CHAPTER THREE
Naomi
“Hand me the crescent wrench,” I said from my back as I was tucked under Gabrielle’s bathroom sink.
“Which one is that?” my cousin asked.
I sighed. “It has a red handle.” I wiggled my finger and pointed in the general direction of my toolbox.
A moment later, the metal handle of the wrench touched my palm. I gripped it and brought it under the sink to tighten. I wore a headlamp so I could see what I was doing. Gabrielle had texted me earlier today to say that there was a leak under her bathroom sink, and did I think I could fix it.
I’ll be honest, I was a little offended.
Of course I could fix it. While I wasn’t a certified plumber or anything, I had watched enough YouTube videos that I knew my way around a sink. There wasn’t much on the property I couldn’t fix.
One thing that I wanted the universe to understand beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I didn’t need a man for a damn thing. Not to kill a spider, not to unscrew a pickle jar lid, fix a leaky pipe, or anything else the patriarchy might tell us women are incapable of doing.
I’d suffered under the crushing weight of my husband’s thumb for too many years to let my children see me as anything but capable, self-sufficient, and independent as fuck.
After I finished my overnight oats for breakfast and saw the kids to the bus stop, I followed my eldest cousin into her house, lugging my trusty-rusty metal toolbox with me.
“Maverick said he could fix it when he got back, but I know you’re capable,” Gabrielle went on. “He’ll be back later today.”
“Where’d he go again?” I grunted as I tightened the nut connecting the flexible supply line to the angle stop valve.
“Logan, Jagger, and he went over to the mainland to scope out some prefab models for cabins for the property. They saw some really nice log ones that come partially pre-assembled. We could potentially barge them over.”
“You think that’s more cost effective than just building them on-site?” I asked, giving the wrench another quarter turn and adding a grunt for good measure before shimmying my way out from under the sink.
Gabrielle shrugged. “They’re just going to look. I don’t think it will be, and neither do Bennett nor Danica—the number crunchers—but it doesn’t hurt to check them out. We might be able to get the supplies over, then assemble them here.”
I tugged my mother’s old red and white polka-dot hanky from my pocket and wiped my brow and hands. “Kind of crazy that we’re going to start building on the land this summer, huh?”
Gabrielle offered me her hand and helped me to my feet. “It’s going to take a while to get it up and running; might as well start now.”
I stowed the wrench in my toolbox and closed it, then followed my cousin to her dining room.
Gabrielle didn’t even bother asking, she just poured me a cup of coffee, added some vanilla soy creamer to it, and slid it across her big kitchen island. “How do you think their first day with the new principal is going?”
I cradled the mug in both hands and brought it up under my nose, inhaling the delicious vanilla scent, while cocking my hip into the table. “Honestly, any day at this point would be better than all the days preceding it with Otto Pickford.”
Gabrielle nodded. “Still … I did a bit of digging on Lennox Paul last night after we got home—”
“Of course you did.” I smirked.
“He’s got an impressive résumé. Honor roll in high school, varsity basketball, full scholarship to Florida State for basketball. He was predicted to go pro, but an injury took him out for good.”
“Kind of like Jagger, Maverick, and Tommaso,” I mused, taking a gingerly sip of my coffee.
“All pro, or almost-pro athletes, sidelined by injury.” I took another sip and shook my head.
“It’s why I didn’t bother pursuing a career as a professional tennis player.
I was too worried about getting injured and having my career ruined. ”
Gabrielle snorted as she brought her own coffee cup to her lips. “You’ve never played tennis a day in your life.”
“Because I was so terrified of getting injured and never being able to play the sport again.”
Her sharp, amber eyes crinkled at the corners as she went for a second sip. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
I set my mug down. “May is flying by, dude. We open the tasting room Memorial Day weekend. Do you think you could meet me in the tasting room later today to go over what I need to restock and order? I know we only do charcuterie boards and stuff, but Raina suggested we ramp things up a bit and maybe talk to Kari over at Let it Rise and see about getting some of their mini quiches and phyllo wrapped stuff as options as well. Spread the island love, and all of that.”
Gabrielle tucked a chunky, auburn curl behind her ear and glanced upward at the pendant lighting in thought.
“While I like that idea, I do wonder how much wasted food that would amount to, you know? Like on a slow day, or a slow day or two, are we going to be stuck with expired quiches that we then have to make our kids eat?”
I gave her a sardonic look. “You and I have teenage sons. I don’t think we’d have to make them eat quiches. I think we’ll have a bigger problem keeping them from eating the quiches.”
“Fair enough. Maybe Kari could sell us frozen ones that we heat up in a little toaster oven?”
My head bobbed with enthusiasm. “That’s a great idea. I’ll pop to the bakery today and see what she thinks.”
Gabrielle’s phone buzzed on the counter, and her eyes went wide. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“I have a meeting in five minutes. I totally forgot. It’s for my other work.”
I drained my coffee and took my mug to the dishwasher. “Say no more, lawyer lady. Go save the world and crush the patriarchy. Come find me in the tasting room when you’re free.”
She topped up her coffee, then headed to the fourth bedroom of their house that she used as an office. “Will do.”
I took my leave, but rather than heading to the tasting room, I hopped in my SUV and drove to Let it Rise.
Nothing on the island was more than twenty minutes away, and Let it Rise was closer than that.
As always, the parking lot was pretty full.
They had a gorgeous garden patio that they opened from April to October, which allowed for an additional thirty seats in the otherwise cramped, converted farmhouse.
The sun shone brightly overhead on this spectacular spring morning, forcing me to shield my eyes as I watched a hawk circle above in the cloudless sky.
As always, I recognized every single face I passed.
It was a small, tight-knit island where everybody knew everybody as well as their business.
Three people stood in line in front of me for the counter, and as I waved and said hello to other bakery-going locals, my belly rumbled at the sight of the pistachio cream croissant with chocolate drizzle.
Let it Rise opened at six in the morning six days a week, and by six-fifteen there was usually a line twelve to twenty people deep for the fresh bread.
Granted, most of those people were elderly and woke up at the butt crack of dawn anyway, but their dedication to getting their hands on Kari Cousins’ olive and rosemary sourdough was a testament to just how delicious it was.
I reached the counter in no time, and Kari gave me a big grin. “Naomi, so nice to see you.”
I sighed. “Kari, you temptress, what is that new delicacy you have in the display case? It’s like you know pistachio and chocolate are my weaknesses.”
“One or two?” she asked with a smirk.
“Three, obviously. I have children and the law says I must provide for them.” I rolled my eyes.
Her cornflower-blue eyes lit up as she opened a white cardboard pastry box. “You’re a shoo-in for mother of the year now.”
“I better be,” I muttered.
She plunked the loaded pastry box on the counter. “Can I grab you anything else?”
If there weren’t two registers, I would have felt bad taking up more of her time, but one of her efficient staff was helping the people behind me.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a collaboration. Raina suggested we consider offering more options for food in our tasting room besides fruit and charcuterie, and she thought that maybe you might be willing to sell us frozen mini quiches and phyllo wrapped deliciousness that we could advertise as food from the local bakery. Then we pair with our wines. We’ll buy them from you, of course, but it’d be a win-win for everyone.
If people love the quiches, we can say, ‘Well, they sell them fresh at the bakery,’ or whatever.
” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my phone to pay. “What do you think?”
The way her eyes sparkled told me she was already on board.
“I’m in. Just let me know what you need from me and when.
I’d need about a two-day heads-up so we could ramp up production and freeze them.
But that’s not a problem at all. I love this idea.
” She reached over the counter and rested her hand on mine.
“Thank you so much for thinking of us, Naomi.”
“Kind of a no-brainer, honestly. You’ve got the best pastries in the Pacific Northwest. Why wouldn’t we want to partner with you?”
“Well, in that case, these croissants are on the house. Call them a confectionary contract.” She waved my phone away when I tried to tap it. “Be gone, woman. Your money is no good here.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “Be careful. You don’t want to upset the other customers.”
Her grin widened, and she winked at Abe Jefferies, who shuffled up to the counter beside me to order his mega cinnamon bun with extra icing. “You making deals, ladies? Deals that benefit the island?” he asked, his voice gravelly as his hand trembled a little reaching into his wallet.
“We’re going to offer some bakery goodness in the tasting room,” I said. “Quiches and phyllo wrapped brie and stuff. Everybody wins.”
Abe handed a ten-dollar bill over to the young employee. “That is a great idea. Spread the bread.”