmm” noises as he sampled the tiramisu, and Claire licked the spoon seductively. She giggled when a spot of cream dotted his lip, and leaned forward to lick it off. Ed left money for the bill and a sizeable tip, and escorted his date outside.
As they embraced under the heated awning, Claire swayed. Ed whispered in her ear that he would drive her home. While they waited for the valet, she twirled, making her skirt float like a ballerina.
The leather seat was so cozy, she couldn’t help but lean back and close her eyes. Ed reached across to buckle her seat belt, and another smoldering kiss melted her trepidations. She surrendered herself to the possibilities, obliterating the fleeting image of Nick from her mind.
Chapter 12
Tuesday, December 12th
A long, wet kiss awoke Claire. The late morning sun pierced through the curtains, shocking her to reality. What time was it? What happened last night? Had she really gone home with Ed? Where was he? She stumbled around her bedroom, trying to orient her groggy self to the present. Baron jumped up and licked her face again. She got up to let him out, just noticing she was still wearing her dress and tights. Had she dreamed last night?
“Hey sluggo,” Ed called out as she walked down the stairs, causing Baron to growl. “Sorry, boy, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You startled me too,” Claire said, too embarrassed to admit she didn’t remember what happened the night before.
“Sorry, I was trying to be quiet so you could sleep. Your breakfast is ready, oatmeal with honey, walnuts, and bananas to help with a hangover. Your head must be throbbing.”
“No, I guess I must have slept it off. I feel really well-rested, actually.” She let Baron out and fed him and the cats before sitting down to her breakfast. “This is delicious. Aren’t you having any?”
“No, I have to run to school; my budget report is due today and I haven’t even started it yet. This promotion feels like a punishment sometimes.” Ed looked under the kitchen table, then under the couch and chairs in the living room. “I think your dog stole my shoe.”
Baron tilted his head, proclaiming his innocence. Claire pet him and scooped out a piece of banana from her bowl, which he licked from her hand. “Ed didn’t mean that, I’m sure.” She got up to help him look for the missing accessory, and found a note on the desk. “What’s this?”
“I didn’t know if you’d be up before I had to go, so I wrote you a note,” he said. He looked at his watch and abandoned the search. “I better get going. I’ll call you later.” He stepped forward to kiss Claire, but Baron jumped up to do so instead.
As soon as her guest left, Claire read the note.
Dear Claire,
I hope you’re feeling better. You passed out while we were watching the movie; I think it was the Kahlua you insisted on drinking. I carried you upstairs, but you kept waking up, so I decided to stay to make sure you were okay. Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage of the situation, we’ll keep that for another night. I stayed as late as I could this morning, but had to go in early to file a budget report before my first-period class – luckily I always carry a spare set of clothes in my trunk. I hope you don’t mind, but I called your manager to tell her you would be in a little later this morning. I told her you were having car problems, and you called me for help. I’m not sure she bought it, but I did try to protect you from a walk of shame. Call me when you have a chance, to let me know you’re all right. Enjoy the breakfast; I hope it was still warm.
I’ll be thinking of you,
Ed
“Does that sound a bit judgy to you? I’m a grown woman, after all.” Claire finished her oatmeal and freshly-squeezed orange juice. “He is a good cook, though.” Baron laid down and sighed.
After getting ready quickly, she grabbed her phone from the charger. Several missed calls appeared on the screen, from Marti, The Posh Pup and Barbara. There were no messages, so Claire guessed that Ed’s call either answered or triggered Barbara’s concerns. As soon as the Landrover backed out of the garage, Claire’s neighbor pounced.
“Oh, hi Claire,” she said, trying her best to sound casual. “How’s everything going? Busy at the shop, I’ll bet.”
“Yes, we’ve been very busy. In fact, I’m running late today…”
“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hi and be sure you’re okay. You seemed very, uh, tired last night. Lucky thing that handsome friend of yours was there to see you home.”
“Yes, well that’s what friends are for, as the song goes.”
“You should bring him by for coffee sometime. He seems very friendly; he waved as he left this morning.”
Baron added a woof to help extricate her from the awkward encounter. Claire rolled down the driveway, calling out “Okay, yeah, well I better run now.” She could feel her cheeks burning despite the cold air.
After a few deep breaths, she pressed the speed dial on her car display. Her first call went to Marti’s v-mail. When she tried the law office’s number, Marti’s secretary advised her that the attorney was in with a client. Her next call, to Barbara, felt more awkward than the driveway encounter.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning!”
“I, well…”
“Are you on your way in? Is your car running now? Or, do you need a ride?”
“I’m fine, I can actually manage to get myself to my own store,” Claire said, regretting the harsh tone. “Sorry, it’s been a hectic morning.”
“I don’t mean to nag, just please get to the shop as soon as you can,” Barbara pleaded, and ended the call.
“What do you think, Baron? Is the shop terribly busy? Or, is Barbara terribly annoyed with me? I am an adult, after all, and can date who I want, if I want.” A stern woof either confirmed or objected to Claire’s declaration. She settled on the former.
The imagined scenario she dreaded did nothing to prepare her for what greeted her in the parking lot. One police car, two police officers, and three strips of bright yellow tape blocked the entrance of the antique shop. Claire rolled down the window and locked Baron in the running car. She and ran up to the officer and asked, “What happened? Is Delilah all right?”
Barbara came out and pulled her friend to the side. “Claire, dear, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you over the phone. I didn’t want to leave a message, and I certainly didn’t want to upset you while you were driving,” she said. “It’s Mr. Prescott. I’m afraid he passed away sometime during the night. Poor Delilah found him this morning.”
“Oh my God, how is she?”
“Still in shock. I settled her upstairs with a strong cup of tea, plenty of sugar and a dash of brandy. The police are finishing up next door, but they want a statement from her. I thought it best she rest until then.”
“Yes, yes of course. I’ll get Baron and we’l
l try to comfort her,” Claire said, running back to her car. Suddenly, she stopped, turned and went back to hug Barbara. “Are you ok? That must have been an awful shock for you. Why don’t I drive you home?”
“If it’s all the same to you, I would rather stay here. It was a terrible surprise, but to be honest, the world may be a better place without Donald Prescott. I know shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but that’s the truth. Anyway, I’m more concerned with Delilah’s state of mind at present.”
Delilah sat motionless on the couch, staring at the empty cup, hardly noticing Claire’s presence. Baron sat next to her, and kissed her hand. Eventually, the new widow looked at Baron and stroked his head. Claire called Barbara up, insisting that she sit down and have a cup of tea herself. The shop was, for the first time in months, completely silent, at least for a short while.
The sudden ring of her cell phone made Claire jump. She was relieved to see it was Marti, and took the call downstairs. “You are never going to believe this…” Claire said.
“I know,” her friend interrupted. “That’s why I kept calling this morning. Are you ok?”
“Yes, just a little rattled. As much as I cursed Donald, I certainly never wished he was dead. Poor Delilah. Wait a minute, how do you know already?”
“Barbara called me in a panic this morning,” Marti explained. “She said she couldn’t reach you, something about Ed calling and your car being in disrepair. She wanted to tell you about Donald’s death, but you hadn’t returned her calls; that’s when I started worrying about you.”
Claire whispered her confession, “I honestly thought Barbara was calling because she disproved of Ed, you know how much she liked Nick, and...”