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“I’m calling this meeting to order.” Lucille tapped a pencil on the notepad in her lap.
Rick shifted in the cramped wicker chair then sipped the cocoa that Lucille had made for Rick, Jill, and herself before asking them to join her on the porch. The temperatures were low-fifties and chilly but pleasant enough for an outdoor meeting.
In all her adult years, never once had Jill attended a business meeting sitting in a porch swing with a Christmas tree nearby, in brisk weather on a gray day, holding a comforting mug of cocoa. She blew on its surface before taking a sip.
“You have our full attention,” Rick said.
Lucille cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve had some time to consider Rick’s generous proposal from last night, the bakery idea. And I could hardly sleep, truth be told, with so many factors to consider. But this morning, I wanted to let you both know that I’ve come to a decision.” Her face was solemn, and Jill was sure Lucille was about to turn the offer down with a firm-but-polite no.
But then Lucille’s expression broke into a wide smile. “My answer is unequivocally yes.”
Rick’s face brightened, but before he could say anything, Lucille lifted her finger for a pause. “But there are a few things I want to discuss before we make it official. We need to agree on these points first.”
Rick surely knew that his grandmother had to do it on her own terms. “Yes, of course.” He set down his mug and leaned forward, elbows on knees.
For a brief moment, Jill questioned why she’d been invited to the meeting—she wouldn’t be involved in any of the future plans. In fact, by the time the bakery opened in a few weeks, she would be firmly planted back in her Denver apartment, with Morgan’s Grove a distant memory. Still, it was nice to be included, even if the gesture was only a deferential one.
Lucille removed her reading glasses from the nape of her neck, put them on, then lifted the list from her lap.
“Here, let me free you up a bit,” Jill said, taking the mug from her.
“Good idea. I need my full concentration on this,” Lucille agreed. “Point one. If my name is on the business, I want it to reflect me. Cheerful workers, fair prices, excellent treatment of all employees and customers. That’s terribly important to me. Point two. The recipes for the gingerbread cookies will never change. I want customers to know exactly what they’re getting. No surprises. Point three. The gingerbread recipe must be carefully guarded from everyone except the bakers. It’s my great-grandmother’s recipe, originally, and that’s precious to me. Plus, having a bit of mystery surrounding the ingredients might make people curious about the cookies.”
“Now you’re thinking like a marketer!” Jill said.
“Is that a good thing?” Lucille asked, peering over her glasses at Jill.
“Definitely.”
“Point four. My involvement needs to be flexible. Some days, I might want to garden or relax or read and not even think about the bakery at all. Plus, I’m not sure about my health, and I want to know that the business can carry on flawlessly without me. And finally—” Lucille removed her glasses, abandoned the list, and faced her grandson. “This isn’t a contingency. It’s a thank you to my darling boy. What a generous, kind, and unexpected...” Her voice quivered and trailed off, but then she found her bearings. “I would be more than honored to accept your incredible, generous gift.”
Rick stood from the wicker chair to give his grandmother a strong embrace. “You’re welcome,” he whispered into her ear, then kissed her cheek and sat down again.
Lucille balanced the notepad on her lap as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “I was thinking about something else. I don’t want to wait until the bakery opens before selling the cookies again. What if people forget about them? And besides, it’s the holiday season right now, and people are asking for the cookies. Why not capitalize on the holidays?”
“Good idea.” Jill nodded. “Selling them will keep the buzz going until the bakery opens. Do you want me to drum up some orders this afternoon around the square?”
“No, no. You’re too busy with your article. Besides, I don’t want to sell the cookies at the shops anymore. The Christmas market is coming up this weekend to kick off next week’s festival. I thought I could try to acquire a booth to sell my cookies!”
“Isn’t it too late for that?” Rick asked. “People reserve booths months in advance—”
“I phoned Beatrice this morning and left a voicemail,” Lucille assured him. “She’s on the market’s committee and has the inside scoop. Won’t hurt to ask.”
“What about your ankle?” Rick wondered. “You’re still healing.”
“Oh, I know it’s an enormous job, baking, bagging up the cookies, transporting them, setting up the booth. But I have a plan for that too.” Lucille explained that she had already phoned Becky, who was thrilled with the idea of more part-time work. “Becky’s out of school for the holidays, so she can help purchase ingredients like she did before. And If I get too tired with the baking, I can guide her in the kitchen to help me out. She can roll out the dough or help me lift the trays and such.”
“We could help,” Jill said, having no real idea whether Rick could join her. “With manning the booth, I mean. It’s only a couple of days. It still gives me time to work on the article.”
“Aren’t you leaving for Denver by then?” Rick wondered.
“Well, the storm is still wreaking havoc up north with roadway and airport closings, so I was planning on staying for a few more days. At least through the weekend, if that’s okay?” she asked Lucille.
“You know it is. I wish you’d stay all the way through Christmas!”
“Count me in,” Rick added, “for the booth, I mean. I can shuffle things around and make it work.”
Lucille brightened. “This feels right. All of it. I woke up with a new energy today. Once I thought yes to this bakery idea, well, the rest of it fell smack dab into place.”
After a pause, Rick clapped his hands together. “I say we get going. There’s a lot of work in front of us. I have permits and licenses to apply for. And you, Gran, have a bakery to sign for. The lawyer can draw up the paperwork this afternoon.”
“I’m ready!”
* * *
THE MOMENT LUCILLE accepted Rick’s bakery offer, everyone kicked into high gear. Jill touched base with Becky while Lucille started planning out her baking schedule for the weekend’s market. Rick made calls to his lawyer, a realtor, and Hank. By late afternoon, every possible wheel had been put into motion, and all that was left to do was show Lucille the site of her new bakery.
Rick was already at the property, so Jill agreed to drive Lucille there. When they exited the car and approached the building, they could see Rick’s shadow through the open door. He waved and approached them on the sidewalk.
“I remember this old place,” Lucille told him. “Your grandfather and I used to come here on Saturday nights—date nights. There was a jukebox in the corner, and sometimes, if we had the place to ourselves, I could talk him into a dance.”
Jill shared a smile with Rick over Lucille’s shoulder.
“Well, it won’t look the same as you remember, Gran. It’s been hollowed out, stripped of most everything. There’s not much to see,” Rick warned. “You have to look past the checkered floors and yellow countertops and imagine the potential beyond it.”
“I can do that,” she assured him.
“And you can start making decisions today. We’ll need updates for the counters, floors, and even the stoves and equipment you want. My guys are on standby to start the renovations once you’ve finalized your decisions. Hank says that since it was a pizzeria, the layout is already food-service friendly with a kitchen in the back, storage space, and an office, but we still need to update all the equipment. I want the best. Top-of-the-line everything.” Rick offered his elbow to his grandmother as he led her toward the front door.
“You don’t need to sell me on it. I’m already sold,” Lucille told him with a reassuring pat of the arm.
Inside, Rick flipped on the light switch. “I had the electricity and water turned on this afternoon.”
They stepped farther inside, leaving room for Jill to join them as they paused and took in the space together. It was just as Rick had described, with faded checkered floors, old-fashioned countertops that covered a buffet table, and ghostly fluorescent lighting overhead.
“The jukebox! It’s still there.” Lucille gasped.
“Yeah, I think the former owners abandoned it because it’s broken down. Hank was about to haul it off—”
“Oh, please, Rick,” Lucille pleaded, “let’s keep it. We can have it repaired, surely. At least we can try.”
Rick tilted his head. “A jukebox in a bakery. I’m not sure how well it fits the theme, but whatever Gran wants, Gran gets.” He pulled out his phone and started texting. “I’ll see if Hank knows someone for the job.”
Jill watched Lucille squint, likely viewing the entire space with fresh eyes. Confirming this, Lucille pointed to the floors. “We could install a different color, couldn’t we?” she asked Rick. “And maybe even paint the walls? I want something comforting.”
“I’ll bring home some samples tonight for floors, countertops, wallpaper, and paint colors. The works.”
“That sounds fun.”
Rick’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he frowned at the screen. “I need to get this.”
He clicked to answer then moved outside with the call, but Jill could still hear his voice, especially the sharp tone he took. It was the same one she’d heard the week before on another call he’d made in the next room while she was rolling out the cookie dough. Jill stepped with Lucille farther into the bakery, toward the back kitchen, trying to pretend she didn’t hear words like “lying to me,” and “cheat” waft from Rick’s phone call and hoping Lucille wasn’t paying any attention. Her silence either meant she was absorbed in envisioning the bakery’s potential or that she was eavesdropping like Jill was.
“I wonder what that’s about,” Lucille whispered, her eyes darting back toward Rick, confirming Jill’s suspicions.
“Work, maybe?” Jill asked, hearing Rick’s voice thin out and drift away as he took the call even farther outside.
Lucille paused in the kitchen doorway. “He’s had a couple of phone calls like that recently, and every time I ask him who it was, he tells me not to worry and that he’s handling it, whatever that means. I thought at first it was business related, but now I wonder if—”
“What?”
“Well, it maybe could be a girlfriend in California.” She lowered her voice. “Or an ex, considering the language he’s using. Cheating and lying?”
It hadn’t occurred to Jill that Rick’s tense phone calls might have involved a significant other back in California. She’d assumed the exchanges were all work-related. During the lengthy chats Jill and Rick had been having the past couple of weeks, especially as they baked together, he’d never even hinted about a girlfriend. But it didn’t mean that one didn’t exist.
“So Rick hasn’t mentioned a girlfriend to you?” Jill asked.
Lucille chuckled. “That boy never talks to me about his private life. But some of his phone calls sound a little bit... personal. Emotional. Not the way he conducts himself on a normal conference call.”
Rick came through the front door, phone in hand, apologizing. “I should’ve turned this thing off. Sorry. On with the tour! Have you seen the kitchen yet?” He tried to produce a cheerful expression, but Jill caught the flash of anxiety behind his eyes. She wanted to ask him questions, but it wasn’t the time or place. Besides, Rick was already whisking past her, entering the kitchen, talking about ripping out the pizza ovens and adding an industrial-sized mixer and special cooling racks. He painted a vivid picture, helping his grandmother envision employees hard at work, measuring out butter and brown sugar, inserting dough into hot ovens, and icing cookies and other goodies with delicate flair.
* * *
JILL POPPED ANOTHER lemon Skittle into her mouth, trying not to jiggle the tablet, which she’d propped up with pillows when Lindsey’s video call came in a few minutes before.
“This feels like a pajama party and we’re in the seventh grade,” Jill observed. “I’m literally wearing pajamas right now.”
“They’re cute! New?”
“Yes, I bought them at Mindy’s Boutique, in the square.” Jill pushed the sleeve of her PJ’s closer to the screen, showing off the bright-white stars against the dark-navy flannel.
“Pretty!”
Jill sorted through the Skittles on her plate, in search of a cherry one. “So you’re still snowbound at your mom’s?” she asked. “Everyone’s safe?”
“Yeah. My sister’s here with her family, and Charlie’s here too. We finally got the electricity back on, and Dad cleared a path from the front door to the mailbox. But the roads are still iced over. School is canceled through tomorrow, at least. You made the right decision to stay put!”
Jill was relieved at not having to spend a few treacherous days holed up in her Denver apartment with no electricity or even at Lindsey’s family home, struggling to make small talk with people she barely knew.
“So Lucille was happy today, about the bakery idea? No regrets?” Lindsey asked, also sitting cross-legged in pajamas. Jill had texted her earlier about the morning’s porch meeting.
“No regrets at all. She was thrilled, and so was Rick. It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.” Jill decided it was best to omit the call he’d answered at the bakery’s site, not wanting to complicate things or have Lindsey become her usual snoopy self.
Lindsey paused then peered closer into the screen so that her features became huge and exaggerated. Jill chomped on another Skittle, assuming there was a smudge on Lindsey’s screen that she was about to remove.
But instead, Lindsey continued to stare straight through to Jill. “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You like him. You like Rick.”
“Okay, now we really are in the seventh grade.” Jill chuckled.
Lindsey backed away from the screen and shook her head. “It’s crystal clear, maybe to everyone but you. It’s the way you talk about him, all dreamy-eyed.”
“I do not get dreamy-eyed.” Jill was hoping Lindsey would drop the subject, but alas.
“Yes, you do. When you first got to Morgan’s Grove, you barely talked about him. But now, somehow, Rick ends up entering every conversation we have.”
“Not true.” Jill paused her Skittle search. “I talk about other things, too, don’t I? The article and the town. And Lucille. And the corgis.”
“Yes, but you get this special look when you talk about Rick. Admit it,” she pressed. Lindsey wouldn’t drop it until she got the answer she was looking for.
“I admit that I misjudged Rick in the beginning and that he’s warmer and kinder than I first thought. He genuinely loves his grandmother and takes care of her. You can’t say that about a lot of guys. But I also admit that he’s more complex than I realized.” She hadn’t yet told Lindsey about him being Patrick, Head of Quantum. “He’s got these deep layers, and I’ve only peeled back the first few. But the good news is, he’s letting me. His walls are coming down...”
“See? Dreamy-eyed.”
Jill tossed a Skittle at Lindsey, and it plonked off the screen. “Just because I see someone in a new light does not mean I’m dreamy-eyed.”
“Okay, okay. I can take a hint. But when a gorgeous, nice man comes into your life, he deserves a second look. They’re not that easy to come by. Trust me.”
“Linds, I can’t give him more than a second look. I’m leaving, and he’s leaving. This will all be a memory soon. Back to real life. So what’s the use of us being more than what we are?”
“You never know what’s right around the corner. Plans can change, Jill. What about me and Charlie? He was leaving to take a job in New York when we met, and then he extended his stay in Denver. And then he stayed, and he stayed, and here we are. Open your mind with Rick. Don’t shut the door on any possibilities. That’s all I’m saying. Promise?”
“Well, it won’t change the fact that I have to finish up my article, then lead a writing panel at a huge conference in Denver—which I haven’t even planned for yet, by the way—and then cure my writer’s block and write a bestselling novel so that my agent won’t drop me. But hey, if it’ll shut you up about Rick, then yes. I promise I’ll keep an open mind.”
Lindsey yawned through a giggle, and the yawn was contagious. Soon, they said their goodbyes and signed off.
Full of sugary Skittles, Jill poured the rest into two separate baggies, dependent on the colors—one bag was for her and one for Rick. She set them aside, near the stack of clean laundry she’d done earlier in the evening.
She thought about Lindsey’s obnoxious pushing and prodding. Lindsey was one of those girls, part of a happy couple and wanting everyone else to be happy too. But what Jill couldn’t tell Lindsey was that she felt herself falling for Rick, and it scared her. She had started thinking of him in every part of her day, wondering what he was doing and when she might see him next, and looking forward to it. Whenever she saw him, a flutter started in the center of her abdomen and moved upward to her heart, and she was helpless to calm it. She’d even taken greater care with her appearance, putting more thought into her outfits, her makeup. They were true signs of interest, whether she had acknowledged them or not.
But facts were facts. As they had both admitted at the bridge, long-distance relationships were impossible. They lived in two separate states, and there were no plans to change that fact. Plus, even if logistics weren’t an issue, Jill had no idea how Rick truly felt about her. For all she knew, he did have a girlfriend back in California and only saw Jill as a descendant of the town’s founder and a new friend of his grandmother’s. She had no clue whether he might feel a flutter too.