Christmas in Good Hope (A Good Hope Novel Book 1) (7 page)

Cassie was an older, worn-out version of her younger sister, Lindsay. Same honey-blond hair and gray-blue eyes. Same narrow face that was more angular than beautiful. Same whippet-thin body. Except Cassie’s body was now swollen with baby, and the eyes that once sparkled with mischief were dull and weary.

After putting the two rottweilers in a back bedroom—where they continued to bark—Cassie’s oldest daughter returned with two mugs of coffee.

“Thank you, Dakota.” Ami offered the girl a warm smile. “How old are you now?”

Dakota, a pretty girl with dark hair and amber eyes, wore jeans and a hoodie. “I’m seventeen.”

“Wow.” Though Cassie had several years on her, Ami found it mind-blowing that anyone she’d played dolls with as a child could have a seventeen-year-old daughter. Of course, most women didn’t have their first baby at fifteen.

Clint, who’d been lurking in the doorway since they arrived, moved close and placed his hand proprietarily on Dakota’s shoulder. “Like I told Cassie, our little girl is growing up.”

Dakota flinched but otherwise remained perfectly still. Her expression went blank.

Something in the way Clint looked at the girl made Ami’s skin crawl. Cassie, now munching on cookies with her feet up on a frayed hassock, seemed oblivious to any tension between her daughter and her boyfriend.

Ami cleared her throat. “That makes you a junior in high school?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Using the question as a reason to move, Dakota stepped closer to Ami and sat on the arm of her chair.

Beck had remained quiet since she’d performed the initial introductions, but Ami observed his brown eyes taking it all in, including the tattered furniture and the new large-screen television. She was certain his shrewd gaze hadn’t missed the worn clothing on Cassie and her daughter and Clint’s shiny leather boots.

Ami supposed Clint had been a good-looking guy once upon a time. Though he was only in his midthirties, hard living was starting to show. His body was soft and paunchy. There were lines on his face normally not seen in a man so young. His hair, the same shade as Cassie’s, was spiked up with gel. If he was trying to hide the fact that his hairline had done some serious receding, it wasn’t working.

The look in his eyes, that predatory gleam with an underlying mean edge, was the same. She remembered the stories she’d heard back in middle school, how he and his friends had beat a possum to death . . . just for fun.

The thought made her stomach roll.

“Isn’t there school today?” Beck asked casually.

“Yes, sir. The bus picked up the boys a few minutes ago.” Dakota flushed. “I stayed home so I could take Mom to her doctor’s appointment.”

“’Cause I can’t drive.” Clint placed a hand on his back and forced a wince. “Back injury.”

Ami knew for a fact Clint drove all the time . . . when it suited him.

“These almond bars are delicious.” Cassie grabbed another from the tin.

“Thank you. They’re very popular.” Ami took a sip of coffee and smiled at Dakota. “Next time you’re by the shop, stop in. I’ll give you some more almond bars to bring home for your mom.”

“Dakota don’t get into town much.” Clint’s gaze fixed on the girl. “We like to keep her close.”

“Oh, Clint, honey.” Cassie gave a nervous laugh. “She’s in Good Hope for school every day.”

Ami reached over and gave Dakota’s hand a squeeze. “Stop by, please.”

C
hapter
S
even

Ami hid a smile as Beck reached for a third kouign amann. The walk back from Cassie’s home must have stimulated his appetite.

Though she’d planned to broach the subject of Beck giving her a job on the walk back from the Lohmeier home, the conversation had focused more on the abject poverty of the home and the jerk that was Clint Gourley.

Beck also had concerns over the way the man had leered at Dakota. Ami made herself a promise. If the girl didn’t come to her in the next few days, she’d seek her out.

Once she’d made that decision, it was time to get down to business. No more letting the conversation flow like a meandering river.

Eliza had spotted her and Beck when they passed by the general store on their way to Muddy Boots. If Ami didn’t call Eliza to report in soon, the executive director of the Cherries would be calling her.

The problem was, lately it felt as if all she’d been doing was asking Beck for favors. She certainly didn’t want him to get the mistaken impression she was using him.

Ami knew he was concerned about his head cook situation, and she hoped that if she could help with that, he’d be willing to help her complete her Cherries assignment by agreeing to open his house to the tour.

“I’ve come up with a solution to your need for a cook.” Once Ami saw she had Beck’s attention, she pressed forward. “I texted Hadley this morning, and she agreed to increase her hours on the weekends. Karin, a college student who worked for me last year, has also agreed to help out. Since you don’t serve breakfast, I can get a lot of my baking done before I come over to cook for the lunch crowd.”

If Beck was surprised she’d brought up the job again, it didn’t show. “You’ll pay out more in wages than you’ll bring in.”

“Not if you pay me what I’m worth.”

The figure she named had his jaw dropping open.

Recalling Hadley’s admonition, Ami took another sip of coffee. When Beck remained silent, she stuffed a piece of pastry in her mouth so she wouldn’t be tempted to fall into nervous chatter . . . and sell herself cheap.

Beck cleared his throat. “That’s a lot of money.”

Ami lifted her chin and met his chocolate-brown eyes head-on. “I’m worth it.”

“The amount you’re asking is twice what I’m paying Janey.”

“You’d only be paying me that for a month.” She took a huge drink of coffee to wash down a chunk of pastry that had lodged in her throat. “Considering all the increased money you’ll be making because of the holidays, your budget can handle it.”

Ami tried to read his expression but discovered Beckett Cross had a stellar poker face.

She’d shot high but would do it for less. Ami certainly didn’t want him to turn her down. Was it really fair to ask him to pay her
twice
what he was paying Janey?

With her heart slamming against her rib cage, Ami placed her cup on the counter. Before she could toss out a lesser amount, Beck smiled.

“You have a deal.”

Satisfaction flowed through her veins like warm honey. Who knew she was so good at negotiating?

“When can you start?”

Ami couldn’t stop grinning. “How about I do a trial run Thursday evening? That way I can get oriented to the kitchen before the Twelve Nights celebrations begin.”

Beck nodded his approval. “That’ll work.”

Buoyed by her success, Ami decided to go for broke. “I have just one more condition before I accept.”

Beck frowned. “I thought you already accepted.”

“Not yet.” She lifted a hand, let it flutter in the air. “This is such a small thing to ask.”

He inclined his head.

“I want you to agree to open your home to the tour.”

For a Thursday night, the Muddy Boots café was hopping. Beck hadn’t expected much of a crowd since many would be eating out tomorrow because of the tree lighting ceremony. But word must have gotten out that Ami was behind the stove. The place had been packed all evening.

Blackmail.
Beck stabbed a bite of potato and shoved the food into his mouth. Ami had seduced him with a sweet smile and the promise of help, then gone in for the kill.

Worse yet, he’d caved.

He chewed and the taste buds in his mouth sighed with pleasure. Who knew plain old meat loaf and potatoes could taste so delicious?

Instead of coupling meat loaf with traditional mashed potatoes and gravy, Ami had taken a baked potato out of its skin, mashed it up, added butter, and covered the potato with creamed corn. The bacon, onions, and peppers that had topped the meat loaf while it cooked were added to the corn.

It looked strange, but the taste was mouthwateringly good. The homemade sourdough bread she’d added for the crunchy texture seemed to be a hit as well.

Though Beck wanted to sit and savor, and perhaps have a piece of the cherry crisp with ice cream for dessert, he cleared the table and went back to work.

Normally the two servers were able to handle the cash register, but tonight the diners just kept coming.

Beck took over the cash register.

The next guy in line looked familiar, but Beck couldn’t place him. Tall and rangy with gray hair, silver-rimmed glasses, and hazel eyes. He’d noticed him at a four-top eating with the man and woman who stood beside him now.

“How was your dinner?” Beck asked.

“The food was excellent.” The rotund woman with hair coiled in a braid on top of her head spoke before the man could answer. “With Ami at the stove, how could it be anything but fabulous?”

The woman gestured to her dinner companion. “When I heard Steve’s daughter was cooking tonight, I told him we simply had to eat at Muddy Boots this evening.”

So, the thin guy was Ami’s father. In his khaki pants and sweater vest, he reminded Beck of the peninsula’s version of Mr. Rogers. While Beck hadn’t watched much television as a kid, he remembered the soft-spoken man with an endless supply of cardigans. A man who’d been the antithesis of Beck’s workaholic father.

“Ami’s cooking lived up to the rave reviews.” The other man, tall and athletic-looking in his early thirties, spoke for the first time. He turned back to Steve. “It’d be nice if Ami could come out for a second so I could compliment her personally.”

Beck’s gaze sharpened. His gaze drifted to the man’s left hand. No wedding ring.

“Beck.” Ami appeared at his side. “We’re going to need to substitute—”

Ami caught sight of her father and Beck saw her tense. She covered it well with a smile.

“Dad.” She rounded the counter and gave him a quick hug. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” Steve seemed hesitant. “I could tell by the crowd you were busy.”

Ami eased both of their discomfort by shifting her attention to the woman. “Etta. How nice to see you again.”

“Excellent meal, my dear.” Etta’s smile flashed. “You remember Clay Chapin. He’s our new principal.”

“Clay. Ohmygoodness.” Ami turned and gave the man a hug. “Welcome back.”

“It’s great to be back home.”

Ami glanced at Etta. “I didn’t realize Mr. Svensen wasn’t returning.”

Her dad and Etta exchanged glances.

“Lars’s heart sustained considerable damage,” her father said.

The news about the principal’s heart attack at the last football game of the season had spread like wildfire through Good Hope. Beck had not only heard about it from his patrons but had read about the incident in the
Gazette
. Like Ami, he hadn’t heard the man had been replaced.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ami turned back to the new principal. “But I’m happy to know the high school will be in your hands. Your mother must be thrilled to have you back.”

Beck listened as Ami made small talk with the three educators for a few seconds before he interrupted. “What is it we need to substitute?”

“We’ll let you get back to work.” After slanting a glance at his daughter, Steve paid the bill, then ushered his colleagues out of the café.

Realizing he’d been somewhat abrupt, Beck braced himself for Ami’s wrath. Instead she gave his arm a squeeze. “Thanks for that little push. I have a feeling Etta and Clay would have stayed and talked forever.”

He found it curious she hadn’t included her father. The fact was, Steve Bloom appeared as eager to leave as Ami had been to have him go.

Beck studied Ami. Her face was flushed from the steam table, and a few wisps of hair had escaped the sparkly crocheted hair covering she wore while she cooked. He could see why Clay Chapin hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her.

Ami quickly explained they were almost out of meat loaf but suggested substituting roast beef as the entrée.

After securing his approval, Ami returned to the kitchen while Beck rang up the next customer. It made him happy to know that even if the new principal called Ami for a date, she’d be too busy.

Between the café, the Giving Tree, and helping him get his home ready for the tour, there would be time for only one man in her life this holiday season, and that was Beckett Cross.

The café may have closed at nine but it was nearly ten when Ami dropped into bed and a dreamless slumber. Four a.m. came way too soon, but after a second cup of coffee, she felt almost human. First Friday marked the kickoff of the Twelve Nights celebrations. Everyone was looking forward to the lighting of the thirty-foot tree in the town square and caroling led by the high school choral director, Loretta Sharkey.

With the weather projected to be mild—in the midthirties—a large turnout was anticipated. This meant Ami needed to make certain the bakery had lots of cookies and bars on hand. As red, tart cherries were the main crop on the peninsula, the residents of Good Hope held a special affinity for all things cherry.

Tonight, along with the standard decorated sugar cookies, the shop would offer chocolate cherry blossoms, a fancy name for cherry sugar cookies topped with a Hershey’s Kiss. There would be chocolate Bing bars and cherry shortbread cookies. Kids of all ages would enjoy pretzels dipped in almond bark and brownies shaped like Christmas trees with candy cane stems.

The baking Ami had done over the past two days had been a labor of love, but not without personal pain. Baking had been something she’d always done with her mother or one of her sisters. This year, it was just her and Hadley.

She slanted a sideways glance in time to see her friend take a pan of kringle from the oven. Despite working until midnight at the Flying Crane, the pretty blond had arrived promptly at four. It had taken Hadley only
one
cup of coffee to be her normal perky self.

Ami rested her back against the counter. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you working these extra hours.”

“I was glad to be asked.” With the colorful scarf covering her hair and the royal blue of her shirt making her eyes even bluer, Hadley could have been a model for a “Visit Scandinavia” advertisement. “The extra money will come in handy.”

“I’m sure the Flying Crane would have given you more hours.” Not only that, Ami knew Hadley would have made more with tips in addition to her wages.

Hadley placed the baking pan on the cooling rack, looked at the golden-brown braids of dough, and rested her back against the counter. “Serving intoxicated college kids isn’t my way of getting into the holiday spirit. Besides, baking is my salvation.”