Chapter 24 A Little Help, Please
A LITTLE HELP, PLEASE
MABEL
Together, we load up canvas bags full of baked goods, then head out to go door-to-door.
We say hi to Clementine at The Meet Cute. Even though she’s already on our side, she deserves cookies too. We pop into the Green Pantry, and then I bound up the steps of the cheese shop. But Corbin lags behind, gesturing to a bench right outside it.
“I need to deal with some emails,” he says, waving his phone. Weird. He’s not a deal with emails kind of guy. But there’s something sad in his eyes, so I give him the space and go in alone.
I haven’t been in here yet. A bearded man behind the counter shoots me a skeptical look as I stride toward him, a pink-and-white box in my hands. His name tag says Abe. After I say hello, he asks brusquely, “Your parents work over at the university?”
“Yes, they do,” I say. “I’m Mabel Llewelyn, and I’m opening up Afternoon Delight with Corbin—”
He waves a hand. “I know him. He’s lived in this town for a long time.”
Implication—and you haven’t.
“Okay. Anyway, I—”
“And you haven’t been around town since the pigs knocked over the syrup and the llamas got into the sugar cookies?”
I wince at the reminder. “Yes.”
He blows out a long whistle. “So you roll back into town wanting to open a bakery?”
“Yes,” I say, owning it.
“That takes some serious guts,” he says, shaking his head. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m crazy or if he admires me. Maybe a little of both.
“Well, I’m not really a sweets person myself,” he goes on. “But at least you’re not competing with me.”
Small victories. I waggle a box. “I made some treats for the other local business owners,” I say, then rattle off what’s in the box. “Just as a little welcome gift.” But before he cuts me off again, I quickly add, “If you don’t like sweets, do you have someone you can give these to?”
He seems to consider that, then nods. “Yeah, my husband has a sweet tooth.”
“Well, I hope he visits us sometime. He’d be more than welcome.”
The man gives me a once-over, blows out a breath, and says, “Good luck.”
It doesn’t feel like I’ve won him over, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve lost him either.
When I leave, Corbin’s on the bench, staring off into the distance, his phone out of sight.
I drop down next to him with some concern. “You okay?”
There’s a long beat. “It was my mom’s favorite place,” he says, his voice flat, like he’s had to strip the emotion from it to speak.
I set a hand on his strong, firm bicep, and I squeeze it. “Are you thinking of her right now?”
Another steadying breath. “She used to send me these emails, Mabel. She called them Monday Agenda, Tuesday Report, Wednesday News. That sort of thing. At the end of each day that I was on the road.” He still doesn’t look my way, just gazes at the sky as if that’s easier.
“She liked to walk to this store. It was…a benchmark for her, I think. They have really good cheese, so I get it.” He laughs, but it feels forced.
I rub his arm, letting him know to keep going.
“Anyway, it just got harder at the end. She’d freeze up. It happens,” he explains. “And sometimes, she’d fall. Eventually, she had to stop walking here.”
My heart cracks in two. “I’m sorry. That must have been so hard for her.”
He gives a tight nod and a tighter, “Yeah.” Then he squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, like he’s resetting. “I should be over it.”
“Corbin,” I say, gently chiding him. “You don’t have to be over it. Ever. I don’t know if we can get over grief. You can only go through it, and sometimes you realize it repeats in new ways. With new memories.”
“It does.”
I think for several seconds. “Do you want me to get something there for you? I can go back in and get your favorite. What’s your favorite cheese?”
His confident smile returns. “Gouda.”
“That makes sense. It’s a little nutty,” I say.
He laughs. “But I’m all good. I have plenty.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
But I’m pushy sometimes. I hold up my thumb and forefinger. “What if I just got you a slice?”
“Fine,” he says, relenting, but like it wasn’t hard to give in.
I pop back in. “Abe, I’d like one slice of Gouda.”
He arches a bushy brow. “One slice?”
“Fine, make it five,” I say.
“That’s more like it.”
After he slices the cheese, he hands me five pieces wrapped in paper, and I give them to Corbin when I leave. “See? Now you got a gift for today.”
He takes a slice of cheese, rolls it up, and takes a bite. “I did.”
I smile to myself. This man does so much for me. It’s nice to do something for him.
We pop into other stores, and when we pass the town square, I’m vaguely tempted to give some treats to the guys playing chess, but the looks they give me are withering. Another time. I stop in the home decor shop and give a box to Mariah.
“I feel so alive now,” she says brightly.
“You made my day,” I say.
Corbin nods to the box. “When you try her pistachio cookies, you’ll really be saying that,” he says, selling me, and selling us.
Mariah grabs one, takes a bite, and smiles wickedly when she’s done chewing. “I’ll take one a day.”
Next is Rise and Grind, and I steel myself for some kind of laugh at my expense as I march straight up to Joni behind the counter. “Just a little gift for my neighbors,” I say, handing her a box.
She takes it with a smile as big as her frizzy hair. “Sweetheart, this is really lovely. And it’s good to see you too, Corbin. But did you two hear about—”
Before she can finish, an espresso machine hisses, and it doesn’t sound good.
Joni swivels around and then groans in despair. “No, no, no, no, no. You turned it the wrong way,” she says to an employee, then rushes over to fix the espresso mishap. As she’s working on the machine, she waves us off. “Thanks for stopping by. That was really kind of you.”
When we exit, I replay her words as worry wiggles through me. “What do you think she heard?”
He shrugs. “No idea. Probably nothing.”
“I hope so.”
We pop into a few more shops, saving the toughest one for the end.
It’s knitting club day again at the yarn shop, according to the poster promoting their meeting times in the window.
My stomach flips upside down like a pirate ship ride as I open the door.
The ladies in the knitting club are perched on comfy sofas in the back of the shop, needles clicking.
One works on a sparkly white beanie, the other a red-and-green sweater, and another a pair of mittens.
One of them says something about needing some magenta chenille yarn for a Christmas scarf she wants to make, which is impossible to find, while another says she plans to wear her Christmas sweater to an upcoming punk rock show. Okaaaaay.
But the conversation stops when my shoes creak on the floorboards. Their eyes are filled with question marks as they stare at me as I stride past rows of yarn. A woman behind the counter gives me a curious stare.
I square my shoulders. “Hi, I’m Mabel, and this is Corbin,” I say, motioning to the man next to me. He gives a quick hello.
“We know him,” one of the ladies says coolly as she finishes a row in the mittens. I think she’s the one who said it would only be successful for a few months because of him.
“We’re opening a bakery tomorrow,” I continue.
“We just wanted to stop by and say hi and offer you a little gift,” he puts in.
Another woman arches her brow, her tone full of skepticism. “So you’re giving out free things? To the people of Cozy Valley?”
“We are, just to say hi. And if you want to stop by the bakery when it opens, we’d love to see you,” I add.
The lady making the beanie snorts. “What a great way to run a business. Giving everything away for free,” she says derisively.
Ouch. Why did I think this would be a good idea?
The woman behind the counter taps her needle against it. “Now, Dottie, take the cookies. It’s a gift, you old bird.”
Dottie, the woman working on the white fluffy hat, huffs, sets down her knitting and motions to me with a wrinkled finger. Corbin says nothing—just shoots me a look that says he’s got my back if I need him.
But I can do this. Even with nerves chasing me, I stride across their knitting circle and hand Dottie the box. “I hope you enjoy them,” I say.
“So you can trick us into coming in and buying more things,” she mutters.
I try to untangle her response, but then decide to say, “I’m just trying to be a good neighbor.”
Dottie stares at the box quizzically.
The lady making the sweater taps the box with her needles and admonishes her friend, saying, “Just open it. Maybe it’s good.”
Dottie hums doubtfully but takes a bite of a classic chocolate chip cookie. The corner of her lips quirks up. Her eyes dance. And she fights off a food moan.
I smother a grin. Yep, I’d recognize a food moan anywhere, even as she stifles it. I steal a glance at Corbin, who’s watching the scene with admiration.
Dottie mumbles around the crumbs. “It’s okay,” she says, begrudgingly.
“I’ll take that,” I say with a smile.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she snaps.
“I know, but it wasn’t an insult either,” I say, with a happy shrug.
Corbin waves. “Goodbye, ladies. See you all tomorrow, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Dottie says.
“Oh, hush,” the owner tells her.
We leave, and when we’re on the street, I turn to Corbin, a burst of gratitude filling my chest. Gratitude for him, and, well, for me. “Thank you for not rushing in to save me. I needed to do that on my own.”
“I had a feeling. Plus, it was clearly important to you.”
The way he says that, with pride, makes my stomach flutter once again. I like that he knows when to save the day and when to let me try to save it myself.
Back at the bakery, that flutter kicks up several notches when he sets down the now-empty bags and gives me a once-over.
Stopping at my hair, he lifts a hand and ever so tenderly runs a finger down a strand, like he’s never felt anything softer or silkier.
“Your hair would look really nice with that ribbon tomorrow.”
My heart thunders. “I’ll wear it.”