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Not good enough. Frustrated, Jill marked a harsh line through the idea she’d jotted down then ripped the paper from its pad and crumpled it into a tight ball. She tossed the wadded paper into the corner, watching it bounce off the growing stack of other discarded ideas.
In the handful of hours since Rick had left the house, Jill had politely declined Lucille’s attempts at a diversion—“Let’s go see a movie. Or maybe visit the founder’s mansion. Or we could even go into Austin, do some shopping!”—and after that, Jill had taken a walk around the block to clear her head then trudged upstairs to the only place she could have some true privacy, the apartment.
She couldn’t deny something that had haunted her ever since Rick had climbed into his truck and driven away. Because of Rick’s strong reaction to the article, it was dead in the water. She had failed to convince him that the article wouldn’t affect him or Lucille in any way, and that he would remain completely unscathed by it. No one would ever connect its content with him or his company. But even if she completed it and submitted it as planned, Jill’s heart wasn’t in it anymore. The article felt tainted. She couldn’t possibly work on it or even approach it without reverting back to that moment when Rick’s eyes held hurt and disappointment that she couldn’t remove.
So Jill had decided to plonk down on the apartment’s floor, with her back against the bedframe and a legal pad resting on her knees, and brainstorm from scratch. She couldn’t approach Miranda emptyhanded at the deadline. Jill had committed herself to the article and would see it through. Maybe she could still salvage the genealogy idea, using someone else’s life story. But she knew there wasn’t time for that. The clock was ticking.
If only Jill had taken Lindsey’s advice and returned to Colorado ahead of the storm. She would’ve left Morgan’s Grove none the wiser about Patrick, she could’ve written a decent article with the research she’d already accumulated, and Rick probably would never have known the article had been written in the first place. But there she was, stuck in Morgan’s Grove, licking her wounds, hoping to avoid Rick and feeling slightly awkward with Lucille. Maybe Jill could see if the B&B had an extra room for the next few nights, until the snow in Denver finally cleared and she could return home.
As she was batting that idea around, a brisk knock at the door startled her, and she nearly lost her grasp on the notepad. She’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even heard the visitor’s steps on the staircase.
Jill realized she wasn’t in any shape for company, emotionally or physically. Maybe if she held still, the visitor would take the hint and leave.
But a second series of knocks told her the visitor was persistent. The likeliest possibility was Lucille, attempting again to cheer Jill up or distract her with another idea. Jill tossed the notepad aside then hoisted herself up from the floor.
The very last person she’d expected on the other side of the door was Rick, but there he stood, holding a colorful bouquet of flowers. It took her a moment to process the image, to translate what it meant. She had convinced herself that he was done with her, that he’d shut her out and would never speak to her again, believing she’d betrayed him.
“Oh, hi,” she said in a small voice. She looked up at his face.
All the hurt and disappointment seemed to have disappeared, and in its place was the old Rick, relaxed and friendly. He even offered a hint of a smile.
What had changed?
“Can I come in?”
Politeness and curiosity won out, and Jill stepped aside as he walked through the doorway. She noticed his quick glance toward the messy pile of wadded-up paper as she closed the door.
“What’s this?” Jill heard herself ask as she pointed flippantly toward the flowers then crossed her arms at her waist. She didn’t realize until that moment how much of her frustration was directed toward Rick. It had been too easy for him to believe the worst of her. In the beginning, Jill fully understood his stunned reaction to her confession. But as the afternoon wore on, she’d played the scene over and over in her mind. Rick’s first reaction to the article had been nothing but skepticism and doubt, and it had made her quietly question the momentum she thought they’d been building for weeks.
“It’s an apology,” he said, inching the flowers forward.
But she didn’t take them. Your grandmother put you up to this, she wanted to say but didn’t. She watched him take a cautious step closer to her, and because of the apartment’s small dimensions, she was forced to stand her ground and let him.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think.” His voice was low and resonant. “And I realize I had a stupid, knee-jerk reaction to your article.” He blew out a sigh. “Look, I admit it—I don’t trust people easily, which is why this hit hard. I assumed the worst instead of really listening to you.”
Despite herself, Jill could feel her resolve soften as he took another step closer, still explaining.
“I drove around for a while then went to the bridge to think. I Googled the magazine on my phone. And then I found your articles. That’s what I’ve been doing the past couple of hours, sitting at the bridge, reading every piece you’ve written in the past few years. And you were right. You’re not one of them, a reporter out for a scoop, trying to destroy people’s lives. You’re an incredible writer, and your pieces aren’t salacious at all. They’re inspiring. And they’re kind. That one about the veteran and his dog...”
She saw the lump in his throat and knew he was being genuine. That was the Rick she recognized, the caring one, pushing through his own insecurities to open up to her. All her frustrations evaporated as she continued to listen.
“I was a jackass for thinking the worst of you. It didn’t match everything I’ve seen about you in these last couple of weeks—your compassion for my grandmother, your selflessness. I made a snap judgment based on some bad past experiences that had nothing to do with you. So go ahead and write your article.” He paused. “That came out wrong. You don’t need my permission. That’s not what I meant. Whatever you decide, I’m behind you on it, a hundred percent.”
Without removing his gaze from her, Rick tossed the flowers gently onto the bed and took the final step to close the gap between them. She felt the warmth of his hands as he touched her arms, still holding eye contact. “Forgive me?”
She somehow found her voice and told him, “There’s nothing to forgive. I caught you off guard. You were starting to trust me, and then I threw the article at you. You weren’t ready for it.”
“It’s no excuse. I should’ve known you weren’t one of them, even without having to read your articles. Because I know you.”
Jill’s heart thumped hard inside her chest, and she wondered if he could hear it. Rick had slowly drawn her closer with his grasp, and part of her wanted to melt into him. But before she could fully realize what might be happening, Rick blinked, cleared his throat, then removed his hands.
“So,” he said, taking a small step backward. “Gran wanted me to ask you for an early supper, if you haven’t already eaten.”
Jill coaxed her heart rate down, trying not to show her disappointment in Rick’s diversion from a potentially intimate moment. Was he going to kiss me? Did he want to?
“She said it’s nothing special, just sandwiches,” Rick clarified.
“Okay, sure.”
Rick was already taking steps toward the door.
“Tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”
She watched him open the door and had enough time before he shut it to tell him, “Thank you for the flowers.”
Pivoting, Jill lifted the bouquet off the bed, bringing the flowers toward her nose to inhale deeply. Their fragrance was glorious. She shut her eyes tightly and imagined Rick picking them out for her. She took another whiff as the velvet-soft petals touched the edge of her cheek.
* * *
FROM THE MOMENT SHE’D stepped into the cold late-afternoon air with the corgis, Jill wondered what she had gotten into. She had offered to take the dogs for a leisurely walk around the square, since Lucille’s ankle still made their daily walks impossible. Thankfully, after the flower delivery from Rick as well as Lucille’s cordial supper the night before, Jill’s Sunday had been surprisingly normal. Earlier in the afternoon, she had tossed all the wadded-up papers into the trash and returned to her article’s original notes. Her conversation with Rick had breathed new life into the piece. She’d scanned over her notes with a brisk energy, her confidence returning as she pulled facts and details and observations together. But after a few hours, her brain had finally reached its capacity for clear thought. The walk with the corgis would offer a much-needed break.
Naively, she had assumed it would be a simple task—the dogs were familiar and relaxed with her. But when it came to a walk outside, they were in control. Jill recalled what Lucille had once told her: “They’re herding dogs. It’s in their nature to take charge, so sometimes you have to rein them in.”
Easier said than done. Jill’s worst nightmare on the walk was for one of the corgis to get loose and run out into the street. So from the beginning, she’d tied both leashes firmly around her wrist for extra security and control. But the corgis’ herding tendencies, coupled with their zealous excitement about taking a walk, made them almost impossible to navigate.
She spent the first two blocks being pulled along by them, constantly distracted by children or neighbors or other people’s dogs. They were met with nothing but gasps, smiles, and cooing admiration as Jill kept being yanked in another direction by one or both of them, creating awkward entanglements and knots in both leashes.
Finally, mercifully, when they approached the town square, the corgis were too tired to pull anymore. The leashes went slack, and the dogs became “tuckered out,” as Lucille would say, with their tongues hanging low, quick breaths coming out in cold vapors, and their ears less alert than before. With the new, slower pace, maybe Jill could actually enjoy the walk.
Usually, when she entered the charming town square, she was either rushing around to complete her cookie deliveries or shopping for specific items at one of the shops. But on her Sunday break, she wanted to be one of the townspeople and take her time, gaze around, window shop, and soak it all up—the twinkly lights, the happy faces, the glitzy decorations in shop windows, the crisp winter air. Though Christmas wasn’t her favorite season, her senses could still be dazzled by all that came with it.
A festival poster in the antique shop’s window caught Jill’s attention. The big event would take place next Saturday, beginning with the outdoor market, then a big Christmas concert, and finally, a parade.
Without any particular agenda in mind, Jill let the corgis continue leading her down the length of the street as the shops began to close up. Gracie’s nose picked up something distinctive in the air, and she held it high.
“What, girl?” Jill asked her. “What do you smell?”
Jill’s gaze moved ahead, toward a building next to the B&B, where she saw the familiar frame of a tall, lean man. Rick stood beside another, shorter man, peering with great intensity at the empty building. His arms were crossed.
Why is this run-down site so intriguing to them? It was a stand-alone structure, set slightly apart from the uniformity of all the other brick-front shops. It seemed forgotten, left behind, out of place. The windows were boarded up, and the pale-white siding needed some repairs and fresh coats of paint.
Gracie recognized Rick and began to bark. Then George joined in.
Rick swiveled and noticed Jill at the other end of the leashes. By then, the corgis had dragged her to the site, close to where Rick stood. George and Gracie took turns sniffing Rick’s boots.
“The gang’s all here.” Rick squatted down and took George’s face in both his hands for an affectionate rub while Gracie licked his gloves.
Jill hadn’t seen Rick all day. He, too, had been absorbed with work, even on a Sunday. And since she knew that his work was Quantum, Jill completely understood how intense his job must be. No wonder he couldn’t afford to take even one day off. “Lucille said they needed some exercise, so I volunteered.”
“Brave of you.” Rick stood again while the corgis decided to lie down on the pavement and continue their panting. “Oh. Hank, this is Jill.”
Hank held out his hand, and Jill politely reciprocated. “Nice to meet you.”
“An old friend from high school,” Rick explained.
“Hey, not that old!” Hank said with a sharp laugh that drifted away with the wind, then added: “I’ll be on my way. Call me when you make a decision.” He gave Rick a friendly shoulder slap before leaving.
“I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Rick told Jill. “Well, I actually wanted to tell Gran too, but I needed your input first.”
“You’re not making much sense.” Jill grinned up at him as he half-rolled his eyes in agreement. She was relieved their easy banter was firmly back in place.
“I know. Here, I have an idea,” he told her. “Let’s take the corgis someplace more private than Main Street.”
Intrigued, she encouraged George and Gracie to stand again as Rick took Gracie’s leash, relieving half of Jill’s burden. Rick led them all in the direction of the B&B next door, toward a back gate, which he opened wide.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” she asked meekly, feeling like a trespasser, ducking under his arm to follow through.
“It’s fine. I know Mrs. Haversham well. She lets anybody use the space—you don’t have to be a guest to be back here. Plus, nobody’s using it in cold weather.”
Jill had no idea what existed behind the B&B: a beautiful garden, a half-acre or so, with a rolling backyard, lawn furniture, shrubs and perennials, picnic tables, and a gazebo farther beyond. “Wow,” she said under her breath.
“It’s used as a venue for weddings and parties,” Rick said. “I thought the corgis could run loose while we talked.” He stooped over to unclick their leashes.
“Good luck getting those reattached later,” Jill mused.
She watched the dogs romp around, play-biting each other as they bounded down the hillside.
“A bench?” Rick gestured nearby.
“I’d rather go there, actually.” Jill pointed toward the gazebo, where the dogs were headed.
Rick agreed, and they walked toward the white structure draped in lights. When they reached the gazebo, Rick paused to let Jill enter first, and she walked up the stairs.
She peered around at the clean white paneling inside, her shoes tapping on the wood floor. “This is beautiful.”
“One of Gran’s favorite spots. She and Pops had an anniversary party here once...”
Jill sat on the bench that rounded the gazebo’s interior. She patted the space beside her. “What did you want to tell me?”
Rick set down the dogs’ leashes then took a seat beside Jill. “It’s about Gran’s cookies.”
Jill had assumed that was a dead topic.
“Remember a couple of days back, when Tessa called you from The Pit?”
“Her cookie crisis?”
“Yeah. Well, I saw Gran’s face. She was saying no to future deliveries, but there was something else in her eyes: disappointment.”
“You caught that too.” Jill nodded, remembering. “I think she misses it, making the cookies and selling them. It felt like she was just getting started, and then she hurt her ankle.”
“Right. Well, Tessa’s call is significant for another reason. It got me thinking. If the most popular restaurant in town is begging for Gran’s cookies, along with other shop owners, I’d say she’s got a real hit on her hands. It’s undeniable. So tonight I asked Hank to meet me at that building site. He’s an old friend, but he’s also a contractor. The building used to be a pizza joint that closed down last year, and it’s stood empty since. I was asking Hank about how much renovation it would take... to turn it into a bakery. For Gran.”
Jill let her mouth drop open.
Rick used his hands to explain. “Look, I know Gran made this big decision to quit the cookies. But that was days ago, when she was laid up in bed, grumpy and unable to function. Even in these last few days, though, she’s healed a lot, made progress. She’ll be out of that boot and back to full strength soon. She likes the idea of being active with her days. Do you think she’d be open to the idea?”
“Of a bakery? I don’t know. I mean, it’s one thing to have a quiet dream, but another to make it a reality.”
“You can be honest,” Rick prompted, lowering his hands, his fingers grazing her knee.
“Okay. Well, what about all the stress of opening a new business? Budgets and payroll and taxes and permits? I mean, if Lucille didn’t want that kind of pressure, just baking out of her kitchen every other day, how would she feel about having to run a full-on business in a busy square?”
“I’ve thought of that. She could oversee things as she wants. But the bakery would be fully functioning on its own. She would be the owner, with her name on the building, but she could be involved as much or as little as she’d want to be. Managers would run the place. I would only hire the best.”
Jill extended her gaze past the gazebo, into the yard, watching the corgis run under the glow of a setting sun. She continued to roll the bakery idea over in her head.
“Tell me,” Rick prompted.
“Well, the cookies are only seasonal, right? People usually associate gingerbread with Christmas. What if it’s a flop when you try to sell gingerbread year-round? Would people actually buy gingerbread during, say, April or August?” She couldn’t believe they had reversed roles this way—Rick jumping in with both feet, with Jill expressing hesitant concern.
“Gran bakes other things too, throughout the year—other cookies and breads and brownies. So it wouldn’t have to be gingerbread-centered, necessarily. But that could still be the special draw, setting it apart year-round.”
“And there’s not another bakery in the square.”
“There used to be one, but it closed a few years ago.” He met Jill’s eye line and searched her face. “You like the idea. Don’t you?”
Jill imagined Lucille’s bright eyes upon hearing the news, and that was all it took. “I love the idea. What a Christmas present for your grandmother. It’s a really thoughtful gift.”
“I only want to make her happy. And nothing’s set in stone until I talk to Gran. It’s all her decision. I’ve notified the owners about my interest, but the paperwork hasn’t been drawn up yet.”
One of the corgis struggled to climb the steps into the gazebo, ears drooping.
“Gracie, girl, are you exhausted?” Jill asked, watching the dog amble toward her then plonk down on top of Jill’s shoes. “I think that’s a yes.” She chuckled, stooping down to rub Gracie’s ears.
“Guess that’s our cue,” Rick said, standing.
George had approached the gazebo, too, but was struggling to push his stocky frame up the stairs.
Rick handed a leash to Jill, who was thankful the corgis were ready for the trek homeward, past the site of Lucille’s potential new bakery.
* * *
LUCILLE HAD BEEN SETTLED on the sofa, making progress on her needlepoint, when Jill, Rick, and the corgis burst through the front door, looking cold and winded.
“That was an exceptionally long walk,” Lucille observed, craning her neck to view them. Her boot was propped up on the coffee table. “I was about to put on my coat and come find you.”
“These two sure gave me a good workout,” Jill admitted, unclicking the leashes. “I ran into Rick in the square, and he showed me the B&B’s garden at sunset. That gazebo is amazing!”
Rick offered to get the dogs settled in the kitchen and refill their water bowls while Jill shed her coat and joined Lucille in the living room. The sofa bed had been officially retired, so the living room looked neat and tidy again, with the Christmas tree lights glowing from the corner of the room.
“Oh, isn’t that garden just the sweetest place? An oasis of solitude,” Lucille agreed. “It’s also great for parties and celebrations.”
Jill was about to take a seat beside Lucille when something caught her eye. She moved toward the fireplace and stared at the new stocking hanging beside Rick’s.
“What’s this?” She touched the embroidery of her own name.
“When I heard you were staying in town longer, it occurred to me—you need your own stocking.”
Jill’s smile widened as she joined Lucille on the sofa. “I love it. Thank you.”
Rick entered the room to add another log and stoke the fire then sat on the floor with his back to the edge of the fireplace, his long legs crossed at the ankles. “Gran, I want to ask you a question.”
Even though Rick had already let Jill in on the bakery idea, this still felt like a private grandmother-grandson talk, so she made a tiny hitchhiker-like hand gesture to Rick, asking if he wanted her to leave the room.
He added, “And I want Jill to stay for this. Her input is valuable.”
Lucille set her needlepoint aside. “You’ve got me curious.”
“It’s about your cookies.” Rick dove right in. “I’ve done some serious thinking. It’s clear how much they mean to you. And I don’t think you should give them up. I’ve watched the way your energy level rises when you bake them and talk about them. You’re in your element when you bake. And people all over town are clearly interested in ordering more of them. It’s supply and demand, basic economics. Plus, your ankle is healing—”
“I don’t understand. You want me to start baking again?”
“Even more than that.”
Rick straightened up and leaned forward so he could gesture to explain. He told Lucille about the empty building at the edge of the square, a prime real estate location, then went over Hank’s assessment and the possible renovations they could do, which would take only a few weeks’ time—they could open by late February. He painted an appealing picture, and by the time he’d finished, even Jill was able to picture a final product.
“I ran this by Jill already, to get her opinion.”
“And I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Jill said. “If it’s what you want, Lucille.”
At first, Lucille was completely speechless. And when she still hadn’t spoken, Rick reassured her. “I haven’t done anything yet—no papers signed, no decisions made. There’s no obligation, zero pressure. But I’m ready to buy the building and start the renovations if you want me to. This is one hundred percent your decision.”
Finally, Lucille shifted, watching the flames dance behind Rick. “It’s such a generous offer, son. I hardly know what to say. But I’m just not sure about the commitment. I’m not getting any younger. And though I don’t mind the work—”
“You can be involved as much as you want,” Rick explained, “or as little. You can be hands-on and oversee everything or step back entirely and hire a manager to run the place, someone who will keep you apprised of everything. The bakery will be all yours, with your name on it. But you don’t have to shoulder the burden of it.”
“This is such a shock. I never dreamed I’d have a business at my age. I’m leery, but”— Lucille’s eyes suddenly brimmed with glossy tears—“it’s such a sweet offer, really.” Her gaze shifted between Rick and Jill. “You’re both too good to me. I don’t know how I ever managed without you here.”
This last statement stung Jill’s heart, since she knew that she and Rick would be leaving in the very near future, moving on with their individual lives, far away from Morgan’s Grove. She pictured Lucille’s evenings, even barely a month before, lonely and quiet, with only the corgis for company, living alone in the hollow shell of the house that Frank once occupied.
“I need some time,” said Lucille, “to think it over.”
“Absolutely.” Rick stood then walked over to lean in and hug his grandmother.
When they drew apart, Lucille chuckled. “You two. It seems you’re offering me new challenges every day, keeping an old woman on her toes, but I love you for it.”
Rick stared at Jill, smiling widely. “Partners in crime. It’s a conspiracy.”
Partners with Rick. Jill liked that description very much.