Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
ISLA
“Hey Reggie,” I say as I enter the cool interior of the garage. “Is Dad’s truck ready?”
“All set,” Reggie says, handing me the keys. “You know, your dad should think about retiring this thing.”
“I know,” I agree with a sigh. “He’s got a lot on his plate.”
The kitchen sink started leaking again last night. The plumber we always use is out with the flu. Dad is trying to find someone else local who can get to it.
As I approach the truck, I notice two men sanding and varnishing large pieces of wood on the other side of the garage. One is Cody Briggs. But my gaze is caught by a broad chest and a fully tattooed arm.
My knees lock as my eyes meet Caden’s. My pulse starts to pound all over my body. His jeans are lightly dusted in wood shavings and there’s a varnish stain on the hem of his gray T-shirt. The light in the garage makes the planes of his face stand out in sharp relief as he stares at me—into me, like his are eyes boring holes through me. The fabric of his tee hugs tight across his chest and I hate that my mouth starts to water. Why does he make me feel like a doe trapped by the eyes of a predator?
It feels like there’s a thread connecting us, delicate as a spider’s web yet crackling with tension. My palms itch. Caden’s steely gaze seems to whisper over my skin.
“Hello, Caden,” I say, pleased with how normal I sound.
Caden’s shoulders relax a fraction of an inch. “Hi,” he says.
Well, look at us. A couple of real grownups.
“Caden is helping me make the booths for Magnolia Day,” Cody says cheerfully.
“Really?” I say. Since when was Caden handy with tools?
Caden shrugs and dips the brush back into the tin of varnish. “It’s nothing,” he says. “I’m happy to help.”
“He was building chicken coops in Argentina,” Cody adds.
Now I’m really surprised. When Caden said he’d been working at a winery over there, I imagined he was doing something in management, sitting behind a desk or schmoozing with businesspeople.
Before Caden can reply, Mrs. Greerson storms into the garage.
“All right, Reggie, it’s been an hour, now what’s the matter with my car?” she demands. I bet Reggie disconnected one of the cylinders again. Mrs. Greerson really shouldn’t be driving until she gets new glasses. Dev and I have been trying to coax her into making an appointment but she’s so stubborn. She catches sight of me. “Why Isla. I didn’t see you there. Don’t you look nice.”
I glance down at my clothes—a PBS T-shirt and jeans. My hair is in a ponytail. I look extremely normal.
“How are things at the Thorn?” Mrs. Greerson asks.
“Good,” I say. “Mom is feeling better today.”
I see Caden’s hand twitch, a falter in his even strokes as he applies some varnish to a piece of wood. I wonder if he remembers the promise he made me before he left—he said he would get my mother an appointment with New York’s top rheumatologist. Another promise broken. Mom has been on the waitlist for years now.
“Excellent news,” Mrs. Greerson says. “Tell her I’ll bring by one of my poultices later. Caden, I see Cody has put you to work.”
Cody launches into an excited explanation of what they’re doing and how Caden made adjustments to the plans.
I should get in the truck and go. Dad probably needs me back at the Thorn. But then Cody waves us over and Mrs. Greerson grabs my elbow and I find myself suddenly being given a walk-through of all the different pieces in various stages of finish.
“Is this for Dev’s booth?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Caden says gruffly. I’m too close to him—the air between us seems to vibrate. I catch his scent again, clean soap and leather. Caden points stiffly as he explains it to me. His body is radiating tension and I feel it like tiny pinpricks on my arms. “The cheeses can go here…then these will be like little platforms for the table.”
I’m fascinated by the ink that covers his skin. Thick lines of muscle cord around his forearm, making the vines writhe and dance as he moves. There are flowers and insects and animals nestled among them. I wonder what it all means. The vines and grapes I understand but not the rest.
I feel his gaze linger on me, light as the touch of a moth’s wing, and I look up at him. His eyes are gentler than before. Liquid silvery blue. They’re the eyes of the friend I once had.
“Chicken coops, huh?” I say.
His mouth crooks into a half smile. But before he can reply, Mrs. Greerson wedges her way in between us.
“Don’t these look wonderful,” she says. “Caden, I’ve told the mayor you’ll be helping with the festival?—”
“You’re helping with Magnolia Day?” I ask.
“No, I’m just giving Cody a hand with the booths,” Caden says.
“Psh,” Mrs. Greerson interjects. “The mayor is thrilled you’re on board.” She says this in her usual manner that brooks no disagreement. She turns to me expectantly. “Isla, will you be contributing this year?”
Caden cocks his head, looking at me curiously.
“Oh, um…” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Well, Dev asked me to help with the Grater Good’s booth. You know how popular it always is.” I look at the pieces laid out in front of me. “It looks like it’s going to be extra special this year.”
“Yeah, Caden’s a real—” Cody begins eagerly.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Greerson interrupts. “Dev has a husband for that. You need to have your own booth, dearie. Haven’t I been telling you for ages?”
“No,” I say, bemused, but Mrs. Greerson ignores me.
“You must showcase your skills! You’ve been hidden away at the Thorn for far too long. The world needs to taste your food, Isla. My god, that cake you made for my birthday last year was extraordinary! No more of this skulking in the shadows.”
Sometimes I wonder if Mrs. Greerson is slightly psychic.
“That’s a great idea,” Caden says quietly. I feel a wriggle in my stomach, and the back of my neck goes hot.
“I don’t have a shop to promote,” I say with an embarrassed shrug. “I don’t sell my pastries anywhere. I just love baking food that people enjoy. And you know, things are busy right now with the wedding coming up…”
I glance at Caden but there’s no reaction, except maybe a slight clench of his jaw.
“Wedding schmedding, this is Magnolia Day! I’m sure Lucille Richards is pulling all the strings anyway. Doesn’t she have a hundred servants putting that thing together? I heard it’s going to be at Everton now.”
Caden’s whole body seems to freeze. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t so aware of him, every twitch of muscle or the tempo of his breath. The brush clatters into the tin and he pushes past us.
“Excuse me,” he says tersely.
He didn’t know. How could he not know? He lives there! Didn’t Daisy tell him?
Mrs. Greerson is watching him go with a strange expression on her face.
“He’s quite touchy now, isn’t he,” she says.
I shrug again.
“Go see if he’s all right,” Mrs. Greerson says.
“What? No,” I say.
Mrs. Greerson gives me a little shove toward the door. “Go on,” she says. “Don’t think I can’t see that look on your face. You’re worried about him, same as all of us. You two were friends, weren’t you?”
“Well, yeah but?—”
She gives me another push. “Scoot.”
There’s no point in arguing with her. No one ever wins an argument with Martha Greerson. I half hope Caden has vanished when I get outside. He’s good at that.
But instead, he’s leaning back against the wall of the garage, staring up at the sky. For a moment, he looks vulnerable. I see another brief flash of the person I used to know.
“Are you all right?” I ask quietly.
Caden’s stands up straight and his jaw fills with tension again.
“Fine,” he says tightly. “Varnish fumes.”
I hope he doesn’t expect me to believe that. I stare at him, unsure of what to say. Yes, we used to be friends. We used to be so much more than that. But what are we now?
I feel that same sense of falling again as I look into his eyes. Like I can’t feel my feet on the ground anymore. Caden’s lips part but the moment drags on and he doesn’t speak.
I blink and look away. I need to get out of here, get as far away from him as possible.
“You should have your own booth,” Caden blurts out. I turn back and his expression is a little more open than before. My eyes rake over the stubble that lines his jaw.
“What?”
“Mrs. Greerson is right,” Caden says. “Reggie can help Dev out. You’re an incredible baker, Isla.”
The way he says my name makes the nape of my neck prickle. I purse my lips and try not to show how much the idea appeals to me.
“I don’t have a booth,” I point out.
“I’ll make you one.”
I raise an eyebrow. He holds my gaze evenly. I put my hands on my hips, frustrated and tempted.
“I don’t have a permit,” I say.
“Also not a problem. Finn is in charge of the permits. I’ll talk to him at dinner tonight.”
“You’ll talk to him,” I repeat. The idea is taking root now, sprouting up a slender stem in my mind. My own booth at the festival. People from all over sampling my macarons, or my peanut butter fudge brownies, or my Bakewell tarts. Ideas start to come together, piling up on each other. I could do pairings—a sweet and a savory treat matched together. I could have pastries from around the world, with a map showing where each comes from. Franzbrotchen from Germany and skerpere from Turkey. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at the Vietnamese banh pia.
Caden seems determined not to make any sudden movements. I feel a flutter at the back of my throat. I want this. I want to say yes.
“Okay,” I say.
Then I turn on my heel and hurry into the garage, throwing myself into Dad’s truck and driving off before I can think too hard about what I just agreed to.
“Your own booth! ” Charlotte squeals, so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “Oh my god, fucking finally ! This is amazing, Isla. What do you need? How can I help?”
I laugh. “I don’t know yet. I’m still kind of in shock.”
“It’s about damn time you stopped helping other people and started showing off your own skills,” Charlotte says. “I mean, I love that you’re so helpful, blah blah blah, but seriously. Let’s get some Isla Sparkle going on!”
“Isla Sparkle?”
“I just made it up, and it’s perfect and you know it. Wow. What brought this on?”
“Oh, um…well, Mrs. Greerson was at the garage when I was picking up Dad’s truck.”
“Ah, good old Nosy Greerson for the win. No one can say no to that woman. So how are you going to get a booth done? Is Cody making you one? I heard he’s revamping Dev’s.”
I clear my throat. “Actually, Caden is going to make mine.”
There’s a sudden silence. “I’m sorry, it sounded like you said Caden is making your booth.”
“I did.”
“Caden, as in Caden Everton.”
“The very same.”
I grab some lip gloss and apply it hastily in my bathroom mirror. Luke is picking me up soon to have dinner with his parents at Osteria Fortuna. I’m suddenly wishing I had waited to have this conversation with Charlotte. But I was just so excited about the booth.
“You do realize this means you’ll need to be in contact with him, right?”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
“Do you really think that’s the best idea?”
I bristle. “It’s not like I have a lot of other options. He’s also helping me get a permit. Finn is in charge of them so Caden said it would be no problem.”
“Fucking Caden Everton,” Charlotte mutters. “Swooping in with his permits and his giant arms to build you a booth. Like that will make up for hurting you. And now I can’t even be mad at him, because this is so fucking amazing that you’re having your own Magnolia Day booth!”
I grin. “Life is hard.”
She chuckles, then sighs. “He’s clear on the fact that you’re not available, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “You do remember him fleeing the Crooked Screw after he saw my ring.”
“I just don’t want him trying to weasel his way back into your good graces after all he put you through.”
“I don’t think he’s trying to weasel into anything.”
“Oh, you can bet that gorgeous ass of yours he is,” Charlotte says. “I saw the way he looked at you in the Screw.” My stomach dips. “But whatever. This isn’t about Caden. We are going to sell the shit out of your macarons. Oh, make the dulce de leche ones, those are my faves. And make your conchas! You know my dad can’t resist those.”
“Okay,” I say, laughing. “You and Grace can be my taste testers as I sort out what to bake.”
“Done,” Charlotte says.
“I’ve gotta run, I’m having dinner with Luke and his parents at Osteria tonight.”
“Wow, so you’ve got them slumming it.”
I roll my eyes. “They like Osteria.” At least, Luke does. I think Lucille prefers to host dinner parties rather than dine out in Magnolia Bay.
“Sure,” Charlotte says. “Talk to you later.”
I hang up and look at myself in the mirror.
“I can handle this,” I say to my reflection. I grab a brush and start combing out my hair. No matter what Charlotte says, I am determined to accept Caden’s help graciously and then be done with him. Maybe I’ll get desensitized the more he’s around. My heart can stop performing acrobatics every time I see him.
I’m sure it’s just residual emotion, leftover from so many years of heartache. It would probably be stranger if I didn’t feel anything.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
You’ve got your permit. Finn will email you the confirmation tomorrow.
Despite my recent determination, my heart does a spectacular backflip and ends up somewhere behind my left ear. But before I can reply, my phone buzzes again.
This is Caden, by the way.
Noah gave me your number.
For a moment, I consider not responding. Making him wait and wonder if he’ll ever hear from me again
But I’m not that vindictive. At the end of the day, I’m dependable Isla. I won’t let Caden change that.
Thanks, I reply. That’s great news.
Let me know when you’d like to go over what you want for the booth.
I bite my lip as my stomach gives a little shimmy. Stop that , I tell it firmly. No shimmies. No backflips, no flutters, and absolutely no throbbing of any body parts.
I’ll be at the library tomorrow around 3, I tell him. We could talk then.
Immediately, three dots appear on my screen.
Sounds good.
I shove my phone into the pocket of my dress just as there’s a knock on the door. I open it to find my fiancé standing there with a bouquet of flowers from Joni’s shop in his hands.
“Hey,” he says with that easy smile. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say, leaning up to kiss him. “You didn’t have to bring me flowers.”
“I will always bring you flowers,” Luke says. “Roses for my rose.”
“Let me just put these in water and then we can go,” I say. “Oh! And guess what! I’m going to have my own booth for Magnolia Day.”
I beam at him. Luke’s eyes widen. “Seriously? That’s great babe!”
“I was just talking to Charlotte,” I say. “She’s going to help me choose what to make. Do you want to help too?”
“You know I love your baking,” he says. “But these next two months are madness. Dad is finally putting me in charge of all the Sixth Avenue properties.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“It’s a lot of work,” Luke says. “But I’ll try and make it out here as much as I can.”
“I understand,” I say, even as I’m a little crestfallen he won’t be able to help me like Charlotte will. But I know his work is important.
I decide not to mention that Caden is making my booth—it doesn’t seem relevant, and Luke doesn’t ask. I’m not sure he’s aware of the technical details of Magnolia Day anyway. As far as I know, he’s never attended it.
Besides, whatever was between me and Caden is over. And he certainly owes me the favor.
I follow Luke outside and he holds my hand as we walk toward the restaurant to meet his parents.
Charlotte’s words seem to drift back to me as I contemplate seeing Caden tomorrow.
Do you really think that’s the best idea?