Amie Denman - Under The Boardwalk

Gus went out front and sat next to the wagon on the sunny sidewalk. She’d hoped the wrought-iron table and chairs in front of her window would attract people in need of a coffee and pastry break. But today she was the only person taking advantage. The life of a baker meant early mornings followed by long days on her feet. She stretched her legs and rested her back against the front wall of the building whose mortgage kept her up at night. What had she been thinking? And now her brilliant idea to bolster her immediate cash flow meant she’d divide her time between her bakery and her business venture at Starlight Point.

She groaned. Betty woke up, nose twitching, and licked Gus’s hand. “I’ll have to wash that later,” Gus told Betty. “Who knows where your tongue has been?” She scratched the dog’s ears.

Betty licked her palm once more as a long shadow crossed the sidewalk. Gus glanced up. Way up. The kayaker who liked cookies stood over her. He looked even better in the daylight. And in a button-down oxford with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Betty leaped from the wagon and put her paws on the man’s knees. He picked her up, ruffling her furry face and ears.

“I’m guessing you and Betty have met before,” Gus observed.

“We’re old friends.”

“You have a lot in common,” Gus said. “She’s tempted by my cookies, too, and I’ve caught her trying to steal one.”

“Still haven’t forgiven me?”

Gus shrugged and smiled. “I was never mad in the first place. I make sweets, people eat them. Sometimes they even pay me. I’m hoping to build a business on that idea.”

He glanced at her apron. “Are you taking a break right now?”

She pointed over her shoulder. “Aunt Augusta’s in charge at the moment.”

He leaned close to the window, looked in and waved. Turning back to Gus, he bent and placed Betty in the wagon.

“You know my aunt?” Gus asked.

“Nope, but I know my mother. I told her I’d pick her up downtown after she delivered her notes.”

Betty settled in with a sigh and put her nose on the edge of the wagon where she could see everything, including the door of the shop.

“Since I’m pretty sure we’re not cousins, there’s only one explanation,” Gus said. “If Virginia is your mother, and Betty loves you like family, you must be—”

“Jack Hamilton,” he said, extending one large sun-browned hand.

So the impatient kayaker who drove an ancient SUV was the new owner of Starlight Point? Of course she knew about his father’s sudden death a few weeks ago—the whole area had been shocked that such a relatively young man had been taken by a heart attack. She had met Ford Hamilton twice to discuss the contract for the three bakeries she would lease at Starlight Point this summer. In her downtown bakery, there had been a lot of speculation about the future of the amusement park, but the counter talk focused on the twenty-six-year-old son who was ready to step in.

Gus had returned to Bayside only last fall to put down roots, but her aunt and Jack’s mother were old acquaintances. Although Gus had seen Virginia a number of times over the winter, she hadn’t met any of the three Hamilton children.

Until now.

Gus took Jack’s hand and pulled herself up. A rush of endorphins whirled through her like a scrambler ride. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe she’d stood up too fast. She held on to his hand.

“Augusta Murphy,” she said. “Most people call me Gus.”

“Why?”

“When I was young, it was because Gus is a much cuter name than Augusta. These days, I think it’s so I don’t get confused with Aunt Augusta.”

“Who would make that mistake?” he said, grinning and keeping a firm grip on her hand. He inclined his head toward the door of the shop. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for ruining your cookie experiment?”

“My experiment failed anyway,” she said. “I ate the rest of the cookies Saturday night while I watched the TV shows I’d recorded all week.”

“All baking and cooking channels?” he asked.

“Nope. I only watch comedies and reality shows that are nothing like actual reality. I can’t take television seriously.”

“What do you take seriously?” he asked.

“Birthday cake.”

He nodded. “Cake can make or break a good party.”

“Cake is the star of every birthday party and wedding,” she said. “It’s the guest of honor.”

Gus smiled, liking the way the sun picked up the lighter brown in Jack’s dark hair. He smiled back. At that moment, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through the hair that waved away from his high forehead.

“Jack,” Virginia said as she came out the shop door. “I see you’ve met the most talented lady in Bayside.” Virginia turned to Gus. “He’s had a love affair with sugar since he could walk. Used to drive the bakery vendor at the Point nuts all summer.”

“He did steal one cookie,” Gus said. “Right out of my van.”

“I’m not surprised,” Virginia replied. “He couldn’t help himself, I’m sure. You have to admit, you’ve got baking in your blood. I was just talking to your aunt about having you be the STRIPE sergeant this summer.”

Aunt Augusta stood in the doorway behind Virginia, hands held out in a gesture of innocence, eyes huge.

“STRIPE?” Gus asked, raising an eyebrow at Jack.

“You don’t want to know,” he said, leaning close to her as his mother turned to say goodbye to Aunt Augusta. “But whatever she asks you to do, I suggest you say no.” He wrinkled his brow and leaned back, cocking his head. “Wait a minute. Are you working at Starlight Point this summer?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know? I...”

Virginia sailed between them, took Jack’s arm with one hand and grabbed the wagon’s handle with the other. Jack stared at Gus as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle, but his mother’s momentum tugged him away.

“We’ll talk,” Virginia said over her shoulder. “Later. I need a strong woman for my mission.”

Betty’s sleepy glance lingered on Gus as she rode in the wagon behind Virginia and Jack Hamilton. Jack turned and looked back, too, and Gus wondered what it would be like to see him every day at Starlight Point.

CHAPTER THREE

GUS PARKED IN front of her bakery on the Starlight Point midway. The wide concrete avenue had snack and souvenir shops down both sides with skyway cars running overhead. A few rides and a theater were mixed in among the shops, most notably a historic carousel right in front of her bakery’s new pink awning.

The back of the van, usually outfitted for transporting wedding cakes, held three large convection ovens. One for each of the bakeshops Gus was leasing for the summer. She had another location in the Wonderful West and one in the Lake Breeze Hotel.

Last year the Point’s baker retired only weeks before Gus came home to Bayside. It seemed like a sign from the baking universe that she should make the leap. Now, though, with the sudden death of Ford Hamilton, she needed to get the paperwork in order to confirm the verbal contract they’d negotiated. Not usually the nervous sort, Gus wondered what changes Jack Hamilton might make.

She opened her van doors and stared at the ovens, hands on hips. She glanced at the side door of her bakery.

“How are you planning to unload all that?” The newly familiar voice sent a ripple through her.

Gus had wondered the same thing. Optimism could only get a girl so far. She needed muscle.

And Jack appeared to have plenty of it.

“I’m taking suggestions,” she said. She could use all the help she could find. Getting three bakeshops equipped, staffed, supplied and running in the next ten days would be as easy as teaching a cat to shave.