Chapter 25
PIPER
“Have you heard a word of what I just said?”
My mother’s hands are on her hips as she stands in the middle of the kitchen.
Cramming another cookie into my mouth, I nod, even though I have no idea what she’s just been talking about.
I tuned out the moment Brody put his hand on my thigh under the breakfast bar.
With the sweetness of a homemade cinnamon cookie crumbling on my tongue, and my super-hot, fake-now-real boyfriend’s palm on my jeans, I was gone.
Lost in memories from last night, with the warmth of arousal once more flooding my body.
My mom’s stance is stern, but her gaze is soft as she looks at us. Touching her heart, she lets out a happy sigh. “My baby’s in love.”
The heat that had been making my panties wet now rushes to my cheeks.
I swallow the bite, then wash it down with a mouthful of cinnamon latte when the cookie sticks in my throat.
Yes, I know I love Brody, but I need him to say those three words before I have the confidence to.
It’s still all so new, and I keep having to pinch myself that we’re actually together.
“You were talking about Eileen,” I say, even though that’s the only word I can remember her saying.
“Only at the beginning.”
Mom lets out the kind of over-the-top sigh that Martha loves to copy, then starts up again.
“So we have to go to Hard to Find this morning for the calendar reveal, because no one else is going to be there.”
“Why not?”
“Because the owner, Fredrik, hasn’t advertised it and doesn’t want anyone showing up. His sister, Felicity, from our crochet club, put his name forward to try and force him, I don’t know, out of his shell a bit? You know, after his personal tragedy.”
I raise my eyebrows in question. My mom knows everyone in Hideaway Harbor and always assumes I do, too.
She moves forward, lowering her voice as if we’re in a public space and might be overheard.
“His wife died two years ago,” she whispers. “But we’re not allowed to talk about it, so pretend you don’t know.”
“Even though everyone does know? It’s not like he’s Hideaway’s only villain and buried her body in the backyard.”
Mom straightens and crosses herself as Brody chuckles beside me. “Oh my Lord, no. He’s the sweetest man. Just a little … withdrawn. And we’ve also got to support Noelle. She’s the one we’re pinning our hopes on.”
I’m lost already. “Who’s Noelle?”
“I told you about her, honey. New in town and running the Christmas pop-up shop next to Frederik’s bookstore. She’s the sweetest thing and seems to have a connection with him, so we need to, you know, help them along.”
“By going to the calendar reveal this morning?”
“Yes! Noelle spent the night making pulla in Fredrik’s range after Ida had to leave town because her daughter gave birth early.”
I resist the urge to rub my forehead as my brain tries to make sense of it all. “And what does any of that have to do with the—”
“It’s Pulla Appreciation Day today!” she tells me, like I ought to have known. “And Ida was in charge because she’s Finnish.” Mom turns to Brody. “Pulla’s a sweet bread with cardamom from Finland, topped with pearl sugar.”
He nods slowly. “I think I had it once. It’s delicious.”
“But Ida had to leave to be with her daughter, and Noelle offered to step in because her grandmother’s Finnish and has a family recipe.
She’s using the old range in Fredrik’s house to make it, then giving it away outside Hard to Find this morning to try and tempt people inside.
Felicity’s bringing the trestle tables in her van. ”
“Okay. Let me get this straight,” I say slowly. “You need us to show up at the bookstore because you don’t think anyone’s going to come to the calendar reveal or eat any of the pulla that Noelle spent all night baking, and because you’re trying to set up Noelle and Fredrik?”
Mom claps her hands like I’ve just won a spelling bee. “Yes.”
“You had me at ‘pulla,’” Brody says, then squeezes my thigh. “What do you feel like doing?”
Er, you? I hide my face behind the coffee mug as my cheeks flush again. “Sounds great,” I mumble.
“Wonderful!” Mom says happily, then takes the landline phone from the wall. “I’ll let Eileen and the other girls know I’ve got you two on board.”
“Where’s Harper?” I ask.
“With Lola,” Mom replies as she taps on the screen. “There’s a unit opening up next door in the new year, so they’ve gone to look at it.”
Her eyes move from the phone to us. “What was in the gift bag Lola gave you?”
“I haven’t opened it yet,” I mutter into my drink as Brody’s fingers move to the inside of my thigh, stroking upward.
Mom’s face falls. “Well, that’s a missed opportunity for bringing a bit of extra excitement to snuggle time.”
“Mom!” I splutter, as Brody’s hand moves higher.
She shrugs like a teenager. “Just saying.”
Brody’s middle finger presses at the seam of my jeans, and I leap off the stool.
“Wow!” I squeak. “Look at the time! Maybe we should get going?”
“You are so bad,” I mutter under my breath to Brody as we make our way toward the town center.
Mom’s walking ahead, chatting away on her phone with Eileen, although most of the conversation seems to be her loudly asking, “Can you hear me now?”—thanks to Hideaway’s patchy signal.
“You make me want to be bad,” he murmurs.
I tug my scarf away from my throat as a hot flash arrives twenty years too early.
“It’s the last week of the Christmas market,” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral ground before I drag him back to bed. “I want to look for a present for you.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Please?”
He smiles at me, and butterflies take off in my stomach. “We’ll see.”
“Good.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Mom exclaims as she pockets her phone. “Eileen heard from Felicity, who heard it from Summer Whittaker, that Marv was three sheets to the wind last night. Had to be carried back to the Hideaway Hotel.”
“What?” Brody asks.
“Summer works shifts at The Shore Thing, and apparently Marv came in after nine, already a little tipsy. He kept drinking, and then couldn’t walk! Have you heard from him today?”
Brody shakes his head. “I haven’t turned on my phone yet.”
“Has he messaged you, honey?” Mom asks me.
“My phone’s been off, too.”
Mom presses her lips together and frowns. “Should you get in touch?”
“He’s probably still asleep,” Brody replies. “I’ll call him after the calendar reveal.”
“Okay, but it does make me worry. That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he would do.”
I look to Brody for confirmation.
He rubs his free hand over his jaw. “It’s not. I’m sure he’s fine, but we’ll check up on him when he’s slept it off.”
Mom taps on her phone. “I’m sending him a message telling him where we’re going to be, in case he sees it.”
When Mom’s done, we continue down Hideaway Avenue toward Hard to Find as a bitter wind whips the bottoms of our coats. I glance up at the darkening sky, and a pellet of ice hits my eye.
“Ow!”
“You okay?” Brody asks immediately, his voice laced with the same concern Ethan might show if Martha cried out.
“Yes, fine,” I reply, blinking the pain away. “But I think it’s about to ha—”
“Quick!” Mom cries, as hailstones lash down like God’s unloading a dump truck full of gravel on us.
We run forward, dodging patches of ice on the sidewalk toward the store, where people are rushing two folding tables inside along with baskets of pulla bread.
Inside the bookstore, it’s carnage. Mom said no one would show, but the place is packed, and there's no room to breathe.
My favorite bookstore in Brooklyn is light and airy, with attractive displays of the latest social-media-trending reads.
The interior of Hard to Find looks like it belongs to a book hoarder from a Charles Dickens novel, with haphazard piles of books, dark wood shelves filled with leather-bound classics, and small, awkward spaces that force strangers to stand uncomfortably close.
Eileen is helping Fredrik, whose face is harried, like he’d rather be anywhere else than in his own business right now. A pretty woman, wearing a peach-colored fluffy jacket over an emerald green dress, who I presume is Noelle, is balancing a stack of baskets that look about to tip.
As a team, we go to her side, taking them from her so she can help Eileen and Fredrik clear space for the tables among the crowd.
“Here, you can carry mine,” Mom says, dumping hers into Brody’s arms, then shouting to Eileen that she’s coming.
We edge back toward a bookshelf as the smell of pulla makes my stomach gurgle with excitement.
Brody grins. “So much for no one turning up.”
“It looks like Mom and Eileen told everyone the same story and made them promise to show.”
“Fredrik looks thrilled.”
I snort with laughter. “Poor guy. He’ll either have to leave town or marry Noelle just to get Mom and Eileen off his back.”
Despite the chaos inside, people soon spot Brody, and within a couple of minutes, we’re hemmed in by a sea of excited female faces.
“Oh, my gosh! The Almanac didn’t say you would be here!”
“Do you remember me from the Perfect Package?”
“Can I get a selfie?”
Brody smiles, but there’s tension in it, and his eyes dart to the entrance.
“I’d love to, but my arms are a bit full right now,” he says.
“We’ll take them!” a woman replies, and a few seconds later, there’s nothing between us and his adoring fans.
A younger woman, maybe in her early-twenties, stares at me, then puts her hand on her heart and gasps. “You’re Piper!”
“Er, yes?”
“You’re the one who did those pictures of Brody!”
I’m utterly confused. Is she talking about photos I’ve taken of him?
“Oh my gosh, they’re lit! You’re like sooo talented!”
“I think they’re even better than AI,” another woman chimes in. “You should definitely get your own account and post them there.”
Icy fingers of panic tighten around my throat. “W-what pictures?”