A Recipe for Reunion

He entered the bakery and found Steph chatting up a customer. She excused herself and brought him a steaming mug. “Fresh coffee?” She smiled brightly.

“Uh...thanks.” He took the mug and headed to the office. Steph followed.

“Listen—” she lingered in the doorway “—I want to say I’m sorry if I’ve acted nastily toward you. I think it’s great that you’re back for Georgette.”

He blinked. She sounded like she meant it, but then he wasn’t sure she’d ever given anyone a smile that wasn’t carefully calculated to extrude the maximum result.

Oh, hey, Aaron, can I borrow a pen? Can I borrow your notes?

Can I borrow your heart so I can stomp all over it?

“Okay,” he responded noncommittally. He’d apologized plenty for his poor behavior already. Still, it didn’t feel right not to reciprocate. But with each second that passed, it got harder and harder to jump into that conversation. They lapsed into an awkward stalemate.

He picked up the binder of invoices his grandmother kept for supply orders and set up his laptop. He didn’t realize until he looked up that Steph was still standing in the doorway watching him. “Something you want?” He cursed his curt tone. Tell her you’re sorry and that you appreciate her, too, idiot.

She smiled faintly. “Just curious about what you’re up to.”

He patted the binder, glad for something else to talk about. “I’m looking at cutting some costs, getting quotes from other suppliers.”

Steph gasped. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t...change things.” She gestured emptily, her movements shaky. “We have long, established relationships with our suppliers.”

“If that’s true, they should be offering you a better deal for what you order.”

“They already do.” Her voice rose, almost threateningly.

Aaron struggled to keep his tone even. “Not good enough. Not after nearly fifty years in business.” Was she going to question and fight him on every decision? “Look, all I’m trying to do is make sure the bakery stays in the black, but it’s dangerously close. We need to reduce our expenses.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going to cut our hours?”

That wasn’t what he’d said—her reaction was typically self-centered. He opened his mouth to reassure her that her job was safe, but realized he couldn’t make any promises. Not until he’d gotten a real handle on the financial situation. “You should get back to the front,” he said instead, glancing past the door and not feeling particularly sorry to end this conversation. “There are customers.”

She looked as though she was going to say something else, but then whirled and made a quiet huffing noise.

Five minutes later, though, she was back. “I’m sorry...again. I’m used to doing things a certain way and...you’re right,” she admitted with effort. She rubbed a palm up and down her hip and grudgingly added, “Cutting costs is good for business.”

He studied her. She was really trying. To what end, he wasn’t sure. But Gran had wanted him to work with her, so he had to make the effort, as well. “Sit down. I want to hear your thoughts. You must have some ideas on how to make things more efficient. You’d know where best to make cuts.”

She sat gingerly, gripping her knees. “Well...I’m not really sure. We can’t change the recipes.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He knew how proprietary Gran was of her recipes. She kept them in a binder in her safe at home. She wouldn’t even type them up on the computer, afraid a hacker would somehow steal her life’s work. He’d tried to explain that it didn’t work that way since she didn’t have internet access at home—something he’d soon change—but she was a bit of a Luddite.

Stephanie paused. “I’ve always thought it would save us a little work to prepackage some of the bestselling cookies during the summer months for the tourists, to help move them through more quickly.”

“That’s a good idea.” He wrote it down.

“Labels for the bagged goodies would be nice, too. Like pretty stickers we could put on bags and tie with some gold ribbon.”

That would cost money, and wouldn’t necessarily translate into sales, but he noted it.

She rattled off a few more ideas—most of them were more about how the bakery looked rather than how it functioned, but he agreed the place could use a new coat of paint and maybe a change of curtains. “These are good ideas,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He put his pen down. Now that he had her attention, he needed to make an effort to be friendly. “So what happened to you after high school?” he asked. “We haven’t really talked.”

“You first,” she insisted. “You went to college, right?”

“Harvard Law School,” he confirmed, not without a little pride. He’d received a handsome scholarship and had worked part-time to feed and clothe himself. He’d been inching his way up the corporate ladder at the firm, but when Gran had gotten sick, he’d dropped everything. The truth was, he’d never really been into his job. He was an entrepreneur at heart.

Steph prodded, “No girlfriend?”

That was an awfully personal question. “Nope.”

“No one? Not even someone you’d categorize as ‘It’s complicated’?”

“That sounds exhausting.”

She rested her chin in a hand. “I take it that means no. How about a dog? Cat? Hamster?”

“I’m allergic to animal fur.” Irked by her pitying frown, he added, “I’m not lonely. I date occasionally. I have friends.” And then he felt stupid for getting defensive.

The truth was most of the women he’d been with hadn’t captured his attention. Not the way Steph did, perched on the edge of her chair, her focus on him. She’d always been like that, making you feel as if you were the only person in the world she wanted to talk to. But she’d been manipulative, too, knowing she could get what she wanted if she made you feel special enough.

It infuriated him that he should feel a twinge of attraction now.

“So, what about you?” he asked, turning the questioning back onto her. “Did you go to college?”

Her chin dipped. “No.”

“Oh. I’d have thought you could study anywhere in the world.”

“I didn’t have the grades. Actually, I never finished high school.”

Aaron sucked in a breath. He knew she hadn’t graduated with the rest of their class, but he’d assumed an extra semester would have solved that problem. “How many credits did you have left?”

She picked at her apron strings. “Just one.”

He caught his jaw before it dropped. “And all this time later, you still haven’t completed it?”

“Why bother?” She scowled.

“Why—” He wiped a palm down his face. “You need a high school diploma. That’s a basic requirement for any job.”

“Says who?” She tipped her nose in the air. “I didn’t need one to work here.”

“But...basic math skills...” He bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say anything about that.

Steph’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘basic math skills’? You think I can’t add or something?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve made some mistakes on the till, is all. I thought maybe...” Lord, he hadn’t intended to bring this up now. He’d had some suspicions, but he hardly knew what to say. Unable to veer off this course, he asked, “You had a hard time in math, didn’t you?”

“Really? We’re going to compare report cards now?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Since you’re asking, I had a hard time in lots of things.” She sniffed. “But I don’t need a piece of paper to prove I can bake.”

“You could at least have gotten your high school equivalency diploma. Don’t you care what people think?”

“Are you judging me?”

“No, of course not.” But he’d taken a second too long to answer, and now she pierced him with a dagger-eyed look.

“You think I’m dumb, don’t you?” Her voice was dangerously low.

Uh-oh. “I never said that. Maybe you have...issues.”

Her expression shifted from angry to stone cold. “What the hell do you mean by issues?”

He hastened to correct himself, not wanting to go into that territory. Not now. “All I meant to say was that a diploma is important.” He struggled to put into words why it was so important—to him at least—but instead he said, “It seems silly to me that you didn’t finish your credits when you were so close.”

“So now I’m silly and stupid.”

He cringed. “What I meant—”

“I’m a good person, y’know. I have skills. Lots of people don’t have diplomas and do fine, Mr. Harvard Law School.”

“Of course you’re a good person.” He fought to keep his exasperation in check. “All I meant was that you could’ve gone to any school...” He took a deep breath. The fact that he’d had to work so hard to get what he wanted while she’d squandered her opportunities made him bitter and frustrated, but that didn’t give him any right to judge her. “Education is important. Basic language and math skills, sciences, geography—”

“Stop explaining things to me like I’m a child!” She shot out of her chair. “I don’t have any issues. I know what I want and I work hard. But you’re never going to see that, are you? You’re always going to look at me like I’m a dumb blonde cheerleader who dropped out of school and will never amount to anything.”

She was being deliberately obtuse, hearing what she wanted to hear so she could be mad at him. He raked his hands through his hair. With a brittle, maddened laugh, he uttered, “One credit and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“That’s right. One credit. And you’re acting like it gives you the right to pick on me. Well, I hope your law degree taught you enough to run this place on your own—” she tore off her apron “—because I quit.”

“What?” Aaron’s heart stopped. He jumped out of his seat. “W-wait a minute—”

She threw her apron against his chest and stalked out of the office. He followed, calling her name. Two customers stared as she grabbed her purse and jacket and marched out.

“Steph, I didn’t mean—”

Her one-fingered salute shut him up.

Aaron stood on the bakery steps as she threw herself into her mini SUV and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up icy gravel in her wake. The cold air seeped through his clothes and into his skin, slowly freezing his blood.

Crap. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

CHAPTER FIVE

STEPHANIE CLENCHED HER JAW, sick to her stomach, heart pounding. As she drove away from Georgette’s, she felt as if someone were digging spadefuls of hurt and bile straight out of her gut.

Twenty minutes later she pulled over, realizing she’d been driving aimlessly, blinded by her need to escape. What was it her old babysitter used to say? Running away won’t solve your problems, Stephanie.

It was too soon to regret, she told herself. This wasn’t her fault. Walking out was the only way to show Aaron she needed to be taken seriously. She wouldn’t stand to be mocked and bellied...belittled.

That, at least, was what she’d tell herself until reality sank in.

She sat in the SUV, hands loose in her lap, the emergency blinkers on. She picked up her cell phone. Calling Maya was out of the question. After the pep talk they’d had, Steph didn’t want to disappoint her. She didn’t want to head back to her apartment yet, either. Stewing at her place alone would only bring the grief home quicker once she acknowledged she was out of a job.

There was only one place she could think of to go. She dialed, and after a brief conversation, turned her SUV back onto the road.

It was half an hour before she arrived. Mom and Dad lived in one of the big houses on the shores of Silver Lake. They had a great view of the water, and they owned a private strip of beach, which was why all the parties back in high school had been at the Stephenses’.

Though it was anything but, today the house looked low and small and sad against the gray-and-white world. The lawn was covered in thin patches of melting snow. Steph pulled into the long, paved driveway and parked in the four-car garage. Her mother met her in the interior doorway, beaming.

“I’m so glad you’re home.” Helen opened her arms in welcome. Steph leaned in for a brief hug, smelling cloves and Chanel No. 5 in her mother’s hair. “I’ve got so much to do, and I could really use your help before your father’s party.”

Steph didn’t reply. She hadn’t mentioned it over the phone, but she had a feeling Mom already had heard about her falling-out with Aaron. Gossip was a professional sport in Everville, and Helen was one of its MVPs. “I’ve got a headache coming on,” Steph said, not in the mood to be interrogated. Sometimes faking it was Steph’s only way to ensure her mother left her alone. “Would you mind...?”

“Of course, baby. Go right up to your room. Lucena’s already put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in your bathroom. Get some rest and I’ll check on you later to see if you want dinner.” She ushered her up the stairs.

Steph shut the bedroom door, and the cold, massive space closed around her. She waited three heartbeats to feel better, to feel safe, to feel that everything was going to be all right.

All she felt, though, was a leaden sense of failure.

* * *

“I’M SCREWED.” ACTUALLY, screwed wasn’t the word he was thinking of, but he was trying to shield Kira’s delicate ears from saltier language. He didn’t want to drive off his only other employee.

“Can’t Georgette come and bake tomorrow’s orders?” she asked hopefully.

Aaron gulped his black coffee and stared at the long list of standing orders. He hadn’t realized how many local businesses they supplied with pastries and desserts. They’d lose a lot of cash if they had to cancel. “My grandmother’s still recovering. I don’t want to trouble her.” He scanned what was left behind the counter. “Pack up what you can from the display case to fill these orders.” He handed her the list. “We’ll make what we have to once we see what we have on hand.”

“What about stock for tomorrow?”

“I’ll deal with it. I don’t suppose you can come in for the rest of the week?”

She bit her lip. “I have classes...”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, then. Come when you can, but don’t you dare skip school.” He paused. “Wait...it’s barely noon. Why aren’t you in school now?”

“I only go part-time.”

He began to ask her why, but decided it wasn’t his business. There were lots of reasons a young person might have for not going to school full-time, and right now having Kira here was a blessing.

He went back to the office and hesitantly picked up the phone. How was he going to explain this to Gran? She’d be furious, and then she’d insist on coming to fill the orders.

He put down the handset. No. He wasn’t going to tell her. Not until he’d found a replacement. The doctor had said it was vital that Gran rest and keep her blood pressure down.

He took a deep breath to calm his own hammering heart. He’d spent his youth in the bakery working alongside Gran, though she hadn’t let him in on her secrets. But he knew where everything was in the kitchen—at least he thought he did. All he needed were the recipes.

Which were in the safe at home. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. Georgette would know right away that something was wrong if he showed up at the house now. He would have to get the binder of recipes tonight after Gran had gone to bed. Well, no problem. He had his smartphone and a great data plan. He’d get some recipes off the internet and make those. They wouldn’t be Gran’s, but they’d be close enough, he was sure. A chocolate chip cookie was a chocolate chip cookie.

He glanced at his watch. If he started now, he could make a few batches. He rolled up his sleeves and headed to the kitchen. He could do this. Stephanie Stephens had, after all. How hard could it possibly be?

* * *

THE SATURDAY OF her father’s birthday party, Steph was tasked with serving punch and cake, even though Helen had hired wait staff for the day. Steph suspected her mom had put her behind the big crystal punch bowl by the window to make sure she was seen by all the guests, including those who knew some eligible bachelors.

She smiled wanly as Helen, dressed in a salmon-colored two-piece suit, picked up a glass of punch. “I still don’t see why you couldn’t have made Georgette’s coconut cake,” she murmured. “It’s for your father, after all. You know he loves her coconut cake.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t make Georgette’s desserts for anyone unless they pay for them.”

“If this was about money, I would’ve paid you.” Helen sniffed.

“And if you’d wanted the cake, you should’ve ordered it from the bakery before I quit. It’s her recipe, and I don’t work for Georgette anymore, so I can’t use it.” She didn’t know why her mother argued with her about this all the time. Helen knew very well Steph had signed a nondisclosure agreement that kept her from sharing her employer’s recipes. In one of her more melodramatic moods, Helen had once claimed her own daughter wouldn’t give her Georgette’s recipes to save her life. To her mother’s everlasting shock, Steph had agreed.

Leaving their argument dangling, Helen trotted away to greet some guests. Steph stifled a yawn. She’d woken up before the crack of dawn, still attuned to her baking schedule. She’d never slept much, but now that her internal clock was thrown off she had a hard time coping.

Truthfully, she worried about what was happening at Georgette’s. She’d stormed out before she’d gotten any of the next day’s baking done. But she snuffed out the impulse to call, because the next thing she knew, she’d be driving there to put a pan of date squares together. She firmly reminded herself that the bakery was no longer her concern. Aaron would have to figure things out himself.

Damn that stupid, stupid man. Calling her on poor math skills? Hitting her where it hurt? What kind of guy did that? He knew she’d struggled through school. Everyone knew. Telling her she had issues...

Well, she didn’t. She’d asked her parents about it once, and they’d assured her absolutely nothing was wrong. She’d simply been a little slower on the uptake.

Slow. As if she really wanted a reminder of how people saw her. Stupid and useless. But not to everyone: Georgette had seen what she could do.

Steph shifted restlessly. She hadn’t called her yet to explain why she’d left. The truth was she was too cowardly. Disappointing Georgette was worse than disappointing anyone else she knew. And she’d done it anyway.

“Pardon me.” A tall man grinned down at her, interrupting her brooding. The sun made his grass-green eyes shine and caught in his gold-brown hair, distilling it to bourbon in its roots. “I’m looking for Helen and Terrence Stephens.”

Steph smiled back. “They should be around here somewhere. I’m their daughter, Stephanie.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He held out a big, weathered hand. “Wyatt Brown. Your folks were kind enough to invite me over to meet the neighbors.” He had the slightest accent, one she couldn’t place.

“Wyatt.” Helen hurried over. “So glad you could come. I see you’ve met my lovely daughter, Stephanie. You can call her Steph.”

Ah. Now Steph understood. This must be the rancher her mother had mentioned.

She gave him a once-over and decided her mother’s taste wasn’t terrible. In a pair of khakis, a green Ralph Lauren sweater and mud-stained loafers, he looked like a model out of a magazine. More Sears catalog than GQ, though. He was one of those big guys whose bodies were built for hard work. Thick muscles bulged as he shifted, stretching his clothes in interesting ways. Compared to the rancher, Aaron was a stick. Not that she was comparing the two.

Helen handed the rancher a glass of punch. “Stephanie, come out from behind there and show Wyatt around the house, won’t you? I’ll go get your father.” With that, she flitted off.

Real subtle, Mom. “Sorry about that. She can get overly enthusiastic at times.”

“I don’t mind.” His relaxed air put her at ease. He didn’t push, which was nice, but he wasn’t backing off, either. “Your mother’s talked a lot about you. Good things only, I promise.”

She was sure her mom hadn’t ever had a bad thing to say about her daughter to anyone.

She led Wyatt on a tour of the house with its many guest rooms, offices and her mother’s craft room. It had always seemed too big for the three of them, but they had friends stay over frequently. She and Wyatt chatted as they made their way back to the party. “My mom mentioned you’re a rancher and that you just moved here.”

“My folks have an operation in Australia, but we’re from Montana originally. I wanted to branch out, so I bought a nice piece of land not too far from here. We’re getting our first heads of cattle next week.”

“That sounds interesting.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to be polite. Most people glaze over the moment I start talking shop.”

She stifled a laugh. Mom had always told her to look interested even if she had no idea what a person was saying, but she was glad she didn’t have to pretend too hard. Wyatt went on, “You’re a baker, right?”

“Well...I was.” She looked down.

“What happened?”

“I kind of...quit.” Ugh. She sounded like a total flake.

“What made you leave?”

“It’s a long story.”

The corner of his mouth hitched up, revealing a dimple. “I’ve got time.”

She shuffled her feet, embarrassed she’d even brought it up. “Well, it’s this guy...my boss, I guess you could say. He’s taking over Georgette’s Bakery—”

His eyes lit up. “That’s the place everyone keeps telling me to visit.”

“Oh, yeah. Bar none, the best baked goods in a hundred miles. People come in droves on the weekend and—” She stopped suddenly. This was the first weekend she hadn’t worked in months. Years, even. At this time of day, she’d be baking for Sunday. Regret gnawed at her and she worried her lower lip. “Anyhow, we don’t agree on some things.”

“About the business?”

“Well, that, and he thinks I’m stupid.”

His face darkened. “He said that?”

She winced, drawing out her response. “Not exactly.” She hugged her elbows. “But I know he thinks it. We went to high school together and he used to have a crush on me...” Good Lord, why was she even telling him this?

Wyatt’s crooked smile was knowing. “I take it you didn’t return the feeling?”

“I had a boyfriend at the time. Aaron was nice and all, but he was...” The word that automatically came to mind was pathetic. Dale had called him that a lot—a pathetic loser. Aaron had always been kind of intense around her, breathing down her neck to make sure she copied and returned his notes instead of letting her take them home, and looming over her to return those pens that one day. “Well, he wasn’t my type.”

Wyatt smirked. “So you think he’s getting back at you now?”

“Maybe.” She released another huff. “No. I don’t think he’s being mean intentionally. I think he thinks because I didn’t graduate and I’m still here in Everville and never went to college...” She was babbling. Mom had always warned her about boring people. She tossed her hair and gave a weak laugh. “I’m overthinking it. I’m sure it must sound silly to you.”

“It’s not silly to want to do something with your life that makes you happy,” he said seriously. “And from what I gather, this job made you happy.”

“It did.” Her shoulders slumped. “I screwed that up.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “If you love something enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”

She dipped her head self-consciously. Wyatt was only being nice, she told herself, though awfully touchy-feely considering they’d just met. “Thanks. I guess I need time to process it.”

“Oh, look at you two!” Helen bustled up, face radiant. “I’m so glad you’re hitting it off. Didn’t I say she’d like you, Wyatt? You two are perfect for each other!”