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Mick walked along the path across the road from the B&B, which led straight to the lake. The sun had gone down and all that remained was the darkening sky. The moon cast its light over the water, and ripples of silver danced across the lake. He stopped on the waterfront and took it all in. If there was one thing he couldn’t fault the town for, it was the beautiful lake.
“Mick?”
Mick turned around at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. “Carly?”
“Over here,” she said. “By the bench. Follow the stone path.”
He followed the stone path up to a set of benches. “Hey,” Mick said when he spotted her.
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “What are you doing out here at this time?”
“I should be asking you the same thing.” Mick sat next to her on the bench. “What brings you out here tonight?”
Carly blew out a breath and tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “It’s my thinking spot.”
“It’s certainly a great spot for doing just that.” Mick leaned back into the bench and turned to face the lake. The view was fantastic. There weren’t many people around—a few nighttime joggers, but that was it. “Amy suggested that I come out here. She suggested either this or the Town & Country Tavern.”
“I take it you’re not keen on the Tavern, then?”
Mick shook his head. “Nah—that was never my scene.”
Carly shifted and sat facing Mick. “Do you not drink?”
Mick shrugged. “Yeah, from time to time—mostly social. Depends on who I’m with. Clients, that sort of thing. You?” He already knew the answer, but he’d asked it anyway. It was something they’d discussed online as NYJedi007 and WillowCup717.
“Never fancied it,” Carly said.
“So what do you do for fun?”
“Anything, really.”
“Like what?”
“Jams,” Carly said. “I like to make jam.”
“Jam.” Mick turned to face her and scrunched his face up. “What’s fun about making jam?”
“I don’t know. I guess I find it relaxing,” Carly said. “It’s a bit like being in a lab creating some kind of experiment.”
Mick laughed. “I have to say I have never heard anyone describe jam-making like that.”
Carly laughed along with him. “It’s true! Like, you never really know how it’s going to turn out.”
“Don’t you follow a recipe?”
“I mean, yes I do. It’s pretty much a standard ratio using the same set of ingredients—fruit, sugar, and some water. But the science is in the fruit.”
Mick stifled a laugh.
Carly playfully slapped his arm. “I’m being serious! The timing of when you pick the fruit has to be just right. If you pick it too early, there’s not enough pectin, so you end up with a runny jam. Too late, then it just doesn’t taste right. You know, people say that you’ve got to stand over the pot and constantly stir it. But stirring it produces too much steam, which you don’t want. A low flame and as little disturbance as possible are what you want.”
Mick couldn’t handle how adorable she was. He wanted to take her in his arms and just kiss her—right there, right then. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said with a grin. “What kind of jams do you like to make?”
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” Carly rolled her eyes.
“No,” Mick laughed. “I’m genuinely interested—what kind of jams?”
“Any kind of jam. I use up whatever fruit is in season.”
“What’s the difference between jam and jelly, anyway? I never really understood if they were the same thing or not. You know how people say PB&J and you think they’re talking about peanut butter and jelly, but some are actually saying peanut butter and jam. What gives?”
Carly laughed. It was a sweet laugh that came from a happy place. “Right—well, let me tell you then.”
“Okay, Professor Jammin’, give it to me,” Mick said in the most reggae way he could. He sang a few short lines of Bob Marley’s song, Jamming, as he gazed into her eyes. Should I kiss her? he wondered.
“Okay, Mr. Marley—”
“Please, call me, Bob,” Mick teased.
“Bob,” Carly said with a laugh.
As he gazed in to her dancing eyes, Mick was convinced that all he wanted to do was to make her laugh for a lifetime.
“Seriously now. Jelly is basically fruit juice and sugar. Sugar, sugar, sugar!” Carly stretched her legs, lifting them up in front of her with her ankles crossed. “But jam... uses chopped up fruit. Real fruit. You can use a medley of fruit to create a beautiful tasting jam. Spread it on some toasted bread with churned butter and a drizzle of honey. A good jam should taste like you’ve gone to Heaven and back with every bite.”
Mick beamed approvingly at her.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, still smiling.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’ve never met anyone who talks so passionately about jam.” Mick threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh, so now you think I’m funny, huh? Okay then—let’s hear about you.”
“No, no, no... I think it’s cute. I really do.”
“Whatever!”
“Really—it’s endearing to hear you talk about jam,” Mick said. “What’s your favorite?”
“Apple, rhubarb, strawberry, and cinnamon,” Carly said with a nod.
“Apple, rhubarb, strawberry, and cinnamon, huh?” Mick rubbed his chin. “Hands down?”
“Hands down. What about you?”
Mick crumpled his face. “I don’t think I have a favorite—I haven’t tasted any jam that I’d go out of my way for.”
“Hmmm, that’s sad. We’ll have to try to find the right jam for you then.”
“Will you make some for me?” Mick asked.
“Nope—you’ll make it!”
Mick shook his head. “I don’t do very well in the kitchen.”
“I’ll be right there with you. You can’t go wrong, I promise. We’ll get your jam figured out.”
“So we’ll be jammin’, huh?”
Carly smiled. “We’ll be jammin’.”
Mick gazed into her eyes and crooned, “Oh, and I wanna jam it with you.”
“Stop it,” Carly said as she playfully slapped him on the arm.
Mick caught her hand and kissed it.
“If not jam, what’s your breakfast go-to, then?” Mick noticed how Carly carefully slipped her hand from his.
“Bacon, poached eggs, and creamy mushrooms on ciabatta bread,” he said without skipping a beat.
“What’s wrong with normal sliced bread?”
“It’s lifeless,” Mick said.
“Well, then you’ve been having the wrong bread.”
“Don’t tell me you make bread as well?”
“It’s one of my favorite things to do. I love the smell of bread baking.” Carly inhaled and grinned with satisfaction.
“You sound like Betty Crocker,” Mick teased.
“Betty Crocker’s not a real person—but you can call me Martha,” Carly chided.
“As in, Stewart?”
“The one and only!”
“I didn’t know Betty Crocker wasn’t a real person.”
“Betty Crocker is a marketing strategy that became wildly successful. People thought they were buying products from a real person—and went crazy for it. But really, she’s just a brand name.”
“Mmm—I guess you learn something new every day.”
“Glad to be of service,” Carly said.
Mick battled with his thoughts. Everything inside him said yes, but his mind was saying, no.