Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Emelia
As I walk across the lawn toward my vehicle, I take a fleeting glance at the ranch bungalow. I don’t see any signs of life, which is just as well.
When Elliott opened the door last night, I could scarcely believe it.
I sent a small prayer up to the universe that he was just visiting Roy, but no such luck.
I think I did a good job keeping my cool, but the truth is I’m unnerved by having to stay so close to him.
I’ve grown used to feeling as if I don’t quite belong, but this takes it to an extreme. Clearly, the man actively dislikes me.
He doesn’t like who I represent, and he seems to think he has me all figured out. Far be it from me to tell him he’s wrong. He probably wouldn’t believe my intentions anyway.
The best I can hope for is to stay out of each other’s way for the next three months.
Baylor was a nice surprise, though. She got all the charm in the family because she’s adorable.
Or the charm comes from the mom’s side, who I didn’t see last night.
Not that it means anything. She could have been working or in the house since they ate dinner inside, so she may have been occupied while Elliott was cooking.
He might be a dick, but lots of women would overlook that big detail since he’s droolworthy. I hate myself for even noticing, but lord knows I’ve done it a time or two.
I need to go to the grocery store today, but I plan on spending the weekend checking out the local businesses in town and talking to their owners ahead of the town hall meeting next week.
The best way to help this community is to understand what it needs or wants—to shape the narrative when I pitch Brahmin Development’s plans. We’re not here to bulldoze Echo Lake like Elliott seems to assume. We want to add to what’s already here.
When I reach Main Street, I park and begin exploring.
My first stop is the bakery I noticed yesterday.
The outside of the shop is painted a pale pink with a robin’s egg blue door and has an awning with the same blue and white stripes.
There are two sets of white iron tables and chairs set outside.
Gold letters spell out Birdhouse Bakery on the glass flanking the door.
My mouth waters when I step in and the scent of pastries and sugar wafts around me. I wasn’t starving when I woke up, but now my stomach grumbles in protest.
There are a few tables inside, and the bakery case painted the same robin’s egg blue is flanked by wooden shelves lining the wall behind the counter, loaded with more baked goods than I can take in at once.
The only thing not feminine in the shop is the behemoth of a man standing behind the counter.
He’s wearing a flannel shirt under a plain white apron that bulges slightly over his belly, and he sports a dark gray beard and lighter gray hair.
He’s at least six feet four, and I’m unsure how he makes such dainty baked goods with hands like catcher’s mitts.
He’s not being overtly friendly, and it would be easy to feel intimidated. I don’t. There’s something patient and calm about his manner.
“Good morning.” I step forward and gaze into the display, mouth watering.
Pastries line the trays, glistening under the lights. They look as though they belong in a magazine. I notice the little chalkboard signs displaying the names of each item in surprisingly elegant script.
Dottie’s Secret…
Roy’s Reliable…
The Ansel (proceed with caution)…
Elliott’s Wall…
“I’ve got some cupcakes in the back that need icing.” He chuckles, but his point is made. I’m taking up his time.
“Sorry, it’s just…these names, they’re interesting.”
He shrugs a big shoulder. “They’ve all got the proper names.”
“Um…what’s the difference between Dottie’s Secret and Elliott’s Wall?”
“Dottie’s Secret is a filled pastry that has a different filling every time I make it.
It’s a mystery, and before you ask, no, I won’t tell you what’s in today’s batch.
Elliott’s Wall is a layered bar cookie with a hard chocolate shell you have to crack through to get to the soft, buttery shortbread underneath.
” One corner of his mouth creeps up. “Sound like anyone you know?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Not really. I just got to town.” Is Elliott’s Wall named after the Elliott I know? I’m not sure there’s anything soft or sweet about the man I met yesterday.
“Give it a day.”
I chuckle. “All right, I’m going to go with Dottie’s Secret. You get so few surprises in life, right?”
He nods. “To stay or to go?”
“I think I’ll eat outside. Seems like it’s going to be a beautiful day. I’m Emelia, by the way.”
He nods. “I know. You’re the one from Boston here about the development. You’re staying in Elliott Mercer’s bunkie. Either you’re brave, or you lost a bet. I’m Deacon, by the way.” Using a set of tongs, he pulls the pastry from the display and sets it on a small white plate.
Sunrise Bay’s pipeline is in danger of losing its record to Echo Lake on how fast news travels.
“It was the only place I could find that was available the entire length of my stay.”
“And how long is that going to be?” Deacon walks over to the register to cash me out.
“Three months, give or take.”
He tells me the total, and I pay using my phone.
“This place can grow on you. Maybe you’ll end up staying longer.”
I don’t tell him that’s not possible. If all goes well here, I’m due to be back in Boston right before Thanksgiving, and I’ll move on to my next project…
hopefully one that involves covering for my superior once she’s off on maternity leave.
In order to get that opportunity, this one has to be a success.
“Have you lived in Echo Lake for a long time?” I lift the pastry to my mouth and take a bite, then moan with approval. The pastry is light and flaky, and the surprise raspberry filling is the perfect mix of tart and sweet.
A satisfied smile crosses Deacon’s face. “Family moved here when I was a teen.”
“This is so delicious, Deacon.”
He accepts the compliment with a single nod and crosses his arms.
“Who is this pastry named after, and what kind of secrets does she have?”
“Dottie owns the Hollow Pine Café. I take it you haven’t met her yet, otherwise you’d know the answer to the second half of your question.”
“I’m guessing she should be my next stop?”
“Yep, and the first question to ask her is why she moved to Echo Lake.”
He doesn’t seem like he’s going to expand on that, so I nod. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t seem like someone who would own a bakery.”
“Used to be a long-haul trucker.”
I give him a quick once-over. “Now that tracks.”
His lips tip the teeniest amount.
“How did you get into baking?”
“Started watching YouTube videos when I was laid up after knee surgery. Tried my hand at it. Turns out I had a gift that I never knew. Retired from trucking to open this place about five years ago.” He shrugs.
A wide smile spreads across my face. “Wow, I love the idea of discovering something you’re good at so unexpectedly.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that way, and I’m slightly envious of him taking the plunge. I take another bite of the pastry and set it back on the plate. This time, I resist the urge to moan.
“It keeps me busy and puts money in my pocket at the same time. A win-win.”
Now is as good a time as any to ask him about any changes he’d like to make to Echo Lake.
“Can I ask what you think of the prospect of development in Echo Lake?”
His frown makes me assume he’s not going to be voting on my side, but he takes his time answering my question.
“I spent decades driving a truck around this country, so I’ve seen my fair share of change.
I’m not na?ve enough to think that things will remain the same here in Echo Lake forever.
You’ve got a good thing, other people want in on it. Nature of the beast.”
“I can assure you that the company I work for isn’t looking to take over the town and rip out all the forests to develop the land.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“But you’re open to the idea, depending on what it is?”
“Suppose so. More people in the area means more business for me. I had to set up an online store last year to supplement my income. Nowadays, when I should be baking, I’m busy boxing up orders and shipping them to hell’s half acre. Makes my days longer. Not a fan.”
I nod as he speaks.
“Didn’t start this bakery because I wanted to make a million dollars, or because I wanted to have to make stupid fucking videos for social media. I just wanted to do what I love—create delicious treats and watch people enjoy them the way you just did and make a little money doing it.”
We chat a little more about his bakery until he tells me he has to get back to work, and I venture outside to take a seat at one of the small iron tables.
The morning sun shines on my face as I enjoy the rest of my pastry. People trickle in and out of the shops lining Main Street, and I watch, noting which businesses seem most in demand, filing it all away.
When I finish eating, I take my plate inside, then step back outside. Looking to my left, I see the sun glistening off the lake just beyond the marina where the boats are all docked.
One thing I always miss about Sunrise Bay is the water. I’m thinking that will never leave me.
A speedboat zips across the water, towing a tube with a couple of kids behind it. I can faintly hear their screams of delight.
Though I grew up in a town directly on the water, we didn’t get to do things like that.
The water in Alaska never gets warm enough for that kind of fun.
If it was a warm summer, we’d brave a quick dip in the bay as teens, mostly to show off, but our summers weren’t spent on jet skis or being towed behind speedboats.
That familiar ache forms in my gut—the one that surfaces whenever I think of home. Of my family. The first true warm day when our entire family would go down to the beach along the bay, have a picnic, and play games.
Brushing the memory aside, I head into the art gallery next door on my information-gathering mission.
I have a job to do.