A Recipe for Reunion

“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 (#ulink_c73319e6-64d8-5350-a23b-9d0488dfd0e6)

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.”