A Recipe for Reunion

He frowned. “When’s your next appointment? I’ll go with you and we can ask the doctor to switch your prescription.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear. You need to focus on this book business.”

“No, I need to focus on you. The bookstore is second. Anyhow, once the renos begin, I can’t do much on-site. I’ll be contacting publishers and ordering inventory, but I can do that from home.” When Georgette looked as if she was going to argue, he said, “I’m your grandson. You took care of me. Let me take care of you, okay?”

She patted his arm with a rueful twist of the lips. “You’re a good boy, Aaron.”

Not good enough if he couldn’t keep Gran happy and healthy and make sure the bakery survived.

* * *

“AARON CARUTHERS...” Helen Stephens drew the name out over the phone later that week as if it were taffy. “No, I can’t honestly say I remember him. Did he come to your graduation party?”

“It wasn’t a grad party, it was an end-of-school party.” Despite the fact that she hadn’t graduated with the rest of her class, her parents had let her throw the bash anyhow, complete with a DJ, catering and decorations. They’d even bought the beer kegs. The football team and cheerleaders had had a wild night, vomiting everywhere but in the toilet and breaking one of Mom’s favorite vases. Helen hadn’t been that upset. She’d just wanted her only daughter to be happy. “Aaron definitely wasn’t there.”

“Are you sure? There were so many kids I couldn’t keep their names straight.”

“Trust me, Mom, he wasn’t there.” Back then, Steph wouldn’t have been caught dead inviting someone like Aaron to her party. He’d been one of those nerdy, intense kids who nobody had understood whenever he’d opened his mouth. She was seriously regretting not being nicer to him now.

“In any case, it doesn’t sound like he’s doing anything unreasonable. He left his life behind to take care of his grandmother. That’s quite a sacrifice for a man to make.”

“But he’s taking over,” she said, an exasperated whine pitching her voice. She cut herself off ruthlessly, pressing a fist against her lips. At the moment she was a particular kind of frustrated—the kind that couldn’t be placated with a few kind words—and she was having a hard time communicating that to her mother. “I’ve worked there five years. I’m the one who knows how everything works. I’m the one who knows all of Georgette’s recipes. He’s been there a week and he acts like he owns the place.”

“He’s entitled to it. Blood is thicker than batter, and he’s Georgette’s grandson. Why, we’ll be lucky if the place doesn’t shut down after she kicks the bucket.”

“Mom!” Steph gasped.

“I don’t mean that in a mean way, dear. I don’t want to see her go any more than you do. Where else would we get our croissants?”

Stephanie set her teeth. Mom wasn’t shallow, but she did have a habit of trivializing bad things to avoid thinking about them. “Georgette’s not going to die. Not anytime soon.” Not before Steph could convince her to sell the bakery to her, and not for a long time after, either. Steph would take care of Georgette herself if it came down to it. She loved her as if she were her own grandmother.

“Everyone dies, dear. All the more reason to find a special someone and give me some grandchildren as soon as possible.”

Not this again. “Mom.” A headache gathered between Steph’s eyes. “I told you, I’m trying to find myself right now. I don’t want to be involved with anyone until I figure out who I am.” Thank God for daytime talk shows. One of the many Stop Controlling My Life! episodes had given her those words to practice.

“I know who you are.” Helen’s sweet voice was tinged with a sour bite. “You’re my daughter. You’re a sweet, beautiful, kind, lovely young woman.”

“But I’m more than that. At least, I know I can be. I’ve spent too much time stuck in a rut. I want more.”

“Like living on your own in a tiny little apartment when you could be comfortable here at home?” Whenever Helen was miffed she made a noise through her nose that sounded like a pig whistling through a teakettle, as she did now. “I understand that you want to spread your wings, but wouldn’t it be better if you went away—on a trip? We could send you to Europe. Shake off your wanderlust before you decide to settle down. Maybe you’ll even meet someone abroad.”

Steph massaged her temples. Her mother had a one-track mind. “This isn’t about wanderlust.” They’d had this argument every time she’d called since moving out. After the reunion, she’d made it her mission to move on and up in life. Moving out of her parents’ house had been the first big step. “And I can’t settle down. Not right now.”

“Listen to me, baby. I thought the same thing when I was twenty-five. Your father and I were still young and we thought we had all the time in the world. But when we were ready for kids, we tried and tried... We wanted four kids, you know that?”

She closed her eyes. “I know, Mom.”

“It wasn’t until very late in the game that we finally had you. But there were complications. I was sick for weeks afterward, and the doctor said I couldn’t risk having any more children. I still thank God every day I have you, our perfect little angel.”

Every time Helen told this story guilt pooled in Steph’s gut. “That’s sweet of you to say, Mom, but—”

“You’re thirty, dear.” She made it sound like a curse. “Don’t you want to have kids?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then you need to think about that.” Her words were precise, final, loaded with prim admonishment.

Stephanie mouthed a curse at the ceiling. This was exactly why she’d needed to move out. Living at home, she’d accepted her mother’s wishes that she go forth and multiply as if that were her only purpose in life. And, for a while, she’d believed it. After Dale, she’d dated a lot, including men her parents had found for her, but no one had held her interest long enough to sound the wedding bells. Her Mom once had accused her of being picky, and they’d gotten into a big argument. That’d been around the same time Steph had started working for Georgette.

“You’re coming next weekend, aren’t you?” Helen asked, her tone switching back to honey-sweet.

“For Dad’s birthday party? Of course. Once all the morning baking’s done, Kira should be able to handle the counter. And Aaron will be there, I guess.” She grudgingly accepted that he’d take care of things at the bakery and make sure his grandmother got her rest. She’d almost canceled on her mom, but Georgette wouldn’t hear of her missing Terrence Stephens’s sixtieth birthday.

“Good. Because there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Steph suppressed a sigh. “You’re not trying to set me up again, are you?”

“You’ll like him,” Helen insisted. “You really will. He’s a rancher we met at the club last week—”

“I’ll come to the party, but don’t expect anything.” Steph would be polite, but she made no promises. She was determined to become the best Stephanie Stephens she could be, and for now, that meant no dating.

* * *

AARON RUBBED THE crust from his eyes, cursing the cold, dark February morning. Six o’clock was way too early to be up and driving, but he’d wanted the contractors to get the dining room sealed before the bakery opened at seven.

Only one other car was in the lot—a rather nice Mercedes mini SUV. As he got out of his Gran’s station wagon, his foot met a patch of ice. With a yelp, he snagged the door before he slid under the chassis, then regained his footing, cursing. The slick parking lot was a lawsuit waiting to happen. He’d have to take care of that.

Unlocking the door to Georgette’s, his mood was temporarily dispelled by the sweet smell of baking.

He inhaled, thinking of happier times. Mom and Dad taking him to visit his grandmother; carefully choosing the one treat he’d take home with him in the car—it was almost always a bran muffin, though he’d sometimes choose an oatmeal cookie; enjoying the long, winding drive out of Everville to see the fall colors...

His walk down memory lane came to an abrupt halt as he entered the kitchen and tripped on an open bag of flour. He managed to right it before it spilled onto the ground.

Steph glanced up from a mixing bowl. Her brassy hair was tied up in two pigtails, and a hairnet hung off them like a saggy black spiderweb. Her white apron was stained with smears of chocolate and batter, and there was a dusting of flour on her cheek, but she glowed with sunny cheer. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly. “Two cups of brown sugar.” He was confused for a moment as she emptied a measuring cup into a large bowl. “Watch your step, there.”

He grabbed the bag and dragged it out of his path. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked irately.

“Uh...baking? I’ve been here since four.”

Duh. Of course. He so wasn’t a morning person. “You didn’t salt the parking lot.”

Her smile faltered. “Huh?”

“The parking lot. It’s covered in black ice. I slipped out there. Could’ve broken my tailbone.”

The rays of happiness wreathing her face disappeared as if clouds had gathered around her. “A pound of butter,” she muttered as she dumped the cubes into the mixing bowl. She stirred, her arm working hard. “Sorry to hear that,” she said to him.

She wasn’t. And she wasn’t taking him seriously. Just another indication of how thoughtless and self-absorbed she was. She hadn’t changed a bit. “I’d appreciate it if you could have taken a minute to make sure other people weren’t getting hurt by your carelessness. If someone broke a leg out there—”

She slammed her spatula onto the worktable. “Look, if you’re not going to be helpful, I need you to get out of my way. I have a lot to bake still and I have three cake orders to fill today. You do what you need to do, but I don’t have time to deal with icy parking lots or whatever your problem is.”

For a moment, Aaron was shocked by her flash of temper. More surprising was the shame he felt. Barging in and acting like a tyrant wasn’t his style. He needed to get a grip.

“I’m sorry. I apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I...” He shook his head. “I need coffee.”

With a glare, she pointed toward the door. “On the counter up front. A quarter teaspoon of salt.” Her dismissal was clear, even if her instructions to herself were perplexing.

He pushed out of the kitchen, went to the carafe and filled a mug. His first big gulp scalded his tongue, bringing tears to his eyes. He deserved that. He’d been an asshat to Steph for no reason except that he was cranky and had slipped on some ice.

She clearly resented his presence at Georgette’s. Maybe she’d thought she was going to inherit the bakery. He hadn’t considered that before, but it would explain that hunted look she often bore, as if she were expecting him to kick her out any minute. He might not do that, but there was no way Aaron would allow Stephanie Stephens to run his grandmother’s legacy into the ground, either. He may never have woken up at four in the morning to bake, but he knew how to run the business. Besides, he was family. His grandmother would never choose a former cheerleader over her own kin.

Family or no, Georgette would not be pleased to hear they’d already started off on the wrong foot. He needed to smooth things out with Steph.

He took a few minutes to scatter deicer and sand over the front steps, around the lot and along the walkway. When he got back inside, he was shivering, but the bracing cold had cleared his head a little. He took a deep breath and pushed back into the kitchen.

“Stephanie.” She flicked him the briefest of glares, and he continued. “Look, I was out of line. It was rude of me to talk to you that way. I appreciate that you’re busy. It can’t be easy doing all the baking on your own.”

The chill in her storm-blue eyes thawed some, but she didn’t stop moving as she spooned batter into muffin tins. “It’s not.”

“What can I do to help?”

She gave him a pensive frown. “Aren’t your contractors coming?”

“I already moved the tables and chairs and stuff out of the dining room, so all I can do now is wait. Guess they’re a bit behind.” The recent snowfall had made the roads treacherous. “Did you prep the croissants yet?”

She blinked. “No. They’re—”

“Ready-made in the freezer. Eight to a tray at 425 degrees, right?” He smiled lopsidedly. “I remember a few things from working with Gran.”

The puzzled look on her face wasn’t entirely hostile, so that was progress.

He got to work laying the frozen premade pastries onto baking sheets. Georgette always made large batches of croissants and froze them for use in the bakery, but people also ordered boxes of them frozen to bake at home. As he worked, he could hear Stephanie muttering to herself under her breath. At first he thought she was grumbling about him, but then he realized she was reciting the recipes she was working on. How odd.

He popped the trays into the oven as the contractors arrived. After a round of coffee, he worked with Ollie for the rest of the morning as they sealed the dining room with thick sheets of plastic taped across the entryway. They decided the workmen could access the area from a rarely used side entrance in the dining room. When they were done closing off the work space, the bakery felt a whole lot smaller.

The sun, a pale gold button against a silvery sky, peeked in through the shop’s wide, lace-curtained windows. Stephanie came out and started loading trays of goodies into the display cases, then made a fresh pot of coffee. She frowned at the rippling translucent bubble of plastic as the door in the dining room was propped open. The cozy warmth was quickly sucked from the bakery.

“Is it going to be like this all month?” she asked, hastily pulling on a zip-up hoodie.

“I’ll see about getting some space heaters in here.” Aaron rubbed his arms.

She blew out a breath and mumbled something as she went back into the kitchen. Aaron followed her. “Listen, Steph. We need to talk. I realize I’ve kind of barged in here without any real warning. These renos must’ve come out of left field to you.”

She gave him a flat look, confirming his suspicions. She wasn’t displeased; she was pissed. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep things running smoothly, but we need to get this right the first time. I want to make this bookstore work for my grandmother’s sake and make sure the bakery stays afloat.”

She regarded him doubtfully. “That all sounds great, but I’m not sure you really know what’s best.”

He scowled. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re starting a new business while Georgette’s still recovering from a stroke.” She propped a hand against her hip. “That’s the opposite of being by her side and taking care of her. If it were me, I’d be with her 24/7.”

His temperature spiked, and he clenched his fists. “If it were you—” He cut himself off. He didn’t appreciate her criticism. She could hardly claim to know what was best... But he refused to argue about this. She was entitled to her opinions, even if they were damned wrong. Calmly, he said, “I have things under control. My grandmother wouldn’t want me around her constantly, and I’d only make her feel worse if I hung around the house all day, watching her, waiting for something bad to happen. This bookstore is for the future, to make sure what she built endures.”

“And it’s your own pet project.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Of course it is. I can’t give up my whole life for one person. In all honesty, yes, this is as much for me as it is for Gran. And it’s my way of giving back to the town.”

She looked away. It took her a moment to respond. “Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t be criticizing you. I’m sure you love your grandmother very much and want to do what’s best.”

Mollified, he straightened. “I do. And I will.” He firmly believed in his business plan, and so had the bank. Everville hadn’t had a bookstore since Mr. Williamson’s shop had closed when Aaron was fifteen. It’d been a major loss to Aaron personally. Reading had been his one great solace in the years following his parents’ deaths. The library was all right, but the town hadn’t had the money to keep it well stocked and up to date.

This bookshop was more than his fresh start. It was his way of making sure kids like him had a place to find and lose themselves. Being able to keep Gran’s bakery going was icing on the cake.

“Don’t worry, Stephanie,” he said. “I promise I’ll be a better boss.”

Spite flashed in her eyes, hard and glittering. She didn’t say anything as she marched back into the kitchen. The swinging door slapped the air behind her, and a chill seeped through his sweater and into his bones.

For crying out loud. What had he said now?

CHAPTER FOUR

STEPH’S PAYCHECK DIDN’T allow for extravagances like bottles of good French merlot, but today, she seriously needed to indulge.

Her friend Maya Hanes watched as she dumped the last three inches from the bottle into the bowl of her oversize wineglass. “Should you be drinking so much with your early start tomorrow?”

“I don’t see how I couldn’t be driven to drink considering the ignor...arro...arrogance of that man.” Stumbling over the word in front of Maya only added to her frustration, but her friend kindly ignored it. She’d told Maya about how Aaron had made it clear where they stood: he was going to be her boss, and she had no say in the matter.

Maya reached for another one of Steph’s chocolate-dipped macaroons. “Maybe this is a good thing. I mean, if he hadn’t come back and something happened to Georgette—”

“Why does everyone keep thinking the worst? Georgette’s fine. She’s had a stroke, sure, but she’s nowhere near...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

“All I’m saying is that Aaron means well, and he’s doing what he thinks is best. It’s not as if he’s fired you.”

“He might, though. I don’t know what he has planned.” She took a bracing gulp. “He could replace me.”

“Hon, c’mon. I know you’re upset, but I doubt Aaron would go that far. You’re the only one apart from Georgette who knows her recipes.”

“He doesn’t like me. He’s had it in for me since high school.” She sat back and stared into her wine, brooding. “I wasn’t very nice to him.”

“That was a long time ago. I’d think—or at least I’d hope—you’d both have grown beyond that.”

Maybe. Sometimes, everything about Steph’s life felt stalled, as if she still had one foot stuck in high school. Aaron’s return brought that home. It seemed fitting somehow that the past should come back to ruin her future.

“You need to give this time to work itself out,” Maya said. “See how Aaron handles things. You said it yourself—he’ll be busy with the bookstore side of the business. That probably means you’ll be free to run the bakery by yourself.”

“As an employee, maybe. But I want to own Georgette’s and run it on my terms.”

Maya tilted her chin. “Why’s that so important to you?”

“You own your own business. I want the same things you have—to be my own boss and make my own hours.” Steph didn’t know how to explain that in her eyes, Georgette’s was the epi...epistle...epitome of independence. Owning the bakery had been a longtime fantasy before the elderly baker had gotten sick, but now that dream was within her grasp. And she felt ashamed for thinking that way.

“I’m kinda surprised you haven’t opened your own shop,” Maya said, holding up a macaroon. “Your recipes are fantastic. I bet your folks would lend you the start-up money, too.”

Steph shook her head emphatically. “Oh, hell, no. I don’t want my parents to have a stake in any business of mine. Anyhow, I would never go into competition with Georgette. She taught me everything she knows. I can’t stab her in the back.”

Maya chuckled. “If you want to own a business, you have to be a little mercenary sometimes.” Maya would know. She’d bought the consignment shop on Main Street for a song about nine months ago. She now specialized in vintage clothing and wore the most awesome outfits. She’d even helped dress all Helen’s friends for a Mad Men party she had thrown. “Do you even know what it takes to keep the bakery going?” Maya asked, peering at Steph through her cat’s-eye glasses.

“Of course I do,” she said, then faltered. “I mean, I’ve worked there a long time...”

“Well, you baked and did all the front counter stuff, sure, but you didn’t handle the background responsibilities. Making sure the shop complied with health regulations, filling out tax forms...”

“I can learn to do all that if Georgette gives me a chance. Or I can hire someone.”

She knew Maya was only trying to make her see the reality of the situation. Even so, Steph couldn’t help but feel affronted, as if Maya didn’t think much of her abilities or ambitions. People were always waiting for Steph to make a mistake and give up.

“So what are you going to do?” Maya prodded. “Quit?”

“And do what? Go home a failure?” She gulped her wine and exhaled a heady cloud of vapor. “No way. Aaron can’t scare me away. And neither can my parents or you, for that matter.”

Maya grinned. “Good. I hate it when you play helpless little rich girl.” She toasted her. “Sorry to act all mean, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t...”

“Being a flake?” Steph supplied.

Maya’s lips quirked. “Your words.”

She knew she could rely on Maya for the honest truth. They hadn’t been close in high school, but Steph appreciated her bluntness—and patience—now. She needed a regular dose of reality, something that had been lacking in her life, living at home with parents who gave her anything and everything she wanted. No one had ever criticized her, either, or if they had, it had never been to her face.

Or maybe she’d simply ignored it. She’d been frustrated by her grades, of course, but so many other parts of her life had been great, like her relationship with Dale, cheerleading and all the clubs she’d been in. Her parents hadn’t minded the Cs and Ds on her report cards, though they had frowned at the handful of Fs she’d earned. In hindsight, she wished her parents had been a little tougher on her, but she knew her poor academic performance was all on her.

She understood now that if she really wanted something, she had to earn it, the way she had with her job and her apartment. Hard work and discipline had been the key to her independence, and now that she’d had a taste, she wasn’t about to give up any of it. She had to win Georgette’s favor if she was ever going to take over the bakery.

“So, what are you going to do about Aaron?” Maya prompted.

“I’d like to pour a bowl of batter over his head.” That was the wine talking, of course. She heaved a sigh. “I’ll stay on, I guess. What else can I do?”

“Well, if things get intolerable, quitting is always an option.”

“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t quit?”

“You shouldn’t quit without really thinking about it, is what I meant. But I wouldn’t want you staying there if you were miserable, either. No one would judge you for leaving if you were unhappy.”

Steph didn’t believe that for a moment, because she’d judge herself. Working at Georgette’s wasn’t just a job to her. It represented everything she was working toward—financial independence, security, stability and professional pride. Maybe to some people her job looked like a way for a rich girl to pass time. But Georgette’s Bakery was an institution. One that would fall apart in Aaron Caruthers’s hands if she didn’t make sure she was involved.

And to do that, she was going to have to play nice.

* * *

AARON ARRIVED AT Georgette’s at quarter after nine. He would have been there when the bakery opened, but he’d wanted to go with his grandmother to her doctor’s appointment and hear what the specialist had to say. Georgette would be visiting a physical therapist once a week to work on her mobility issues, and she would need to do daily exercises to get back the strength in her hands. The doctor assured them she was well on the road to recovery, but Aaron was going to keep a close eye on her.