Forgive and Forget (2 page)

At the mere mention of the young woman’s name, Donnie’s cheeks went pink and he shot back into the kitchen. Elsie was part of their motley trio, also eighteen and just as lanky as Donnie. She was a sweetheart and loved to fuss over Joe as much as Bea did. Donnie was goofy over her and everyone knew it; they were just waiting for Donnie to finish locating his backbone.

Someone called Joe’s name in a singsong voice, and he turned to Miss Rotherford, bowing politely at her table. Before he could open his mouth, she sprang out of her seat and flung her arms around him, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“That was the best pie I’ve ever tasted! And your shop is amazing! I’m having a little shindig in a few weeks, and I was hoping I could pay you to make some of your delicious pies. Everyone will just die!”

“I hope not,” Joe gasped in mock horror. “I’d never get any return customers.”

She giggled and slapped his arm playfully. “Oh, I knew you could bake, but I had no idea you were so charming.” Her boyfriend paid the bill before he helped her into her coat, still smiling brightly. “So, do you think you could whip up five of each pie for me?”

“Five of—” Joe choked. “That’s ninety pies!” He had expected a dozen or so, maybe even two dozen. His mind quickly went through the practicalities of it, thinking about how long he’d have to get the extra ingredients, the added expense, and how he would have to ask Elsie and Donnie to put in some extra hours. Sensing his hesitation, she opened her tiny purse and took out bill after bill, shoving them into his hand. It was more money than what twice that number of pies would cost, and he quickly attempted to give some of it back. The more he put back into her little purse, the more she shoved into his hand.

“Oh, no, please, Miss Rotherford, that’s not necessary…,” he began when Bea materialized like a ghoul from the mist. While his heart slowed to a more nonapoplectic pace, Bea took the money from his hands and stuffed it into her apron pocket, smiling brightly at the couple—which was more frightening than her ghostly reappearing act.

“Don’t you worry, Miss Rotherford. Joe’s just a little shy. Of course we’ll make those pies for you. Your party will be the talk of the town.”

“Fantastic! I can’t wait. I’ll have my assistant call with all the details. I’m going to have to keep everything locked up. If Father finds out, there won’t be anything left by the time the guests arrive! Thank you so much.” She squeezed Joe’s hands, and before a single word could escape his gaping mouth, they were gone. Elsie skipped in just as the couple left. His expression must have said it all, because she looked about ready to turn and make a run for it.

“Is everything all right?” She looked from him to Bea with big brown eyes.

“Fine,” Joe replied through his wide grin and gritted teeth. “Would you mind helping Donnie see to the shop? I need a word with Bea.” He turned to the iron maiden and bowed regally, motioning toward the kitchen. “After you, your majesty.”

Bea said nothing as she marched into the kitchen with Joe following quietly behind. Once they reached the back storage room, like a gunslinger from the Old West, Bea drew first.

“Don’t even think about it. I know why you were trying to turn down that job.” She pinned him with a stare that could quake Hades itself, but Joe wasn’t about to back down. Of course, Bea had no intention of letting him get a word in edgewise until she said her piece.

“And don’t you give me any baloney about not enough ovens or ingredients or whatnot. You were gonna say no ’cause that’s the biggest order we’ve had yet, and you’re afraid it won’t be up to snuff for all them rich folks. That’s a load of nonsense and you know it. You saw that girl’s face. She loves your pie. Her daddy loves your pie. What’s more, his whole office loves your pies. So, you’re gonna make those pies, same as you always do, everyone’ll love them, and soon you’ll need to hire more help because you don’t pay me enough to look after the place, cook, clean, babysit you and them two kids, and I swear if that boy keeps dissecting my pumpkins, I’m gonna knock him into next week!” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m done.”

Damn.
“Apparently, so am I,” he muttered. Once again, she’d fired first and hit him dead between the eyes. He never stood a chance.

“That’s what I thought.” Bea’s expression softened, and she brought Joe into a hearty embrace that left him struggling for breath. Sometimes—most of the time—it drove him nuts. But he knew everything she did was out of concern for him, so he couldn’t be too hard on her.

“Joe, you’re a good man. What’s wrong with letting anyone else besides me and the kids know it too, huh? How else are you gonna find yourself a nice man?”

“Oh no,” Joe groaned, shaking his head and gently pushing away from her. “We are not having the ‘you need a good man to take care of you’ conversation again, and we’re certainly not going to have it in the kitchen. I’m a grown man, Bea. I can take care of myself just fine. You don’t see me trying to fix you up with every old codger that walks in here.”

“Well, maybe you should.” An unsavory twinkle came into her lively eyes, making Joe take an instinctive step back. “I could use a good man to keep me warm at night, rubbing my feet, getting cozy….”

“Oh, dear God. Stop, please.” Joe shuddered at the images that stampeded into his head. Thankfully, they fled when Bea whacked him in the arm.

“Don’t be such a prude. That’s probably why you ain’t got no man keeping you warm. Lord knows enough of them try.”

Unfortunately, that was also true. On a daily basis there were plenty of guys dropping subtle hints, and some not so subtle. He supposed it had something to do with that age-old expression about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach. As much as he wouldn’t mind having someone to keep him warm—as Bea put it—he just couldn’t find it in him to accept any offers, or even flirt back. The fear of losing what had taken him so long to rebuild was too great. He’d tried once. Thought he’d found his happily ever after. It had cost him dearly. He wouldn’t take that chance again. His heart couldn’t take it.

“Joe, you’re a good-looking man, what with all that pretty blond hair and those gorgeous eyes. Like the ocean, that one man said, remember? Not to mention strong and strapping. Plus, you have a mighty fine ass.”

Joe’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to cover his ass with his apron. “Please tell me you don’t go around looking at my butt, because I think I just might be sick. And don’t call my hair pretty. Men don’t have pretty hair. You wouldn’t tell Russell Crowe he’s got pretty hair.” Then again, this was Bea they were talking about. Her eyes lit up, and Joe backed away slowly.

“Oh, now there’s some meat you can sink your teeth into.”

Joe studied the apron in his hands, and nodded absently as Bea prattled on about the handsome actor. Wrapping the two sashes around his neck, he slowly pulled on the ends.

“He’s about your age, isn’t he? Thirty-three or somethin’?”

“I don’t know how old he is,” Joe replied casually, still pulling on the sashes. “I’m thirty-eight. Thank you for remembering.” Then again, she
had
written “Congratulations on turning 40!” on his birthday cake a few months ago. He’d initially believed she meant it as a cruel joke. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Bea laughed and patted his back so heartily it almost sent him staggering. “I’m just pullin’ your leg, Joe. Of course I know how old you are. If you start thinking I’m going senile, I’m gonna whack you one.”

Joe let out an indelicate snort. “Like you need an excuse.”

Taking the sashes from him, she unwound them from his neck, shaking her head in amusement. “I’m just saying, honey. You’re quite a catch, and they know it. It’s about time you knew it too. Not everyone’s gonna be like that jackass, Blake. Hell, his name alone should have been enough to warn you off.”

Joe cringed. “I thought we decided never to speak of him again?” He was
not
going to think about Blake. Goddammit, now he was thinking about Blake. Bea wrapped him back up in her embrace, petting his hair, and he let out a resigned sigh. Arguing with Bea was like stepping in quicksand. The more you struggled, the quicker you sank.

“You can’t let him ruin your chances of being happy, Joe. Don’t spend your life alone because of that ass. He didn’t deserve you.”

“I’m not alone,” Joe said with a smile. He rubbed his face against Bea’s shoulder, purring like a cat. “I got you, and I already know how you feel about my butt.” He pulled away and dodged another smack, laughing as he ran back out into the safety of his shop.

“Everything okay?” Donnie asked, his brows drawn together in concern.

“Yeah.” Joe grinned and leaned over, whispering loud enough for most of the place to hear. “Keep an eye on your butt. Bea’s on the prowl.”

The look of sheer terror that crossed Donnie’s face was too much, and Joe doubled over with laughter. Bea came out to see what all the fuss was about, and when Joe couldn’t answer on account of being too busy guffawing, she looked over at Donnie. The kid flew from the room like it was on fire, and Joe ended up leaning on the counter for support. The rest of the place erupted into laughter, and Bea looked around as if everyone had just lost their marbles. Maybe they had. Joe had that sort of effect on people.

“WELL,
that was some mighty fine work, partners.” Joe waved good-bye to the last customer before turning the shop’s sign around to declare the end of another good day. “Donnie, bring the garbage around, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Joe headed to the front door beyond the counter, and a few minutes later, Donnie returned dragging two large black bags behind him. He really needed to start feeding the kid some more meat and potatoes. The squirt couldn’t lift a dust bunny. Joe grabbed the bags from him and carried them the rest of the way to the front door and outside onto the sidewalk. Once inside, he locked the front door and headed for the side door to check on the garden between his shop and the fancy shoe boutique next door. It was a strange spot for a memorial garden. Decades ago, before the boutique was a boutique, it was a fancy hat shop owned by Mrs. Lowe. Although the shop had been sold long ago, Mrs. Lowe still owned the building, along with the garden she had made in honor of her late father, who’d died during World War II. Although there was an iron gate at the front that remained closed, as well as one at the back, sometimes kids would sneak in to make out or get up to things they shouldn’t be getting up to, so Mrs. Lowe asked Joe to keep an eye on it for her since getting around had become difficult after her hip replacement. Joe didn’t mind. When he needed a little break he would sit out here on the stone bench and just enjoy the trees and flowers. It was also where his fire escape was.

They had been busy from open until close, and thanks to Bea, they’d gotten the Rotherford order. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He’d never catered a party before. If it was a success, he might have to listen to Bea and think about hiring more help. If things went really well, there was plenty of room in the back kitchen for an extra oven or two, and if he sacrificed some of his savings, he’d be able to manage without too much damage to his finances. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but a bit more space, new furniture, more staff….

The question was, could he do it? He’d thought about having a bigger place once, with a bakery inside. That had been before everything had fallen apart, including him. His business had been steadily growing over the years, and with the economy being what it was, more people than ever needed somewhere affordable to eat, and Joe’s shop fit the bill.

Jesus, what the hell was he thinking? His shop had barely changed in fifteen years. He was nearly forty. Was he really going to start taking such risks now?

Outside in the garden he noticed the place was a whole lot darker than usual. The black iron stairs leading up to his apartment were shrouded in shadows thanks to the burned-out bulb underneath it. Great.

“Donnie, grab me a bulb and the ladder, please. Damn wiring’s blown out the lights again.” He heard Donnie’s “okay” and went to check the gate to make sure it was still secure. He picked up a few pieces of stray litter, grumbling to himself. This was the third time in two weeks he’d had to replace the damn bulbs.

Seconds later, Donnie scurried out and set the ladder in place for him. “I thought Pete fixed it?”

“Me too.” Seemed every time Pete fixed one thing, another broke. Joe handed the litter to Donnie and was about to climb up the ladder when he heard a low wheezing sound. He froze. “Did you hear that?”

Donnie listened, then shook his head, but Joe had definitely heard something. He stared down at the damp ground and listened. This time the sound was louder, coming from the shadows farther down the garden. He glanced over at Donnie, and the kid’s bulging eyes told him he’d heard it too. Making quick work of changing the bulb, Joe swore under his breath. The light didn’t quite extend to the far end, but there was enough illumination between it and the moon where he could just about make out various shapes through the shrubbery.

“What do you think it is?” Donnie whispered.

Joe rolled his eyes as Donnie’s breath tickled the back of his neck. “You get any closer and you’ll be piggyback riding.”

“Sorry,” Donnie said sheepishly, backing away.

“It’s probably just a cat.”
Please let it be a cat and not a couple of horny teens getting it on.
Joe slowly edged toward the darkness with Donnie once again breathing down his neck, though Joe imagined the kid’s bout of courage had more to do with Elsie watching from the doorway rather than any desire for derring-do. He listened closely for more sounds, but aside from those of the city and Donnie’s breathing, he heard nothing. Then he saw it: a big, dark lump on the ground, highlighted by the soft glow of the moon. Whatever it was, it was moving. Just about. “Jesus, it’s a person.”

“Maybe we should leave him, Joe. It’s probably just some homeless guy who’s had too much to drink.”

“That’s no better. We can’t just leave some passed-out drunk in Mrs. Lowe’s garden.” Joe carefully inched closer until he stood over the figure curled up into a tight ball. “Expensive-looking leather jacket for a homeless guy. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen a lot of homeless walking around in leather biker boots, either.” He crouched down and shifted one side of the man’s black jacket. “Designer too.”