From Scratch (6 page)

He slid a chair away from the table and gestured for her to sit.

She glided into her seat, while he lowered his long body onto the chair opposite. She willed the wings of the butterflies to still as she waited for him to begin.

Sean bridged his fingers, resting his chin on them. “Did Mr. Thompson make it over this morning?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Yes, he did. And I showed him the leak and then left him alone.”

“All fixed, then?”

“No more surfing.”

“Good. Good.”

They sat in silence, the daily soundtrack of music punctuating the quiet.

Maggie cleared her throat. “You wanted to ask me something. Was it about Mr. Thompson? I promise I didn't bug him at all. He was out of here in under an hour.”

He shook his head. “I believe you. That really isn't why I came over.”

“OK. Why did you come over?”

“I don't if you are aware, but I used to work for the Columbus Police.”

Maggie had no idea he had worked or lived anywhere but Gibson's Run, but she couldn't understand why that was important. He didn't think they needed to know each other's life stories now that they were playing nice, did he? She swallowed against the lump thickening in her throat.

He dropped his hands, flattening them against the ceramic tile table top. “Well, I was on the force for several years and I am still pretty close with a lot of the guys.”

“So…you were a Columbus cop?”

“I was a Columbus cop.”

“And?” Point, Taylor?

“Oh yeah, there's this fundraiser, it's a dance really, and somehow I ended up on the organizing committee, so I have to go and I was wondering…”

Is he asking me on a date?

“We are looking for someone to cater the desserts, and since we are now in a truce, I figured, who better to ask than you.”

The burn of embarrassment rolled through her stomach.
He isn't asking me on a date. He's giving me a job.
Great. Just great. She stood. “Who better to ask? Yep. Sure no problem. I can make your desserts.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. The job will be great.” She snatched her rag from the table and darted back behind the counter.
How could you even imagine he was thinking anything other than a catering gig? Didn't you swear off all men, anyway? Why do you care?
Man-fast, remember? Man-fast.

He followed her behind the counter. “What's wrong? I thought we were good. Why are you going all…all Maggie on me?”

She turned and thrust her finger in his chest. “You can't be back here. This is for employees only, and as of today that includes me and me alone.” She knew she was being ridiculous. Why was she mad? Maybe she was tired? She definitely wasn't disappointed he wasn't asking her on a date, was she?

“I'm confused? I thought you'd appreciate the business. And now…now you're yelling at me?” He jabbed her in the shoulder with his forefinger. “And, poking me. What's your problem, McKitrick?” He rocked back on his heels, lacing his arms. “And, what do you mean ‘it's only you, now'? What happened to those two kids?”

She sighed. She did appreciate the business. He was being helpful and she was a loon. She rubbed her hand over her face. “I'm sorry. It's been a weird day.” She leaned her back against the counter and matched his casual stance. “I fired the interns today after I caught them making out in the pantry. I could handle suffering through their repeated culinary mistakes, but I explicitly told them I had a zero-tolerance policy for fraternization. And then, after just two weeks, they are in the pantry like they were seventeen and under the bleachers at a high school football game. I spent the rest of the afternoon running between the front to ring up customers, and the back prepping dough for this big bagel order in the morning. And, I guess I didn't really understand when you said you had to ask me for something.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze.

His gentle touch washed a wave of shivers over her body. She raised her gaze and saw genuine concern reflected in the depths of his eyes. She bit her lip, hoping she masked the gentle warmth that bloomed from the core of her soul. “I'm sorry.”

He dropped his hands. “You're forgiven.” He took a slight step backward. “Not to tread on a sensitive subject, but are you interested in the catering job?”

“I think so. Who's the party planner?”

“Jane Barrett.”

She felt her world steady at the mention of her friend who had led her to Gibson's Run. “Why didn't she just ask me?”

“She took over the ball last minute. Our original coordinator went into early labor. Jane and I were on the phone discussing the arrangements and realized the desserts hadn't been finalized. When your name came up, I said I would ask you. I told her I was coming over anyway, so it would save her a call.”

“You were coming over, anyway?”

Sean shoved his fingers through his hair. “Well, sure.”

She lifted a single eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“Well, I thought you might have some more of those brownies. Maybe you were going to throw them out.” He shook his head and sighed. “That would be a tragedy.”

She giggled. “You came over for a brownie?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Well they're good brownies. Who knew you were going to umm…release your frustration on me.”

“I guess you deserve a brownie on the house. Have a seat and I'll bring it out for you.”

She turned to the display counter and slid open the door.

He walked to the bakery entrance, flipped the open sign to closed, and then slid back into his seat.

She dragged her attention from the delicious cop to her delectable brownies. Lifting the oblong plate from the case, she spied the metal dispenser that held the homemade whip cream. She plucked the dispenser from the cooler and rested it in the crook of her arm. She set the platter of brownies and whipped cream in the center of the table.

Sean eyed the desserts. He shifted his focus back to her, his dimple deepening in his cheek. “What, no coffee?”

“Give me a second, Chief. I was only born with two hands.” She waved her hands in the air as she walked back to the counter. Yanking forks from the silverware jar, she simultaneously picked up coffee mugs with two fingers and then swiped the half-full coffee pot with her free hand and made her way back. She filled each cup, before placing the nearly empty pot on the table, and slid onto the seat across from Sean. She offered him one of the two forks still in her hand.

“You make that seem like a ballet. Perfectly choreographed. I would have dropped the forks, at least.”

“Years of restaurant service. Trust me. You have to be able to balance a stock pot on your nose in some of the kitchen spaces I've worked. You get used to having as much in your hands as you do on the prep counter.” She depressed the nozzle and a mound of frothy, white cream dressed her brownie. She took a bite allowing the chocolate to soothe the rough edges of the day.

Sean leaned back in his chair with his coffee cup in hand. His watchful gaze rested upon her as he tilted the mug for a deep drink.

The butterflies, long quiet, began to flutter their wings and she felt the sudden rise of heat to her face. She shifted the lukewarm cup of coffee in her hand. She couldn't blame pink cheeks on the mug.

Stupid blushing. She was never quite comfortable being the focus of someone's undivided attention.

He set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. “So, what's this about firing your interns?”

She sighed and traced the rim of her cup. “They went to find the extra sugar in the pantry, but found it between each other instead.”

Sean's face lit up with a grin worthy of a sixth-grade boy. “You're kidding?”

“Nope. Pretty much firing the interns was the low point of the day, but it never really rebounded from there.” She stopped her tracing and looked him in the eye. “And it started out so well.”

He reached out and gently touched her hand. “Why don't you tell me about it?”

A wave of tingles swam raced over her body with his touch. She dropped her gaze, focusing on the brownie plate between them. “There's not much more to…”

A loud crash jolted both of them.

Sean jerked his hand away and jumped to his feet as an alarm blared from a near distance. He glanced down at her. “Lock the door behind me.” He yanked his sidearm from his holster. Slamming the front door open, he sprinted across the street to the police station without looking back.

Maggie stood stunned for a moment before she scurried in his wake and flipped the lock closed. Her heart raced and her thoughts slammed through her mind in a mass of chaos as she watched Sean.

He charged into the police station as smoke billowed out the front corner. In moments, township fire trucks and county sheriff vehicles swarmed the area, blocking off Main Street.

Maggie swallowed deep breaths, trying to deter the fear that was nipping at her.
Lord, please keep him safe.
For countless minutes she observed the flurry of activity as firefighters hurried into the station and cops taped off the city block. She hoped to see Sean emerge soon. She knew they were nothing more than business associates, maybe borderline friends, but she would feel responsible, if his being near her brought disaster.

The back door! She streaked across the café. She barreled through the connecting doorway and skidded to a stop by the back entrance. Testing the lock, calm washed over her. She must have locked it earlier in the afternoon when the interns left. Turning her back, she slid against the smooth, metal surface and dropped to the floor.

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she huddled in a tight ball and tried to regain her control. She willed the tears ready to spill to retreat. Sucking in a deep breath she counted in her head. 1…2…3…4…5…

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Her head shot up and she stared straight ahead; her entire body shook like a tuning rod.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“Open up, Maggie.” She registered Sean's muffled voice.

“Sean?” She thrust off of the floor and sprinted to the front of the café.

Sean stood just on the other side of the glass, his face smudged with soot. “Maggie, would you let me in?”

She yanked open the door and propelled herself toward his chest, plastering her arms around his middle. “Are you OK?”

He patted her back. “Well, I won't be if you don't let me breathe.”

Warmth spread up her cheeks as she released him. “Sorry.” She stepped back through the entryway.

He lifted his hand to his neck and began twisting as he trudged through the front door and dropped onto the chair he'd left earlier. “No need to be sorry.”

“Can you talk about it?” She slid onto the chair and locked her hands in a tight grip.

“What I know…not that it's much. It looks as if someone threw a brick, broke the front window of the police station, and followed that with a homemade smoke bomb. The smoke set off the alarm, signaling the fire station. But somehow, the sprinklers weren't set off. We'll have to look into that later when the insurance company gives their assessment. Other than the window, and some public service time, nothing appears to be damaged.”

“Well, that's a good thing.”

His lips drew into a tight line. “I guess.”

“You guess? That doesn't sound very solid, Chief. I would think you would be pleased that it was basically a non-event. No one was hurt. Nothing was destroyed. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the left corner of his mouth twisted. “Why would someone break the window of a police station and not take anything? Not destroy anything? It doesn't make any sense. Who would break in for no reason?”

Ice shot through her veins. She swallowed deeply trying to dissolve the instant bulge in her throat. “Who, indeed.”

5

The unusually muggy air of the October morning enveloped Sean as his feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm. He enjoyed his early morning runs. They gave him an opportunity to check out his town and spend some time in prayer. He wasn't good at sitting in a pew, a chair, or even a recliner, and centering his mind on talking with The Lord. His mind seemed to focus best when his body was in motion.

As he turned from Sycamore Lane to Columbus Street, his prayers fell in pattern with his morning route.

He started with his brother Mac, in South Carolina, who was facing uncharted territory. The owner of the company where Mac acted as the general counsel was nearing the end of a long cancer battle. The man was a mentor to Mac, a man of integrity and faith, and his brother's admiration for his boss was evident with each mention of his name.

The CEO's looming death gave Sean pause.

How would his brother react to losing another integral person in his life? With the death of their dad, and then their mom, Mac retreated into himself, turning his back on his family, friends, and even God. He was much further along on his faith journey now, thanks in large part to the man who now faced imminent death, and Sean prayed that Mac's relationship with the Lord was strong enough to withstand the blow of another loss. Perhaps this loss would cause him to turn outward, seeking comfort in others and Jesus, rather than trying to solve all of his problems alone.

Sean prayed for that truth.

The squeal of tires turning a corner fractured the peaceful cocoon the early morning provided. He ignored the distraction and continued to the intersection of Columbus and Main. Turning left onto Main Street, he quickened his pace, heading up the slight slope as he neared the town square, and shifted his focus to his younger brother, Joey.

Joey lived and played professional baseball in Minnesota. He'd ridden a slump from the All-Star break to the close of the regular season. His self-worth was yoked to his ability to perform on the field. The last few times he'd spoken to his brother, the youngest Taylor seemed to have lost some of his unending supply of self-confidence. The team was done for the season, but Sean prayed that God would give Joey a glimmer of hope in his exit interviews with the coaches. He often allowed his ability to play baseball to send him on a dangerous roller coaster, and one bad season could have his little brother turning his back on his one true love.