14. Tess
FOURTEEN
TESS
One of the best things about Blackbird’s is our regulars. People who are dedicated to us and talk us up all over town. People who come in every week to check out what’s on our rotating menu of pies. People who would never resort to defrosting a mass-produced frozen pie from the grocery store just because it’s a couple bucks cheaper.
People like Ada and Isabel.
“How are my favorite customers?” I ask as they walk in.
The two elderly women grin adorably at that. Ada was my second-grade teacher twenty-five years ago, and Isabel used to be a nurse at the medical center. Now that they’re retired, they mostly swan around town checking up on everyone as though they’re vital to Sunshine’s success. They probably are—they sure seem key to ours.
“We’re still kicking, at least,” Isabel says.
“We’re providing the sweets for our book club today,” Ada tells me. She’s wearing a Reading Rainbow pin on her shirt collar that has to be vintage. I don’t think she’s the type to get in on a late-stage trend.
“Clara’s in charge of the savory.” Isabel wrinkles her nose. “I suspect we’re going to have Brussels sprouts with Parmesan cheese again.”
“You like Brussels sprouts,” Ada shoots back.
“Not when it’s the only thing she ever brings to book club.”
“What kinds of books does your group read?” I’ve been meaning to find a group for myself but haven’t gotten around to it. One of many things on my endless to-do list that gets shoved to the bottom.
A whole conversation flies back and forth in the look the two women give each other.
“Science fiction,” Isabel says at the same time Ada answers, “Spy novels.”
“You’re reading science fiction books about spies?” Niche genre, but I don’t judge what people read.
They glance at each other again without explaining further.
“You know,” Wren says, sliding up to the counter beside me, “nobody’s ashamed to read romance novels anymore. They’re super popular right now. There are even whole bookstores devoted just to selling romances.”
I would love to see a bookstore open up in Sunshine. Maybe not a romance-only store—I have a hard time suspending my disbelief for that particular brand of fiction—but I wouldn’t mind sourcing my fantasy books a little closer to home.
“Well,” Ada says, glancing away. “There might be a smidgen of romance in the books we read.”
“But we read them for the history,” Isabel puts in.
“Which history?” Wren wants to know.
“The one we just read was set in Scotland in the seventeen hundreds.”
Wren’s grin might as well take up the whole room. “So the hero wears a kilt?”
Ada and Isabel blush to the heavens. It’s seriously the cutest thing ever. And makes me wonder just what their book club read this month.
“You’re distracting us.” Ada points at the display case. “We’d like a Key lime pie and a chocolate mint, please.”
Wren and I box up their requests. Ada pays for the pies as I slip them into a wide bag with handles so it’s easier for them to carry them off to book club.
“Will you have any special flavors for the Fourth of July?” Isabel asks.
We rotate our flavors weekly, but we have special flavors we only offer around holidays, too, like citrus-cranberry at Christmas and pumpkin at Thanksgiving.
“We’ll do our usual blueberry and strawberry cream pie for a red, white, and blue theme,” I tell her. “But they sell out fast.”
And I’ll smell like berries all week, but I don’t mind that.
She blinks up at me like I missed something. “What about cakes?”
“Oh. I might do something similar with all the fresh fruit we’ll have for our cupcakes that week.” Since our cupcakes are more Mom indulging me than true business plan, I can do whatever I want with them.
“I’ll have to special order one of those full cakes for our family get together. I’ve heard they’re the best around.” Ada nods at me like she’s giving my work a gold star.
Naturally, this is when Mom slides into view. She’s been doing inventory in the back, but here she is, front and center for a conversation I’d rather she didn’t hear. Goodness knows, she doesn’t want to hear about how much people love my cakes.
“I’m surprised you haven’t put them up on the wall here.” Isabel gestures at the chalkboard menu where we update each week’s pie flavors. I haven’t even put the cupcakes up there yet. “Shout it around town, drum up more business.”
“The cakes aren’t part of our regular offerings.” I have no idea what else to say. How do I explain that “more business” isn’t part of Mom’s game plan when it involves my cakes?
“They should be.” Ada nods like a queen issuing a decree. “Maybe next time we bring desserts for book club, we’ll bring one of your cakes instead of pie.”
I’m glad I can’t see my own smile. It’s got to be a twisted mess of awkward pride. The last thing I want is for Mom to think I’m trying to go into competition with her, but I’ll make the cake if they ask me to. “Sounds great.”
Ada and Isabel wander out of the store, their work complete. I can’t even look at Mom. Maybe if I let it go, she will, too. She’s done a pretty good job of ignoring my random cake orders so far.
Some day—when I’ve had a lot of advance planning and practiced my speech—I’d intended to make my pitch to her about expanding Blackbird’s offerings using spreadsheets, numbers, and solid facts. Things she would respond to a whole lot better than two regulars putting on pressure with their glowing reviews.
“We should put the cakes on the menu.”
I spin to face Wren. We’ve danced around this with Mom for the last year—she wants to address it head-on now?
“It’s too much extra work for Tess to take on.” Mom’s answer is calm and collected, unlike the chaos unfolding inside my chest.
“Not if we hire a couple more bakers.”
I think I might be having a heart attack. I’ve been trying to come up with the most careful way to approach this with Mom, and Wren’s going straight for the jugular, no hesitation.
“The bakery is successful as it is now.” Mom’s using her oh-so patient voice, but the slant to her mouth tells me how much she dislikes the idea of expanding. “We’re able to live comfortably off of it. If we rush to offer more items and hire more people, we don’t know what might happen.”
“Yeah. It could be a wild success.”
I can’t relate to my sister’s boldness, but I love her optimism.
“Or we could destroy our own livelihood by pushing it past its breaking point.” Her smile is gentle, but her words are like a slap. “Sunshine is a small town. There’s only so much success we can expect.”
Wren’s eagerness deflates a little. We already suspected Mom’s arguments against expanding the business, but hearing them straight out like this hits different.
She steps forward to take each of us by the hand. “I love that you’re so enthusiastic and dedicated to Blackbird’s. But trust me on this. We don’t want to do anything that would put the business in jeopardy.”
My heart squeezes even harder. She means me. If I pursue my cake business, if I try to expand my specialty cake offerings or hire someone else to help me with them, my choices could ruin us. I obviously wasn’t involved in Blackbird’s early days, but I remember how much stress Mom was under when every day felt like a make-or-break moment. I completely get why she wants to stay in the safe cocoon of our success.
But it hurts that she can’t see an outcome where my cakes could add to that success.
“Now.” She releases us and takes a step back. “I’m going out for lunch. Will you two be okay while I’m gone?”
I used to think asking us this was just her habit, but now, I have to wonder if she really thinks Wren and I can’t handle her absence for a couple of hours. Like we might run wild and eat all the pies when she’s not looking or abandon the store to watch movies all afternoon.
“We’ve got it covered,” Wren says. “You can even take a long lunch if you want.”
“Oh.” Mom blinks like she’s never considered taking a long lunch in her life. “I might take you up on that. Thank you.”
She waves, heading for the door. “Be good.”
“You, too,” Wren calls after her.
I turn away, Mom’s parting words prickling like she thinks we’re wayward children. The bell on the door rings, and I release a long exhale, my shoulders relaxing. It’s way too early to go into the back and deep clean the mixers, but it might help me work off this spike of disappointment mingling with frustration.
Before I can take a step, Wren nudges me in the ribs.
I swat her arm away. “Quit it.”
She dips her head toward the front window, her gaze locked tight on something out there. I turn to find whatever it is that’s caught her attention so badly. Apparently, she’s watching a man hug a woman who looks like Mom. Kind of weird, but I can’t expect less from Wren.
Except…that woman is Mom. Same floral, knee-length dress, same loose blonde hair with the barest streaks of gray. The man pulls away just enough to kiss her on the cheek, one hand lingering at the small of her back. She tilts her head to the side as if she’s about to swivel our way and catch us watching her, but she leads them along the sidewalk instead.
With his arm still around her, his hand resting on her hip.
I stare, taking in his salt-and-pepper hair and obvious police officer’s uniform, until they disappear from sight. “What was that?”
“I think Mom has a boyfriend.”
I round on Wren. “What? No, she doesn’t. Since when?”
“No idea. But I’ve suspected for a while.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
She tips her nose up. “I thought you didn’t like romantic gossip.”
“When it’s about me, not—” I toss a hand at the front window. “That was Sheriff O’Grady, wasn’t it?”
Her Cheshire Cat grin doesn’t budge. “Yup. Daniel O’Grady, Sunshine’s recently elected Sheriff. He oversees patrol, corrections, and wooing our mother’s heart. Apparently.”
I sag against the back counter. This scenario is too unfamiliar for my brain to process. “They might just be friends.”
“Did that hug look like it was just between friends?”
I swallow instead of answer. If it was a just-friends hug, they both want to be more. Nobody lingers that much over a casual acquaintance. “She hasn’t dated since Dad left.”
“That we know of.” Wren bobs her eyebrows.
“Don’t say it like that. She doesn’t have some shadowy secret life she’s keeping from us.”
I don’t think. Right now, I’m not sure any information I have about our mother is accurate.
“I’m just saying. Twenty years is a long time to wait for the right guy to come along.”
When she puts it like that, I almost hope Mom has secretly dated other men. I don’t like the idea of her being alone all this time. Logically, I know she hasn’t been totally by herself—she has a tight-knit circle of friends and regularly goes out with her girl gang.
But she’s never talked about romance as something she missed or wanted again. And now…
“Do you think she’s been seeing him a long time?” We can only guess at the answers, but I can’t help but ask.
“You think Mom would progress to the ‘handsy hugging and kiss hello’ stage quickly?” Wren barks a fake laugh. “That woman has ‘slow burn’ all over her.”
“I can’t think about Mom burning for the sheriff.” I’m happy for her if this theory is true, but my brain is still stuck on her being interested in anyone at all. She’s not the romantic type.
“Remember when he led all those community safety meetings for downtown businesses a couple of years ago? I bet that’s when they got to know each other.” She rests her elbows on the front counter, watching the window as though Mom and Sheriff O’Grady might reappear. “They became friends, and then romance blossomed at a glacial pace.”
I side-eye her. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“Better than pondering the nothing of my love life.”
“I just don’t understand why…” My words tumble over each other and turn into nonsense as I stare out the front window.
Wren jabs me again. “Don’t be that weirdo who can’t handle their single-adult parent dating again. This is good for her.”
That’s not what’s got me frozen in place. A man is jaywalking across the street, heading straight for the bakery. I’d recognize the dark red hair and beard at twice the distance, but this isn’t the man I’m used to. He pushes through the door, simultaneously pulling all the air from my lungs.
Ian Vaughn has lost the feral lumberjack look and veered straight into heartthrob category.