After Manny left, Kate prepped the kitchen for her first project: cookies.
But after hauling umpteen heavy bags down from the storeroom, she was ready for a break. On the bright side, between the bags and the bike, who needed yoga?
After Kate washed up and treated herself to a second cup of coffee, she mulled over the conversation with Manny. The guy had a good heart. And he’d agreed to help.
For a while.
Sooner or later though, they would run out of new details to feed Evan about her life in Coral Cay. Or Evan would lose interest. Either way, she hoped the P.I. was better at gathering information on Stewart Lord’s business plans than he was at tailing her.
Kate sighed. At least she no longer had to worry about a stalker. And Manny definitely wasn’t the burglar. He didn’t smoke. She doubted he even owned a pair of hard shoes. And his cologne of choice was Old Spice. With a side of garlic pizza.
Kate walked into the fridge and grabbed a bag of lemons and a gallon of cold water.
When she looked up five minutes later, Oliver—who’d been charging around since daybreak—snoozed where he’d finally dropped: in a sunny spot in the front of the shop. Every once in a while, she could hear his soft breathing.
She set the pitcher on the tray with a stack of paper cups and opened the door to the backyard. “Hey, guys, how about some fresh lemonade?”
Instantly, she was surrounded by a gang of thirsty teenagers and twentysomethings. Along with a few spry retirees.
“Nearly done,” Carl pronounced. “Touching up a little of the trim and that’s the whole shebang.”
Kate stepped back and took a good long look. The whole house was a soft, barely there pink. Against that, the clean white gingerbread trim and shutters popped. It looked like a dollhouse come to life. Like it had been frosted with buttercream and powdered with sugar for a child’s party.
“It’s perfect,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe what you guys have done. This is … it’s beautiful.”
To a one, the crew members grinned.
“How about some more of those cookies?” Justin asked. “I don’t know about anybody else, but that’s why I signed on.”
Another guy, about the same age, punched him on the arm.
“You got it,” Kate said. “First batch should be coming out of the oven in about forty minutes. Think you can hold out that long?”
“Oh, we’ll still be here then,” Carl replied. “We’re racing the sun today, but we’ll get there. Even if I have to come back next week and touch up a few spots.”
“Don’t forget,” Kate said, “when we reopen the bakery tomorrow, it’s all about sharing bread and cookies with the whole town. No charge. As a way of saying ‘thank you.’ You guys are the ones who deserve it the most.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Carl said, refilling his empty cup. “But I wouldn’t mind maybe putting a small sign on the front lawn—with the name of the hardware store and our phone number. For referrals?”
“Absolutely,” Kate said, topping off cups as the kids clustered in front of her. “That’s more than fair. I can’t believe how great the place looks.”
“Yeah, it really did need a coat of paint,” Carl said. “‘A little TLC’ is what my Minette called it. And she was right about that.”
“Sam’s going to love it,” Kate said quietly to Carl. “It’s gorgeous. And the fact that you guys got together and did this? It’s going to make him so happy. I can’t wait for him to see it.”
Carl turned abruptly, grabbed a nearby ladder, and rattled it loudly. “OK, kids, break’s over! We’ve still got work to do and not a lot of time to do it!”
The crew members, looking puzzled, drained their cups, dumped them into the garbage can, and wandered back to their stations.
Kate was equally perplexed.
“Cookies in about forty minutes,” she called cheerily. But her voice fell flat on the breeze.
True to her word, she rolled the first baking rack laden with trays of ginger snaps out of the big commercial oven just thirty minutes later.
The bakery smelled of ginger, cinnamon, and brown sugar. Kate rolled the second commercial rack—stacked to the top with trays of chocolate chip cookies—into the big oven. It had been at least three years since the Cookie House ovens had baked actual cookies. What on earth would Sam think?
Pulled by the smell—and the clatter—Oliver appeared beneath the swinging doors to the kitchen.
“Have a good nap? You’re just in time, but we have to let these cool a little first. Otherwise, someone will burn his tongue.”
Oliver cocked his head and looked first at the cookies, then at Kate. As if he was actually considering her words.
“It’s worth the wait,” she said, walking over and bending to scratch him under the chin. “I promise.”
A phone rang. For a minute, Kate couldn’t fathom where the sound had come from. It rang again. She loped to the counter and lifted the handset off the wall. “The Cookie House. This is Kate.”
For a moment, there was only a garbled, incoherent sound. Then a familiar voice. “Kate, it’s Maxi. You need to come to the flower shop now. Rápido! It’s Sam!”