Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Claire stood at the kitchen counter, frowning at the flour-covered recipe card. “How hard can biscuits be?” she muttered.
“Just don’t overwork the dough,” Mrs. Sandy called from the pantry.
Claire squinted at the instructions. “What does ‘cut in’ even mean?”
She’d already managed to dust the entire counter—and herself—with flour, and the butter had melted before she could blend it. But she wasn’t giving up. Not today. Not after the business offer. Not after realizing she wanted to learn.
Mrs. Sandy peeked over her shoulder. “You’re doing just fine.”
Claire looked down at her messy dough, her lips twitching. “They might not taste great,” she said. “But they’ll look amazing.”
* * *
“How is it?”
Tony had barely bit into the biscuit before Claire was in his face, her eyes sparkling like black diamonds.
He paused. Never before had she been concerned about the food he ate, but then again never had he tasted a biscuit like this one. He chewed slowly, forced a chunk down his throat, then washed it down with a big drink of water. “Good.”
“Claire made them herself,” Mrs. Sandy said proudly.
Now it all made sense. The two women giggling in the kitchen before the meal. Claire’s anxious look when he’d taken a biscuit and it had slipped from his fingers and dropped to the plate with a resounding plunk.
“They’re great-looking biscuits,” he said, glancing at the overflowing basket.
The biscuits were a perfect example of how looks could be deceiving. Golden brown, they could easily have been an advertisement for baking powder biscuits as good as Grandma used to make. Unfortunately, they tasted like Grandma had made them herself… fifty years ago.
Tony wondered what had made Claire try her hand at baking. Like anyone, he enjoyed good food. But his mother had been a career woman, and the only time he’d had home cooking was when he’d spent time at his grandmother’s or when the cook was in her down-home cooking phase.
If Claire thought he expected her to be another Martha Stewart, she was mistaken. He didn’t have any such expectations for his wife….
Tony brought himself up short. This was getting out of hand. He’d started to believe his own lies. The startling thing was, he found himself wishing they weren’t lies.
Why couldn’t it happen?
His heart picked up speed at the thought. He and Claire? Together forever? Could it possibly happen?
He had some serious thinking to do and would need his energy. Tony smiled at Claire and held out his hand for the breadbasket. “Could you pass me another biscuit, please? They’re delicious.”
* * *
Claire leaned on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the last of the dishes soak in the sudsy water. Her earlier confidence had fizzled hours ago, leaving behind a lingering sense of embarrassment.
She hadn’t expected to care so much about Tony’s opinion. But when he’d taken that first bite and nearly choked…well, it had taken every ounce of pride not to crawl under the table.
She heard footsteps and turned to see Tony standing in the doorway, mug of tea in hand.
“You hiding in here?” he asked gently.
Claire gave a light shrug. “Just thinking about switching career paths. Maybe something less humiliating. Like coal mining.”
Tony chuckled and crossed the room. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”
“I heard the thunk, Tony. It echoed off the walls.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t have to chase that biscuit across your plate.”
He smiled and leaned a hip against the counter. “Okay, so they weren’t exactly flaky perfection. But I was impressed.”
She arched a brow. “Impressed that I managed to weaponize flour and butter?”
“No.” His gaze softened. “Impressed that you tried.”
Claire looked away, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. “I didn’t want to mess it up. Mrs. Sandy’s been helping me. She thinks I might have potential.”
“I think you do, too.”
She glanced at him. “At baking?”
“At surprising people.”
Claire fell quiet. The compliment shouldn’t have mattered so much, but somehow it did.
“Why does it matter to you?” she asked softly. “What I can do in a kitchen?”
Tony took a long sip of his tea before answering. “It doesn’t. Not like that. But seeing you try—it’s more than the biscuits. It shows me something else.”
“What?”
“That maybe Millville’s getting under your skin a little.”
Claire hesitated. “Maybe it is.”
They stood there in companionable silence until Claire said, “Next time, I’ll try cornbread.”
Tony’s eyes danced. “Let me know in advance so I can bring extra water.”
She laughed. “You’re lucky I like you.”
He set his mug down and stepped closer. “I really am.”
And for a moment, everything else faded—regrets, doubts, and goodbyes still waiting down the road. In the quiet warmth of the kitchen, there was just the two of them. And it was enough.
* * *
Claire smoothed her blouse and stared at the reflection in the mirror, holding her hands in front of her like a surgeon preparing for a procedure. The lotion had helped, but the lingering scent of burnt biscuits still clung to her fingers like an accusation.
She couldn’t stop replaying the way Tony had smiled at her across the table, reaching for a second biscuit with all the enthusiasm of a man ordering dessert at a five-star restaurant. She’d seen through it, of course. But the effort—it meant something. Maybe more than she was ready to admit.
Claire slipped the engagement ring on her finger and gave herself a firm nod. Tonight wasn’t about Tony. Not entirely. It was about keeping a promise to Dottie. It was about showing up.
And maybe—just maybe—finding out what God had to say about all of this.
* * *
Claire sat back in the chair and took a sip of the apricot tea. Crisp and cool, it soothed her parched throat. Her friend was indeed the consummate hostess.
Tonight, Dottie’s smile just wouldn’t quit. The Bible study had been a complete success. Even though it was a beautiful evening, attendance had been good. Claire glanced around the room and counted ten women who’d stayed for the social hour and refreshments.
“I’m glad you stuck around.” Jocelyn pulled up a chair next to Claire. “We haven’t talked in forever.”
Claire smiled. As she recalled, Jocelyn had treated her to lunch just two days before. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“You didn’t miss anything.” Jocelyn brushed back a strand of hair, and Claire couldn’t help but admire her friend’s nails. She resisted the urge to glance at her own less than perfect ones. “Unless you were dying to hear everyone talk about their kids. I, of course, found the part about potty training positively riveting.”
The light sarcasm in her friend’s voice came through loud and clear, and once again Claire had to smile.
“I tried to save you a seat by me, but Rachel snagged it at the last minute,” Jocelyn continued.
“Rachel?” Claire assumed Jocelyn was talking about the woman who had sat on her right. “The blonde?”
Jocelyn nodded.
“Do I know her?”
Her friend paused and thought for a minute. “I don’t think so. She just moved back to Millville, although she wasn’t gone that long. Maybe six months or so.”
“She seems nice,” Claire said grudgingly. It wasn’t very Christian of her, but Claire couldn’t help wanting to find fault with Rachel. Maybe it was because the blonde fit in so well with the group and Claire felt like an outsider. Whatever the reason, she shifted her gaze and studied the woman with a critical eye.
Rachel was pretty enough, if you liked that blond-haired, blue-eyed farmer’s daughter type. Personally, Claire found that wholesome look tiresome. Especially when it wasn’t well done.
The woman’s shoulder-length hair needed a good undercut while her brows screamed to be shaped. Her dress at least was adequate. Claire had a similar one hanging in her closet, and it was one of her favorites. But Rachel was built differently than Claire, so the style wasn’t nearly as flattering on the blonde.
“What are you smiling about?” Jocelyn leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest.
For a second, Claire thought about telling her. A month ago she wouldn’t have hesitated. But listening to Tony’s sermons all these weeks had apparently had an impact.
Claire shook her head, unable to believe she was being this good. Before long she wouldn’t even recognize herself. “I guess you’re just going to have to call me Pollyanna.”
“What?” Confusion clouded Jocelyn’s gaze. “Call you who?”
Claire laughed. “Forget it.” She set her glass on a coaster. “Tell me what you have planned for Saturday.”
“I’m so excited.” Jocelyn’s face brightened. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
“What’s on the agenda?”
“Cards.”
Claire’s smile froze. A card party? Was she serious?
“Look, I know it sounds corny but it’s the best I can do here. Besides, Adam thinks it’ll be great fun. That’s not all.” Jocelyn paused dramatically. “After we finish with cards, we’re going to do a pie exchange.”
“Yeah, right.” Claire rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious.”
“Uh-huh.” Claire shook her head. Did her friend really think she’d believe that? “Next you’ll be telling me we’re going to follow that with a rousing game of bingo.”
Jocelyn chuckled. “When you say it that way it does sound ridiculous. But remember this is Millville, Iowa.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Claire smiled ruefully. “Okay, so tell me, what is a pie exchange?”
“You can’t laugh.”
Claire crossed her fingers and smiled.
“Try to keep an open mind.” Jocelyn took a sip of her tea. “What happens is all the women bring a different kind of pie to the party. At the end of the evening, we cut them into small slices so everybody can try at least two or three kinds.”
Claire raised a brow. “Sounds…interesting.”
“It took me a while to get used to it, too,” Jocelyn said with a smile. “But it’s the thing to do. Isn’t that right, Rachel?”
Claire didn’t realize Rachel had come over. The blonde pulled up a chair and sat, apparently deciding Jocelyn’s question gave her an excuse to join the group. “Isn’t what right?”
“I was telling Claire that everyone has a pie exchange when they throw a party,” Jocelyn said.
“She’s right.” Rachel smiled at Claire, her voice soft and pleasant. “Of course, I love pie.”
Claire glanced from Rachel to Jocelyn, unable to believe they were at a party, discussing something as mundane as pie.
“Rachel is a terrific cook,” Jocelyn told Claire. “Wait until you taste her sour cream peach. She always gets a purple ribbon at the state fair. It’s incredible.”
Dottie pulled up a chair and sat down. “What are you three talking about?”
“Nothing.” Claire smiled brightly at Dottie.
“We’re talking about what a great cook Rachel is,” Jocelyn said. “She’s almost as good as Mrs. Sandy.”
Claire stifled a groan.
“I heard Mrs. Sandy might be expanding her catering business,” Jocelyn looked at Rachel. “You should see if she needs help. With your skills you’d be perfect.”
Indignation coursed through Claire, and it was all she could do not to blurt out that she was the one who would be helping Mrs. Sandy. That it was her skills the woman needed. Only the realization that she was also the one who would be soon gone stopped her.
“I might talk to her about that,” Rachel said. “Is she coming Saturday?”
“No.” Jocelyn shook her head. “She had other plans.”
“Who is coming?” Rachel asked.
“Let’s see.” Jocelyn thought for a moment. “Besides Adam and me, there’s you, Dottie, Tom, Claire, Tony?—”
“Tony?” Rachel interrupted.
“Tony Karelli. He’s the new minister.” Jocelyn smiled at Claire. “You haven’t met him yet. He’s Cl?—”
“Oh, but I have met him,” Rachel said. “I was out jogging today, and we sort of ran into each other. Now that is one good-looking man.”
“He’s adorable.” Jocelyn gave Claire a wink. “What do you think, Claire? Is Tony cute?”
“He’s okay.” Claire stifled a smile. Wait until she told Tony what they’d talked about in Bible study.
“He said he wasn’t married,” Rachel said. “I got the distinct impression he might be interested in me. Do you know if he’s dating anyone?”
Rachel’s expectant gaze shifted around the group, and an empathetic pain stabbed Claire’s heart. The woman really didn’t know the score.
“He said he wasn’t married?” Claire asked, more to fill the awkward silence than to continue the conversation. “Did he say anything about being engaged?”
“No.” Rachel’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head. “He led me to believe he was unattached. Even said he was looking forward to seeing me in church on Sunday.”
“That’s Tony for you,” Dottie said with a nervous laugh, picking at a piece of lint on her pants. “He’s so personable, he makes everyone feel special.”
“That’s right,” Jocelyn seconded loyally. “He’s one guy that can make you feel like you’re the only woman in the room. I had the same impression the first time I met him.”
Although Claire didn’t believe a word of it, she appreciated their efforts.
“You’re saying he’s engaged?” Even if they wouldn’t have heard the disappointment in her tone, the expression on her face said it all.
The three slowly nodded in unison. “To who?”
Jocelyn nudged Claire. “Show her your ring.”
“Your ring?” A sick look crossed the blonde’s face, and a bolt of red shot up her neck.
“Tony and I are engaged, Rachel.” Claire held up her left hand. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”