Just Desserts (Main Street Merchants Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Logan walked her through the contract and explained each clause, and Quinn liked what she was hearing. “Of course, you’ll want to have your own lawyer read it and see if there are any addendums we should throw in there,” he said when they’d gone over the last page.

  Quinn nodded. Her parents’ next-door-neighbor was a lawyer, and she was sure that he’d give her some solid legal advice in exchange for a plate of tiramisu.

  “Just let me know if you have any questions, and then we’ll go from there.” Logan stood and handed her his business card.

  “Thanks. I will.” Quinn stood up too and shook his hand, then gathered up the papers and slid them back into their folder. These would go someplace very safe, where vanilla wouldn’t get spilled on them, until she had a chance to talk with her lawyer.

  Chapter Nine

  It was closing time, and Quinn stepped into the office to take the paperwork out of the desk drawer so she could read it over again at home. Her eyes fell on the check, and she wondered for the millionth time why Jonah hadn’t returned her call. You’d think that he’d actually want to get paid for the work he’d done. Sure, he’d donated the labor, but he’d want reimbursement for the supplies, right? That glass alone was plenty pricey.

  Without thinking about it, she touched the cupcake pendant she wore at the base of her throat. She’d taken to wearing it all the time—it was a great emblem of her job, and she liked the way it made her throat look more slender. She also had to admit that she just plain liked it. Why had she fought it so hard? She couldn’t even remember.

  Her second call also went to voicemail. Rather than leaving a message this time, she decided to hang up and send a text. Some people really didn’t like checking their voicemail—maybe Jonah was one of them. Then she locked the desk drawer, rattling it to make sure the check was safe, and left for the night.

  * * *

  Quinn was beyond agitated—she was flat-out mad. Jonah hadn’t replied to her text, so she’d sent another one the next day. Nothing. It was like all her messages were vanishing into the ether. She knew it was the right number—she’d used it before, and besides, that was his voice when the answering machine picked up. And then, to make matters worse, he hadn’t shown up for class—again. Again. With no call. Or anything. She was getting sick of listening to Helen whine about it, too.

  To top it off, she’d gotten word that Maggie would be moving Mr. D into the care center the next day. It really was a nice place, nestled right up against the base of the mountain. Quinn had delivered some pastries there the year before and was impressed with the landscaping and the pleasant décor of the place. The food even smelled good—which was a huge plus. But a pall had settled over the bakery as everyone mulled over what this meant—the end of an era.

  She paused as she gathered up her things to go home. This whole thing with Jonah was pretty silly, and there was no reason for it to drag on and on like this. She put the check in her pocket and locked up, then put her things in her car and decided to go for a little walk down Main Street. It was an awfully nice night, after all.

  Just as she thought it would be, Jonah’s truck was parked at the art gallery, and there were lights on inside. She pushed on the door cautiously, not sure if it would be unlocked, and was relieved when it opened. That relief turned to hesitation, though. She wasn’t sure if she should just be coming in like this.

  “Hello?” she called out as she stepped over the threshold. “Is anyone here?”

  A young man with sandy brown hair walked toward her from the back of the building. He looked a lot like Alex, but his eyebrows were a little fuller and thicker, and he wore a look of concern. Or maybe that was just the eyebrows.

  “May I help you? We’re not open yet, I’m sorry to say.”

  Quinn suddenly felt very sheepish. “I’m Quinn, from the bakery. I’m doing your desserts.”

  Even though her explanation wasn’t the greatest, it seemed to be enough. The man’s features relaxed and he smiled. “Hi. I’m Bryce. Alex says the stuff you make is to die for.”

  “That’s what we shoot for. Death and sugar-induced comas.”

  Bryce chuckled. “So, how can I help you?”

  The sheepishness was back. “I was actually wondering if I could talk to Jonah. Is he here?” She felt the need to ask that, even though the answer was really obvious in the form of his truck.

  “He’s in the back laying some tile, but I’ll get him for you. Hang tight.” Bryce strode away, his shoes echoing off the hardwood flooring.

  Jonah didn’t come immediately, and Quinn looked around to squelch her boredom. Some nice metal beams had been run across the ceiling, giving the place a contemporary look. It occurred to her that she’d never asked about the types of art the gallery would show or how the décor was being put together—she’d want to know that for the serving displays. No sense in putting out dainty porcelain if the event called for glass and steel.

  Jonah finally emerged from the back. He walked slowly, as though he didn’t want to come at all. “Hey, Quinn,” he said.

  “Hi. Um, the check from the insurance came.” She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him. He stepped forward to take it, but then took a step back again, as if he didn’t want to get too close to her. That was really odd.

  “And I know you’re dying to hear this, but Helen missed you at class tonight. She just kept going on and on about you not being there twice in a row. She says that makes three times now—she’s definitely keeping a tally.”

  He nodded once, but didn’t say anything.

  This was just ridiculous. “And I did call you and text . . . about the check. So I hope you weren’t missing it too much. Because I did try to let you know that it had come.”

  “Thanks.”

  That was it. Just “Thanks.” Quinn nodded. “Okay, then. Well, let me know if you need . . . anything else. From the insurance company. See ya.” She turned and began to walk away, thinking that a clean exit was best, but suddenly her temper flared and she spun back around. Jonah was still standing right where she’d left him. “So, what’s going on with you?”

  He flicked his eyes to hers. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on. You’re all friendly and helpful and bringing me white flags and stuff, and then the next thing I know, you won’t return a simple text and you ditch class. Something’s going on.”

  Jonah shook his head. “You’re being pretty pushy, aren’t you?”

  “Pushy? Oh, sure, I guess I am. Wanting an answer to a question is way pushy. Sort of like being snobby and stubborn, I guess.” Quinn pressed her lips together before she said any more. She had no idea why this conversation was spiraling out of control. She’d barely said anything. Or, rather, he’d barely said anything. Either way, it was going downhill fast, and she didn’t know why.

  “Listen, just enjoy your money, and thanks for the repair.” She spun on her heel and left, half expecting him to call after her, but he didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed about that.

  * * *

  Quinn drove out to her parents’ place right after she closed up on Saturday night. She just felt the need for a little extra home cooking and familiar surroundings—not that her apartment wasn’t familiar, but it just wasn’t the same. She parked her car behind her dad’s old beat-up Suburban and smiled. Was he ever going to get rid of that thing?

  “Hey, Mom,” she called out as she stepped into the house.

  “Quinn?” Rose came out from the living room. “What brings you by tonight?”

  “Well, I have some good news. And I need some downtime. Can I put this tiramisu in the fridge?”

  “Of course.” Rose bustled into the kitchen and started rearranging things to make room for Quinn’s dish. “That was awfully nice of you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—it’s not for you. It’s a bribe for Mr. Warnaker. But I’ll bring one next time.”

  Rose waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” She took the
dish from Quinn and slid it onto the glass shelf. “There we are—snug as a bug. Now, what’s your good news?”

  “I’d rather tell the whole family all at once. Where is everyone?”

  Rose reached out and grabbed Quinn’s arm. “You’re engaged? Oh, honey, this is fantastic! What’s his name?”

  Quinn patted her mom’s hand and then gently pried her fingers loose. “Wow, Mom. You’re strong. No, I’m not engaged. But my news is pretty awesome.”

  “Fine, fine. I guess I can wait to hear it, then. I have some news of my own.”

  “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

  Rose stepped forward and spoke near Quinn’s ear. “I talked your father out of mincemeat.”

  “Oh, that is good news. How’d you do that?”

  “I told him it was like fruitcake with protein.”

  Quinn laughed. “That was my line.”

  “Yes, it was, and it worked. Thank you.”

  Tad and Markus came bounding up the stairs a few minutes later, and Ben wandered in from the family room. He blinked a few times when he saw Quinn sitting at the table, like she was some kind of apparition. “Oh, hi,” he said.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Everyone, gather around and hush up. Quinn has something to tell us. She’s not engaged.”

  “You want us to gather around so Quinn can tell us she’s not engaged? That’s nothing new,” Tad said, and Quinn reached out and slugged his shoulder.

  “Stop it. You’d better start showing me some respect. You are looking at the new co-owner of D’Angelo’s Bakery.”

  Everyone started peppering her with questions, and it took the entire dinner hour to fill them in on what had led up to this turn of events.

  “Oh, poor Maggie,” Rose said, wiping her eyes. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “I think she’d like that, Mom.”

  “So, a partnership.” Ben wiped his mouth and sat back a little in his chair. “Guess there’s no chance now of you moving back out here.”

  “There really wasn’t a chance of that before, Dad. I loved growing up here, but there’s really nothing to do.”

  “This is what I keep saying,” Tad interjected.

  Markus slugged his other shoulder. “Not your conversation, dude.”

  “Well, why isn’t it? It’s all the same thing, isn’t it? Quinn left to go to college and Europe and stuff, and she comes back home to visit all the time. I could do the same thing if I got that job in Denver.”

  “We thought you were going to Colorado Tech,” Ben said.

  “So last week, Dad.”

  Rose deliberately turned and faced Quinn, putting Tad behind her. “I’ve got makings for chicken enchiladas, or we could have sloppy joes. What do you want for Sunday dinner, Quinn?”

  “I’m good either way. Oh, that reminds me—no one touch the tiramisu in the fridge.”

  * * *

  Quinn felt a lot better after her visit to her parents’ place. Talking with them always helped her reset her brain and give her perspective. Mr. Wanaker accepted the tiramisu with a big grin on his face and looked over the contract, giving his opinion that it was a fair document, and that had taken another layer of worry off Quinn’s chest. There was just one more thing she needed to do, and that was to check on Maggie and Mr. D.

  Sunday evenings were great times to visit nursing homes. Instead of going straight home after visiting her parents, Quinn steered her car over to Mountain Heights Care Center and parked in a slot not too far from the door.

  “Mr. D’Angelo is in room twelve,” the nurse at the desk told Quinn after calling the room to clear her for admittance, and Quinn stepped down the hallway.

  The door stood half open, and Quinn tapped on it lightly before sticking her head in. “Hello?”

  “Come in, Quinn,” Maggie called, and Quinn went inside the rest of the way.

  The room was really pretty, decorated in wood and cranberry tones. Mr. D sat in a recliner by the window, and Maggie sat next to him in a matching chair. If it weren’t for the bed in the corner, the place would look like a living room in a nice condo.

  “Hey, how are you?” Quinn grabbed a folding chair that was tucked behind the television stand and placed it where she could see both Mr. D and Maggie.

  “We got him settled in all right, and we think it will be a good fit,” Maggie answered.

  Mr. D didn’t respond.

  “Hey, I like your new digs,” Quinn said to him. “Any cute nurses around here?”

  “Maybe,” he replied, his voice low. “Maggie won’t let me look.”

  “Well, just wait until her back is turned.” Quinn winked at him. “I really like the colors in here. They’re kind of like red velvet cake.”

  Maggie laughed. “That’s exactly what Marco said when we came in here the first time. You bakers—you see everything in terms of cake.”

  “That’s not true,” Quinn protested. “There’s cookies and pastry and bread . . .”

  “How are things at the bakery?” Mr. D asked, raising his head to meet her eye for the first time since she’d walked in.

  “They’re good. Everyone’s been asking about you and sending their love.”

  He nodded. “That’s nice. Good people. And what about Tony? He came to see you?”

  “He did. And in fact, I’ve got the paperwork all ready to go.”

  Mr. D reached out and grasped Quinn’s hand. “Thank you. I know this is how things should be.”

  Tears glistened in Maggie’s eyes. “We’ll be able to keep the business, and still run it according to Marco’s standards without Tony having to uproot his entire life.”

  “I’m really glad I can help you out.” Quinn swallowed a few times. She was here to cheer them up, not sit and sniffle too. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve won another person over to the D’Angelo tiramisu.”

  “Oh?” That recipe was near and dear to Mr. D’s heart.

  “My parents’ next-door neighbor. He says he’ll be coming in a lot from now on.”

  Mr. D patted her hand again before releasing it. “Good girl.”

  Quinn felt a lot lighter by the time she left the care center half an hour later. She could tell that Mr. D didn’t want to be there, but he had resigned himself, and hopefully Maggie would get some rest. Maggie loved her husband dearly, there was no questioning that, but loving someone didn’t automatically come with the ability to care for them. Quinn knew that if Maggie had her choice, she’d keep Mr. D under her care until the day he died. That was true love, in Quinn’s book. And sometimes true love also meant knowing when to let go.

  * * *

  Because Quinn had taken off for her parents’ house instead of staying late on Saturday to get some prep work done, she headed in to the bakery early on Monday. Kenny was enthusiastic about his new cinnamon raisin nutmeg bread, and Quinn nearly melted when she tasted it. “Okay, yes. This will be perfect for the holidays. We’ll start making it to sell the week before Thanksgiving.” Kenny practically beamed. This would be the first recipe he’d developed entirely on his own to make it to the case out front.

  At nine, Quinn opened the shop and then asked Kenny if he’d be all right to hold down the fort for a couple of minutes. “I’ve just got to drop off some papers,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay, but be quick—the morning people get grumpy if they have to wait for their coffee. If we have a rush, I might lose a tooth.”

  Quinn flashed him a grin. “I’ll buy you a new one. Be right back.”

  The law office wasn’t far from the bakery and she could have walked, but because of her promise to Kenny, she drove. As she turned down a side street branching off Main, she caught sight of Jonah’s truck coming toward her. Sometimes she really hated living in a small town. Okay, she never hated living in a small town, but she was about to start. It was bad enough that she had to remember their last conversation, but to see him, too? That just made it all the worse.

  “Pushy.” He’d called he
r “pushy.” No, she wasn’t—she was determined. Focused. Driven. Goal-oriented. And she just wanted him to have his check. On what planet did that equate with being pushy? Maybe she should have just sat back and let his check molder in the bottom of the desk drawer until he came around looking for it. Sure, that would have been very professional.

  Quinn parked in front of the law office and stepped inside. “Is Logan Reese in?”

  The middle-aged receptionist looked up from her computer keyboard. “I’m sorry, but he’s down at the courthouse this morning. I can have him give you a call when he’s free.”

  “No, that’s fine. Unless he needs to talk to me, that is.” Quinn handed the woman the folder with the paperwork inside. “Would you let him know that everything looks good?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  As Quinn stepped out of the office and back into the warm summer morning air, she took a deep breath. This was right. And she was so excited. All that was left was a final meeting to sign the contracts with a notary present, and then she’d be a partner in the best bakery in the country.

  “Quinn.”

  Her idyllic stroll out to her car was interrupted by Jonah coming toward her on the sidewalk. She hadn’t noticed that he’d parked his truck half a block down the street—he must have pulled over right after she passed him.

  “Morning. Hey, I have to get back to the bakery. I promised Kenny I wouldn’t be gone very long. Coffee drinkers, you know.”

  “Yeah. But listen, can I talk to you for a second?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “About one. Because of the coffee drinkers.”

  He brought a bunch of flowers out from behind his back. They were all her favorite colors, and she wondered how he knew until she realized these were also the colors she tended to wear to work. He wasn’t psychic—just observant.

  “I was actually on my way to the bakery to see you. I owe you the biggest apology I’ve ever owed anyone in my life,” he said. “I’ve been so rude to you, and I’d like the chance to grovel for your forgiveness.”