50. Chapter Fifty
CHAPTER FIFTY
L aura—Two Months Later
“Oh, hon, that looks amazing.” Mom’s eyes tear up as she views my neat rows of kringle slices, set out on her old red-checked picnic blanket. “It’s Allison’s recipe, isn’t it? I’m so proud of you.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “What flavor did you pick again?”
I gesture toward the chalk sign I’ve set at the edge of the table. “Chocolate cherry old-fashioned.” And before Rory can open his mouth, I say, “And these ones are kid-friendly.” I gesture to the other half of my table, set with chocolate cherry kringle with a chocolate almond glaze.
Davey shoves his way between me and Mom and hugs me tightly. “Thanks, Auntie Laura. Can I have four slices?”
“One!” Rory says, exasperation evident in his voice. “One, please. Ugh. He tried that with the Good Mood Dairy too. Where’s Frannie? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, helping you set up?”
Frannie had flown into town like a tornado and, given her recent behavior, would probably be jetting right back out again. I shrug, wiping my hands on my apron with the white-and-blue toile pattern. “I’m sure she’ll be around. I’m doing all right.”
“These are definitely going to win,” Davey says, his mouth almost too full of kringle to speak in coherent sentences.
“Thanks, champ.” I hand him a napkin. It’s a beautiful day. Humid, yes, but there’s a breeze coming off the lake in the distance, and the rain from the previous week has left nothing but cloudless skies.
The park behind the Lutheran church has been transformed into a bonanza of cherries. The section nearest the parking lot holds all manner of kiddie rides, to which Davey, his hands sticky with kringle, drags his dad. Along the far side of the park, near the duck pond, is a dunk tank and concession stands, the scents of fresh popcorn, pretzels, and brats hanging in the air. Then, of course, there’s my area. Too many long tables to count piled high with baked goods and jams and jellies, barbecue sauces, beverages, and more. All celebrating cherries.
“I’m going to go try the Foster family’s new red blend.” Mom kisses my cheek. “Want me to get you a glass?”
“Not if I’m going to be standing in four hours,” I reply. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I know. Love you, hon.”
I watch Mom walk toward the alcohol tents. Perfect. I can scan the crowd again.
Sure, cherries and kringle competitions are all well and good. But for me, the true excitement is that Jesse is due home. Finally. While he recovered from his gunshot wound, Marshal Stryke moved him down to Florida to rehab in a safe house. With Chris and the Mack family now in jail, Jesse can leave witness protection and live his life again.
I want to live it with him.
“Any sign?” Frannie asks, sliding in beside me like she hasn’t been MIA.
“Not yet. Where have you been?”
Frannie brushes some grass off the back of her sundress. “Nowhere. How’s the competition?”
“I’m not sure. The judges haven’t come around here yet.”
Frannie rolls her eyes. “They’re Drydens. Ugh. I’m going to make myself scarce. Let me know after they leave.”
“You haven’t been present,” I call after her as she walks away toward the alcohol tent, her skirt brushing her legs.
Whatever. Nothing can bother me today. Not when Jesse is due back.
Unless his plane got held up or something. Or he got stuck behind tourists.
He’ll be fine. Once he woke up from the anesthesia after his gunshot wound—thank heavens we’d been able to rush him across the parking lot to the hospital—I’d given him the biggest kiss I could without disturbing his IV line.
That, however, was weeks and weeks ago. I want to see him again.
“Hello, Laura.” Monroe Dryden and his sister Clara step up to my table. They look like the twins from the second Matrix movie. Why they both chose to wear white, which really only makes their skin and hair paler, is beyond me. It’s a dang cherry festival. How do you not get sprayed here and there with red juice? Jenny Tollerston, the third judge and the only vain attempt to make the competition look legitimate, trails behind, flicking pieces of icing-covered pastry from her jeans. “These look amazing. What do you have today?” Monroe says.
“Chocolate cherry old-fashioned kringle.” I reach up and tighten the blue-and-white bandana holding back my hair. I’m not going to be nervous. Not around them.
Monroe and Clara each take a delicate bite of the same slice, while Jenny inhales nearly half of hers. Jenny’s eyes roll back in her head. “That is absolute heaven, Laura. Can I take one for my husband? He’s over at the tilt-a-whirl with the kiddos.”
“Sure, go ahead.” I stick my hands in the big front pocket of my apron.
Jenny picks up a plate and runs across the park, shouting her husband’s name. “Chet! You gotta try this!”
Monroe and Clara chuckle as they discard the rest of their slice in the trash. “This is excellent, Laura. Sweet and Salty has outdone itself once again.”
Maybe it’s that Jesse hasn’t shown up yet, but I’m over the bull poo. “Why do you even bother pretending? We all know Fortuna’s going to win.” I nod down the line, where Fortuna Dryden is passing out slices of mocha almond fudge kringle with her eyes narrowed at me.
Monroe shrugs, looking past me at something in the distance. “We’re trying something different this year. Give us a chance.”
Clara smiles –an impressive feat given the amount of plastic surgery she’s had in her twenties– and links her arm with her brother’s. “Have a good day, Laura.”
I wave pointlessly and go back to handing out slices of kringle.
If Jesse doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to have to shoot him again.