After a morning of scrubbing every surface in the bakery, Kate collapsed on the settee in the floral shop with a fresh cup of café cubano.
Maxi was finishing three different flower arrangements simultaneously. But, somehow, with flying fingers, she made it look effortless.
Oblivious, Oliver occupied himself with a bright red rubber Kong left behind on his last visit. His new favorite game: dropping the cone-shaped rubber toy and watching it bounce oddly on the hardwood floors. When it finally landed, he’d race over, grab it in his mouth, and fling it again.
“I’d like to put the word out that the Cookie House will be selling cookies now,” Kate said, feeling the caffeine and sugar lift her spirits. “I was thinking of having us drop off fresh batches at some of the businesses around town. Hit a handful of different ones every day. Give them each a dozen or so and see if we can build up a demand. Maybe even leave a few business cards? The problem is, it won’t be cheap. And I’d have to do the baking in your kitchen. At least, for now.”
“Ay, that’s horrible news. All those good smells coming from my kitchen—what will the neighbors think? Seriously, that’s a super excellent idea. And I can help out with the baking in the evenings. And with some money for the ingredients. But at this rate, I’m going to need a lot more of Sunny’s yoga classes.”
“Speaking of Sunny, what if I started baking some rolls for her—just for the early morning class?”
“Oooh, we could drop those off with the cookies. Sunny talks to everybody. That would really spread the word.”
Kate released a deep breath and smiled. “I’m just so happy to be baking again. I don’t know if Gabe ever told you, but I was heading for a job interview at Fish-a-Palooza before my car broke down.”
“Ugh!” Maxi said, decisively snipping an inch from a rose stem. “A total waste of your talents. Frozen fish. And, word is, they do the same thing with the desserts. It’s the same mushy stuff you can get on the freezer aisle.”
“With all the great food around here, how do they stay in business?”
“It’s what we natives call ‘a tourist trap.’ Tons of ads aimed at visitors. And they cozy up to the bigwigs at the resorts and hotels, too. They have a fun atmosphere, like a party. Lots of tropical drinks. And the setting is beautiful. On the mainland, right on the water. But they spend their money on rent and booze, not food. By the time you pay the bill and figure out what you got for it, you’re out the door. And I don’t think they care if you ever come back.”
“Yeah, we have a few restaurants like that in New York, too. Luckily, most of them don’t last long. New Yorkers don’t hesitate to tell total strangers what we think of a place—whether they ask or not. And once the word is out among the cabbies, that’s it—game over.”
“Do you miss it? The city?”
“Oddly, no,” Kate said, shaking her head. “I always thought the pace was exhilarating. Energetic. But toward the end, I was burned out. Fall and winter were so cold and gray. Spring too, for that matter. I mean, there’s wonderful culture—art, and food and music. And for a chef, the markets and the neighborhoods and food trucks are a wonder. But I was working sixteen-hour days. When I started dating Evan? He’d talk me into playing hooky once in a while. Taking a day off here and there. Going to shows. And clubs. And some wonderful restaurants. The guy really knew how to have fun. And everyone around him always had fun. I actually started to think about what I wanted to do next. If I could do anything. If I could go anywhere. That’s when I realized that it wasn’t New York.”
“So did the ‘if I could do anything’ part involve running a bakery that doesn’t make cookies?”
“A restaurant. A little hole-in-the-wall place.”
“In Paris or Rome?”
“Here, actually.”
“For real?”
Kate nodded vigorously. “I’d been hearing about Coral Cay for years. From foodie friends. Other chefs. Things I’d read here and there. So I wanted to come here for at least part of our honeymoon. I was secretly hoping Evan would fall in love with the place and say, ‘Let’s never go back.’ We’d buy a little café and run it together. And spend all our spare time at the beach. Stupid, right?”
“OK, so instead of a handsome rich guy, you got a cranky old baker who’s accused of murder. Other than that, exactly the same.”
“It’s stupid because it was my dream and I was waiting for him to suggest it. I mean, how lame is that? And he wouldn’t have wanted to work in a restaurant. Or work, period.”
“You fell for a guy with no job?”
“Independently wealthy.”
“That’s just rich-people speak for ‘the boy is livin’ out of his momma’s purse.’”
“Yes, but it’s a Gucci purse.”
“Sorry, chica, you did the right thing. He doesn’t have to work? Fine. But he doesn’t work at all? That’s just bone lazy in a better zip code.”
“For a while there, I think I was working enough for both of us. When Rosie and Andre were talking about Muriel Hopkins, I almost wanted to cry. Before I met Even? I swear, I was just like that.”
“You’re nothing like that,” Maxi said. “I mean, look at you. You took your whole life and—boom! You changed it.”
Kate looked down. Oliver was standing in front of her with a green leash clutched in his mouth. He sat back on his haunches and peered politely up into her eyes.
“Uh, does Oliver have a green leash?”
“Yup,” Maxi said. “That’s one of many. Sometimes he shows up here, sometimes at the house. So I keep a few of them in both places. I think they’re less for him and more for the human he wants to walk.”
“OK, little guy, you don’t have to ask me twice. Let’s go for a nice stroll around downtown. Maybe we can decide who we’ll cookie bomb first.”