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“Mr. Graham will put you down as soon as you calm yourself, Sammy.” She looked at Mr. Graham, nodding slightly. “Right?”
He nodded back, clearly getting her drift. “Right. But no more funny stuff, bud. This kind of behavior isn’t cool.”
Sam quit squirming and went still in Mr. Graham’s arms. “Yeah, I guess.”
Mr. Graham lowered him to the ground, but kept his hands on the boy’s narrow shoulders while he leaned sideways to look him in the eye. “I want a promise that you’re going to behave.”
“All right, I promise,” Sam grudgingly said.
“Good deal.” Mr. Graham let go of Sam’s shoulders and stepped back as he wiped the water from his face, though he’d probably have to change clothes, Jenna thought. His short-sleeved light blue polo shirt and jeans were soaked.
Sam skittered sideways, out of the man’s reach, but otherwise stayed put and kept his promise. For now. She knew better than anyone that Sam had a hard time staying out of trouble.
Relieved that the garden hose crisis had passed, Jenna stepped forward and extended her hand to Mr. Graham. “Belatedly, I’m Jenna Flaherty, owner of the Sweetheart Inn.”
He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out, engulfing her hand in his large grip. “Yes, we talked last week. Nice to meet you. As I said before, I’m Curt Graham.”
“I recognize you,” she said, details coming together in her mind.
He cocked his head to the side. “Really?”
“Yes, you used to live in Moonlight Cove, right? I spent summers here at the Sweetheart with my grandmother and grandfather, Jean and Silas Marton.” Every teenage girl in town had been aware of the Graham brothers. Though she was a few years younger than Curt, she’d eventually been old enough to appreciate him when she’d seen him in town during the summer. Of course, she’d been much too shy and awkward to ever speak to him.
“I remember your grandparents,” Curt said, nodding slowly. “Your grandpa drove a big black Caddy, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did. He loved that car.” It had just about killed Jenna to have to sell it to a collector a year ago to pay for a new roof for the inn.
“They ran this place for years, didn’t they?”
She nodded. “They started it back in the sixties.” They’d put years of hard work and sweat into running the inn. Her chest clutched a bit. “My grandpa died three years ago, and I moved down here to help Grandma with the place.” A massive heart attack had killed Gramps instantly. Grams had never really been the same—losing her partner after so many idyllic years of marriage had devastated her.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How’s your grandma doing?”
“Not so well.” Jenna sighed shakily. “She has some pretty severe dementia, and I had to move her into a nursing home three months ago.” The horrific disease had robbed Grams of the ability to care for herself, and with the inn to run, Jenna had had no choice but to move her to a skilled-care facility.
“Oh, that’s rough,” Curt said, his eyes soft. “My grandpa died of complications from Alzheimer’s.”
“So you know how difficult it is.” Putting her grandma in a home had been the hardest thing Jenna had ever had to do. “But she’s happy there, and gets excellent care. I visit every Sunday.” Thankfully, due to Gramps’s careful investing, Grams had the money to pay for her care. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the head or the heart for maintaining the inn in the past few years, so that responsibility had fallen to Jenna when Grams had signed over the deed to the inn a little over a year ago.
“I’m sure you did the right thing.”
“Thanks.” Jenna wasn’t so sure, but she was trying to deal with all that had happened, and was determined to make a success of the Sweetheart.
Shifting gears, she moved her gaze to Sam, who stood nearby, fidgeting. She gave him a stern look. “Sam, is there something you need to do?”
Sam blinked, looked around, then glanced down at his wet T-shirt. “Change clothes?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “How about you apologize to Mr. Graham?”
“Oh, yeah.” Sam hunched his shoulders and looked at the grass at Curt’s feet. “Sorry I got you wet.”
“You need to look him in the eye when you apologize,” she reminded Sam. She did her best to instill manners and respect in Sam.
He huffed but complied, looking up—way up—at Curt. “I’m sorry I got you wet.”
“Mr. Graham,” Jenna reminded.
“Who else would I be talking to?” Sam said.
Jenna held on to her patience with a thin thread. “No, you need to say, ‘I’m sorry I got you wet, Mr. Graham.’”
Sam rolled his eyes, then stopped himself and looked at Curt again, a smidgen of contrition shining through. “I’m sorry I got you wet, Mr. Graham.”
Curt smoothed his damp hair back. “Well, I was a boy your age once, so I know all about being wild.” He smiled at Sam. “And a little water never hurt anyone. But you need to listen to your mom when she talks to you, okay?”
Sam scrunched his face up. “She’s not my mom.”
Jenna stepped forward. “I take care of Sam after school.”
“Ah, I see,” Curt said.
“Why don’t we go inside, and you two can change and we can get you checked in, Mr. Graham.”
“Call me Curt.”
“Okay.” She gestured to the house. “If you guys want a snack, you can have a slice of— Oh, no! My pies!”
She took off at a run, went up the back stairs and flung open the screen door that led to the kitchen. The second she entered the house, a burning smell drifted her way.
She raced across the kitchen, noting that the oven timer had gone off while she was out on garden hose patrol. Praying she could salvage the desserts, she grabbed an oven mitt off the counter and yanked the oven open. Hot, acrid smoke wafted out.
With a muttered exclamation, she pulled out the rack. The trio of pies sat on the cookie sheet she’d baked them on, only they looked more like blackened lumps of dough than anything remotely edible. She should have known better than to leave the ancient oven unmonitored. The appliance was touchy about maintaining an even temperature, and until she could afford to replace it with a newer, more reliable model, she had to keep a close eye on everything she baked. And a new-model oven would come after a new porch, fresh exterior paint and a new furnace. The list was endless. The money was not.
Sighing, she set the cookie sheet on the stove. She regarded the ruined pastry, shaking her head. She’d followed Grams’s dog-eared recipe to a T, and had wanted these to be as sigh-worthy as Grams’s pies had always been. Instead, Jenna had ended up with ugly blobs of black dough that were far from the ideal she wanted to uphold.
Her grams’s pies always turned out bakery perfect.
She threw the mitt on the counter, then turned and saw Sam and Curt heading into the kitchen, Sam in the lead.
Curt’s eyes went to the pies. “Oh, wow.” He came over and stood next to her, gazing at the burned mess, his hands on his narrow hips. “Guess you didn’t catch them in time.”
“Nope,” she replied, trying to ignore how his damp hair was drying all wavy and touchable. “They’re ruined. Guess I have some more baking to do.”
He furrowed his brow. “They look fine to me. Nicely browned, in fact. That just adds flavor. I’d eat them, no problem.”
“You would?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “Pie is pie.”
She liked his laissez-faire attitude, but too much was at stake for her to share his outlook. “While I appreciate your willingness to eat burned dough, these aren’t up to snuff.” She sighed.
He regarded her, his long-lashed brown eyes steady.
Her heartbeat skipped and she stepped back automatically.
“Hmm. I know what we have here,” he said with a tiny smile.
“You do?” Somehow she was able to make her voice steady when her pulse was going through the roof.
“A perfectionist, perhaps?”
Sam chimed in. “Yeah, Miss Jenna likes everything to be just right.” He frowned. “She makes me redo my homework all the time.”
“Yes, I’m a real slave driver in the homework department,” she said, infusing some dry levity into her voice.
“What’s a slave driver?” Sam asked, his nose scrunched up.
“Someone who makes little kids do homework,” Jenna explained. She’d majored in education, and knew that if Sam fell behind now because of his focus issues, he might never catch up. Early elementary education set the groundwork for the rest of a child’s schooling.
“Sounds like Miss Jenna is just trying to help you out,” Curt said. “And that’s good for you. School is important.”
“Exactly,” Jenna said, giving Curt a grateful look. “And sometimes striving for high ideals is necessary.” She’d know, being the only unperfect person in a family of perfect people, the one who’d always had to work harder for everything.
“I think Miss Jenna should take all the time she needs to make the pies up to her standards.” Curt turned dark eyes her way.
“Thank you. And I need these to be perfect because two of them will be for a wedding reception I’m catering here tomorrow. I have to remake them.” She made all of her dough from scratch, so the process wasn’t as quick as unrolling premade store-bought crust. “I’ll do that later tonight.”
“Remember, I have the play at my school tonight,” Sam piped in, plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs next to the small table set in one corner. “You promised you’d come.”
She arranged her face in a serene expression; she had forgotten about the play, not that she’d let Sam know that. “And I never break my promises, so I’ll be there.” It would be a late night. Unless... She looked at her watch. Still relatively early. “Maybe I could get them done now, before dinner.”
“I thought we were going to work on my model car,” Sam said, his voice bordering on a whine.
Where was her brain? “Oh, yeah, we were. No problem.” She wasn’t about to flake out on Sam, not when so many other adults in his life had done so. Even if it meant staying up late to remake her pies. “Go get it out of your backpack, and we’ll get right on it.”
Curt looked back and forth between them, both brows raised. “Model car?”
“Yeah!” Sam said, jumping from the chair. He puffed out his chest. “I bought it with my own money.”
Jenna smiled. Sam had saved for months to buy the model kit.
“Cool, dude,” Curt said, nodding. “I built a few models in my day.”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “You did?”
“You bet. I’ve always been into cars.”
“You wanna help me?” Sam said.
Jenna held out a hand. “Sam, Mr. Graham just arrived. I’m sure he has other things to do.”
Curt turned his long-lashed eyes her way.
She forced herself not to stare.
“Actually, I don’t start work at the Sports Shack until tomorrow,” Curt said. “So after I get changed, I’ll have plenty of time to help him.”
She blinked, a bit taken aback by his offer. “He just sprayed you in the face with a garden hose.”
Curt shrugged one broad shoulder. “No harm, no foul.” He scruffed Sam’s head. “Besides, he apologized. So no hard feelings.”
Wow. What a generous offer. “Well...”
“And if I help him with the model,” Curt said, continuing, “you’ll have time to get your pies in the oven, and everyone’s happy.”
“I don’t want to impose,” she said, holding back out of courtesy, even though letting him take over with the model car project would help her out. She had a lot on her plate these days. Actually, her plate was overflowing. But she’d deal. She’d promised Grams she’d keep the inn going, and she would, no matter what.
Besides, Flahertys never failed.
“It isn’t an imposition.” Curt looked at Sam. “It’ll be fun. I haven’t built one of those models in years.”
“Are you sure?” Jenna asked, touched by his generosity. “Because I can fit the pies in later tonight.” She was used to working odd hours.
“I’m sure.”
“Please, Miss Jenna,” Sam said, bouncing up and down. “I really want someone who knows what they’re doing to help me.”
Her resolve frittered away. How could she refuse Sam, especially when she knew he’d craved interaction with adult men ever since his dad had gone to prison? Sam needed a role model, for sure.
Of course, she was assuming a lot about Curt Graham being an appropriate role model, and, obviously, she didn’t know him at all. But she knew his brother Seth, and he was a good man. A great man, actually, with a wonderful family of his own. Besides, Sam and Curt would be right here with her the whole time. She could supervise.
“All right, then,” she capitulated. “I’ll bake while you guys work on the model.”
Sam whooped. “Yippee! I’ll go get it.”
“Hold on, cowboy. You need to go change your clothes first,” she reminded the boy. “Do you remember where we put your change of clothes, in the closet down the hall?”
“I remember.” Grinning, Sam ran out of the kitchen, then skidded to a halt and turned in the arched doorway that led to the formal dining room and living room. “I’ll meet you back here, Mr. Graham, okay?”
Curt saluted. “Okay. See you back here in a few.”
Sam took off again, and Jenna heard his footsteps clomping on the hardwood hallway that led to the closet.
She turned her gaze to Curt. “Are you sure about this? You must be tired after driving in from...” Oh. She had no idea where he’d come from.
“L.A., but I overnighted in Portland, so I only drove a couple hours today. And I’m not tired at all. But I am wet,” he said, gesturing down to his damp clothes. “I’ll go grab my stuff and get changed, and then Sam and I can get busy on his project.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, bemoaning her absent brain again. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry. I kept you in here, talking, in wet clothes.”
