Baked with Love Read online

  I let out the laugh I’d been holding back. “Now you understand why I feed you breakfast and lunch.”

  “Yeah. Gotta keep the strength up. I get it.” His eyes took a slow stroll to my cookie jar.

  “Go ahead and grab a few,” I told him, adding, “if you can move.”

  Suddenly, his fatigue joined the plight of the dinosaurs and went extinct. A handful of cookies later, combined with the huge glass of milk I poured him, and the sugar rush did wonders to perk him up.

  “So what do you do next?” he asked.

  “I start planning and cooking for tomorrow. Sometimes I bake. Since I’m doing the cake for this weekend’s wedding, I’ll be starting it on Wednesday, decorating it whenever I can get some time until Friday.”

  “What can I do?”

  “For now, why don’t you come to the market with me and help me get supplies? You can be my muscle and help me carry everything, and we can talk about your hours and where you see yourself while you’re with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I pulled off my apron and hung it on a peg by the pantry door. “Follow me.”

  I told Sarah I was leaving for a bit.

  “You can choose from housekeeping or staying on kitchen and serving duty, or you can work in the laundry. I need bodies in all those spots,” I told him once we were in my car. “Each section has its own daily duties, and you’ll report to either Sarah or me.”

  While I drove, I brought him up to speed on the requirements for each section of the inn.

  “I have a regular staff who work year-round,” I told him when he grabbed a shopping cart. “But every weekend, I bump the body count up because I’m usually full and I’ve got a wedding reception booked. Extra servers are always appreciated, as I’m sure your dad told you. Summer months, though, I like to have extra hands during the week as well because we tend to get a lot of vacationers stopping over for a night or two during their travels. Plus, the Chamber of Commerce has a weekly business breakfast booked at the inn, and the Rotary meets every week for lunch. A couple of local ladies’ groups come in once a month for lunch in addition to the library’s book club.”

  “I never knew you were so busy. I figured you just”—he shrugged as he followed me with the cart—“served a few meals and made the beds every day.”

  Nodding, I pulled out my shopping list. “There’s more to running an inn than merely cooking and changing the sheets.”

  “No kidding,” he mumbled.

  My older sister, Cathleen, is fond of saying living in a small town is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because you know almost everyone you meet on the street, at church, or in the local market. And there’s the curse of it too because you know everyone you meet on the street, at church, and in the market. A routine twenty-minute shopping trip took an entire hour because so many people stopped us to chat. Well, to chat with Robert, really. Until he’d moved with his mother to the next town over four years ago, Robert had been a fixture in the town. As the only child of the chief of police, he was as well-known to the community as Lucas himself. In every aisle, we were stopped by at least one—sometimes two or three—people who asked after his mother’s health, grilled him about her new husband, questioned how he was doing in school, his plans for college, and in a few cases tossed me a nosy glare and inquired why he was with me and not his father.

  Having grown up in this small, insular community with a well-known and respected father, Robert was an expert in the art of dealing with the busybodies and their intrusive questions. Not that they meant to be intrusive. No, the people of Heaven generally cared about each other and were truly invested in one another’s well-being. It didn’t stop gossip from rearing its ugly head at times, though, so I was quick to explain why Robert was accompanying me on my usual Monday afternoon shopping trek.

  Once we’d finally gotten through the checkout line and had all the groceries I needed for the week packed in the trunk of my car, Robert let go with a laugh jumping between comic and tragic.

  “I don’t think I’ve talked to so many people or answered so many questions since before we moved.”

  I pulled out onto the main road. “They don’t mean to be so…” I lifted a shoulder.

  “Nosy? Snoopy? Gossipy?”

  This time it was my laughter filling the cab. “You should be a writer. Cathy’s hubby-to-be is one. I’m sure if you asked him he’d give you some advice on where to put your verbal skills.”

  His open smile was quick and boyish and reminded me so much of his father my hands gripped the steering wheel a little harder than was necessary.

  Back at the inn, we found a visitor waiting in my kitchen, sipping tea.

  “Hey.” I put one of the grocery bags down on the counter and kissed my oldest sister’s cheek. “I was just talking about you. What are you doing here?”

  Cathleen stood and, ignoring my questions, opened her arms, a cheek-wide smile on her face.

  “Hey, Aunt Cathy.” Robert melted into her embrace, returning it with a full hug.

  “I saw your dad in court this morning,” she told him, as she kissed his cheek, “and he mentioned you were working for Mo. You getting all settled in?”

  He pulled out of her arms and rocked back on his sneakered feet. With a nod he told her, “Yeah.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  They spent a few minutes chatting, with Robert giving her details about the wedding and his new stepfather, while I put my apron back on and went about storing the groceries away.

  My oldest sister and Lucas had been friends since both of them were eight and in my grandmother’s Communion preparation class. Lucas had been Cathy’s late husband Danny’s best bud from birth, and the three of them were a unit until both Lucas and Danny enlisted in the army on the same day. Lucas had come home after three tours to live his life with his wife and baby son. Danny Mulvaney had decided to make the army his forever-life and had subsequently given his life to the job. When Robert was born, Cathy had gladly accepted the official role of godmother to him.

  “Well, since you’ll be here for a few weeks, I’ll get to see you a lot more often than I have since you guys moved. Plus”—she ruffled his hair—“you can come to my wedding.”

  Robert shot me a quizzical look from under the fringe of his bangs.

  “What?” Cathy squinted from him to me and back again. “You’re not making him work on the day I get married, Maureen. He’s my godson.”

  “I had no intention of doing so. I’ve already got a crew scheduled for your big day.”

  Cathy hugged Robert again. “Good. I want to dance with my favorite guy here, and I don’t want him forced to wear an apron when I do.”

  The look of horror sailing across Robert’s face had me biting back a laugh.

  “Okay.” Cathy let him go and focused back on me. “Second reason I’m here. Nanny’s birthday party this Sunday. We all good to go?”

  “All I have left to do is make the cake. She’s called me every day for the past week to remind me how much she loves chocolate.”

  “Anyone who knows her knows that.” Cathy rolled her eyes. “Colleen will bring her since she’ll be here seeing her bride and groom off before they leave for their honeymoon.”

  “The bride and her party should be pretty much gone by the time you guys arrive. Most of them requested early checkout. I figured we’d have the party in the morning room. It’s intimate and sunny, and Nanny can hold court there easily.”

  “Nanny can hold court anywhere as long as someone’s paying attention to her.” To Robert, she said, “You, your dad, and granddad are invited, too.”

  He nodded and then flicked his head to swish his hair out of his eyes.

  “Okay, well, I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ve got a few meetings scheduled this afternoon.” She dragged Robert back into a fierce hug again. “I’m so happy you’re staying for a bit.”

  Before she left, I handed her a shopping bag, as I had to Colleen. “Lef
t-over fried chicken and macaroni and cheese. I know how much Mac likes them.”

  “Loves, not likes. You’re spoiling him, Mo.”

  I waved a careless hand at her. Who better than to spoil but the people you loved? “And here. I made these for Georgie.” I handed her a tin of organic doggie snacks from a recipe I’d pulled off Google. “Maybe she’ll like these better than your shoes.”

  “Oh, Lord. Your mouth to God’s ears.”

  “Who’s Georgie?” Robert asked.

  “My new dog-niece,” I said.

  “George…died. Over the winter.” Cathy’s expression saddened as she explained how her fifteen-year-old Labrador had finally succumbed to age and illness.

  “I’m sorry,” Robert told her. “George was a great dog.”

  Cathy nodded. “Mac and I adopted a new Lab, and we named her Georgie. She’s six months old and a terror.”

  “And by terror,” I said, “she means the puppy is into everything.”

  “No lie. Mac and I have taken to putting our shoes on the top shelves of all our closets. Her favorite thing in the world is chewing and eating Mac’s sneakers.”

  “Cool. I mean, not cool about the sneakers, but cool you got a puppy. Can I come over sometime and meet her?”

  “I’ll talk to your dad and make a date for you guys to come for dinner soon.”

  With a quick kiss for him and then me, and our typical Love you, Love you more goodbye, she was off.

  “Georgie really is adorable,” I told him. “But a stint in puppy school wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I wish we could have a dog.” He slung his hands back into his jeans and rested back against the counter. “Mom is allergic, though, and Dad works so much he says he can’t be responsible for one more thing.”

  The wistfulness in his voice, etched by sadness, tore my heart.

  “Come on,” I told him, pointing to a chair. “Let’s get your hours and duties settled. Then you can help me figure out what to make for lunch tomorrow.”

  An hour later, Lucas walked into the kitchen.

  “You’re early.”

  “There was a sudden lull in criminal activity in the area.”

  I laughed while Robert mumbled, “Lame, Dad.”

  “How’d everything go?” Lucas accepted the cup of coffee I poured for him and, as his son had earlier, leaned a hip against my kitchen counter.

  He’d addressed his question to me.

  “Good. What do you think?” I asked Robert.

  “Yeah. Cool.”

  “That’s it? Just cool? Can’t you elaborate a little for your old man?”

  Before his father arrived, Robert had been sitting with his elbows resting on the table, going over the list I’d given him, an open, free grin on his face as he read through the kitchen duties I’d assigned him.

  Now, he was tense and nervous. He was sitting up straight, had his hands folded in his lap, his face blank, his chin grazing his chest.

  As Lucas drank his coffee, I noted his posture wasn’t as relaxed as it came off. His shoulders were settled halfway up to his ears, and his eyes were watchful as they rested on his son, the two corners of his mouth pulling inward a bit.

  Tension rose from these two like steam from a hot spring on winter’s day.

  It didn’t take a genius to understand the cause, and my heart went out to both of them.

  I caught Lucas’s eye, tilted my head toward his son, and opened my eyes a little wider.

  He caught my meaning and had the grace to look uncomfortable. As he cleared his throat, he moved to the table. After pulling out a chair and sitting, he lifted the list and examined it.

  “You’re working alongside Maureen in the kitchen?” he asked.

  Robert lifted a shoulder and kept his attention on his lap.

  “That’s great, son.”

  The teen’s mouth fell open at the exuberance in Lucas’s voice.

  “You gonna teach him how to cook like you do?” Lucas asked me. “Cuz if she does,” he said to his son before I could answer, “I’m volunteering to be your taster for life. No one cooks as good as Maureen.”

  Those chronic Lucas-induced butterflies were flapping so hard against my stomach I snuck a peek downward to make sure they couldn’t be seen ramming against my apron.

  Turning his attention back to me, Lucas asked, “Are you gonna let him bring home, like, samples of stuff you teach him to make? Or give him baking homework?”

  Robert dropped his chin again and mumbled, “Geez, Dad.”

  “How old are you, Lucas Alexander?” I asked in a Nanny-Fee-worthy tone while I was secretly more pleased than decency warranted. “Cuz you sound like you’re four.”

  “Old enough to know a good thing when I hear it. Or taste it.” His grin turned boyish, Robert’s finally following suit. A sight-impaired person would have been able to see they were related with just that smile for evidence. “Speaking of, you do any baking today?” His expression was so hopeful I was unable to pull back a laugh.

  Shaking my head, I pulled the cookie tin over to the table and lifted the lid. “Yesterday’s leftover cookies. Beggars can’t be choosey. You’ll get what I have available, and you’ll be happy about it.”

  “I’d be happy with cookies from last week if you were the one who baked them.” He snaked his hand into the jar and pulled out a good half dozen with his fist, placing them on the dish I set before him.

  “Share,” I commanded, thrusting my chin to his son.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lucas divided the cookies between them.

  Father and son chatted while they ate, Lucas reaching into the jar several times to replenish the pile. They talked about the duties Robert would have and the schedule I’d come up with. I hadn’t thought a teenage boy would want to be stuck indoors and in a kitchen with me every day of his summer vacation, and I’d wanted to build in some free time for him to do what he wanted, even if it was simply while away the hours playing video games at his dad’s.

  Robert, though, had another idea. He didn’t mind coming to the inn every day or working wherever I needed him, not only in the kitchen. It dawned on me he was probably either lonely, missing his friends from home, or didn’t want to incur the wrath of his grumpy grandfather. Maybe even a combination of all three.

  “What time do you need me to drop him off in the mornings?” Lucas asked when they’d eaten and drunk their fill. Robert excused himself to use the bathroom before they left. “I know you start breakfast service pretty early. I can have him here whenever you want.”

  “Lunch is usually busier than breakfast because the service time is shorter, so I’m good for early shift. If you can have him here by seven or seven fifteen every day, it’d be fine. Pick him up any time after three.”

  Lucas nodded. “He seems pretty stoked about working, something I’m surprised about. Glad, for sure, but surprised. I figured…” He shrugged.

  “I know. I thought a fifteen-year-old boy would rather be any place than in a kitchen every day, but he actually asked to work most days during the week and on weekends for the weddings. We’ll see how long this enthusiasm lasts.” I grinned up at him while I towel-dried a mug.

  “I don’t know, Mo. If it was me, I wouldn’t mind being stuck in a kitchen every day—”

  “That’s because you’re always hungry.”

  “—if it was with you.”

  My hand stopped rubbing the porcelain.

  Okay, what?

  I’m usually fairly adept at not showing my feelings or have what’s running through my mind cross my face. Nanny has commented many times over the years I’m the person she least likes playing poker with because she can’t read me. The ability to hide my true feelings has gotten me through some testy times with my parents, a bad breakup with a verbally abusive boyfriend, and my twin’s illness then death. Plus, for as many times as we’d been together over the years, Lucas had never once guessed how I truly felt about him.

  Right now, though, I
was finding it next to impossible to school my features and body into its usual calm nonchalance. I can only imagine how I must have appeared to him, standing there with the towel thrust into the mug, my hand paralyzed—my body as well—as I stared up at him, silent.

  “What’s wrong?” He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward me, his brows grooving toward the middle of his forehead. “Maureen?”

  I blinked a few times when his hand snaked around my upper arm. A soothing, comforting warmth seeped through me from his touch. I wanted to move in closer, melt into his arms, and snuggle into all his heat. When I found myself shifting so I could, I took a step backward, mentally and physically. Lucas didn’t drop his hold but kept his hand on my arm, his other one following suit.

  “Nothing. Sorry. I’m fine.” I shook my head a few times and planted what I hoped looked like a self-deprecating grin on my face.

  “I lost you there for a second.” His gaze swept across my face, searching, silently questioning.

  “Sorry. I’ve got a lot going on up here.” I pointed a finger at my head. “Thinking fifteen steps ahead about what needs to be done around this place.”

  He waited a beat, those intelligent, intense eyes never wavering from my own. “Why don’t I believe that’s all it is?”

  It was no wonder he was such a good lawman. With his gaze zeroed in on me, piercing and probing, and his voice low, deep, and commanding, almost seductively sly in its cadence, I imagined people who’d broken the law were no match for him when it came to his garnering confessions.

  I pulled a Colleen-worthy eye roll. “Because you’re a cop and you’re naturally suspicious. It’s ground into your DNA. Like the green in your eyes.”

  One eyebrow quirked high up on his forehead. “The green in my eyes?”

  His mouth stayed perfectly straight, but I got the distinct impression he was laughing at me.

  “It’s true. Your eyes are green, and you’re naturally nosy.”

  His inspection grew more intense as he dipped his chin and glared at me. The heat in his stare shot straight down to my core and exploded. I’m pretty sure I shuddered.

  Lucas’s fingers kneaded my arms. Every nerve ending in my body stood straight up, like I’d walked across a rug in the dead of winter and then touched something metal, sparking an electric shock. I licked lips that had suddenly gone desert-dry.