A Recipe for Reunion

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u2f6a7aa6-e58f-5df0-875f-6f6134ee5e06)

Two months ago...

NO ONE WAS eating her goodies.

Stephanie racked her brain trying to figure out why. She’d baked all the treats herself, tailoring each recipe to meet her friends’ varied preferences and dietary restrictions: gluten-free chocolate cupcakes and dairy-free carrot muffins; nut-free cookies, a plate of soy-free bite-size brownies and three different pies because Lilian didn’t like lemon meringue, Susan loathed pecan and Karen thought apple was “boring.”

The last time she’d seen all her high school girlfriends together had been Christmas four years ago. Yet, instead of being excited, a weird sense of disappointment had dogged her all evening. While everyone else was busy chatting, talking over each other like a gaggle of geese, she got the feeling that if she waded into the fray, she’d be nibbled and pecked to death.

But she had volunteered to host this holiday shindig, so she couldn’t hide behind the food forever. Steph brightened her smile and picked up a plate of sugar cookies, painstakingly frosted in B. H. Everett High’s blue and gold. Brandishing the treats and armed with good cheer, she circulated. She might not be the best convocation...conservation...talker, but she was a damned good baker.

“Well, it’s not like I don’t want to come back to Everville,” she heard Janny say wistfully. “But Mark’s job is in Cleveland, and my business is flourishing. I wouldn’t have clients here.”

“Yes, nice as it is to come home, I’d never move back,” Cristina proclaimed. “Rumor is the property values in town are taking a dive. I’m not sure about the new mayor, either—I mean, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Bob Fordingham, but at least we knew what to expect from him.”

“Cookie?” Steph thrust the plate out. Janny and Cristina each politely took one.

“Steph, we were just talking about the new mayor,” Cristina said. “Cheyenne Welks, right? What’s she like?”

She shrugged. “What’s to tell? She comes to Georgette’s every day at eight for a large black coffee and usually gets a plain croissant.”

“But I mean what are her policies like?” Cristina clarified. “I’ve heard that she’s been spending a lot on infrastructure—like that big water main project.”

“Oh, I don’t really follow politics,” she said. She’d noticed all the construction in town, of course, but she didn’t have to drive through it on her way to work so she didn’t pay it much attention. “But she’s really nice.”

Cristina touched her arm. “Thanks for hosting, by the way. It’s nice of your parents to let us hang out here, considering all the times we’ve trashed their home.”

“As long as we don’t throw up in the pool again,” Janny added jokingly.

“Like old times, eh? Glad to know some things’ll never change.” Steph found herself inexplicably irritated as Cristina bit into her cookie. “Mmm. This is good. Catered?”

Steph perked up. “I baked them.”

“Oh.” Her long lashes flickered. “Still working at Georgette’s then?”

“Yeah.”

Silence dropped between them as heavily as an anchor. “She’s still...around?”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know anyone who’s as energetic as she is at her age. She’ll outlive us all.” She laughed a little too loudly. This was the third time she’d answered this question today. In fact, if her friends’ queries were any indication, her life could be summed up in three statements.

I work at Georgette’s.

I’ve been there five years now.

Yes, Georgette’s still alive.

“So, what are you guys up to?” she asked to relieve the silence that stretched between them like yeasty dough.

Cristina launched into the story of her life—college, husband, career in interior design, a vacation in Hawaii, plans for kids. Janny’s story was nearly as glamorous—two daughters, a house and a massage therapy practice in Cleveland.

Steph took it all in with a smile, clutching the plate of cookies as she suppressed her envy. Years ago she would’ve lightly punched her friends in the arm and exclaimed, “So jealous!” It was hard to joke about it now.

As she moved off, she reminded herself it’d been her choice to stay in Everville, that her family was here and that she loved the town and working for Georgette. Okay, so she wasn’t living in the big corner house on King Street that Mr. Merkl owned, the way she’d always dreamed, with three kids, a dog, a cat and a swing set. But it hadn’t been her fault that Dale hadn’t kept his promise to marry her after college. Still, everything she needed was right here in her hometown. She should be happy.

She was happy.

“I’m catching the red-eye back to LA,” she overheard Cindy say as she approached. “With the wedding coming, my condo renos and my practice on the go, I’ve got way too much happening to stick around here.”

“You’re going to have a heart attack if you keep up this pace,” Teri warned.

Cindy snickered. “I live for interesting times. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Steph interjected, passing the cookies around. “I like my sleep way too much.”

Cindy tipped her head side to side, declining a cookie. “You have to keep moving if you want to stay on top. LA’s not like Everville.”

Steph quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve been all over the place. You know that small-town upper New York State isn’t exactly a busy cultural and business hub. Frankly, I’d go nuts if I had to come back here permanently. I mean, everything here opens at ten and closes at six.”

“I’m up at four every morning to bake,” Steph said stiffly, belatedly realizing her schedule had nothing to do with the rest of the town’s business hours.

Cindy’s smile was toothy and unflinching. “Good for you.”

It was her tone that had grated on her, Steph concluded much later, after everyone had gone home and she was left to clean up the half-empty wineglasses and leftovers. Everyone had con...condo...condensation...

Given me that pitying attitude, she huffed. They’d all used that tone that said, “You poor thing, working like a dog, stuck in Everville and not even married!”