Vicki Essex - A Recipe for Reunion

She had no choice. She had to talk to Georgette. Aaron would ruin the business with these plans of his, and it was up to Stephanie to stop him.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, exactly?” Georgette peered up at Aaron over her plate of spaghetti.

“I just want to know if you’ve ever noticed any discrepancies at the register.” There was no way to broach the topic lightly. He was concerned by what he’d seen today. The till had been short nearly fifty dollars, and the ledgers for the past two months showed a steady decline in revenue. How was Gran keeping up with the bills?

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, cutting her noodles with her spoon. Aaron had noticed she had a little difficulty chewing—he’d have to ask the doctor about that at her next appointment.

“So you’re always short at the till?” he prodded.

“Short, over, both. It all works out in the end.” She shrugged. “I assume it’s simply my old eyes counting wrong.”

“Does Steph ever count the till?”

“Occasionally. She certainly would’ve while I’ve been away.”

From what he’d seen, the same pattern had emerged, with tills under and over by some amount at closing time, but made up for the next day. The receipts roughly matched the takings by week’s end, though, so at least they weren’t dealing with sticky fingers...he hoped.

It wasn’t as if Stephanie needed the money—her family was filthy stinking rich. If she was stealing, it had to be for the thrill of it. Somehow, that didn’t strike him as Steph’s style, but what did he know?

“How did your meetings with the contractors go?” Georgette asked, changing the subject.

“Good. I’ve decided to go with Ollie White. He gave the best rate, and he seems like an upstanding guy.”

“Ollie’s good,” Georgette agreed. “But I do wish you’d considered hiring Jimmy Tremont.”

“Gran, he’s not a licensed contractor.” She’d brought him up when Aaron had started talking renos. The guy had lost his job at a processing plant last month. “I’m not paying some random guy for a big job like this.”

Georgette moved the food around her plate demurely. “He’s hit hard times, Aaron. We try to help each other out around here.”

“He’s not even insured. And I’d end up paying him under the table.”

“But you’d keep food on his family’s table,” she said, studiously eating her cut-up spaghetti.

Aaron sighed. Gran was a softie, taking in strays and playing patron saint to the hungry and down-on-their-luck. Not that he didn’t appreciate her generous spirit—he’d been one of those poor lost souls once. “I’ll see if there are any small jobs he can handle,” he said. He’d already planned to do the painting himself: Jimmy could help him with that and a few other finishing touches.

“By the way, Stephanie called me. She was concerned about how the renovations would affect business. She’s worried about the mess it would make.”

“I’ve already consulted Ollie about this. He even talked to Ben, the health inspector in town. We can keep the bakery open. Everything’s going to be isolated in the dining room. As long as we seal it off and keep a ventilation fan pointed outside, we should be fine. Knocking down the dividing wall and tearing up the flooring will take less than a day. It’s the electrical and drywall and finishing touches that take time.”

“It takes weeks for plaster dust to settle, Aaron. Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited for this project of yours, and I wouldn’t think of stopping you. But...I’m hoping you’ll reassure Stephanie.”

Aaron stuffed a forkful of noodles in his mouth and chewed to hide the tick in his cheek. “She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“She’s a sensitive girl. She doesn’t handle change easily.”

Well, that’s too bad. But he knew it was unfair to be so coldhearted. Gran liked her and had hired her, and that should be enough for him to at least give her a chance.

Privately, he admitted he’d been rude to her. Not because of what she’d done to him in high school, and not because he suspected she was costing his grandmother hundreds if not thousands of dollars. It was because her very presence upset his equilibrium. Made him lose focus. As far as he could tell, she was still the same girl she’d been in high school: flaky, flighty and so self-centered that she was oblivious to what was going on around her.

And he was still attracted to her. It made no sense. At all.

She wasn’t his type—not anymore. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for her. But the line between grudge and the burning regret that accompanied unrequited love was blurring rapidly. He hated that her reappearance in his life should give rise to such angst.

He was a grown man, dammit. And he had adult things to take care of.

“I’ll talk to Stephanie,” he said shortly.

“Good. It means a lot to me that you’re both trying so hard to keep the bakery going. Your grandfather would be proud.” She put her spoon down carefully. “I think I’m done here.”

“You barely ate.”

“I haven’t had much appetite.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably the medications.”

He frowned. “When’s your next appointment? I’ll go with you and we can ask the doctor to switch your prescription.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear. You need to focus on this book business.”

“No, I need to focus on you . The bookstore is second. Anyhow, once the renos begin, I can’t do much on-site. I’ll be contacting publishers and ordering inventory, but I can do that from home.” When Georgette looked as if she was going to argue, he said, “I’m your grandson. You took care of me. Let me take care of you, okay?”

She patted his arm with a rueful twist of the lips. “You’re a good boy, Aaron.”

Not good enough if he couldn’t keep Gran happy and healthy and make sure the bakery survived.

* * *

“AARON CARUTHERS...” Helen Stephens drew the name out over the phone later that week as if it were taffy. “No, I can’t honestly say I remember him. Did he come to your graduation party?”

“It wasn’t a grad party, it was an end-of-school party.” Despite the fact that she hadn’t graduated with the rest of her class, her parents had let her throw the bash anyhow, complete with a DJ, catering and decorations. They’d even bought the beer kegs. The football team and cheerleaders had had a wild night, vomiting everywhere but in the toilet and breaking one of Mom’s favorite vases. Helen hadn’t been that upset. She’d just wanted her only daughter to be happy. “Aaron definitely wasn’t there.”

“Are you sure? There were so many kids I couldn’t keep their names straight.”

“Trust me, Mom, he wasn’t there.” Back then, Steph wouldn’t have been caught dead inviting someone like Aaron to her party. He’d been one of those nerdy, intense kids who nobody had understood whenever he’d opened his mouth. She was seriously regretting not being nicer to him now.

“In any case, it doesn’t sound like he’s doing anything unreasonable. He left his life behind to take care of his grandmother. That’s quite a sacrifice for a man to make.”

“But he’s taking over ,” she said, an exasperated whine pitching her voice. She cut herself off ruthlessly, pressing a fist against her lips. At the moment she was a particular kind of frustrated—the kind that couldn’t be placated with a few kind words—and she was having a hard time communicating that to her mother. “I’ve worked there five years. I’m the one who knows how everything works. I’m the one who knows all of Georgette’s recipes. He’s been there a week and he acts like he owns the place.”