Vicki Essex - A Recipe for Reunion

He was talking about her job. It was almost a relief to hear after their intense relationship talk. He wasn’t even being condo... condescending . And his advice made sense.

A little salt to bring out the sweetness—that was something Georgette had taught her early on when it came to baking. “Thanks. That’s helpful, actually.”

“I’m glad. I’ll let you think about that,” he said, then flashed a grin. “But I suspect you’ll see more of me soon.”

He went back indoors, leaving her alone on the deck once more. Steph’s chills deepened. She started to pull the sweater around her, but then stopped herself. She took it off and headed back into the party.

The rancher was right. She had to make things happen for herself. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted by wishing for it. Everything came at a price, and she had to be willing to pay it. It looked as though she was going to have to eat crow if she was ever going to own Georgette’s.

CHAPTER SIX

“MRS. LAWLER CALLED and said the chocolate chip cookies she ordered on Friday weren’t the ones we usually sell.” Georgette’s tone over the phone had all the pointedness of an awl gouging into Aaron’s good intentions.

He broke out in a sweat, pressing himself into the office chair as if he could disappear in the crumb-filled seams of the vinyl upholstery. He’d tried to keep this conversation from happening since Stephanie had left two days ago, but his time and luck had run out. “I know. I used a different recipe.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Gran asked sharply.

“We were out of cookies. I had to whip up something I could make—”

“But those aren’t Georgette’s cookies. People don’t come to the bakery to get something they can make from an online recipe.”

“I know, I know.” He hadn’t thought his cookies had turned out that bad, even if they were a little hard and lacked the smooth, melt-in-your-mouth texture his grandmother’s were famous for.

He hadn’t had time to make another batch, though. All day Friday and well into the evening he’d thrown together recipes from the internet to fill the standing orders while Kira took care of the customers out front. By Saturday, all the premade pastries and batters had been used up and he found himself saying, “Sorry, we’re sold out” more often than “Thank you. Come again.”

Worse yet, he hadn’t been able to get the recipe binder from the safe—Gran had changed the code, and he couldn’t ask her for it without telling her why. Now they were almost completely out of stock, and he was scrambling to prep inventory for Monday. Flour dusted his running shoes and batter was caked on his jeans. He ached head to toe, and the lack of sleep after only two days was taking its toll.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t ask Stephanie to make more cookies.” Georgette waited for his explanation, and Aaron finally relented with a sigh.

“Stephanie quit on Friday.”

“Yes. I know. ”

He sank deeper into the chair. He hadn’t really expected to keep such a huge secret in small-town Everville, but he’d hoped... “So you heard.”

“Betty told me when she came for tea yesterday. She said Stephanie stormed out in quite a mood. I thought I’d wait to hear the truth from you.” Every word lashed him with razor-sharp reproof. “How long were you planning to keep it from me?”

“I didn’t think you needed to know. I can handle it. You should be resting and recovering.”

“Don’t give me that,” she snapped. “That is my business, Aaron. I’m grateful that you want to take care of things. I put a lot of faith in you, waiting as long as I have to see how you’d solve this problem. But I told you from the start, didn’t I? You need Stephanie. You were supposed to work together .”

“Things didn’t work out.”

His grandmother’s stony silence on the other end of the line told him that was not a satisfactory explanation.

“And what, exactly, are you going to do for inventory?” she asked.

“Well, since renos are happening anyhow, we could close up for a week or two. It’ll give me time to interview for a replacement baker.”

“A replacement?” She said it as if he’d proposed they grind bones for flour. “Absolutely not!”

“Gran, be reasonable.”

“You don’t understand. I trained Stephanie. I trusted her with my secrets. I’m not going to hand over my recipes willy-nilly to some stranger. We’ve no guarantee they won’t take everything they’ve learned and start their own bakeshop in town.”

“You didn’t have that guarantee with Stephanie,” he pointed out.

He could almost feel her imperious glare through the handset. “Loyalty isn’t something you can teach, Aaron. It’s bred into you. Stephanie would’ve stayed if I’d asked her to.”

Would she have? Aaron wasn’t so sure. He’d been rude and downright patronizing toward her. He hadn’t meant to insult her. He simply couldn’t stand it when things were left unfinished.

One credit. That was all she’d needed. And he’d made a huge deal of it instead of dropping it and appreciating what she could do. Like keep the bakery in business.

Boy, had he ever screwed this up. He never would have anticipated Steph quitting over his stupid comments. He wanted to blame her for being overly sensitive and taking his words too personally. He’d only meant to be helpful, after all. Making suggestions that would increase efficiency and cut costs had served him well in his old job, but that tactic didn’t work here. Steph was a person, not a business. She’d taken his criticism personally because it was personal. And he’d completely disregarded her pride.

He heard something thump on the other end of the line. “I’ll have to come in tomorrow morning to fill the orders.”

“Gran, you should be resting.”

“I can’t relax knowing my bakery is falling apart and my customers aren’t happy. I’m likely to have another stroke worrying and not doing anything about it.”

“Your blood pressure’s still too high. What if you fall or hurt yourself? You can’t lift all those heavy bowls and sacks of flour on your own.”

“And you can’t bake to save your life,” she shot back. “Listen to this. You hear it?” There was a loud tapping noise on the other end of the line. “Those are the cookies you sold Mrs. Lawler. God forbid I let you fill Monday’s orders. I may be old and my brain might be weary, but I still remember I’ll need to make three pies for Bartlett’s, two cakes for Sealy’s Bistro, and a flan for Mrs. Hendrick’s birthday. Do you know how to make flan?”

Aaron conceded that he did not.

“I’m going to bed now,” Georgette said waspishly. “I’ve an early start tomorrow, and you’re going to drive me to work.” She hung up, her anger and disappointment echoing in his ears.

He rested his head in his hands. He was supposed to be making Gran’s life easier, but instead he’d made a mess.

Kira appeared at his office door. “Hey, Aaron?”

“What’s up?”

Her fingers curled around the door frame. “Something’s come up. Would it be okay if I left early?”

He frowned. “I really need you here, Kira. What’s so important that you have to leave right now?”

“Family emergency.” She glanced at her toes. “Please, I really have to go. I’m sorry.”

The anxious look on her face said she wasn’t kidding around, so he waved her off. They were closing soon and no one was coming in anyhow. She thanked him and dashed out, backpack slung over one shoulder, her hairnet still clinging to her head.

He rubbed his temples. If Gran wasn’t going to trust her recipes to a replacement baker, he didn’t have any choice. He needed to get Stephanie back. He had a feeling it would cost him more than his ego, though.