Chapter 18
18
Whoops.
Bad timing.
Bren came to an abrupt halt as she strode toward the sidewalk after pushing through the gate on the side of Fred’s house.
Since when did Noah go running midmorning? Didn’t he usually get in his miles much earlier in the day?
The avoidance plan that had been working fine for her after their post–ice cream tête-a-tête three days ago crumbled.
As he turned toward her, his double take suggested he was as surprised as she was by this meetup—and just as leery about further engagement.
Had their almost-kiss kept him tossing for the past three nights, as it had her?
Thank heaven Emma had interrupted, or any further encounters they had during the remainder of his stay would be doubly awkward. As Noah had made clear, he wasn’t any more interested in getting involved than she was. That would only lead to heartache, and she’d had enough of that to last two lifetimes.
Soundest plan right now? Carry on as if that charged moment had never happened.
Heck, it was very possible he’d simply felt sorry for her after hearing her tale of woe. That there’d been no sizzle on his end at all.
Get real, Bren. You saw his eyes.
Snuffing out the annoying little voice in her head, she hiked up the corners of her mouth and lifted a hand in greeting. “Morning.”
After a tiny hesitation, he descended the two steps that led from the front porch to the walkway and crossed to her. “Good morning.”
“Aren’t you out and about later than usual today?”
“Yes. An issue came up at the office that delayed my run.”
“Ah. This is a working vacation for you.”
“That’s the only kind I ever have.” He gave her neon orange running jacket and tiger-striped leggings a fast scan. Cleared his throat. Slipped on his sunglasses. “So if I’m, uh, doing the math right, today is your fourth running session.”
She fiddled with the zipper pull on her jacket. “Your math is solid. I mapped out a potential fun route yesterday in my car to track mileage, and today I’m going to run it to see if it’s suitable for a beginner. How’s your dad doing? I haven’t seen him since church on Sunday.”
“He’s hanging in. The wrist isn’t too painful, and someone came by to fill out a help checklist they’ll implement after I’m gone. It sounds like he’ll get plenty of attention and care.”
“He will. That’s how it works in Hope Harbor. And I’m close by too, if he needs anything. Well ...” She motioned toward the street and retreated a step. “I should get moving.”
His forehead wrinkled, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Would you, uh, like me to tag along and give you my two cents on the route?”
Her pulse stumbled.
Run with Noah?
No way.
Not only wouldn’t she be able to keep up, he’d completely throw off her respiration. It was hard enough to breathe when she ran alone.
“That may not be the best idea.” For a bunch of reasons. But she stuck with the most pragmatic one. “I’d hold you back.”
“Not necessarily. I could use your route as my warm-up.”
If there was a comeback for that, it eluded her.
“Um ... I guess that could work. As long as you don’t mind going slow and staying silent. I’m not certain I can manage running, talking, and breathing at the same time.”
“Slow and silent work for me.” He seemed relieved by her caveats.
In that case ...
“Sure. Why not?”
“After you.” He motioned for her to precede him.
She led the way to the sidewalk. Once she broke into a jog, he fell in beside her.
For the first mile, he didn’t speak—which was fine. The faster-than-usual pace she was setting for his benefit was taking a toll on her lungs.
As they approached the twenty-minute mark, he gave her a once-over. “Let’s pull the speed back a notch.” Without waiting for her to respond, he slowed his gait.
“Sorry. I told you I’d ... hold you back.” She glanced over at him as she huffed out the words.
“No apology necessary. Like I said, I’m counting this as my warm-up.”
“I doubt it takes you three kilometers to ... loosen up your muscles.”
“Not at home. But the scenery here beats the view of city streets any day. I don’t mind extending my running time.”
If he was trying to make her feel better about slowing him down, he’d succeeded.
She followed his lead on pace as they continued, and once she could breathe again, she looked over at him. “By the way, Marci and I came up with a name and a slogan for the run.”
“That was fast. Lay it on me.”
“Hope Harbor Coast Busters—Heart and Sole for Helping Hands.”
His lips bowed. “Very clever. I would never have thought of anything that catchy.”
“Marci’s got a gift with words.”
“She claims you aren’t too shabby with them, either.”
“I don’t have her credentials. She has a degree in journalism. I only have a GED.”
“I’m not certain you can earn a degree in creativity. You’ve either got that gene or you haven’t. I could take creative writing classes until the cows come home, and I’d never be a Hemingway.”
“Trust me, I’m no Hemingway either. Take a right at the corner.” As they navigated the turn, feet slapping the pavement, Bren gave her unexpected running partner a surreptitious survey.
Good grief.
He wasn’t even breathing hard. Nor had he broken a sweat.
As if sensing her perusal, he met her gaze. “You want to take a break?”
Yes.
“No. I’m fine.” More or less. “Out of curiosity, how much training does it take to be able to run without getting short of breath?”
He slowed his pace again. “More than four sessions. What’s the farthest you’ve run?”
“However far I got on my ill-fated attempt to run to the lighthouse. And I walked home from there.”
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you give me directions for the rest of the course you have in mind, and I’ll finish it out before I veer off to the route I had planned for today? I can let you know later whether I think it’s suitable for fun runners.”
“I should see if I can finish it.” But with another mile to go, the temptation to call it a day was strong.
“New runners who push themselves too hard often throw in the towel, which is a shame. Running is great exercise. I’d hate for you to call it quits without giving the sport a fair shot.”
He didn’t say any more, leaving the decision up to her.
Capitulating felt like failure, but at least her balking lungs would thank her. “You win.” She outlined the remainder of the route for him, then motioned ahead. “I’ll peel off at the next corner.”
“That’ll work.”
“Where are you going after you finish the fun route?”
“Up 101, toward Starfish Pier. After I’m done, I plan to swing by Bev’s Book Nook. See if I can answer her business-expense question.”
“I doubt it will be high finance, but she’ll appreciate whatever help you can offer. Be sure to check out the tide pools at Starfish Pier while you’re out that direction. They’re amazing.”
“Duly noted. Talk to you later.”
He didn’t pause as they approached the corner. On the contrary. He picked up his pace, gave her a wave, and zoomed away.
Bren stopped, propped her hands on her hips, and stared after him as she tried to get her erratic respiration under control.
And her breathing wasn’t wonky from pushing herself too hard, either. Not at the pace Noah had set for the last half mile.
No, it was all due to the fact that the toned, hot guy who’d come within a few charged inches of kissing her was showing off bunching hamstrings and calf muscles, not to mention broad shoulders outlined by a snug T-shirt, as he sped away.
Whew.
Pulse picking up again, she pivoted and headed for the cottage. Walking, not running. There would be no more ogling for her. What was the point?
In a different world, maybe the two of them could have connected.
But despite Bev’s pep talk, they were poles apart in every respect. And Noah’s life was elsewhere. He’d made that clear.
So it would behoove her to stop daydreaming about what a kiss from him would have been like and start remembering what she’d told Bev at church last Sunday.
She was perfectly fine on her own. She did not need a man in her life. Look what had happened to Mom. She’d been fooled by superficial charm and ended up paying the price for that for the rest of her days.
No, thank you.
Bren skirted a limb that had fallen onto the sidewalk, a casualty of last night’s wind, perhaps. Already the vibrant green leaves were losing their color and curling up in defeat. Dying.
That’s what happened if you were cut off from the source of your life. From your roots. You withered.
Another reason to avoid Noah.
Because Hope Harbor was where she’d planted roots. It was the place that had rescued her. Offered her solace and purpose and friends. It was her home.
But it wasn’t Noah’s home.
Someday, if a man came along who shared her values and perspective and was willing to put down roots here too, she might let herself fall in love. Get married. Have a family.
Workaholic Noah, who seemed married to his job, wasn’t that man.
And the sooner she reconciled herself to that, the sooner she’d be able to restore the sense of balance and peace he’d somehow managed to disrupt since the night he’d invaded the cottage and activated her defensive mode.
A mode it would be wise to keep active until he climbed in his car, aimed it toward the airport in North Bend, and disappeared from her life forever.
What a depressing day.
Emma stopped outside Sweet Dreams. Ran a finger under her damp lashes. Swallowed past the tightness in her throat.
A whole morning spent searching for a job in Bandon, and what did she have to show for it?
Nothing but a raging headache and a bad case of the blues.
Wasn’t anyone in this part of the world hiring?
She sighed.
Now she had to put on a sociable face and talk to Alice about who knew what. Maybe the woman just wanted to chat about French pastries again.
Whatever conversation the bakery owner had in mind, it was going to be short and sweet.
Pasting on a smile, she entered the shop.
The place was deserted, the display cases bordering on bare at this hour of the afternoon as closing drew near, but the faint chime of a bell in the back announced her arrival.
A few seconds later, Alice pushed through the door that must lead to the baking area. “Ah, Emma. You came.” Her mouth curved up.
“Yes. Bren passed on your message.”
“I knew she would. She’s reliable like that. Why don’t we sit?” She motioned to the small table for two in the corner. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m not a fan myself, but Joe always has a pot on hand. Says he couldn’t function without it, given how early he gets up.”
Emma hesitated.
She’d be stuck here longer if she accepted coffee.
On the other hand, caffeine might soothe the throbbing in her temples.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Make yourself comfortable. Cream or sugar?”
“A quick tip of cream.”
“Got it. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
The woman bustled toward the back room and disappeared through the door.
Emma sank onto one of the chairs and massaged her temples. Skipping lunch hadn’t been the smartest idea if she’d wanted to avoid a headache. But it was hard to eat when your appetite had vanished.
“Here you go.” Alice reappeared and set a ceramic mug and a paper napkin in front of her. “It’s not the high-end brew from The Perfect Blend, but it’ll do in a pinch. I hope it’s not too strong for you.”
“I like strong coffee. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She sat in the chair on the other side of the table. “I imagine you’re wondering what this is all about.”
“Yes.” Emma took a sip of the java. Definitely not The Perfect Blend, but it ought to buffer her headache.
“I don’t want to take up too much of your day, so I’ll get straight to the point. My husband, Joe, has been dealing with carpal tunnel syndrome for a while now. Apparently it’s not uncommon among bakers. Who knew?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Emma continued to sip her coffee.
“Well, he’s been putting off surgery because recovery takes six to eight weeks, and we can’t afford to close the bakery for that long. So I got to thinking after you and I chatted last Saturday. You appear to have a solid background in baking. I know you’d prefer a permanent job, but Joe and I were wondering if you might be interested in working here for a couple of months to get us over the hump of his surgery. Assuming the two of you hit it off, of course, and we can agree on a fair salary. Plus, we’d want to talk to the previous employer you mentioned.”
Emma froze, mug halfway to her mouth.
The owners of Sweet Dreams were willing to consider hiring her?
Her pulse picked up ... then evened out.
Tempting as their proposal was, a temporary position wouldn’t convince a court to grant her guardianship of Justin. He’d be stuck in Nebraska far longer than either of them had planned.
“I understand if you want to think this over.” Alice leaned across the table and patted her hand. “Joe and I realize it’s a long shot. Most people searching for full-time work don’t want a temporary job. But I had to ask. You showing up when you did seemed almost providential.”
Yeah, it did.
Should she give some serious thought to signing on for this gig, if they offered it to her? In light of how she’d been striking out everywhere else she’d tried, a bird in the hand wasn’t to be taken lightly.
Working here would also give her a chance to investigate other opportunities in the area. Broaden her search up to Coos Bay. Be less rushed and more selective. And the experience at Sweet Dreams would beef up her resume.
She wrapped both hands around the mug. “I do want a permanent position, but they’re not easy to find in small towns. My next stop was going to be Coos Bay. But this could be a logical interim step.”
“So you’ll consider it?”
“Yes.” She pulled out her cell and a slip of paper. Called up her contacts and jotted her former boss’s name and number and the chain where she’d worked. “This is who you should talk to about my skills. I’ll text him to expect a call from you.”
Alice took the paper from her. “You’ll also want to meet Joe, just like he wants to meet you. He won’t be able to do much work after the surgery, but I expect he’ll be hanging around here as soon as he can to offer advice and answer questions. We’d want you to work with him for a week first. Sort of a trial run to make certain it’s a good fit. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Yes.”
“Then come on back and let me introduce you.”
The woman led her to the cramped baking area, where the temperature was much warmer than in the front of the shop. A long work counter, part stainless steel and part wood, ran the entire length of one wall. All other wall space was lined with shelving, mixers, containers of ingredients, pan racks, bakeware, dough proofers, refrigerators, and more.
Bren had been correct.
There was barely room in the space for one baker, let alone two.
Reigning over the doughy kingdom was a short, thin man wearing a chocolate-flecked white apron, a baker’s cap, and a cheery smile.
“Joe, I think we piqued her interest.” Alice drew her forward and did the introductions.
“A pleasure to meet you, Emma.” Joe pumped her hand. “Alice told me you worked for four years with a baker who trained in France.”
“Yes, I did. Part-time during the school year and full-time in summer.”
He grinned. “Our little operation would be a step down for you—but you might be able to add a touch of class to Sweet Dreams.”
“It’s hard to improve on legendary cinnamon rolls and your delicious brownies.”
“We do excel at a few items. Why don’t I give you a tour?”
“Okay.” Although she could see everything there was to see from where she was standing.
But his real purpose became clear as they made their way down the center of the room and he showed her various pieces of equipment, talked about some of his standard procedures—and asked a ton of questions about everything from best practices for sanitizing the equipment and workspace to the pros and cons of wood versus stainless steel surfaces to how to salvage over-proofed dough.
He was testing her knowledge.
And based on the thumbs-up he gave her at the end of the tour, she passed with flying colors. “You know your stuff, young lady.”
“I don’t have any formal training.” He hadn’t asked, but it was only fair to be up front about that. “Just on-the-job experience.”
“That’s the ideal way to learn this business. If everything pans out, I hope you’ll consider our offer, even if it’s not a permanent job. The hours would be four to noon, Tuesday through Saturday. The shop opens at seven. Alice comes in at 6:45 and stays until close at 2:30. Did she talk to you about the weekly salary?”
“No. We hadn’t gotten around to that yet.” The other half of the management team chimed in from the far side of the room.
“Let me throw out a number and tell us what you think.” Joe gave her a figure. “If that’s sufficient and your reference comes through okay, are you willing to work with me for a week to test the waters?”
The salary wasn’t huge, but it was more than sufficient to pay the bills and keep her housed and fed until she found a permanent job with benefits.
As far as she could see, there was no downside to accepting the job if they made an offer after her trial run, other than delaying Justin’s liberation.
He wouldn’t be happy about that. Nor was she. But any job was preferable to no job, and it would buy her time to be more selective in her search for a permanent position. Plus, changing schools midsemester wasn’t ideal. Perhaps they could target December for his move and share Christmas together.
“That seems like a fair amount. And I’d be happy to work with you for a week.”
“Wonderful!” Alice beamed and clapped her hands together. “If this comes together, Joe will finally be able to get that wrist fixed. Truly, Emma, you’re a godsend.”
“I think the timing worked out for both of us. When would you like me to start?”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?” Joe untied his apron and pulled it off.
“Tomorrow is fine.”
“I’ll see you bright and early.” Joe shook her hand again. “Turn in with the chickens tonight.”
“I’m used to the early-to-bed drill from my previous bakery job. Thank you for considering me for this.”
“We’re the ones who should be thanking you.” Alice spoke over her shoulder as she led her to the front of the shop and toward the door. “Go around back when you get here in the morning. That door will be open.” She took her hand. Gave it a squeeze. “You’re the answer to a prayer.”
“It’s the answer to a prayer for both of us. See you tomorrow.”
As Alice locked the door behind her, Emma dug out her cell and struck off down the street toward the cottage. She had to share the news with Justin ASAP.
While this wasn’t the kind of job a judge would deem steady enough to grant her guardianship—if they even offered her the position after the trial run—it was a step in the right direction. A fact she’d have to stress to her brother.
Along with a reminder that if all went well, when her tenure at Sweet Dreams came to an end, she’d have another longer-lasting position waiting in the wings ... and she’d finally be able to put the wheels in motion to fulfill her promise to rescue him from the bad situation in Nebraska. Forever.