The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (137 page)

“No, but I’ll take that bowl off your hands anytime you want to part with it,” she said, relieved to have something to say besides a lame hello, and something to talk about besides last Saturday night. “I love yellow ware.”

“Is that what this is?” Jesse held up the bowl as if inspecting it. “I picked it up at that flea market off Route 50 when I moved in last year. I just thought it was a nice bowl for pasta.” He tilted the bowl in her direction. “Or Halloween candy.”

“It’s a beauty.”

The silence that followed hung between them for one beat too long before they both tried to fill it at the same time.

“By the way, I …”

“Liz told me …”

Brooke smiled and nodded. “So you know that I
did follow up and called your office to set up my appointment.”

“Late Thursday afternoon. I hope that doesn’t interfere with picking up Logan after school.”

She shook her head. “The bus usually brings him home, but on Thursdays, Clay picks him up for soccer. Logan’s playing with one of the Boys Club teams at Packer Park, so I’m good for a few hours.”

“Great.” His eyes met hers and held them for a long moment before they were both distracted by the next round of trick-or-treaters. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Right. See you then.” She headed toward the street, searching for her son, who, she realized, was waiting for her on the sidewalk.

“Brooke,” Jesse called to her, and she turned around. “Maybe this time we should plan on dinner.”

“All right.” She nodded. “Great. See you on Thursday.”

She caught up to Logan, a smile still on her face.

“Mom, why are you having dinner with Mr. Enright?” Logan asked.

“He’s doing some paperwork for me,” she told him, “and it might run into the dinner hour, so we’ll eat while we work.”

“Oh.” He opened his bag and held it up so she could look inside. “I have a lot of candy, see?”

Brooke peered into the bag, then groaned. “No way can you eat all that.”

“I know. But we got a note at school that said we could bring in some of our candy to Dr. Hess’s office this week.”

“Why would the dentist want all that candy?” she wondered aloud.

“He’s going to send it to soldiers in places where they don’t trick-or-treat. Like Iraq.” His voice was increasingly softer. “Like where my dad was a soldier when he died. I told my teacher that and she said he must have been a brave soldier and I told her that he was. Right, Mom?”

“Right, sweetie. Your dad was a very brave soldier.” She ran her hand over his hair, smoothing the spots where the night breeze had lifted it. “I think I’m ready to go home now. How ’bout you?”

“I think I am, too.”

Logan took her hand and they walked back around the corner and down the block to the car.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Brooke asked as she drove home.

“I guess.”

She glanced in the rearview. “Something bothering you?”

In the dark interior of the car, she barely saw his shrug.

“Was that a no?” she asked.

“I guess.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.” A few seconds later, he amended his response to, “No, thank you.”

“Okay,” she said, “but if you feel like talking to me about something, you know you can come to me about anything, right?”

“I guess.”

He said very little the rest of the way home, but
while she was tucking him into bed, he asked, “Was my dad ever a pirate for Halloween?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I don’t remember him ever talking about it. But when we talk to your uncle Jason sometime, we can ask him.”

“When will that be?” Logan’s eyes closed slowly, and though he reopened them again, he was fighting a battle he was clearly going to lose.

“I don’t know. But I am hoping to talk to him soon.”

“Good.” Logan yawned and turned his head toward the pillow. “I like Uncle Jace …”

Brooke turned off the lamp on Logan’s dresser and closed the door halfway when she left the room. She took the steps quietly and went to the kitchen. Before they left for trick-or-treating, she’d taken butter and eggs from the refrigerator to warm so they’d be ready for her baking when she arrived home. She rolled up her shirtsleeves, turned on the oven, and proceeded to bake. Once she got the first batch into the oven, she could work on that paper that was due on Friday for her business accounting class. It was satisfying to know she only had a few more weeks before final exams, and then she’d have her degree and several hours more each week in which to bake.

She was happy to be over the Halloween theme—she’d had enough of spiders and bats and witches’ hats over the past few weeks. For the next two weeks she’d concentrate on autumn themes—pumpkins rather than jack-o’-lanterns, colored leaves, and cupcakes that looked like apples with red frosting and fondant stems. After that would come the Thanksgiving
cupcakes, with turkeys and cornucopias, before she turned her attention to Christmas. She had a dozen or more different ideas for that holiday, and already she’d agreed to bake for several private parties, three company parties, and three buffets with Deanna. St. Dennis being a small town, there was no way she could serve the same cupcakes for similar events, which meant she needed to play with the fondant a little more.

“Right,” she muttered. “In my spare time I’ll figure out how to make little Christmas trees for the top of the cupcakes. And of course, people will expect those trees to have lights that actually blink.”

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but not by much. It seemed the better you got at something, the better people expected you to be.

She picked up her recipe cards and debated which to make first. Since she’d been delivering to the three places in town every day, it made the most sense to make triple batches of three varieties, and give each of the establishments some from each batch so they’d have a variety to offer their customers. Tonight she was too tired to be inventive, so she settled on an apple spice, a chocolate peanut butter, and a plain yellow cupcake with chocolate frosting. She returned all the cards to the box except the one for chocolate ganache. She’d make them on Wednesday night so she could take a few with her to Jesse’s. He could order dinner, but she was bringing dessert.

The first batch in the oven, she settled at the kitchen table and resumed writing. She couldn’t wait until her classes were finished. There’d be that many more hours each week to bake, to experiment, and eventually, to
sell her cupcakes directly to the public. Frank from Krauser’s had left a message for her earlier in the evening that the van was finished and she could pick it up first thing in the morning. She couldn’t wait to see it.

Around noon the following day, Clay appeared in the kitchen. He walked to the window that overlooked the drive and pointed outside.

“That van out there,” he said. “The one in the driveway …”

“I just picked it up a little while ago from Frank.” Brooke was all smiles.

“Please tell me that’s not my van.”

“That’s the van you said I could use.” Brooke looked up from the little leaves she was tracing onto fondant and smiled happily. “Isn’t it glorious?”

“It’s pink,” he said. “Why is my van pink?”

“You said I could paint it however I wanted,” she reminded him.

Clay continued to stare out the window. “And there’s a great big cupcake with bright pink frosting painted on the side.”

“The color is called hot raspberry.”

“It says ‘Cupcake’ in big letters.” He turned around and looked at her. “Brooke, I can’t drive around St. Dennis in a van with a big pink freaking cupcake on the side.”

“I asked you if I could have the van painted to use for my business and you said you didn’t care what I did.”

“Sorry, but it never occurred to me to specify any color other than pink and nix the cupcake.”

“I’m sorry, Clay. But you said
you didn’t care.
”

“I have an orchard full of apples to deliver this week. I can’t deliver all those apples in a pink girlie-van, Brooke.”

“Afraid your masculine image will suffer?”

“Damn right.”

Brooke lowered her head and resumed working on the fondant and tried not to laugh. Clay had looked so bewildered when he looked out the window. He’d been blinking as if to clear his vision. Finally, when she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she began to chuckle.

“I wish you could have seen your face.” She sat on the closest chair. “You looked … stunned.”

“I was stunned,” he told her. “I’m still stunned.”

“Look, if you load the apples in the van and give me a list of who gets how much, I’ll deliver them this week when I take my cupcakes into town.”

“Seriously, Brooke, whatever possessed you to do that?” Clay laughed in spite of himself.

“I wanted something that would make a statement.”

“No problem there.”

The back door opened and Hannah came in, her arms filled with grocery bags.

“I just saw the van in the driveway,” she said. “Brooke, it’s darling.”

“Clay thinks so, too,” Brooke deadpanned. “He can’t wait to drive it into town. He’s not afraid to show off his feminine side.”

“I’ll get that list for you.” Clay shook his head and left the room. “You can make the first delivery this afternoon.”

Hannah looked from Brooke to the fleeing image of her son. “Was it something I said?”

“Clay thinks the van is going to hurt his image.” Brooke got up and checked the timer on her cupcakes. “I told him I’d deliver the apples for him.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “He can borrow my van for his deliveries if it really bothers him. He can take out that last row of seats.”

“He’ll get over it,” Brooke said confidently. “When he sees what a chick magnet that big pink cupcake is, he’ll be thanking me.”

Jesse turned up his collar and walked into the wind that blew up the street, scattering leaves in its wake. It was six forty-five in the morning and facing down the wind was his current best reason for investing in a new coffeemaker to replace the one in his kitchen that had rolled over and died a few weeks back. For now, and at least until winter set in and it turned really cold, there was Cuppachino, his first stop every morning.

It was warm and fragrant inside the coffee shop and he went right to the counter, where the pretty young girl who worked the early shift took down his mug, the one Carlo’s wife, Elisa, had made for him. She was a potter, and from their earliest days in the shop, Elisa made personal mugs for every one of the morning regulars. Grace’s said
EDITOR, ST. DENNIS GAZETTE
. Steffie’s said
SCOOP;
Vanessa’s,
BLING
. Jesse’s said
ENRIGHT, ESQ
. But to Jesse, it said that someone recognized him as one of them, that he belonged. He was inordinately proud of it.

He was early, so he took a seat near the front window where he could watch St. Dennis come to life on
Charles Street. Observing life in a small town never failed to fascinate him, now that he was living in one. He turned at the sound of the door being opened and closed, and he waved to Clay, who waved back on his way to the counter, where he placed his order. When his mug was filled, he added cream and sugar—raw—and made his way around the tables to Jesse. He plunked down his mug—
MADISON’S ORGANICS
—and pulled up a chair.

“You ever play soccer, Enright?” Clay asked as he sat.

Jesse nodded. “High school, then club ball in college.”

“Got a few hours each week you wouldn’t mind sparing?”

“Maybe. Why?”

Clay came right to the point. “I just started coaching my nephew’s Boys Club team. The assistant quit and I need a replacement fast.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You interested?”

“How fast?”

“Now.”

“What’s the schedule?”

“Thursday afternoons from about three fifteen till four forty-five. Saturday mornings from nine till eleven. Pizza night once a month on Fridays. Party at the end of the season, win or lose.” He took another sip. “You in?”

“Sure. I’ll have to leave a little early this Thursday, though.” Jesse didn’t want anything to cut into his time with Brooke.

“That’s okay. I’m grateful that you said you’d do it. By the way, we practice and play on the same field,
the one in the park off Charles Street. One light down from Kelly’s Point Drive.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Great. Thanks. I …”

The door opened and Grace entered with a woman whose red hair was twisted at the back of her neck. She wore a black pencil skirt with a matching jacket and four-inch black leather heels. Clay’s jaw dropped and Jesse was tempted to reach across the table and shut his friend’s mouth for him. Fortunately, Clay came to his senses and closed it on his own.

“Good morning, boys,” Grace called to them.

“Morning, Miss Grace,” they both replied.

The woman in the black suit turned and gave them both the once-over, said something to Grace, then walked to their table.

“Hello, Clay.” Her voice was just a little on the raspy side. “Nice to see you.”

Jesse couldn’t decide whether or not she really thought it was nice to see Clay, but Clay didn’t seem to care.

“Lucy.” Clay stood. “I heard you might be around this week.”

“Big doings at the inn.” She nodded in Grace’s direction. “Celebrity wedding, St. Dennis style.”

Grace started toward the table.

“I see you called in the big guns for Dallas and Steffie,” Clay called to her.

“We’re doing our best to talk her into it,” Grace replied. She handed a to-go cup to the redhead and turned to Jesse. “Jesse, this is my daughter, Lucy Sinclair. Lucy, Jesse Enright. Mike’s nephew. He’s taking over the practice.”

“Mom told me about Andrea’s illness,” Lucy told him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Jesse said. No reason to tell a stranger that he’d yet to meet his aunt.

“Please give Mike and Andrea my best when you see them,” she continued.

“I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks.”

Lucy took a quick look at her watch. “I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. Thanks for the coffee, Mom.” She leaned over and kissed Grace on the cheek.