Chapter 23
All the little things I hadn’t considered started popping up like dandelions over the weekend. When Monday morning rolled around and it was time to get set up, I was running on sheer adrenaline.
Rosie Harper, who was darting around like a capable chicken with its head cut off, had been kind enough to give the bakery a spot just a couple dozen feet away from the bakehouse to make things easier.
Carver Farm’s place was on the opposite side of the street about a dozen stalls away.
I’d hoped they’d be a bit closer so I could dash over at need, but once customers started showing up, it just wasn’t possible.
Mrs. Keller came out to make sure the bakery booth rose to the level she expected of a Keller affiliate, while James and May handled the farm’s booth.
Whenever I thought about it, a bundle of nerves tightened in my chest—for how our products would do, but also for the Carvers themselves. This would be the most public-facing event they’d done since before Jim Carver had died.
A couple hours into the morning when there was a lull, I couldn’t stand it any longer and put up a quickly scrawled Be back soon! sign on the bakery booth counter.
I hurried down the street, waving at familiar faces, until I reached the farm’s booth.
There was no one there. Just James, seated on a stool behind the booth.
The booth itself looked good—a wood table with a nice linen runner and a canopy overhead.
Whether it had been dead like this all morning or was the same lull the bakery was experiencing, I wasn’t sure.
“How’s it going here?” I asked.
James grimaced. “I’m sure it’d be different if it was you here. We’ve only had a couple of people stop by—Bennett, who was just trying to be nice, and Mrs. Tolman.”
I joined him behind the booth, trying to ignore the disappointment in my stomach. Given the success of the products we’d been selling on consignment in the town, I’d hoped we’d have gained a little traction.
“Let’s try something,” I said. “Will you cut up a couple of blondies? Into small squares.” I grabbed one of the extra containers Bennett had sold us and set a white hand towel in it while James did as instructed.
Once he was done, he put the bite-size squares in the container.
“Come with me,” I said, tugging his wrist.
He followed me out from behind the booth to the front, where we stood next to each other.
“Hi, Mrs. Albany,” I said with a smile as one of my parents’ neighbors passed.
Her gaze shifted from me to James, a hint of surprise there.
I shoved down my jittery internal response and held out the container. “Would you like to try one of our brand-new blondies?”
Whether it was politeness or actual interest, she took a sample. She didn’t pop it into her mouth like I expected, though. She just thanked us and wandered to the next booth.
I gave the samples to James to offer to the young family that came by next, but I stayed near him, smiling and hoping to show a united front. They, at least, were big fans of the blondies, and under duress exerted by their five-year-old daughter, they bought a small box.
James and I low-fived behind our backs.
After the third sample offering, I couldn’t justify staying any longer. I wished James luck and ran back to the bakery booth, where a couple of people were waiting.
The rest of the day produced a surprisingly constant line of people, including the Ednas, who hung around for almost half an hour, chatting to me about the mayor’s love life—a topic of rampant speculation and even voting—while I tried to respond appropriately and serve other customers.
May stopped by to give me a hug on her way to the farm’s booth during that time, something which made the Ednas share a significant look.
By nine o’clock tonight, word would be around Autumn Ridge that May Carver and Sadie Stevenson were best friends.
I didn’t see James again until it was time to close up shop at six.
According to May and him, the rest of the day had gone much better. People had loved the s’more maple blondies, but they’d sold a healthy number of maple pretzel cookies and cream puffs as well.
We had enough stock for tomorrow and the next day, which was bittersweet. It meant I didn’t have to whip up extra batches of anything tomorrow morning, but it also meant things weren’t flying off the “shelves,” which would’ve been preferred, obviously.
Tuesday morning, as I gathered items for the bakery booth, I got a text from Dom letting me know he’d gotten the fuel pump in, and I’d be able to pick up my car Thursday.
It would be weird to drive it again. I’d gotten so used to the truck.
I wouldn’t be racing Formula 1s or anything, but I’d become fairly confident driving stick.
My car being fixed also meant it was almost time to pay the piper—the piper being Dom. I wasn’t totally sure what the final cost would be for the fuel pump, but I knew I couldn’t afford it, especially not with the farm booth doing fewer sales than I’d hoped for.
I didn’t have time to think much on it, at least, since the bakery booth did a steady flow of sales and a lot of people stopped by just to chat. That was the hazard of having lived in a place since you were born—you knew everyone, and they knew you.
The Ednas stopped by again, this time in the afternoon, wearing pink stickers informing me they’d voted on the identity of the mayor’s secret love.
They were also armed with barely masked questions attempting to determine the nature of my relationship with May Carver and whether it meant James and Ryan had reconciled.
Edna G. shot that idea right down, though, making sure she spoke loudly enough for me to hear and chime in if I so chose.
“Oh, I don’t think they’ll ever reconcile.
I heard James is still in love with Lily, the poor boy, and Ryan would never give him the chance to steal her away—not that she would take it.
She’s the sweetest thing, and it’s plain as day she worships her husband. ”
Muscles tight, I ignored them, focusing on packing up a half-dozen sticky buns for Mrs. Batchelder, even as my stomach swirled with a feeling I hated.
Either the Ednas had impeccable timing, or they just stuck around until something happened, because just after Edna G.’s comment, James himself jogged up to the booth.
My heart skipped, and I resisted the urge to glance at the two women. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “I just…thought I’d spell you for a couple minutes so you could come to the farm booth for a minute.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I just think you should go over there and check things out.”
I narrowed my eyes, his non-responsiveness setting off my Spidey Sense. He didn’t seem worried. He didn’t seem…anything. He was James the Stoic Carver.
“We can help him run the booth,” Edna B. said.
No way in hades was I about to leave James alone with those two mischief-makers. “I can just put a sign up for a couple of minutes.” I grabbed the one I’d made yesterday and set it at the front of the booth counter.
“Bye, ladies,” I said with a smile and a wave before walking with James in the direction of the farm booth.
Not far enough to avoid hearing “Well, he’s grown very handsome, hasn’t he?”
“If Lily won’t take him, I might have a go.”
I didn’t dare look at James, and he didn’t acknowledge he’d heard anything—he’d have to be deaf not to. We just kept walking, threading our way through the people strolling Main.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He glanced down at me. “You’ll see.”
We sidestepped a crowd of high schoolers, and I stopped short.
May was womanning the booth, a big smile on her face as she boxed up cookies for Hal from the local grill, who stood at the front of a line so long, it was jamming up traffic.
“Our stock is dwindling fast.” James watched me with a smile. “Apparently, word spread overnight. Most people have been asking about the blondies, but they’ve made a pretty big dent in the cookies and cream puffs too.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped my mouth.
This line was longer than any I’d had at the bakery booth. People were waiting for my wonky blondies. A recipe I’d created myself.
“Mama has been telling every single customer that you’re the mastermind behind it all,” James said.
Just then, she spotted us, smiled, and waved. “There she is! The creator of Sadie Stevenson’s Famous S’more Maple Blondie.”
What followed was a number of people complimenting me on the recipe, which left me flustered and warm.
I went back to the bakery booth on Cloud Nine. And when a couple of people came to the bakery booth asking about the s’more blondies they’d heard about, it felt pretty good too.
“Hey, loser,” I said as the crowds broke up.
James smiled. “Hey, loser.”
It was dark now, the street lit by lamps and the lights of the booths that had stayed open, mostly offering food. Both the farm and bakery booths had closed before the Kiss the Pig event.
“I really thought you had it in the bag,” I said. “Especially with the last-minute donation your jar received from a very kind-hearted and generous donor…” I inspected my nails dramatically.
James chuckled. “They probably weren’t quite kind-hearted and generous enough to counter the one your jar received this morning.”
My brows went up. “You went into the bakery?” For some reason, the thought of James in my domain made my skin tingle.
“The anonymous donor,” he said significantly, “chose to make his—or her—contribution at the library. I heard.”
I snort-laughed. “The anonymous donor was nice to make that information available to you. And yet Carson still won. Someone must’ve really had it out for him.”
“Good effort, guys!”
We both turned toward Emma, who was smiling widely.