1. Chapter 1
1
Chapter 1
Don
The smell of sugar and bread, cinnamon and chocolate, vanilla and butter filled Don’s bungalow, helping him keep a tentative grip on his emotions. Staying busy was the name of the game, which meant he always had a wooden spoon in his hand, the mixer running, and the oven on.
“Gramps?” Axel entered the kitchen, with Sean and Johnny behind him—Wayne, Don’s son, had left his boys with Don about an hour ago, and they’d hovered ever since. His three massive grandsons stared at him sheepishly, toeing the tile floor, clenching their large fists, reminding him of when they’d been boys and thought he’d be mad at them for exploding a box of flour in the kitchen in their attempt to bake a cake for Amelia’s birthday. Sean wore his white Navy SEAL dress uniform, and Axel and Johnny were in black suits with different shades of aqua tie—aqua was Amelia’s favorite color.
Don pointed to a tray of cinnamon rolls by the sink. “Cover those in Saran wrap.”
Axel pushed a strand of his dark, shaggy hair behind his ear and headed over to the cinnamon rolls. At least he’d left the leather pants behind today. Amelia would have loved them though. She had that artistic flair in her veins same as Axel. “Don’t you think we have enough pastries for the wake now?”
Sean muttered “no” over a bite of something.
Axel put his feelings into his music. Johnny was the strongest emotionally—probably writing them down and then burning the pages. But Sean, Sean had always been a caretaker, always more inclined to help others than take care of himself. His response every time someone asked for help, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” His response when asked how he was?
Well, since Sean’d arrived, he’d had no less than half a dozen pastries. He was eating them like he’d never had a baked good in his life and was belly up to a buffet. That was Sean coping. And Don worried. A lot.
Sean reached for a Cannoli on one of the cookie sheets on the table.
Don lurched forward from his place by the sink, where he’d been whipping up a batch of Gingerbread cake dough, and swatted Sean’s hand with his wooden spoon. “That’s for later.” A splatter of dough fell from his spoon and on to Don’s black Army dress coat hanging off a chair at the table, with all its medals that Amelia shined and admired every time he’d had to wear the thing.
“Ouch,” Sean shook his hand—hadn’t dropped the cannoli though. “Okay, okay.”
The dough somehow, magically, rolled off and splattered on the chair without leaving a mark on his uniform. Don needed to be like that. Impervious.
Johnny smirked at his brother’s distress as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing two tattoos, but even that seemed halfhearted. There had been no real smiles in the house for at least a week—at their last Sunday family dinner with Amelia. “How can I help?”
The doorbell rang, drawing Don’s gaze straight to the large framed picture of Amelia that sat on an easel by the front window. His stomach lurched, and he whipped back around to his bread. “You can get the door.” He clenched his jaw as he fought the lump in his throat like a man wrestling a lion.
“Sure thing, Grandpa.” The plodding of large feet over the hardwood floor moved away. A second later, the door creaked open.
“Remind me to grease those door hinges tomorrow,” Don said to no one in particular as he beat his batter. Beat it within an inch of its life.
“I’ll take care of it,” Sean said.
Don sat the wooden spoon down in the bowl, and gripped the edge of the counter, letting the cool surface ground him, as he fought the urge to snap at Sean. Don was perfectly capable of fixing a squeaky hinge, but he reminded himself that wasn’t what this was about. Of course Sean knew he was capable, he just wanted to help. So, despite how much Don hated being coddled to, he kept back his remark.
“Johnny, it’s so good to see you,” Nancy said as the sounds of several people shuffling into the house met his ears.
“Is that a new tattoo?” Harry asked.
“No,” Johnny said. “I usually have it covered.”
“I like it,” Harry said.
Don turned around to face his friends—his adopted family. Through the kitchen, over the baby grand, past the living room, and at the door, his friends came to an abrupt halt, eyes bulging from their sockets, as they glanced around the room.
Every available flat surface of his bungalow, except for the floor, was covered in baked goods. Apple strudel donuts on the settee, coffee cake on the coffee table, pecan rum bars, shortcake, and chocolate pie on the couch, carrot cake on the piano bench, cookies of various kinds on top of the baby grand itself, cannoli, minty chocolate cream cheese bars, chocolate chip banana bread, and eclairs on the table, lemon bars on top of the refrigerator, chocolate croissants on top of the oven, and other various projects in different states of readiness waiting to be put in the oven as soon as he removed the German black forest cake.
Winnie sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, Don.” Polly’s gaze darted around the room.
Rosa crossed herself. “ Santa María .”
Harry pulled off his plaid pageboy hat and placed it over his heart.
Walt picked up a donut and dug in.
Johnny was about to shut the door when Samantha’s slight figure wedged in. He glanced around the frame at her, his expression going from placid to irritated in a second. “What are you doing here?”
Samantha glared. “Not that it’s any of your business but I was invited.” Her job as the Activities Director for The Palms Retirement Community made her the perfect ally to their schemes. And Don needed her here.
“This isn’t a good time,” Johnny snapped.
“Let her in and shut the door,” Don barked.
Begrudgingly, Johnny stepped back, letting Samantha fully enter. Rosa wrapped an arm around Samantha’s waist as the group weaved their way through the baked goods to the kitchen. Don couldn’t help noticing the way Johnny’s bitter gaze dragged down Samantha’s figure as she led the way. If the boy didn’t knock it off, he’d have to knock some sense into him.
His friends were all dressed in their Sunday best, Walt and Harry in suits with ties—Walt’s baby blue, Harry’s plaid, and the women in brightly colored dresses. Nancy wore a salmon skirt suit, Polly a red pantsuit, Winnie A flowy lime green dress, and Rosa an orange dress. Gratitude filled him for his friends for wearing cheery colors. Amelia would’ve loved that. She hated everyone wearing black at funerals and red roses—which is why he’d gone with sunflowers, delphinium, and bougainvillea.
Samantha stepped forward in a yellow pencil skirt and white, button-up top, with musical chords on the collar—a Winnie creation, no doubt—her strawberry blond hair hung in a neat ponytail of waves down her back. She held a tray of homemade Oreo cookies. “Cocoa helped me make you some cookies, but cookies might be redundant.” She glanced around the room.
Don’s chest warmed for the gal. Samantha wasn’t a baker. She was a self-proclaimed mess in the kitchen. Yet, she’d gotten Cocoa to help her make his favorite cookie. Don grabbed one from her plate and took a bite. He was sure it was good, but for all he could tell, it might as well be ash in his mouth. “Delicious.”
From behind her, a muttered, “Suck up,” came from Johnny.
Samantha straightened her spine, clearly having heard it, but didn’t take the bait. She just took a deep breath.
Don glowered in Johnny’s direction, but Johnny simply smiled that shark smile of his, and acted like he’d done nothing wrong. Sean stepped closer to Johnny and kicked him in the shin.
“Ouch!” Johnny grumbled, bouncing on his good leg as he rubbed his shin.
“Be nice. Do you really want to tick Grandpa off today?” Sean whispered. “Plus, Samantha’s nice. We like her.”
“Speak for yourself,” Johnny muttered.
Walt and Harry simultaneously cleared their throats, drawing attention.
But it wasn’t enough to keep Samantha from shooting a glare at Johnny as she faced Sean. “How are you holding up?”
Sean swiped an eclair off the table and shoved half of it in his mouth. “Just keep the baked goods coming,” he said in a gruff voice.
Samantha gave an understanding nod and took a seat at the table. Don loved that she was already practically part of the family. She and Sean had become good friends over the last year since Sean had come home. Don had played a relationship between the two over in his head about a hundred times, but he just wasn’t sure . . . They liked each other well enough, but Don could remember what a love-sick-Sean looked and acted like, and he was not like that with Samantha.
“Are all these for the wake?” Nancy asked, making a sweeping gesture with her hand to encompass the kitchen as a whole.
Don glanced around. “Should I make more? I don’t want to run out.” Since Amelia’s passing three days ago, Don had painstakingly gathered all Amelia’s recipes, called all of his kids and grandkids, and asked for their favorites. He still couldn’t believe that not one of them had said the same thing.
“No chance of that,” Walt said.
Winnie lowered her voice. “You called an emergency meeting?”
Johnny quirked a brow at that as Sean stepped forward and grabbed a piece of banana bread.
Don leveled a look at him. “Stop stuffing yourself, son. You’ve already eaten enough to fill one of your legs.”
“Where are the cream puffs, Gramps?” Sean said, chomping down on the banana bread like he hadn’t heard a word Don had just said.
“I didn’t make any.” Intentionally. Since Sean was a boy, he tended to eat and eat and eat whenever he was stressed. It always amazed Don that he hadn’t looked like the Pillsbury Dough Boy all through high school and college. The Navy had done him and his bottomless pit stomach wonders, teaching him discipline and healthier eating habits. The last time he’d gone food-crazy had been the week before he’d gone into boot camp. The lessons he’d learned as a SEAL seemed to be jumping ship now.
“But they’re my favorite. You made everyone’s favorite.” He marched to a cupboard and yanked it open, pointing to a cake Don had put there earlier.
Axel stepped forward. “Is that coconut angel food cake?”
“Your favorite,” Sean said.
Johnny folded his arms over his chest, and Don could tell he was holding back a grin—though how he managed that and to keep glaring at Samantha, Don couldn’t guess. “And there are fruit tarts in the fridge.”
Sean placed his hands on his hips. “See!”
“All right, you three, out.” Don barked signaling between his grandsons and the back door.
Johnny pulled away from the wall. “What?”
“Grandpa, we want to help you . . . with the pastries ,” Axel said.
Don shook his head. “What do you think my friends are here for?” He marched over to the back door and yanked it open, then made a sweeping gesture with his hand toward them and then out the door.
Axel tightened his jaw, but headed out, head high.
Johnny pointed a finger in Samantha’s direction. “How come she gets to stay?”
Samantha folded her arms over her chest and tapped her black stilettoed toe on the hardwood floor. “I work here, you—” she grumbled something under her breath, darted a glance at Don, and restrained herself from anything more than that. At least one of them had some control. What was with those two?
“Because I asked her to,” Don said. “Now stop your grumbling and get.”
“If she stays, I stay,” Johnny said.
Sean reached for the tray with the eclairs, and Don lurched in his direction.
“Those aren’t for you.” Was Axel the only one who wasn’t going to give him trouble? Seemed so.
Through a mouthful of pastry, Sean said, “Well, they’re the closest thing to cream puffs you’ve got, so . . .” He was the only person Don knew who could speak clearly with his mouth full.
Don picked up two of the eclairs and handed them to him, one for his right hand and one for his left, then he took a third. “Open.”
Sean didn’t hesitate as he dropped his jaw so Don could shove a third in his pie hole. After that, Don pointed at the door. “Out.”
Axel poked his head back around the corner. Johnny planted his feet. And Sean, while chewing on the eclair, glanced longingly at the oven just as the alarm went off with a persistent beep, beep, beep!
“That’s it,” Don said and marched to the living room. He pulled the yardstick he’d stored on top of the curio cabinet down and headed back to the kitchen. The boys saw it, and all three of them stumbled backward.
“Now, Grandpa, be reasonable,” Johnny stuttered as he crashed into the frame of the door.
“Don, good heavens!” Winnie cried.
Don hit the wall with the wooden stick, getting the loud slapping sound he was going for and Johnny and Sean both turned and ran.
Don reached the door and slammed it behind them. He took a deep breath and faced his friends.
Harry and Walt were chuckling along with Rosa and Samantha who was looking down at her lap to hide her face. The rest of the women didn’t seem that amused.
“Was that necessary?” Polly asked, signaling to the yardstick.
Nancy went to the oven, nudging Harry out of the way, and turned off the alarm, then pulled the cake out.
Don shrugged. “Hollow threat.” He’d swatted his grandkids on their bums a time or two when they were kids. Never very hard. The best part of a yardstick was that it looked scary because it was long. The sight of it alone was enough to get people behaving. Or moving . . . Don pointed at the door with it. “They left didn’t they?”
Rosa swatted a hand through the air. “That’s nothing. When my kids misbehave—” She whipped off her shoe. “I give them a whack or two with my zapato , and they start behaving inmediatamente .”
Don signaled to Rosa with an open hand, palm up, as if to say see ? He returned the yardstick to the curio cabinet, then came back to the table.
“How are you holding up?” Nancy asked in almost a whisper as she set the cake on the one open spot atop the stove and turned it off.
“Fine, fine.” Don picked up two of the cookie trays on the table and handed them to Walt, then picked up the third and handed it to Harry. Harry’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses.
Beneath the cookie sheets, was the murder board, or matchmaking board as everyone called it, that they normally had hanging up inside the conference room in The Palms Community Center. Don had spent hours last night refashioning it for his purposes. He may have added a few embellishments. But he’d had to. Sean was a special boy, and this mission was going to take a lot of work. Now more than ever Sean would need a woman in his life. It was the only way to save him from himself during this time.
Don pointed around at the sixty-seven photos of different women he’d taken pictures of here in Diamond Cove that he set up on the right side of the table, all with their stats on the back, ignoring the picture of Sean on the left. “This isn’t all of them,” he said. “I’ve still got another fifteen on my phone that need to be printed off.”
Samantha opened her tablet and took note.
A gasp sounded from somewhere across the table but Don didn’t bother to look.
“When did you take all of these pictures?” Winnie asked.
Now Don glanced up. “Yesterday.” There was no time for dillydallying now. It had only taken him eight hours and thirty-three minutes to get all these and another two to print them all off and set them up on his table. He hadn’t even stopped for lunch. A very productive day if he did say so himself.
Samantha pointed one dainty fingernail at the table. “What’s my picture doing on here?”
Don glanced down, and sure enough, there was Samantha’s lovely smiling face. Whoops. She wasn’t supposed to see that. With a rush, he grabbed up the photo. “Mistake. I have pictures of all you ladies in my phone.” He signaled around to the group of women, pointedly ignoring Harry and Walt. But his remark seemed to soften the women up substantially.
Rosa patted the side of Don’s face. “ Que lindo, amigo .”
“What about us?” Harry asked, picking up one of the chocolate-covered croissants from the cookie sheet on the stove and taking a bite.
Walt handed a tray to Polly, then grabbed a lemon bar from off the top of the refrigerator.
Don ignored Harry and waited for Walt to take a bite. “What do you think?”
Walt nodded. “Really good.” The bar left a smear of lemon in Walt’s mustache.
“I’ve never tried that recipe before,” Don said. He’d found the recipe in a shoebox in their closet. He still had at least a dozen more Sketchers shoeboxes of the like to go through.
Balancing the tray he still held, Walt gave him a thumbs up with the hand that held the now half-gone lemon bar.
“This isn’t healthy,” Polly said, signaling around.
“I’m not going to eat it all, woman,” Don snapped.
“That’s not what—”
Nancy gave an almost imperceptive shake of her head, and Polly quietened up, then Nancy pointed to the pictures. “So what’s all this?”
Rosa and Winnie were each gingerly picking through the photos.
“I didn’t know there were this many eligible women of this age group in Diamond Cove,” Winnie said with some awe in her voice.
“Me either,” Rosa chuckled.
Samantha pointed at another photo with a dainty, white-tipped nail. “Is that Rita?”
Don glanced down at the table, and sure enough, there was Rita, one of the high school interns who worked at The Palms. Don admitted a soft spot for the gal after he’d taught her to drive last year. What the heck was her photo doing there? He snatched that one up too.
“And Misty?” Samantha asked. Misty was The Palms’ Receptionist.
Don grabbed that one next. Nothing wrong with Misty, except that she was all wrong for Sean.
“I know it’s not officially my turn in the lineup, but Sean needs a woman. ASAP.” Don rested his hands on his hips, the rogue pictures still in his grasp. “He was close with his grandma, and he’s a caretaker to boot. He’s not handling this well. You saw how he was cramming those pastries in his face.”
“He’s not the only one not handling this well,” Polly said under her breath.
Harry shrugged. “Don’s just being productive.”
Don ignored his friends. “Sean’s coming to pieces. He needs us.” He glanced around the group. “This is what Amelia would want. So, what do you say?”
Nancy took a deep breath, and checked in with each of the members of the group. The men shrugged. Polly rolled her eyes and gave a resounding nod, then Rosa and Winnie did too. Then Nancy straightened her shoulders and turned to him. “Where would you like us to start?”
Warmth filled him for these wonderful people who always had his back; who would have his back now when he most needed it. “Let’s narrow down our candidates.”