“It is pouring out there,” Kate declared as she burst through the front door of the bakery with her bike. “Literally coming down in buckets.”
“Oooh, somebody looks like a drowned rat,” Maxi admonished. “I’ll grab you some paper towels.”
Kate looked around the empty shop. She didn’t know whether to be panicked because it was already 8:05 or relieved that there was no one here to witness her impromptu wet T-shirt contest.
“I’m taking this upstairs,” she said, wheeling the bike through the kitchen. “It’s coming down too hard to leave it outside. Hey, where did Oliver and Peter go?”
“My guy is playing deliveryman for a couple of flower orders that have to go to the resorts this morning,” Maxi said, looking Kate up and down before finally handing her the entire roll of towels. “But first he’s dropping off Mr. Oliver at home with mi mami and the kids.”
“I already miss the little guy,” Kate said, wiping off the basket first. “But you’re right. We probably shouldn’t have him in the bakery for the reopening. And he’ll be safer at home. Especially with this storm.”
“If it makes you feel better, I sent him home with a bag of ginger snaps. And if he runs out, something tells me he’ll be back. That little one is very independent. And those towels are for you. That bike isn’t gonna catch a cold.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to return me to Claire if I can’t come up with the next payment. Any customers yet?”
Maxi shook her head. “I don’t think we’ll see any for a while. I can’t even see across the street. And the balloons? Forget it. Good thing I left them at the flower shop.”
Fifteen minutes later, in a fresh navy-blue T-shirt, Kate reappeared in the kitchen. “I thought that tin roof was loud from down here. Upstairs it sounds like a herd of elephants tap-dancing on the ceiling.”
“There’s coffee on the counter,” Maxi said, lifting her mug. “It’s that weak americano stuff you ordered from the food supplier, so it’s not as good as the brew you’re used to now. Hey, how did you get those jeans dry?”
“Blow-dryer. And please thank Peter for including it in the suitcase.”
“He figured we’d need showers at some point, spending so much time in a hot kitchen.”
“Well, I got my shower outside this morning. Even if it didn’t include a bar of soap.”
“How’s Sunny?”
“She’s great,” Kate said, grabbing a mop and following the wet path from the kitchen to the front door. “She’s called some friends and invited them to our reopening. So we might get a couple of people from the mainland. Man, that woman is a living, breathing ad for yoga. Oh, and she wanted to fix me up with one of her students.”
“Yeah. I was wondering when that would start. You’re the cute new single girl in town. Get used to saying no a lot. Or yes. Either way, everybody’s got a brother or a nephew, or a neighbor, or a cousin they’ll want you to meet.”
“Did that happen to you, too?”
“Not here. Peter and I didn’t move here till after we married. But in Miami? Ay, I couldn’t walk down the street without one of my aunties pushing a single man in front of me. It was like stepping around potholes.”
“I know it sounds ungrateful, but it’s too soon. I just broke off an engagement. We were planning a life together. I can’t pivot that fast.”
“Just say that. Or that you don’t date during months that don’t have an “r” in them. Or that you still love the last guy, but you can’t remember where you buried him.”
“That one I like. As long as we never use it within earshot of Kyle Hardy. Besides, it was her I wanted to bury, which makes zero sense. Why is that?”
“Because him you loved,” Maxi said, brushing flour off her bakery apron. “And it was all good until she showed up. So some part of your heart says, ‘Hey, it must be her fault.’”
“That is oddly accurate. I still can’t believe Evan hired a P.I.”
“I can’t believe you got the P.I. to work for you. It’s like something out of a spy movie. He’s a double agent.”
“I’m not sure Manny Stenkowski would ever make it as a double agent. I’m not even sure he’ll cut it as a private eye. But at least I don’t have a stalker. And at least he’s willing to try and dig into whatever Lord was up to in Coral Cay.”
“Tell him to dig fast. By the way, if I’m locked in a bakery and no one comes, does that mean I can eat all the cookies?” Maxi said, topping off her coffee.
“I think we can spare a few cookies even if we do get customers,” Kate said. “My plan is to keep baking all day. I just wanted to get a head start so the place would be stocked and ready.”
“Prepare for success,” Maxi said happily, selecting a Toll House cookie from one basket on the counter, along with a peanut butter chocolate chip from another.
Her remark reminded Kate of what Sunny had said about savoring the moment. “Does Sam have anything around here that plays music?”
“Sure, he’s got an old radio. Like a little boombox? I think it has a CD player, too, but I don’t know if he has any CDs.”
Kate searched the kitchen and finally found the small silver Sony crammed into one of the lower cabinets. She set it by the coffeepot, plugged it in, and started flipping stations. “Please tell me the radio signals around here are better than the cell phone signals.”
“Much,” Maxi said. “On a clear night, you can get Cuban music. Straight from Havana. But today we’ll be lucky to get the Florida stations from the mainland. If we can even hear it over the music from our own roof.”
“Yeah, it kind of sounds like a steel drum band. But it’s strangely comforting.”
Kate played with the buttons and finally hit a channel that wasn’t half static.
“WRAB,” the announcer said smoothly. “South Florida’s home of classic R and B.”
“Oh, this is great!” Kate said.
“I bet Francine would like it,” Maxi said between bites. “You going to invite her to the party?”
Kate grinned, snagging a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie for herself. “At this rate, I just might. You know the first thing we should buy with all our many millions? An iPod and a couple of decent speakers.” She reached over and cranked up the volume as the Four Tops launched into “It’s the Same Old Song.”
“You mean, after we pay off that super expensive ride you bought from Claire?” Maxi teased.
“Exactly. So what are you going to buy first?”
“A decent bed for this friend I know. I can’t believe you really slept on that pile of Popsicle sticks upstairs.”
“It’s like a hammock,” Kate admitted sheepishly. “It’s very comfy once you get settled. It’s just a little tricky getting in and out.”
“It’s a death trap. Seriously, if we had las ratas we could put a piece of cheese in the middle and use it to capture them. But only the really slow-moving ones.”
“Hey, I’m one of the really slow-moving ones. And I like that cot. It may not be resort quality, but it beats my sister’s guest room.”
“Which is nowhere as good as my guest room because she doesn’t have the Star Wars sheets with matching drapes. She doesn’t, does she?”
“Not in this lifetime,” Kate said. “Nothing below an eight-hundred-thread count. Besides she hates that movie.”
“She doesn’t like Luke Skywalker? And Yoda? Who doesn’t like Yoda?”
“Calls the whole franchise ‘subversive.’ Jeanine isn’t a fan of anything that even hints at children defying their parents. She’s a little tightly wound.” Kate sighed. “She’s also mad at me for dumping Evan. Part of the reason I haven’t charged my phone?”
Maxi nodded.
“I know there’s going to be, like, a dozen messages from her demanding that I make up with him. Listening to her is like taking a bath in vinegar. It doesn’t change anything. It just hurts.”
“Yowch! Why’s it so important to her?”
“Evan is a Thorpe.”
“So?”
“One of those Thorpes. You know, the Mayflower. Old money. Lots of connections.”
“Yeah, I know who they are, but so what?”
“This is a horrible thing to say about my own sister. But I think she loved the idea of being related to Evan. I mean, I don’t know what she pictured, exactly. It’s not like his mother was going to have them over for Thanksgiving dinner. But I think Jeanine saw our wedding as opening the door to a new world. And maybe not so much for her as for the twins.”
“Like country club doors and Ivy League doors?” Maxi asked.
“Exactly. Now that imaginary door’s closing and she’s livid.”
“So let her marry him.”
Kate giggled. “You know, if I ever charge that phone I might say exactly that.”
“Hey, Cookie Lady! Is this place open?”
“Oh my gosh,” Maxi whispered. “We have a customer!”
Kate hustled into the shop to find a band of bedraggled, half-drowned teens in bathing suits and board shorts.
“Hi, Justin. We’re open, but we didn’t think anybody would be out in this weather. How about some hot coffee to warm you guys up? And we’ve got towels if you want to dry off.”
“Nah, we’re good. We just needed to get off the beach until the storm blows over. I told the guys I knew exactly where we should go. Parked the boards on the porch, if that’s copacetic?”
“Absolutely. So what would you like to start?”
As she said that, Maxi came through the swinging doors with a tray of steaming mugs. “Here you go. This will help you get warm. And it goes great with any kind of cookies. Not that I’d know.”
“Oooh, thank you, Mrs. Más-Buchanan,” said one blond girl in a black wet suit as the rest clustered around the tray.
“Thank you,” another one mumbled.
“We’ve got lots more,” Maxi said. “Just made a big pot.”
“I told ’em about your trick,” Justin said. “The one you did on my sister. Where you guessed her favorite cookie?”
“Yeah,” said the blond girl. “But we didn’t believe him. How’s it even possible?”
“Kind of like standing on a board supported by nothing but a moving wave of water,” Kate said. “It doesn’t seem possible, when you really think about it. But with enough practice, no sweat.”
Justin grinned as Kate presented him with a tray of shortbread. He grabbed four cookies with a large paw, and she set the tray on the counter so everyone could help themselves.
“And something tells me you’re a Toll House girl,” Kate said, retrieving another tray from behind the bakery case and placing it carefully on the counter.
“How about me?” called a teen in a blue swimsuit with a Union Jack patch.
“Oatmeal,” Kate said, placing another tray on the counter. “Have them right here.”
“Oh man, these are so good!” Justin said happily. “Buttery.”
“And you,” Kate said to a shy girl in a drenched blue Gators sweatshirt who lingered near the doorway clutching her coffee mug. “Something tells me you like peanut butter cookies.” Kate set a fourth tray on the counter. “But you might also want to try these,” she said, lifting out a fifth tray. “Peanut butter chocolate chip. They could become your new favorite.”
“I like those a lot,” Maxi admitted. “Salty and sweet.”
Tentatively, the girl moved toward the counter and took one. As she nibbled the edge, her face bloomed into a smile.
“Justin, I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to really see it, but the Cookie House looks gorgeous. You guys did a beautiful job.”
“Well, if you run into my dad, I had nothing to do with it. Mom knows, but he thinks I was out chasing nugs.”
Kate mimed turning an imaginary lock over her mouth. “Surfing at the beach, got it. But stop by later today, too, and you can take home some breads. You don’t have to say where you got them.”
“Ooh, contraband carbs! Love it!” Justin cackled.
“Is this a private party or is anyone welcome?” Ben said, banging through the door.
“How do you like your coffee?” Maxi called over the counter.
“Well, uh…”
“Relax, it’s that weak americano stuff,” she added.
“In that case, black. A nice big cup. It’s wet out there. Blowing in right off the water. I swear it’s half rain, half salt. Nasty.”
Maxi appeared in the shop with a tray bearing a steaming mug and a glass pot full of coffee. She handed off the mug to Ben with a wink. “It’s the biggest cup we have. But refills are free,” she said, topping off everyone’s cup.
“So what will you have for breakfast, Detective?” Kate asked. “We’ve got cookies, we’ve got croissants. And we’ve got some great yeast rolls.”
“And if you pick cookies, she can tell you exactly what kind you like best,” said the girl in the wet suit. “It’s spooky cool.”
Ben scratched his chin. “Well, I’ve got to admit, I’ve never seen that before. Give it your best shot.”
Kate took a deep breath and let everything else go. In that second, she could practically taste it. A deep, rich chocolate crinkle cookie. With a light dusting of powdered sugar.
“You’re in luck. We popped in a batch just before dawn. Have them in the back, freshly dusted.”
She reappeared from the kitchen with a basket full of crinkle cookies.
“How did you…?” Ben started.
“Observation and deduction. And more than a few years as a pastry chef.”
Ben grabbed a handful and popped one in his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and smiled. “Oh man, this takes me back. To my nana’s kitchen. Lady, you’ve got a serious talent. And I don’t mean the cookie-guessing thing.”
“Thank you. We’re baking cookies from here on,” Kate said. “I want to do some sort of a cookie contest, too, but I haven’t worked out that part of it yet.”
“These are great,” Justin said after tasting a chocolate crinkle. “How do you get them so chocolatey?”
“Unsweetened cocoa powder. And a little less sugar. That way, you really taste the chocolate.”
“These are really good,” Ben said, delicately taking two more in his mitt-sized hand and dropping one right into his mouth. “At this rate, I might pitch a tent on the porch. Nice music, by the way.”
“It’s a party,” Kate said. “And what’s a celebration without music?”
“Got that right,” Maxi seconded, circling through the shop with the coffee carafe. “Hey, I think the rain’s letting up!”
At that moment, the door opened and more people piled into the shop.
“Hi, Andy, how’re things down at the pub?” Ben asked.
“Typical Saturday. Although I think the rain slowed some of them. Place is full right now, so I’ve got to get back quick.”
“How about some hot coffee?” Maxi asked.
“I’ve had so much, I’m practically floating. But Bridget thought you might need a few of those big collapsible tables. For the reopening? I’ve got ’em out in the SUV. And I wouldn’t turn down a couple of loaves of bread. Whatever you’ve got. The breakfast crowd is cleaning us out this morning.”
“We’ve got plenty of everything,” said Kate. “Except the sourdough. I haven’t gotten that one in the oven yet. Come on back into the kitchen and you can take your pick. Then we’ll get those tables.”
“I’m on it,” the detective said. “Toss me the keys.”
Andy pitched them overhead, and Ben snatched them out of midair. “Just save me a couple more of those crinkles,” the detective said, lurching out the door.
“We can help you lug ’em in,” said Justin. “Don’t want anybody scratching our sweet paint job.”
An hour later, the sun was shining and the porch was standing room only. Most people had spilled out onto the lawn, hot cups and cookies in hand. Someone—Kate didn’t know who—had lent them an iPod and set it up out of sight on the porch.
Kate and Maxi had hung the balloon banner from the eves of the porch, and Maxi had tied bunches of balloons—in pink, white, and fuchsia—to the railing, the mailbox, and the food tables.
Amos Tully showed up with three grocery bags stuffed full of paper plates, napkins, and hot cups. “All of ’em biodegradable,” he assured Kate. He left with three dozen assorted cookies and a half-dozen loaves of bread “for the shop.”
Kate studied him while he was chatting with Maxi, and tucked in an extra dozen oatmeal cookies with raisins. Just for him.
Harper Duval contributed a few large tubs of pricy cheese spread and some rich Irish butter, “so the bakery could showcase its breads.” Then he quietly handed Maxi a bottle of French champagne, “so you all can pop a cork later to celebrate.”
Maxi had dragged over three of the industrial-sized green garbage cans she used at the shop and spaced them at regular intervals on the lawn. “Otherwise, we’re gonna spend all day tomorrow picking up trash,” she explained. She even tied balloons to the handles of each can, “so people notice ’em.”
Halfway through the day, Peter reappeared with the kids, Esperanza, and Oliver in tow. By then, the reopening was taking on the air of a block party. A jazz quartet had set up in the grass right off the porch. Iced tea had replaced hot coffee. And the throng of tourists streaming in from the resorts was so steady it looked like a parade coming down Main Street. Parking was nonexistent.
Somewhere amidst all the ruckus, Kate managed to slip back into the kitchen. For a minute, she tried to absorb it all. The music, the happy thrum of people mixed with the smells of cinnamon, butter, yeast, and chocolate from the bakery. The bright summer sunshine filtered through the humid salt air. Maxi’s green grass and flourishing flowers. Kate popped a ginger snap into her mouth and thought of Oliver.
The mischievous puppy turned out to be a one-dog ambassador—for Coral Cay and the Cookie House. Peter had fitted him out in a blue polka-dot bow tie. And everyone wanted to take selfies with him.
Luckily, the pup relished the attention. Especially when it was accompanied by a ginger snap.
Kate pulled out one of the kitchen drawers, reached her hand to the very back, and gently lifted out a folded-up crossword puzzle page. She read it slowly. Twice. Then she refolded the paper and slipped it into her slim jeans pocket.
She measured out the flour, dumped it into the blue bowl, added a bit of tap water, and—last but not least—reached for the infamous Francine. Then Kate began mixing up a batch of Sam’s famous sourdough.
The reopening party—and the cleanup—lasted well into the night. While Maxi blamed the tourists, Kate recognized a lot of the faces who stayed until the bitter end.
And they were both thrilled.
“Let’s pop that cork,” Maxi said when they finally got home. “What kind of cookies go best with champagne?”
“Swedish butter cookies. Oooh, and my grandma’s anise and almond cookies. Did you notice someone actually put out a tip jar?”
“With Sam’s face on it! For his defense fund. The photo was from our last town tree-lighting party. I remember ’cause he was wearing a red flannel shirt and he was actually smiling.”
“Who did it?” Kate asked.
“No idea, but there were some pretty serious checks in there. I had Peter lock it in my office safe. I figure we can count it Monday and take it to Sam’s bank.”
“Wow,” Kate said quietly. “And I was worried that no one would come. We did it. We really did it.”
“We did. Us and the whole town. Even the bobo showed up.”
“You’re kidding,” Kate said. “I didn’t see him. Are you sure?”
“You were in the back. He brought a date, and they didn’t stay long. But give the boy credit, he came. So, should I ask about the sourdough?”
“You wanna know what goes best with champagne? Sourdough.”
“I’ll pop the cork, if you slice,” Maxi said.
“If it’s anything like that second batch, we’re gonna need more than a bread knife.”
“If it’s anything like the second batch, I’m gonna skip it and have another glass of bubbles.”
Maxi grabbed an orange tea towel and twisted the cork until there was a gentle pop. Then she put the bottle on the counter and headed for the fridge.
“What now?” Kate asked as she sliced into the loaf.
“Hey, if I’m eating sourdough after midnight I want the whole experience. I’m getting some butter. So how does it look?”
Kate cut off two slices and offered one to Maxi. As the florist slathered the bread with butter, Kate sniffed hers, broke off a piece, and popped it into her mouth. She smiled.
“Ay, that must be a good sign,” Maxi said. “If even you like it. Umm, this is good! Like Sam-quality good. How did you finally do it? What’s the big honking secret?”
“Sam gave me his recipe,” Kate said. “As much as he has a recipe. And a pep talk. And I think that last part is what I really needed.”
“So tomorrow we can sell the whole load of this stuff to the pub?” Maxi asked. “Hola, dinero!”
“Yup. Right after I drop off the first two loaves to Gabe at the garage. That man loves a good sourdough.”