Bittersweet

by Jacquie Underdown

  Amy wasn’t sure what she meant, but she, with a polite smile, nodded, nonetheless.

  ‘Rachel, God bless her, set my son up with his now-wife.’ She leaned closer and covered her mouth with a hand. ‘He was thirty-six and still single.’ She whispered this as though it was humiliating news to share. ‘He’s now married, thank God, and my second grandbaby is on the way. I credit Rachel for all of it. And I’m not the only one. You’ll soon find out, but she’s responsible for quite a few matches in the local area.’

  ‘Wow.’ So Rachel’s matchmaking legacy was spread far and wide.

  Felicity laughed. ‘Anyway, lovely to meet you, Amy. And I’m so sorry to hear of Rachel’s passing. She will be missed by many people. In her short time married to the eldest Mathews boy, bless his broken heart, she made her stamp on this town.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.’

  ‘It’s the truth. Now, chin up. You’ll get through this.’

  Amy smiled and watched, bemused, as Felicity strode out the front door.

  And the day ended up being a mix of that: never too many locals in a row to send her near the banks of sorrow, interspersed with enough tourists to lead her back to equanimity.

  The school rush came and went, the kids snavelling up most of the stock. Then another rush came through at four o’clock, cleaning out the shelves of every single cupcake. Not one left.

  Amy sighed as she considered the stark cabinets. Perhaps it was because the doors had been closed for a week. Or maybe the townspeople wanted to come in and offer their sympathies.

  If the store was as busy tomorrow, then she might have to think about making more cupcakes.

  She shut the doors early with a sign that Sugar Cakes was closed but would be open for regular hours tomorrow.

  A knock came at the back door, followed by footsteps and a familiar voice.

  ‘Hello. Anyone home?’

  She smiled. Tom had such a sexy voice, deep and throaty.

  ‘Out the front here,’ she called back.

  ‘Is this for me?’ he yelled out.

  Amy narrowed her eyes, a grin still on her face, and went out the back to see what he was talking about. ‘Is what for you?’

  He pointed to the small plate sitting on the bench with a blue frosted Cupid cupcake.

  I didn’t leave that there, did I? But she must have. The tsunami of thoughts whirling through her brain may very well have left her oblivious to her actions, but there was no other way it could have got there.

  ‘I guess it is for you,’ she said.

  He arched a brow as he looked at the love heart and Cupid’s arrow decoration on top. ‘Is this a hint?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

  A cheeky smile flittered across his lips as he peeled back the wrapper and took a big bite. He pointed to the remaining half. ‘I’m taking this as a hint. These are delicious.’

  ‘They’re kind of a tribute for Rachel.’

  Warmth glowed in his gentle gaze. ‘And your own recipe?’

  She nodded. ‘Vanilla with a buttercream frosting. Not too fussy, but still sweet, pretty and romantic.’

  Tom swallowed his mouthful. His smile was soft, sympathetic. ‘That’s perfect.’

  ‘So, how are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine. But that’s why I stopped in. To see how you are holding up?’

  Tom knew all about her fear of breaking down in tears in front of the customers. She’d bombarded him with it via a long series of text messages last night. In the end, he’d just come over and they’d talked it out.

  He’d been through the exact same thought process after his dad died.

  Amy wiped a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I did okay. There were a few moments where I thought I was ready to lose myself to tears, but I pulled myself back. That’s the hardest, most exhausting part, isn’t it?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Acting as though you’re coping. Trying to cover the pain and pretend it’s not sitting so close to the surface.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘Have you heard from Mitch today?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s coping. Barely. But Sophie’s doing well. The doctors are happy with her. They think they’ll be able to remove the breathing apparatus tomorrow. Her glucose levels have stabilised. There’s no sign of infection. Once she’s breathing on her own, Mitch will be able to feed her with a bottle.’

  A beautiful, hopeful joy spread all through Amy’s limbs. She smiled so wide. Tears pricked her eyes, but they were happy tears. ‘That’s such good news.’

  ‘Yeah. A relief.’ He shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth, dusted his hands and stood. ‘Let me help you finish up here. Sam’s cooking dinner—’

  She opened her mouth to object, not wanting to burden these guys at a time like this.

  ‘And he said you’re not allowed to say no. He’s cooking his signature fish dish—showing off is another way to phrase it—and he doesn’t want us to be late. And if you know Sam like I do, you don’t come between him and eating.’

  Amy cracked a smile. She could only imagine. Sam was enormous, the bigger of the three brothers in height and width.

  ‘So that’s a “yes, Tom, please help me so we’re not late for dinner?”’

  Amy giggled. ‘Yes, Tom, please help me so we’re not late for dinner.’

  Chapter 13

  Tom’s heart crushed to witness the pain on Amy’s beautiful face as she grasped a bunch of flowers Sam had picked for her—yellow daffodils.

  Her eyes watered as she smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  Sam winked. ‘Thought you needed something beautiful at the moment.’

  Tom peered sidelong at his brother. He was such a charmer, his flowers his best move, particularly where beautiful women were concerned. But he could see that this was a genuine gesture.

  ‘Come on through,’ he said, motioning towards the kitchen.

  They followed behind him. Tom sat on a stool next to Amy while Sam found a vase and filled it with water. The house was overflowing with vases left over from their grandmother’s days.

  ‘And I don’t even have any cupcakes today for you. Sold out,’ she said, frowning.

  Sam waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  Tom stood. ‘Drinks?’

  ‘Do fish swim?’ asked Sam.

  Amy smiled. ‘Yes, please. I’m going to have to pay you guys back for all the food and drink over the past few weeks. I’ll put a box of cupcakes away for you both to share tomorrow.’

  A cheeky grin. ‘Only if you want to.’

  Tom rolled his eyes at his brother; he thought himself so cute. The funny thing was, so did many women. Tom had never possessed that ‘charming’ gene. His dad had had it in spades, and Mitch did too when he wanted to. But Tom, he always felt a little awkward in the presence of beautiful women, always second-guessing himself.

  Maybe because he was the youngest in the family, always a step or two behind his brothers.

  ‘I’ll make another batch if I have to,’ Amy said.

  Sam’s smile was broad. ‘I won’t say no.’ He turned to face Tom. ‘Drinks, mate. Don’t want Amy getting dehydrated under my watch.’

  Tom opened a bottle of Riesling. ‘Now, I know you prefer red, but I promise this is a dry drop.’

  She arched a brow. ‘Riesling? Dry?’

  Sam nodded. ‘You’ll love this. Our 2011 vintage. Our best Riesling vintage, I would say, ever.’

  ‘The year Dad died,’ Tom said.

  ‘And we were bloody lucky we even had anything worthwhile barrelling. Tom had ruined the other grapes. It was just dumb luck that we’d harvested the Riesling first.’

  Tom sighed. ‘I couldn’t have predicted it was going to rain for three weeks straight.’

  ‘The first harvest without Dad around was always going to be hard,’ Sam said.

  And Tom just happened to be the one they blamed for that, all because he suggest
ed they hold off harvest for another week.

  It had been all blue skies, perfect weather to dry out the vines, let the grapes grow and develop, then a freakish low formed and waterlogged the entire vineyard. Row after row of grapes plumping and diluting with rain water.

  They’d managed to harvest the Riesling just in time before the damage set in.

  While Sam started on preparing dinner, Tom poured them all a glass of wine. He took a seat next to Amy again. Being so close to her, his body thrummed with the desire to touch her, despite his mind straining not to think about it. Not now.

  ‘So how was your first day back?’ asked Sam.

  Amy sipped her wine and shrugged. ‘Weird. I feel a little intrusive being there at the shop, cooking Rachel’s recipes. But it’s what Rachel wanted. She rang me before she …’ She lowered her gaze to her glass. ‘Do either of you mind that I’m running the shop?’

  Tom and Sam shook their head in unison.

  ‘Not at all,’ Tom said. ‘I love that you are here. To see that shop close would be heartbreaking for the town, for us all.’

  ‘What about Mitch?’

  Tom shrugged, shook his head. ‘Rachel left it for you. You’re her best friend. He’d respect that.’

  Amy sighed. ‘That’s good.’ Offering a wry smile, she admitted, ‘I feel like she’s still there. I know that sounds weird—’

  ‘Not at all,’ Tom said.

  ‘Does it sound weird if I admit that I was talking to her?’

  Sam and Tom both shook their heads. ‘I talk to Dad when I’m in the vineyard,’ Tom said.

  Sam turned to face him, head cocked to the side. ‘You do? So do I.’

  Tom laughed. ‘See, Amy. Not weird at all.’

  Sam dished up dinner: whiting fillets with sweet potato chips and Asian greens. They ate it from their laps in the lounge room.

  Amy cut into the fish and had a bite. ‘Between you both, you’re going to make two lucky women so very happy.’

  Yes, it was a compliment, but Tom’s heart panged to hear those words.

  Tom passed a glance with Sam. Sam mouthed ‘ouch’, picking up on the barb in that compliment too.

  Amy didn’t stay around long after dinner. Tom understood—the last few weeks had left him feeling as though he was dragging his legs through glue. Amy would be no different, especially with her restaurant folding, hearing of her best friend’s passing, and starting again in a new town with unfamiliar surroundings and people.

  Tom was stacking the dishwasher when Sam came into the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks for dinner, mate,’ Tom said.

  ‘No worries. I think Amy enjoyed it.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so too.’ Tom rinsed off plates under the tap and stacked them into the racks. ‘Did it feel a little awkward to you? Between me and Amy?’

  He had felt it in the lounge room. But perhaps it was just him because no matter how hard he tried, no matter the circumstances, he couldn’t turn his attraction off.

  Sam shook his head. ‘Nah. Felt pretty normal. But I can see all over your face every time you look or speak to her that you’re hot for her.’

  Tom groaned. ‘Because I am, mate. This whole situation is so damn difficult. I’m keen on her, but then I feel guilty and selfish for even entertaining those thoughts while Mitch is breaking apart.’

  Sam studied him, frowning. ‘You’d only be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit your attraction. And you shouldn’t feel guilty for living. Rachel would kick your arse to even hear you talking like that.’

  A ghost of a smile formed as he realised Sam was right. ‘She would, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  But then Tom groaned and threw his hands up in defeat. ‘It’s pointless. She’s not interested anyway.’

  Sam slanted a brow. ‘But that was because she planned to move away, wasn’t it?’

  Tom nodded.

  ‘From the way she was talking earlier, it sounds like she’s decided to stick around for Mitch and Sophie.’

  ‘Yes, but for how long?’ Amy had mentioned she was in debt. Maybe she was only sticking around for as long as was practical. ‘Either way, it just doesn’t feel right to even bring it up again. Not yet.’

  ‘Knowing what you’re like, this thing with Amy isn’t going to go away easily. So here’s my advice …’

  Tom groaned. ‘Do I really want your advice?’

  ‘You’ve got no choice,’ Sam said with a grin. ‘Give yourself and Amy some time. Circumstances might change. The reasons she knocked you back initially may no longer be relevant. But pushing this now, after the last few weeks, isn’t going to work.’

  Tom sighed. ‘Yeah. You’re right.’ And he was. Tom wasn’t an idiot; he appreciated and respected Amy enough to know that being anything more than a friend and a genuine support would be the wrong move.

  Chapter 14

  Since Rachel’s death, Amy had wanted to shove everything else aside. But despite the roiling turmoil, hot and heavy in her heart, life continued every single day, every single minute. No-one and nothing was stopping to give her a chance to breathe.

  Or give her a chance to say enough is enough.

  After opening letters that were forwarded to her from Melbourne, each from a creditor of some sort, she had to face her financial dilemma because the demands were becoming uglier the more time that passed. Some suppliers were already threatening legal action.

  So on Saturday morning, Amy arrived in Melbourne early to meet with her real estate agent face to face over coffee.

  John was a well-kept, middle-aged man in an expensive suit. Her stomach was roiling with nerves as she sat across from him, sipping her coffee.

  She should have ordered some food too, it would help with her jitters, evident in the way her hand trembled as she picked up her coffee cup, but the urgency to get this over with was strong.

  ‘Is there any reason the restaurant hasn’t sold yet?’ she asked, keeping the emotion from her voice, though inside she was tensing, shaking, with the need to scream and demand answers.

  John smiled warmly. ‘Amy, it’s been on the market barely a month.’

  ‘I need it sold fast.’ She didn’t offer any more than that. Admitting that she was drowning in debt was difficult. Amy had always been a proud person and combined with the stigma attached to financial failures in this society, she’d kept her lips sealed.

  Besides, John didn’t need to know.

  He’d think she was frivolous with her money—typical Y Generation, wanting everything now, now, now. He would presume she’d overreached. Taken too much of a risk. And perhaps that was true.

  Maybe she should have started with something more low-key. Perhaps, she should have just stuck to working for her previous boss, Ronaldo. Or, at least, had some skerrick of foresight how by going out on her own, Ronaldo was going to do all he could to make her life a living hell.

  But in her mind, she saw nothing wrong with pursuing her dreams. Dreams that began to flourish when she was a little girl cooking with her grandpa. Perhaps it was a little naive to expect Ronaldo to have ever let her go with his best wishes snug in her front pocket.

  John rubbed his chin. ‘Have you thought about lowering the price to open it up to a wider market?’

  Amy nodded and though it filled her with a breath-stealing angst to do so, she told him to lower the price. She had no choice but to chase a quick sale. The profits from Sugar Cakes were nowhere near substantial enough to cover the mortgage repayments on the restaurant, as well as rent on her Melbourne apartment, plus all the other personal debt.

  She needed the mortgage gone before she drowned. This was the only way she would be able to stay in Alpine Ridge until Mitch was back on his feet.

  She gulped down her coffee to end the meeting and hurried through the pointless talk about the weather. When given her opening to leave, she hurried back to her car, climbed inside, and sat there for a long moment staring out the windscreen.

  People strolle
d past, laughing, smiling and chatting. Amy couldn’t remember many moments since she was a teenager when she’d been carefree like that. She’d been so invested in learning how to cook, working at her craft, then putting everything she had into her restaurant.

  She thought of Rachel, their first real interaction at culinary school—the soufflé exam. Rachel’s had deflated, which meant an instant fail and the entire term had to be repeated. Rachel had been so flustered, tears glossing her eyes, Amy had had no choice but to sneak her the backup soufflé she had cooked while the teachers weren’t looking.

  They’d been friends ever since.

  Rachel had been her shining star. She was always such a happy, carefree person, the exact opposite of Amy, and Amy couldn’t help but have Rachel’s zest for life rub off on her whenever they were together. Together, they were yin and yang, or as Rachel would often say, the perfect combination of crazy.

  But now Rachel was gone.

  Amy’s chest burned as a blast of grief hit her. She wanted Rachel back. She needed her here. But she never could be. Ever. Amy would wake up every day of her life and know that Rachel would never be here again.

  She groaned as she squeezed the steering wheel, willing the pain to leave. She was so damn sick of feeling this solid ache in her heart.

  Amy started the engine and pulled out into the traffic. Propelled by some morbid curiosity, she drove past her restaurant. As the sign above the entrance—Sweet Tooth—came into view, her stomach cramped.

  For weeks she’d agonised over the name for that place, and what good had it done in the end? She could have called it Destined to fail and wouldn’t have fared any worse.

  The restaurant was once so full of life and glamour—between crisp white walls, modern and sleek, sat a long polished glass cabinet. Each day she’d line the shiny white boards with colourful, meticulously prepared sweets, cakes, and pastries.

  In the adjoining space was her dining room. Weeks of planning and testing went into each and every recipe, and she would present her desserts on big white or black plates as though each creation was an artistic expression. A delicious, impeccably plated representation of her dreams, skills, and hopes.