Friday morning, as Maxi fielded the phone and finished several orders next door at Flowers Maximus, Kate surveyed the bakery.
The outside was nearly complete. The painting crew was completing the back of the house. And Carl was confident they’d be done by sundown.
Inside, the upstairs was gorgeous. Thanks to whatever Carl had used, the new-paint smell wasn’t overpowering. And somehow the pale butter-yellow color intensified the sunshine. For Kate, who’d lived for years in an aging New York apartment where most of the illumination came from fluorescent bulbs and track lights, it was like a glass of cold water after coming in off the desert.
And Maxi had been right about el baño. The ice blue looked cool and relaxing. The perfect place to grab a refreshing shower after spending the day in a hot kitchen.
This is just temporary, Kate reminded herself. Next on the list after the bakery opens and tourist season winds down—get my own place. Still, she thought, looking around longingly. This is beautiful.
She walked to the open windows and looked out across the town, feeling the strong breeze on her face. It smelled like the ocean. She could see so much of Coral Cay. Even a bit of turquoise water off in the distance.
When Kate looked straight down, she was stunned. The dead bush was gone. Replaced by a healthy hibiscus dotted with deep pink blooms. And the second, freshly painted white window box held a twin of the first.
Maxi.
But when did she even have time? Maxi had spent most of the previous day putting in big beds of flowers along the porch and down the walkway of the Cookie House. She’d gotten a little help from Bridget O’Hanlon, who had come to bring lunch and ended up spending the afternoon. Maxi even managed to “borrow” a few of the kids from Carl’s crew.
The results were spectacular.
Nearest the house, the petunia beds were either entirely pink or white—“’Cause that will look good against the light pink house,” Maxi had confided.
She’d planted ground cover along the walkway. Something with dark green leaves and small, sweet-smelling white flowers. And at the intersection of the bakery walkway and the main sidewalk: two huge beds of petunias in a deep, rich indigo.
“That’ll grab their attention,” Maxi had explained. “The real estate ladies call it curb appeal. The customers’ eyes travel up the sidewalk. And their feet follow right through the front door. Science!”
Even the lawn looked good. Kate thought it was because of the soaking hoses Maxi had crisscrossing the lawn every night.
“Nope,” the florist had finally confessed. “That’s rye grass. Rye seed plus a little water and a lot of love equals really green grass. And it sprouts quick, quick, quick.”
While everyone had been planting and painting, Kate had given the kitchen and the shop area another thorough scrubbing yesterday. She’d even polished the floors. Everything gleamed.
Now the new supplies were stacked in the storeroom and the walk-in fridge, just waiting on the OK from the health inspector.
Her phone! She’d forgotten to pick it up at the police station. Oddly, after living on her cell for years—especially when she was scrambling for a job—living without it was strangely invigorating.
No jangling interruptions at the worst possible moments. No hectoring demands from Jeanine. No crisp, newsy updates from Amanda Thorpe. Or worse—a profound absence of voicemails from her son. Best of all, no cozy snaps of Evan and Jessica—from Jessica’s phone, of course.
It was like baking: She savored the luxury of focusing completely on what was real and solid in front of her. Friends, food, work. It was joyous.
Kate smiled. Maybe, subconsciously, that’s why she kept “forgetting” to retrieve that phone.
Next to her, Oliver leaned against her leg. Then he stepped on her foot. When she looked down, the puppy gazed directly up into her eyes and did it again.
“Trying to get my attention, little guy?” She kneeled down and stroked the soft oatmeal-colored coat on his back, finishing with a vigorous scratch behind one ear. His tail wagged faster.
“You know, this is your home, too, if you want,” she said softly, settling on the floor. “I mean, I keep hearing that you’re not so hot on the idea of a permanent address. And I get that. But this place is pretty nice. And I am going to be baking ginger snaps just downstairs, so there’s that. I know I was plenty set in my ways, too. But in the past week, I’ve sort of gotten out of the habit of living alone. I don’t know how I’m going to bake anything without Michael and Javie fighting over LEGOs in the background. Or Elena singing and bouncing on the sofa. Weird, huh? So, for what it’s worth, I’d love to have you as a roommate. You know, if the place meets your standards, and all. But if you elect to stay, we’re not advertising that to the health inspector. Which is probably fair, because we’re not telling him I live here, either.”
Oliver cocked his head to one side and studied her. Then he turned around three times and curled up in a tight ball beside her.
A definite “maybe.”