A Recipe for Reunion

Three boxes into her digging, she discovered pretty much all Aaron owned was books. She exhumed the heavy law textbooks from the first box—the spines thoroughly bent and the pages marked with multicolored Post-it notes—and placed them on the bottom of the big brown bookshelves. The next box had an assortment of trade paperbacks, a lot of them with long titles about things she didn’t know anything about. Peak oil, electric cars, global economics, science, history...

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked from the doorway.

“Just thought I’d help you shelve some of this stuff.” She hefted one of the boxes, letting out an “oof!” It was a lot heavier than she’d thought.

Aaron rushed toward her. “Good God, you’re going to break your back doing that.”

“What, lifting this?” She bent her knees and jiggled the box. “Nah. I carry fifty-pound sacks of flour all the time.” She’d always been at the bottom of cheer pyramids, too. Mom had never liked that other girls were standing on her, but she hadn’t minded.

Georgette’s grandson gave her a stern look. “Still.” He gently slipped the box from her grasp and set it down with ease. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s no problem.” She flexed her aching fingers discreetly.

His eyes narrowed. “No, seriously. I’ll do it myself.”

“Really, it’s no problem.”

He frowned. “I’m particular about how I shelve my books.”

The steel in his voice had her reconsidering. “Oookay.” She took a step back, hands raised. “How about your clothes? I can fold them and put them—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with everything later. Really.”

Was there something he was hiding? Or did he simply not want her help? She hid her soreness at being dismissed by dusting her hands together as she left the room. “All right. You’ll be at it all night, though.”

He closed the bedroom door firmly behind him, and they rejoined the others in the kitchen.

“Not letting you help him unpack, is he?” Georgette chuckled when they entered. Devon and Manny were digging into their pastries with gusto. “Aaron’s always been fussy about his things. He never even let me clean his room.”

“That’s because I can do it myself.” Something about Aaron’s tone irked Steph, as if he were implying she couldn’t put things away herself. No. She shouldn’t read into what other people said—Mom told her she got defensive sometimes without proving...provoke...provocation. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to react so strongly to Aaron.

He shook hands with Manny and Devon. “I appreciate the help today, guys,” he said.

“Anything for Georgette’s spinach pies,” Manny said, toasting him with his coffee.

“Oh, Aaron, you should talk to Devon about getting Wi-Fi installed at the bakery. I think he’s done it for other businesses in town.”

“Why do you need Wi-Fi?” Steph asked.

Georgette beamed. “Aaron’s going to renovate the bakery’s dining room and turn it into a bookstore.”

Steph stared, her feet suddenly cold. She tried to hide her shock and simply look interested in what was being said, as she’d been taught, but she felt her whole future and everything she’d been working toward slipping from her grasp as readily as the smile from her face.

“But...where will the customers eat?” she managed to ask.

“I’ll still keep a few tables in the main part of the bakery, but most of the business has always been takeout anyhow,” Aaron explained. “Plus, I’m adding a patio for the warmer months.”

What did he even know about what business was like at Georgette’s? He hadn’t worked there in the five years she’d been there. “When were you going to do all this?”

“As soon as possible. I’m meeting a few contractors on Monday. I want renovations done by the end of April so we can be open for patio weather.”

And when, exactly, had they planned on telling her about these changes? After all she’d done for Georgette’s, wasn’t she owed at least an explanation?

Sure, Steph was only an employee, but she was a damned good one. She was the only person Georgette had trusted with her recipes, the only person capable of running things solo since Georgette’s stroke a few weeks ago. She’d hoped the elderly baker would sell the business to her when she retired—clearly the eighty-two-year-old couldn’t run it by herself anymore.

But now Aaron Caruthers was here, nosing in and ruining all her plans.

Her throat tightened and her tongue felt thick as objections tumbled one on top of the other. She was so frustrated she couldn’t spit out a single word of protest.

They were still talking, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. She was drowning in words, all of them mashed into a messy jumble by her building anxiety. She wanted to tell them this wasn’t what she wanted, that this wasn’t what she’d planned, but she couldn’t say it without sounding petulant.

“I’m hoping the two of you will work together,” she heard Georgette say. “Steph knows everything about how the bakery runs. I don’t mind change, you know, but I do want some parts of what your grandfather and I built to remain intact.”

A lifeline. Steph smiled gratefully with the knowledge that Georgette had secured her place in the world.

“Of course, Gran.” Aaron hugged her shoulders briefly. “I promise you’ll be included in all the big decisions.”

And just like that, Aaron had cut Steph out of the business, despite being ordered to work with her. He hadn’t even looked at her. Her blood rushed through her veins, swift and hot, so that the sting of dismissal vibrated across her nerves. She’d been certain Georgette had been grooming her to take over one day. What did Aaron even know about baking?

She took a deep, calming breath. There was no sense in complaining and being indite...indignant about it now. She’d just have to show Georgette she was not only indispensable, but also the right person to take over the bakery.

* * *

AARON LISTENED WITH half an ear as the contractor led him through the estimate on the dining room renovations. He was already aware of some of the larger costs, knew where he could save money by doing the work himself. It was the woman behind the counter who was distracting him.

Stephanie Stephens. He couldn’t believe she was still in Everville. She hadn’t changed a bit, outwardly—she still had that perfect brass-blond hair that she kept tied in a high ponytail and that fantastic cheerleader’s figure with curves and muscles in all the right places.

He shook himself. He wasn’t that kid anymore, lusting after a football player’s trophy girlfriend. Never again would he humiliate himself over Stephanie Stephens.

He silently listed all the reasons they weren’t right for each other and never had been. Sure, he’d fantasized about tutoring her, about how lending her his notes might actually lead to something more meaningful. And he’d lent her pens whenever she hadn’t had one, which was frequently. How many pens had she borrowed and never returned?

Twenty-three.

Yes, he’d counted. Nearly a whole box of his favorite roller balls that he’d never asked she return. Except that one time. He’d learned his lesson then not to trust anything with her—not even a pen.

And here she was, working at his grandmother’s bakery, losing who knew how many pens’ worth of income a day.

He refocused on the contractor’s words as the man gave him estimated completion dates. The guy’s rates were reasonable and he was friendly enough, but Aaron was interviewing one more contractor that afternoon. This was going to be his business, after all, and he had to get the best rates wherever he could. He was nothing if not thorough.

The part-timer, Kira, a lean high schooler with short dark hair and thick-framed glasses, was busy serving a customer while Steph blabbed away with a woman holding a baby. Two other people waited patiently behind them.

Aaron scowled. Did the woman have any sense? She should be working, not chatting with her friends.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said to the contractor, then marched over to Steph. The woman she was chatting to handed her the baby, and Aaron was taken aback a moment as she bounced the drooling, babbling bundle of joy and cooed at her.

“Um, Steph?”

“Oh, hey, Aaron.” Her demeanor was a touch cooler than it had been with her friend. She nodded. “Isabel, this is Aaron Caruthers, Georgette’s grandson. He’s come back to...take care of things.”