Since she worked for herself and set her own schedule, Lia always did her cleaning on Mondays. It reminded her of Grand-mère’s tradition of using Monday as a wash day. She would put a pot of beans on the stove early, throw in the ham bone from Sunday supper or some smoked turkey necks, and do the week’s laundry while scrubbing the house from top to bottom.
Lia remembered going there after school to help her with the housework, and the house would smell of simmering red beans and lemon oil. There’d be no work left, but always a freshly baked cake. She’d cut them each a big piece and let Lia have a café au lait that was mostly lait. It was their little secret, and Lia grew to treasure the time with her grandmother far more than getting first dibs on the dessert that would be devoured by her brothers later.
Lia didn’t pretend to inherit the meticulousness with housework, but she did like to keep the tradition. Most Mondays, that consisted of changing the sheets, running the vacuum and mopping floors, and doing a quick clean of the bathroom. In theory, Lia added other chores on a rotating basis, things like dusting baseboards and cleaning kitchen appliances, but she was rarely so ambitious. So about once per month, she set aside the entire morning to give the things she missed a thorough cleaning.
Her Provincetown apartment was no different and, even though she’d been there for only a week, today was the day. She put on a pair of old shorts and a tank top and piled her hair on top of her head. She set the coffee on to brew, then pulled out the ingredients for red beans and rice. The only pot in her apartment large enough to use was the lobster pot, so she set it on the stove and dumped in the drippings from the bacon she’d indulged in over the weekend. She sautéed onions, bell peppers, celery, and garlic in the bacon grease. Once they were soft, she added the beans she’d soaked overnight, water, and some andouille sausage she’d been lucky enough to find at the little gourmet grocery on the other end of town.
With the beans cooking, Lia poured herself a cup of coffee and pulled out the cleaning supplies. Before she got to work, she brought her phone over to the docking station for the stereo so she could queue up the appropriate mood music. She browsed her collection, selecting soundtracks, then Broadway, then Evita. All of her friends, in addition to Dani, teased her about the choice of show tunes to accompany housework, but she was unswayed.
Now that she didn’t have to worry about neighbors sharing her walls, she could crank it up and sing to her heart’s content. With Ché lamenting the circus of Eva’s funeral, Lia picked up a bottle of Windex and got to work. An hour and a half later, she was covered in sweat and pleading with Argentina not to cry for her.
*
Although she’d decided to return the scarf, Alex continued to hem and haw before making the short walk to Lia’s apartment. She really didn’t want to seem like a stalker. She was just being nice. She didn’t want to presume Lia would be a regular, and the café was closed on Mondays. She wanted to go for a long walk with Murphy anyway. Showing up with a dog would seem less stalkerish, right?
Alex and Murphy strolled toward the West End. Since she came that way often, and had a general fascination with houses, she knew that author Melissa Harrison’s place was on Vine Street. When she saw the car with New York plates, she knew she was in the right place.
She was halfway up the driveway when she heard the music. Although it took her a few more steps to make out the words, she quickly recognized the iconic song from Evita. By the time she got to Lia’s door, the orchestra was swelling and Alex could make out two voices—the one in the recording and an off-key, but heartfelt, accompaniment. She peeked in the window and saw Lia, a dust rag in one hand and a bottle of furniture polish in the other. Her arms were outstretched, beseeching the invisible crowds beneath her nonexistent balcony. It was ridiculous, and it nudged Alex’s attraction to her up yet another notch.
She knocked on the door to no avail. She looked down at Murphy, who was tilting his head from side to side in an attempt to figure out what the noise was. She decided to enjoy the show until the song ended. As the music faded, she tried again.
The brisk knock on the door nearly gave Lia a heart attack. She yelped, dropped the bottle of furniture polish she was holding, then spun around in the direction of the noise. Alex was at her door, smiling through the glass. Oh, God.
Lia hurried over to the speaker to cut the music and then to the door. She opened it, feeling flushed from both the work and the embarrassment of being caught channeling her inner Eva Perón. She offered Alex a sheepish smile. “Hi.” She then noticed the dog sitting obediently at Alex’s feet. “And hello to you, too. What’s your name?”
“Hi,” Alex said, ruffling the dog’s ears. “This is Murphy.”
She bent so the dog could sniff her hand. “You’re a very handsome boy, Murphy.”
“Sorry to startle you.”
Lia tried not to think of how frightful she must look. That quickly morphed into wondering what Alex was doing at her house, and how Alex knew where she lived. “It’s…it’s fine. It doesn’t take much to scare the living daylights out of me.”
“Well, I’m sorry just the same. It was quite a performance.”
Was Alex flirting with her, or making fun of her? It was hard to tell. “How much of that did you see?”
“Only a minute or two. It was very moving.”
Flirtatious teasing, was that a thing? It was a little weird. But nice. Sort of? Should she flirt back? She cocked her hip and gave a dramatic head toss. “Thank you,” she said, trying to make her voice sound playful. “I do pour my heart into every role.”
“Tony-worthy, truly.”
Ha! It was flirtation. They were flirting. Alex the sexy baker was flirting with her. But that still didn’t explain what Alex was doing at her house.
“I, uh, I have your scarf.”
“Oh.” So that’s what she was doing there. That was weird. Nice, but weird. Not that she would say that. “That’s so nice. You really didn’t have to go to the trouble.”
“Murphy and I walk out this way anyway. It was no trouble at all. Besides, it’s going to be wicked cold tomorrow. I figured you’d want it.” Alex spoke quickly, as though she were nervous. “Jan, from the real estate office, is a regular customer and happened to mention there was a new person at the Harrison place. I figured she must have been talking about you.”
Well, that explained how Alex knew where she lived. If she were in New York, she’d be tempted to call the police. In her hometown, everyone in town would know where the new girl was living. P-town was probably more like Vacherie than New York, at least in terms of how gossip traveled. She could deal with that. Thinking of home made her remember her manners. Even if it freaked her out a little, Alex had done something nice and she was keeping her in the doorway like someone selling vacuums.
“I appreciate it. Come in, come in, both of you.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You aren’t, not at all. Please.” Lia waved them in with her hand. She wondered if Alex always went out of her way to do nice things. Then she wondered what she was supposed to do with her. Again, manners kicked in. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee to warm your bones?”
Alex stepped inside and motioned Murphy to follow. She decided that she had passed the test—the one about whether or not she was being creepy. Relieved, and happy to be invited in, she said, “That would be nice, if you’re sure it’s not any trouble.”
Lia took a sweatshirt from a hook by the door and slipped it on. Alex was both disappointed and thankful. On one hand, the tank top showed off Lia’s breasts beautifully and she was enjoying the view. On the other, the last thing she wanted was to be caught staring at Lia’s cleavage. That would definitely tip the scales back toward creepy.
Lia grabbed a mug from one of the open shelves in the kitchen. “How do you take it?”
Alex pulled her attention back to the conversation. “Just a little milk or cream if you have it.”
“Coming right up.” She filled both mugs and added a splash of half-and-half to each. “Will you sit for a little while? I’m more than ready for a break.”
“Sure.” Alex followed her into the living room area and took a seat on the sofa. Murphy immediately stretched out in front of her, placing his head on his paws. This ploy was working even better than she’d hoped. Not that it was a ploy.
Lia, who’d taken a seat at the other end, set down her cup and pointed at the dog. “Would he mind some attention?”
Alex laughed at the question. “He loves attention. My only warning is that you might have a hard time getting him to leave.”
Lia laughed as well, then got on her hands and knees and crawled the short distance to where Murphy was lying. Alex, who was watching her, was immediately struck with a vision of Lia, clad in the sexy librarian getup, crawling toward her. Get a grip, McKinnon. You are going to start drooling if you aren’t careful.
Lia only petted Murphy’s head a few times before he rolled over and flashed his belly. Lia buried her fingers in the thick fur on his chest. “You’re a good boy.”
His tail thumped and Alex rolled her eyes. “He has no shame.”
“And why should he?” She turned to Murphy. “Why should you? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just like getting your loves, don’t you?”
“So I take it you’re a dog person.”
Lia, now sprawled on the floor so she could pet Murphy with both hands, sighed. “Yes. We always had at least two in the house when I was growing up. When I left for college, I swear I missed them more than my family because I could at least talk to my family on the phone.”
Alex frowned. “You haven’t had one since?”
Lia sat up. “My ex did not like dogs.”
Alex sniffed her disapproval.
“I know, right? Should have been a sign that it was ill-fated from the start.”
Alex knew it was important to tread carefully. She never wanted to be one of those women who is always bad-mouthing other people’s exes. She said diplomatically, “I’m sure that was hard. I was without a dog during college, too, and I swore when I graduated I would never be again.”
Lia smiled faintly and Alex feared she was going to clam up. It was time to change the subject. “What is it that smells so good?”
“Red beans.”
“Beans? I’ve never encountered beans that smell like that.”
“It’s my Grand-mère’s recipe, with a little bit of improvisation. I didn’t have a ham bone laying around.”
“Well, she must have been a phenomenal cook, and she must have passed it down to you.” She hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick. Lia didn’t seem put off, so that was good.
“She was, and she taught me most of what I know, including the tradition of red beans and rice on Mondays.”
“Why Mondays?”
“It was something the women could leave on the stove while they did the wash.”
“Really?”
“Yep. The funny thing is that you can go to a fancy restaurant in the French Quarter and, without fail, Monday’s special is red beans and rice.”
“That’s cool. I love the stories behind food traditions.” She also loved that Lia seemed to relax and open up when she talked about food. She made a mental note to remember that for future conversations.
Lia smiled. “It was also a way to get another meal out of Sunday’s ham bone.”
“Of course.”
Lia glanced at the clock. “They should actually be ready just about now. I need to cook a pot of rice still, but I’d love for you to stay.”
Things were going even better than Alex had hoped. Still, she didn’t want to press her luck. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hungry. You sure?”
“I’d love the company, and it’s the least I can do to repay you. Besides, as much as I love them, I do not need to eat an entire pot of beans.”
Alex followed Lia into the kitchen, watching as she measured water and rice. It was obvious from the way she moved around the space, handled utensils, that she cooked a lot. She tried to focus on Lia’s hands so that she didn’t get caught staring at the way Lia’s shorts accentuated both her long legs and her exceptionally nice rear end.
They chatted while the rice cooked, about dogs and music and grandmothers’ cooking. Lia set napkins and spoons at one end of the small dining table, poured two glasses of iced tea. When the rice was done, Lia spooned some into two bowls, then ladled over some of the beans. She lifted a bottle of hot sauce and, at Alex’s nod, dashed some onto each serving.
Lia carried the bowls to the table, motioned for Alex to sit. “Normally I’d make cornbread to go with them, but I’ve been eating so much of your bread, I opted to refrain.”
“We never do cornbread at the bakery. I should rectify that.” Alex sampled the beans. They were creamy and savory with a flavor far more complex than she expected. “Wow. These are amazing.”
“Thanks. That’s high praise coming from a chef.”
“Pastry chef. That’s not the same thing. I cook some savory dishes, but nothing to write home about.”
“I find that highly unlikely, but I’ll take the compliment nonetheless. How long have you owned The Flour Pot?”
Alex thought for a moment. “Just over three years. I worked there for three before that.”
“Was that always your goal? Did you know this was where you wanted to end up?”
Alex chuckled. “Not in the least. I went to the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park and we were crazy competitive with each other. My plan was to work my way up to a Michelin-starred restaurant in Boston.”
“But?”
Alex thought about the time she spent climbing that ladder, spending months at a time making nothing but tarts or truffles or sponge cakes. She toiled her way into chocolate work, creating artful flourishes for plated desserts and exotic bonbons for exclusive events. She even did a few showpieces—towering sculptures of perfectly tempered chocolate in elaborate and whimsical designs. “There was this constant pressure to do something new and exotic, things like molecular gastronomy. It started to feel more like one-upmanship than craftsmanship.”
“So everything you see on the Food Network is true.”
“Only less glamorous and with ridiculous hours.”
Lia shook her head. “I can’t imagine keeping that up.”
“Exactly. I decided that wasn’t the life I wanted.”
“And Provincetown was the antidote?”
Alex considered. The decision to move to Provincetown had been an impulsive one, fueled by her restlessness and a blossoming relationship that had taken an unfortunate turn. “Sort of. I came out for the summer, figuring I’d work for the season and then figure out what to do next. I landed at the bakery.”
“And then what happened?”
Alex wasn’t big on talking about herself so much, but Lia looked sincerely interested in her story. “The Flour Pot is one of the places that stays open year-round. I stayed, too, for the next year and the year after that. I got to know Doreen, the owner, and her wife Syd. They were ready to retire to somewhere that was warm more than three months of the year. I think they decided I would take care of the business, run it like they did.”
“And now it’s yours.”
Alex smiled. “And now it’s mine. I honestly don’t think I could have dreamed up such an opportunity if I’d tried.”
“What a great story.”
“Thanks. And now that I’ve talked your ear off, I’ll do the dishes.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—“
“It’s a rule. When I cook you a meal, you can do the dishes.”
Lia looked at the woman now standing at the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water. Lia put her hands on her hips, wondering how things had gotten so cozy all of a sudden. “You cook me a meal nearly every day.”
“That doesn’t count. You pay for your meals at the bakery.”
“How about I wash and you dry?” It occurred to Lia that she was negotiating dish duty with a virtual stranger. It should have been weird, but somehow wasn’t.
Alex stepped aside. “Deal.”
When they were done, she handed Lia the dish towel. “Thank you again for the amazing lunch. I hope I didn’t put too much of a wrinkle in your day.”
“It was great to have some company.” Although she would have said so no matter what—her mama taught her well—she meant it. As disconcerting as it had been to have Alex show up on her doorstep, the company had been nice.
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” Alex picked up her jacket and Murphy immediately joined her. “I’ll see you at the bakery soon, I hope.”
“You most certainly will.”
After they left, Lia sat down in the kitchen and looked around. Her eye caught the scarf that had prompted Alex’s visit and she started drumming her fingers on the table. Was it a friendly gesture or was there more to it?
Alex seemed to have everything going for her—looks, brains, personality. Lia replayed their conversation in her mind. It was definitely flirtatious. What she couldn’t decide was if Alex was one of those women who flirted with everyone. That was probably the case. That had to be the case.
Yet, each time they spent any amount of time together, Lia found herself more and more taken. A not-so-small voice in the back of her mind warned her she was being too open, too easy, that she was dancing on the edge of something more than just friendliness. She needed to rein herself in. It was one thing to enjoy a little banter. It was another thing entirely to be genuinely attracted to someone.
Alex was a blip, a passing distraction. She allowed Lia to forget for a moment the reason she came to Provincetown in the first place. Emphasis on moment. She needed to remember that forgetting could be a very dangerous thing.