I have some lovely canned peaches from Benton’s Orchard—they’re a few miles outside of Birch Creek,” Carolyn called to him as she headed for the pantry. She couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time since she’d returned home, she had confidence that everything would turn out fine. Other than hiring an employee—the two English girls she interviewed for the cashier job weren’t interested when she told them the pay—and baking what she needed for opening day and the week following, there wasn’t anything to do. Thanks to Atlee. She hadn’t expected the landscaping to be so perfect. And the sign . . . She let out a long sigh.
“Need some help?” she heard him call out from the kitchen.
“Nee, I’ll be right there.” She grabbed two cans of peaches and hurried out of the pantry. She turned on the deep fryer, and as she passed the oven, she turned it on, too, knowing she’d be baking something in the afternoon. It had behaved for her all week, and now she was certain she wouldn’t have to worry about it.
She set the peaches on the counter and looked at Atlee. He was thin and wiry, something she noticed when he was inspecting her roof a few days ago. She also noticed he eagerly ate the lunches she prepared, which made her think about him spending his evenings alone, eating supper for one. The thought saddened her. She wanted him to have delicious hot meals every night.
“I already washed up.” Atlee rubbed his hands together, but there was doubt in his eyes. “What do I do first?”
“You put this on.” She handed him one of her aprons that had the least stains.
He eyed it dubiously. “I have to wear that?”
“Ya. You don’t want to mess up yer clothes.”
“In all mei years of working, I’ve never been worried about mei clothes.”
“Well, you should, because food can stain.” She held it out further. “Step number one.”
After a moment’s hesitation he took it and wrapped it around his slim body, circling the ties around his waist twice and then tying the top of the apron around his neck. “There,” he muttered. “Now what?”
“I’ll teach you how to make the dough.”
Half an hour later, Carolyn wondered what she’d gotten herself into. For someone who was so nimble with his hands, Atlee was a disaster in the kitchen. Flour was everywhere, and he was attempting to roll out the dough for the fifth time. He mashed the rolling pin on the dough as if in battle, as if it were an enemy to be conquered.
“Nee, nee.” She sighed and scooted in front of him, putting her hands over his. “Be gentle with it. If you overwork the dough, it will be tough.” She didn’t add that he’d already overworked the dough and then some, but she’d set a bit aside just in case. “See?” She moved the rolling pin back and forth. “Like this.”
Carolyn was so focused on making sure the dough was rolled out correctly that she was surprised to hear Atlee clear his throat, then see him pull back his hands and move away.
“What’s wrong?” When she looked up at him, her breath caught. He seemed different to her. They weren’t as close as they’d been when they were rolling the dough together, but he also didn’t move any farther away from her. His blue eyes took on an even darker hue, which made her stomach flutter.
“Carolyn,” he said, his voice low and husky. That made not only her stomach but her heart seem to flip. “I think I’ve got the hang of it.”
“Oh. Of course.” She stepped away. “Geh ahead and finish.” She put her hand on her chest, feeling the racing rhythm of her heart. Why was her pulse racing? Why couldn’t she stop looking at him? Why didn’t she care that he ripped another hole in the dough?
He set the pin aside. “I’m hopeless.”
“Nee. You just need to practice.” She moved past him, her pulse skipping again as her shoulder brushed against his chest. “I’ll finish this up. Hand me the peaches, please.”
“Sure thing.”
She blew out a breath and pulled up the ruined dough. Setting it aside, she took her spare ball of dough and quickly rolled it out. Her pulse was slowing, but she could still remember the look in Atlee’s eyes when their gazes met.
“Here you geh.” He set the peaches next to her.
She nodded, unable to look at him, afraid he could hear her heart pounding. “I think you can handle this part,” she said, taking a round cookie cutter and cutting the flattened dough into circles. “Just put a spoonful of peaches in the center of each circle.”
“Got it.”
To her relief, he managed that fine. Then she showed him how to fold each pie and crimp the edges. By the time the pies were ready to be dipped into the hot frying oil, she was back to her normal self. Thank goodness. She felt like a fool for even experiencing what had to be a lapse in . . . in something. What that was exactly, she didn’t know.
“The oil must be at 400 degrees,” she said, now sounding professional as she carried the plate of raw pies to the stove. She dropped a tiny piece of leftover dough into the oil. It immediately sizzled. “Perfect.” She picked up the basket strainer by its long handle and put one of the pies in the oil. “Lay it in gently,” she said before handing him the strainer.
“Gently,” he repeated.
To her delight he managed to put three more pies into the fryer without mishap. “After a little while you’ll turn them,” she said.
“When?”
“When they’re ready to be turned.”
“And when is that?”
“Three or four minutes. I usually know by looking.” She frowned. He might have thought he was failing as a student, but maybe she was failing as a teacher.
“All right.”
They stood there, watching the fry pies float in the oil. Carolyn thought she should say something, but Atlee kept his concentration on the fryer. “Now?” he said after what seemed an eternity.
“Ya. Flip one over and see if it’s brown on the other side.”
He did, and it was perfect. He turned to her and grinned. “They smell delicious.”
Again, her heartbeat accelerated. Oh, this wasn’t good. She was out of her depth here. She didn’t want to feel like this with a man who was still grieving his late wife. He’d mentioned May only in passing, but she had seen the love in his eyes and heard the tenderness in his voice when he did. Besides, he was going back to Fredericktown on Monday. She wouldn’t see him again.
That brought her to her senses. She focused on the pies, and when they were all done and draining on a wire rack, she showed him how to sprinkle them with powdered sugar. “There. Now they’re ready.”
“That wasn’t so bad.” He turned to her. “Actually, it was kind of fun.”
She thought so, too, but she wouldn’t dwell on that. She grabbed some wax paper, wrapped a hot pie in it, and handed it to him. “Here. Enjoy. Just don’t burn yer tongue.”
“I appreciate the warning.” He took a small bite, and his eyes grew wide.
“Best ones you ever had?”
“Definitely. I’m glad I didn’t ruin them.”
She picked off the corner of a pie and put it in her mouth. The crust was flaky, which wouldn’t have been the case if she hadn’t used fresh dough.
“I’ll help you clean up,” he said.
The thought of standing close to him while they washed dishes had her shaking her head. She couldn’t do that, not when she was finally on an even keel. “I’ll get it. I’m going to make another mess anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Ya.”
“Then I guess I’ll head to Thomas’s. Unless you need something else.”
Surely he wasn’t stalling. “Nee. You’ve done enough for me.”
“I haven’t done that much.”
He was understating his contribution, and she wasn’t surprised. I’m going to miss him. Quickly, she grabbed another pie and wrapped it in wax paper. “One for the road.”
He looked at the pie in his hand. “Danki.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I know we’ll see each other at church tomorrow, but in case we don’t get a chance to talk . . .” He glanced down at his shoes before looking at her again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Carolyn.”
“Same here,” she said softly.
He nodded, then turned and left.
When he was gone, the bakery—and her heart—seemed emptier than it ever had.