Vicki Essex - A Recipe for Reunion

“He’s entitled to it. Blood is thicker than batter, and he’s Georgette’s grandson. Why, we’ll be lucky if the place doesn’t shut down after she kicks the bucket.”

“Mom!” Steph gasped.

“I don’t mean that in a mean way, dear. I don’t want to see her go any more than you do. Where else would we get our croissants?”

Stephanie set her teeth. Mom wasn’t shallow, but she did have a habit of trivializing bad things to avoid thinking about them. “Georgette’s not going to die. Not anytime soon.” Not before Steph could convince her to sell the bakery to her, and not for a long time after, either. Steph would take care of Georgette herself if it came down to it. She loved her as if she were her own grandmother.

“Everyone dies, dear. All the more reason to find a special someone and give me some grandchildren as soon as possible.”

Not this again. “Mom.” A headache gathered between Steph’s eyes. “I told you, I’m trying to find myself right now. I don’t want to be involved with anyone until I figure out who I am.” Thank God for daytime talk shows. One of the many Stop Controlling My Life! episodes had given her those words to practice.

“ I know who you are.” Helen’s sweet voice was tinged with a sour bite. “You’re my daughter. You’re a sweet, beautiful, kind, lovely young woman.”

“But I’m more than that. At least, I know I can be. I’ve spent too much time stuck in a rut. I want more.”

“Like living on your own in a tiny little apartment when you could be comfortable here at home?” Whenever Helen was miffed she made a noise through her nose that sounded like a pig whistling through a teakettle, as she did now. “I understand that you want to spread your wings, but wouldn’t it be better if you went away—on a trip? We could send you to Europe. Shake off your wanderlust before you decide to settle down. Maybe you’ll even meet someone abroad.”

Steph massaged her temples. Her mother had a one-track mind. “This isn’t about wanderlust.” They’d had this argument every time she’d called since moving out. After the reunion, she’d made it her mission to move on and up in life. Moving out of her parents’ house had been the first big step. “And I can’t settle down. Not right now.”

“Listen to me, baby. I thought the same thing when I was twenty-five. Your father and I were still young and we thought we had all the time in the world. But when we were ready for kids, we tried and tried... We wanted four kids, you know that?”

She closed her eyes. “I know, Mom.”

“It wasn’t until very late in the game that we finally had you. But there were complications. I was sick for weeks afterward, and the doctor said I couldn’t risk having any more children. I still thank God every day I have you, our perfect little angel.”

Every time Helen told this story guilt pooled in Steph’s gut. “That’s sweet of you to say, Mom, but—”

“You’re thirty , dear.” She made it sound like a curse. “Don’t you want to have kids?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then you need to think about that.” Her words were precise, final, loaded with prim admonishment.

Stephanie mouthed a curse at the ceiling. This was exactly why she’d needed to move out. Living at home, she’d accepted her mother’s wishes that she go forth and multiply as if that were her only purpose in life. And, for a while, she’d believed it. After Dale, she’d dated a lot, including men her parents had found for her, but no one had held her interest long enough to sound the wedding bells. Her Mom once had accused her of being picky, and they’d gotten into a big argument. That’d been around the same time Steph had started working for Georgette.

“You’re coming next weekend, aren’t you?” Helen asked, her tone switching back to honey-sweet.

“For Dad’s birthday party? Of course. Once all the morning baking’s done, Kira should be able to handle the counter. And Aaron will be there, I guess.” She grudgingly accepted that he’d take care of things at the bakery and make sure his grandmother got her rest. She’d almost canceled on her mom, but Georgette wouldn’t hear of her missing Terrence Stephens’s sixtieth birthday.

“Good. Because there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Steph suppressed a sigh. “You’re not trying to set me up again, are you?”

“You’ll like him,” Helen insisted. “You really will. He’s a rancher we met at the club last week—”

“I’ll come to the party, but don’t expect anything.” Steph would be polite, but she made no promises. She was determined to become the best Stephanie Stephens she could be, and for now, that meant no dating.

* * *

AARON RUBBED THE crust from his eyes, cursing the cold, dark February morning. Six o’clock was way too early to be up and driving, but he’d wanted the contractors to get the dining room sealed before the bakery opened at seven.

Only one other car was in the lot—a rather nice Mercedes mini SUV. As he got out of his Gran’s station wagon, his foot met a patch of ice. With a yelp, he snagged the door before he slid under the chassis, then regained his footing, cursing. The slick parking lot was a lawsuit waiting to happen. He’d have to take care of that.

Unlocking the door to Georgette’s, his mood was temporarily dispelled by the sweet smell of baking.

He inhaled, thinking of happier times. Mom and Dad taking him to visit his grandmother; carefully choosing the one treat he’d take home with him in the car—it was almost always a bran muffin, though he’d sometimes choose an oatmeal cookie; enjoying the long, winding drive out of Everville to see the fall colors...

His walk down memory lane came to an abrupt halt as he entered the kitchen and tripped on an open bag of flour. He managed to right it before it spilled onto the ground.

Steph glanced up from a mixing bowl. Her brassy hair was tied up in two pigtails, and a hairnet hung off them like a saggy black spiderweb. Her white apron was stained with smears of chocolate and batter, and there was a dusting of flour on her cheek, but she glowed with sunny cheer. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly. “Two cups of brown sugar.” He was confused for a moment as she emptied a measuring cup into a large bowl. “Watch your step, there.”

He grabbed the bag and dragged it out of his path. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked irately.

“Uh...baking? I’ve been here since four.”

Duh. Of course. He so wasn’t a morning person. “You didn’t salt the parking lot.”

Her smile faltered. “Huh?”

“The parking lot. It’s covered in black ice. I slipped out there. Could’ve broken my tailbone.”

The rays of happiness wreathing her face disappeared as if clouds had gathered around her. “A pound of butter,” she muttered as she dumped the cubes into the mixing bowl. She stirred, her arm working hard. “Sorry to hear that,” she said to him.

She wasn’t. And she wasn’t taking him seriously. Just another indication of how thoughtless and self-absorbed she was. She hadn’t changed a bit. “I’d appreciate it if you could have taken a minute to make sure other people weren’t getting hurt by your carelessness. If someone broke a leg out there—”

She slammed her spatula onto the worktable. “Look, if you’re not going to be helpful, I need you to get out of my way. I have a lot to bake still and I have three cake orders to fill today. You do what you need to do, but I don’t have time to deal with icy parking lots or whatever your problem is.”

For a moment, Aaron was shocked by her flash of temper. More surprising was the shame he felt. Barging in and acting like a tyrant wasn’t his style. He needed to get a grip.