Chapter Nine
“I need a costume for tomorrow.” Darby Jane put the empty salad bowl and the container of dressing on the counter beside the fridge.
The serving spatula slid from Burke’s hand and fell into soapy water in the kitchen sink.
He turned and stared at her. “Beg your pardon?”
She trailed the tip of her finger through the frosting on the edge of a cupcake.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on.” He held up a dripping hand. “Before you dive into your dessert, what do you need a costume for?”
She licked the frosting from her finger and challenged his gaze.
“My teacher sent a note about it.” Something that looked an awful lot like irritation flashed in her eyes.
“It’s the hundredth day of school. Everybody wears a costume, and then we get to parade through the hallways. It sounds super fun.”
Darby Jane grinned, but no amount of charm could outweigh the fear sneaking through him. A costume by tomorrow?
He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what she’d said. He dried his hand on a towel and then wiped at the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Tell me again what we’re celebrating?”
“We’ve been in school for one hundred days,” she said, punctuating each word with intentionality as if he was supposed to just know.
“Well, I haven’t been there for one hundred days, but everybody else has, so we’re supposed to make a big deal.
It also helps us learn to count. But I already know how to count to one hundred. ”
“Educational and festive. How delightful.”
Her little brow crinkled. “Why are you mad?”
“Because you’re just now telling me at—” he glanced at the clock “—seven o’clock that you need a costume for an event I’m not familiar with. Forgive me, but I’m panicking, Darby Jane.”
She blinked twice. “The note was in my communication folder.”
He tunneled his hand through his hair. “What’s a communication folder?”
She blew out an exasperated breath and stomped out of the room.
“Don’t stomp away from me like that,” he called after her. “I’m trying to help you solve this problem.”
She returned a moment later, her cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“My communication folder.” She thrust a red plastic folder at him with her name printed on the front and a sticker.
“It comes home every Monday. You’re supposed to look inside because it tells you everything you need to know. ”
“Thank you.” He set it on the counter and opened it.
“There.” She pointed. “See?”
Sure enough, a flyer along with the letter from the teacher. His stomach sank.
She popped her little fists on her hips. “I also got a star for doing my math worksheet properly.”
He tried to smile and pat her on the shoulder, but he was still too freaked out to properly congratulate her. “That’s great. Way to go.”
Burke pulled the flyer out and studied it. The info he needed was all there. Costume recommendations, guidelines about what to avoid, and the deadline in bold print and emphasized with a yellow highlighter.
Splendid.
How had he messed up so badly? Again? He set it down, then dragged his palm across his face. “Well? Any suggestions?”
“No.” She hung her head and scraped her toe over the faded linoleum. “You have a good imagination. Don’t you have an idea?”
He barked out a laugh. “Darby Jane, I write novels. I appreciate the compliment, but I’m not a set designer or a costume coordinator. What are your friends wearing?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe Jovi can help us.”
Outside, a snowplow barreled down the road, its blinking lights casting a glow through the window. The chains on the tires jangling and the motor rumbling reminded him that at least another foot of snow had fallen.
“Jovi works nights at the hospital now, remember?”
“But not every night.” Darby Jane turned and hurried toward the living room windows. “I saw her car when we came home from school. Maybe she’s home now.”
“Maybe. Or maybe we can try to figure this out on our own?”
Since Jovi had mentioned the feud between his family and hers and the candy company, he’d wondered if maybe somebody had done something untenable to create the rift.
And he wasn’t sure who he could trust. Had Mac or Lois been the offending party, or had it been someone in the Wright family?
He hadn’t had time to do a thorough investigation, but when Jovi had shared she wanted to find an iconic recipe, well, it had inspired him to write.
He’d cranked out more words this week than he had in the past five months, and it felt good to be productive again.
If only he could keep up this pace, he might make his deadline.
“Why don’t we just ask her?” Darby Jane turned from the window, a hopeful look in her eyes. “You could send her a text. She used to live here, right? Maybe she has her old costume.”
His girl had never been one to give up easily. Burke couldn’t help but smile. “It’s possible.”
“Jovi always has an idea about how to fix things, even when me and you don’t.”
He couldn’t argue with that. But still. Thoughts of the pretty blonde with the infectious smile and oh-so-sunny outlook on life whipping up a last-minute costume for his daughter?
He wasn’t sure how much longer his heart could resist. Worse, the more time they spent together, the more Darby Jane gravitated toward Jovi.
He’d hate for his little girl to get too attached to someone who might not stay in Evergreen.
The whole situation literally seemed like a recipe for disaster.
* * *
She was going to make a delicious batch of salted caramel chews if it was the last thing she did.
Jovi unpacked the sugar, brown sugar, maple syrup and honey from the bag. Groceries had set her back a few bucks. Man, she’d forgotten how expensive it was to live here. But she wanted to support the local store, and she had to admit that being back here in Evergreen had been fun so far.
Sure, her hands ached, and she wore three Band-Aids on her fingers from all the paper cuts she had from helping pack and ship the last-minute orders for Valentine’s Day next week. Not to mention she’d spent about six hours in the car this week delivering cookies and special orders all over town.
She’d been scheduled to work tonight at the hospital, but thankfully, they’d called her off because they said they didn’t need her.
She probably shouldn’t have committed to working at the hospital and packing orders at the business, but to be honest, she wanted to stay as busy as possible this month.
Anything to keep distracted, because she didn’t want to dwell on how this would have been her first Valentine’s Day as Michael’s wife.
How this would’ve been their first Valentine’s Day as newlyweds.
How she wouldn’t have had to cope with living in different cities, as they’d done for most of their engagement.
They could have been together and happy. Hopefully. Probably. Maybe.
Instead, he’d rejected her with a ridiculous excuse about how he wasn’t ready to commit. Why had he waited until twelve days before the wedding to reveal his fears?
Now she was alone.
The hurt and anger threatened to swallow her.
No. Not going there tonight.
She opened the kitchen drawer and retrieved Grammie’s candy thermometer.
She held it in her palm and turned it over.
Oh, how she wished she could call her up and ask about making those chews.
She and Isabel planned to visit again soon, but for now, she’d settle for trying a couple of recipes that she’d found online.
So far her quest to recover Grammie’s recipe had gone nowhere.
She’d looked in every cabinet and every closet in the house and only succeeded in making a mess.
There were still a few more boxes to sort through in the storage room at the company, but Isabel had encouraged her to take a break.
The problem was, they didn’t really have time to take a break.
It was the first week of February already, and their parents had moved forward with their plans to sell.
Mom and Dad had had dinner with a representative from a European candy company owner just the other night.
Jovi had declined an invitation to attend.
She didn’t want them to think she was interested.
She lined up the ingredients and reached for her phone to pull up the recipe she’d bookmarked. Whatever she came up with had to be tastier than those strange Nanaimo bars she’d taste-tested.
A text message from Michael filled her screen.
Her heart kicked against her ribs. A text from her ex-fiancé—how ironic. She flipped the phone over, not wanting to deal with it. Except she needed to look at her phone for the recipe. And besides, she didn’t have to respond, right? She could just read it and then carry on.
Sighing, she reached for her phone again.
Hey, Jovi. How are things?
I’d love to talk sometime. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, and I understand that. But the thing is, I really miss you. And anyway, just thinking about you. Hope you’re safe and well.
Anger pulsed through her veins.
Now he was thinking of her? She pushed the phone away and crossed the kitchen to where Grammie kept her saucepans and baking dishes. She pulled out the most robust pan she could find, quickly wiped it out with a damp paper towel to remove any dust, and then set it on top of the stove.
Then she found a glass baking dish and a couple of glass measuring cups. Perfect.
Her phone hummed. Jovi’s mouth ran dry. Not again.
She added water to the kettle to boil. This called for some tea.
She’d already put aside some frosted sugar cookies from the business and added some chocolate truffles, bypassing the heart-shaped ones, thank you very much.
She huffed out a breath. Who told their ex-fiancée they missed them?
In a text message? Especially a few months after calling off a wedding at the last minute?
She lit the burner under the kettle as her phone hummed again.