My sister, Lucinda, walks into the bakery minutes before closing. Her long blonde hair cascades over one sleeveless shoulder. A form fitting pink sheath dress encases her statuesque form. She is perfect from her symmetrical face to her matching pink polished toes playing peekaboo out of her three-inch heels.
Now, I love my sister. I really do. She has never done a single nasty thing to me. But I love her in Connecticut with her perfect husband in their perfect house with their perfect jobs. Not here where everyone compares the two of us and finds me sadly lacking.
My throat thickens and I swallow hard. I hate myself for feeling this way.
“Surprise!” Lucinda throws up her arms and strikes a pose.
“What are you doing here? Do Mom and Dad know? Have you been to the house yet? Is Mark with you?”
I rattle out the slew of questions while walking over to kiss her cheek and give her a hug. As her perfume settles around me, I remember how much I love my sister and I’ve missed her. I haven’t seen her since Christmas.
“No to all of those.” She laughs as she rubs my shoulders. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too.”
“How late are you open?” She glances behind her to the sign posted on the door. “You’re almost done, right? I thought we could surprise Mom and Dad together.”
“Oh, I have cleaning up to do and preparations for tomorrow. Besides Mom and Dad will want you all to themselves for a bit.” I wave a hand in dismissal. “They see me every day.”
Her frown escalates my guilt.
“Okay. You’ll be home for dinner?”
I march back behind the counter. “Actually, I have plans, but we can talk after. How long are you staying, anyway?”
“A while.”
Looking up from the display case I am straightening, I study her face. She’s smiling, but it appears a little strained.
What does a while mean? There’s an expression on her face I should explore, but the clock is ticking. Olivia finishes up with the last customer of the day and flips the sign to closed after escorting them out. I introduce them, but Lucinda reminds me they’ve met before. Of course they have, it’s not like this is the first time my sister has come home for a visit and stopped in my bakery.
“I guess I’ll see you at home then?”
I nod as I guide her to the door. “We’ll have a nice long chat after Mom and Dad fawn over you a bit.”
Her disappointment is clear, and I try not to cringe as I’m sure I’m in the running for the worst sister ever award. I lock the door behind her and rest my hand on the knob. Sighing, I turn around.
Shame tinges my heated cheeks as I meet Olivia’s questioning gaze. “You can head on home to your boys. I’m all set here.”
“Everything all right?”
A nod is all I can manage as I head into the back. The guilt settles over me like a bag of cement on my shoulders weighing me down. The right thing to do is cancel my night with Mitch and go home to participate in my sister’s visit. Who knows how long she’s here for? She is obviously here for a reason. It’s not like her to pop up out of the blue with no notice.
Oh Lord! Is she pregnant? Is that the news? Her and Mark have been married for a few years. They met in college, at Yale. Yes, she’s smart too. In fact, both she and Mark are lawyers. Has she been promoted or something? Would that warrant a trip home?
She would look happier, though, if any of those things happened, wouldn’t she?
There’s nothing for me to do in the kitchen. I’ve already cleaned up and prepared for tomorrow, but because I told Lucinda I had more to do as an excuse not to have her waiting around, I wipe down the already clean sink and counters. I make a grocery list for supplies I’m running low on. Basically, I kill time while debating whether my guilty conscious will overpower my need to have a candid conversation with Mitch.
The knock on the back door ends the debate. I have to cancel.
Opening the door, Mitch’s blue eyes are shining as he smiles down at me. His periwinkle blue shirt looks soft enough to touch.
A few hours won’t make a difference, will they?
“Ready?”
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I nod, and then grab my purse and slip the strap over my head. It’s only big enough to hold my phone, keys, identification, and debit card. When I walk to and from work, I can just slip the long strap across my chest and not worry.
I lock the door and pause once again. I’ll make it up to her somehow, I swear.
I follow him to his truck in silence. He pulls away from the curb and makes a U-turn to head towards his house on the opposite side of town from my parents’ house.
“You’re very quiet. Everything okay?”
Tearing my gaze from the scene outside the window I’ve barely seen, I glance at his handsome profile. If I confess I’m feeling guilty about disappointing my sister, he might insist I go and take me to my parents’ house. The guilt is ruining the evening anyway, perhaps I should go.
Ugh! No, damn it! A few hours aren’t too much to ask. I doubt I’ll be missed. Seriously, I would be just sitting on the couch while my parents fawn over her, anyway.
“Sorry, my mind was having an internal battle, but it’s all done now. I’m excited to see the plans for the house and kitchen.” I inhale sharply, then sigh. “I forgot the pie I put aside for you.”
Mitch smiles. “That’s okay, I picked up a few things earlier so we can have dinner at the house. We can save the pie for another time.”
My heart latches onto the “another time” and melts a little over the prediction we will spend more time together.
Oh Lord! I need to rein in my emotions.
The wall surrounding this side of the estate is tall enough to keep prying eyes out but allow glimpses of the grounds contained within as we meander its length to the metal gate marking the driveway. Giant evergreens dominate the grounds sprinkled with clumps of white birch trees. The drive circles around to the house. The sight of the majestic house never fails to leave me enchanted.
As I step over the threshold into the house, Mitch speaks from behind me, “I set up a place in the dining room for us to eat. It’s nothing fancy, but the walls haven’t been torn down in there yet so there’s no construction dust or anything to worry about.”
When he opens the doors to the dining room, my mouth drops open. A table is in the middle of the room with a blue tablecloth and place settings. I’m not sure what I expected, but not for him to go to any trouble for me. He slips past me to set the box he carried in from the truck on a small folding table by the window and opens a cooler next to it. I recognize the logo on the boxes, they are from the Rosewood Bed & Breakfast. The owner is known for the picnic baskets she supplies to her guests and other patrons.
Mitch places the food on the table and holds out a bottle of wine. “I wasn’t sure what you prefer, but this one is a favorite of mine.”
I’m not telling him I don’t like the taste of wine or any alcohol.
If ever there was a time to partake in a glass of wine, tonight is it. Perhaps it will lighten me up and help me relax.
Please don’t let it make me sick.
“It looks fantastic! I can’t believe you went to all this trouble.”
“It wasn’t any trouble.” He pours us each a glass and then holds out a chair for me to sit.
Crap!
I tend to panic at this moment when a waiter holds the chair for me in a restaurant. How do you not rest all your weight on the chair so the chair can still be pushed in and not be left sitting there several feet away from the table as the waiter shoves with all his might to get the chair to the table or you’re not hovering over it so that your legs get knocked out from beneath you?
My belly quivers and I haltingly walk over to the chair and perch on the edge clutching the sides. I rest most of my weight on my thighs and toes wishing I had started an exercise routine centered around squats and plies. Partly lifting the chair, I manage to scoot forward when he pushes the back of the chair.
Calamity averted.
He starts us off with a salad. I take a hesitant sip of the wine and to my delight I don’t hate it. It’s cool and smooth with a hint of citrus.
As we progress to the main meal, manicotti, I try to think of a way to broach the subject of buying the building from him.
My glass is half empty and a pleasant warmth tingles through me. Perhaps I should have started drinking wine years ago.
“Have you thought about the director’s job you were offered?”
He frowns slightly and shrugs. “Not really, and I guess that’s my answer. I want to be passionate over a project before I agree to take it on.”
“Is that how you decide?”
“It is now. Back when I was acting, I was just happy to get the offers, so I agreed to most of them.”
“Do you miss it? The acting?”
“Not one bit.”
“Really?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for the acting. It gave me opportunities I never would have had, but I was never that great at it. It was just a job they paid me an exorbitant amount of money for.”
“How can you say you weren’t great at it? You were so successful.”
“I was successful because I lucked out and had people looking out for me. I was decent enough, but as a director, I wouldn’t hire me.”
He laughs when he looks at me. “The look on your face. Why is that so shocking?”
“I don’t know. I guess you really surprised me with your answer. Maybe it’s because I assumed acting was what you wanted to do.”
“I enjoyed making movies. I didn’t like everything that goes along with that. The public attention and scrutiny were not things I coveted or enjoyed. Acting opened the doors for me to do what I really enjoy doing, directing.”
“I think you’re selling yourself a little short on the acting, but I can understand not wanting to be in the spotlight.”
The plastic folding chair is surprisingly comfortable, so I cross my legs and lean against the back taking another sip of wine.
Mitch glances over at the box he carried the food in. “I bought a dessert from the B&B too, but I doubt it compares to any of yours.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“Some kind of chocolate cake.”
“It never hurts to sample the competition.”
He gets up to retrieve the cake and I can’t help ogling the view he presents. He certainly has a way of filling out his trousers. My fingers itch to squeeze his cheeks. And I don’t mean the ones on his handsome face.
The cake is nice enough, chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, but I’m not all that worried that my business will suffer from the competition. The meal was great though.
I nibble on my lip as he clears the table. Dinner is over and I still haven’t garnered enough courage to talk about buying the building from him.
After helping Mitch pack everything up, we stroll into the kitchen where he spreads the plans out on the counter and shows me his and the architect’s vision.
It will be a magnificent kitchen.
“Do you cook? I mean this kitchen will be amazing. It would be a shame if you didn’t cook. Not that it means you shouldn’t have a great kitchen whether you do or don’t. I mean you might have a wife someday who cooks.”
Or bakes.
“I cook a bit.”
“Oh, good, that’s good.”
I study the plans and wait for the blush on my cheeks to go away.
“I love how this entire wall will be windows to take in the view. One of my favorite spots in the bakery is the counter under the back window in the kitchen so I can watch the sunrise while I’m baking.”
I wander over towards the windows. “If you lengthened the island and deepened it a bit, you could have stools on the backside for informal eating. And that area over here would make a perfect little nook to have a circular bench breakfast area. If windows were added it would be spectacular. And you might consider adding another oven and a warming drawer if you plan on entertaining. Adding a counter area with a prep sink over here could be helpful when preparing multiple courses or having more than one person in the kitchen.”
I spin around to stride over to the area planned for the refrigerator but bump smack into Mitch. “Oh.”
He grasps my upper arms to steady me.
“Too much?”
“No, I like your ideas and your enthusiasm. It’s cute how your face gets so animated and you whirl and flitter around like a butterfly.”
“Oh, well, um, thanks, I think.” I have no idea where to put my hands. They are sort of hanging there in mid-air between us, so I rest them against his chest with a slight pat. Geez, like I’m patting the head of a dog or something.
I take several steps back and grasp my hands behind my back. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Okay, what’s so dire? You’ve got the same look on your face as you did when we were kids and you confessed you lost that swiss army knife I found on the bank of the stream.”
Wincing, I tug on my earlobe. I didn’t lose it. I hid it. I was afraid he would cut himself or something.
Maybe now wasn’t the time for that confession.
I inhale deeply and let the air out in a rush.
“I had planned on buying my bakery building. I had been talking to Mr. Brick about it, but then he sold it to you instead.”
He jerks his head back and then slowly shakes it side to side. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Franny. No wonder you were so surprised that day on the bench.”
Shrugging, I fold my arms around my waist. “Plans change. Although I had really been looking to getting out of my parent’s house.”
“You were going to live in the apartment?”
“Yup.”
“I screwed up your plans, didn’t I?”
Meeting his gaze, I smile. “Changed them for sure, but I’m not holding it against you. Anymore anyway.”
Mitch takes my hands from my waist and holds them in his. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise.”
“There’s nothing to make up, you didn’t know.”
“Still, I feel awful about it.” His thumbs rub the backs of my hands.
How awful? Awful enough to sell it to me?
Here goes nothing.
Gulping a breath of air, I gaze into his eyes.
“Any chance you’ll consider selling the building to me? I’ll give you a fair price.”
Mitch squeezes my hands. “Of course, I will.”
I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you! Thank you!”
He wraps his arms around my back and laughs.
“You have no idea how much this means. I’ve been looking at other properties and hating every single one. I was growing resigned to continue renting and trying to find a cheap enough place to buy for me to live in, but that fell through too.”
Mitch pulls back to look at me. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
I drop my arms and step back from him.
“Fear. Procrastination. Mostly fear.”
“Fear of what? Me?”
“Not exactly. Fear of the situation as a whole. I had pinned all my plans on buying the building and when they fell through I kind of spiraled for a bit.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t say anything right off the bat. Why not tell me that day on the bench?”
“Shock. And it’s not like we’ve kept in touch over the years.”
“What does that mean? Did you think I bought the building knowing you had an arrangement to buy it?”
I open my mouth to refuse, but the truth of my suspicions nags at me and I snap it closed.
“Shit! Really, Franny?”
“I admit the thought crossed my mind briefly, but I discarded the idea.”
Mitch shakes his head and leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest.
“I can’t believe you thought I would do that to you on purpose.”
“I’m sorry.”
He frowns. “No, I get it. I don’t like it, but I understand.”
Twisting my hands in front of me, I scrunch my nose. “So, we’re good?”
Mitch gives me a half smile. “Yeah, we’re good.”
Phew.
“Um, Mitch?”
He looks at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Please don’t be offended, but could we have a sales agreement put in writing? See, I didn’t do that with Mr. Brick, and well, you see how that worked out.”
“I’ll have my lawyer draw papers up tomorrow, okay?”
“Thank you.”
“Any other terms I should have him include? Does the end of summer work for you?”
Two more months living with my parents? Not ideal but finding another place could easily have taken longer.
“Yes, I really appreciate this. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Bake me something and we’ll call it even.”
Laughter tickles my throat. “I had no idea you were so easy.”
Mitch winks.
“Any other ideas for designing the kitchen?”
“Can I think about it for a few days?”
“Yeah, I have a meeting with the architect at the end of the week.”
I give him a quick salute. “Got it.”
“Do you want another glass of wine?”
“I better get home. I have to get up early to be at the bakery.” And I hadn’t forgotten my sister’s arrival.