The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (124 page)

Stef nudged Brooke with her elbow and tilted her head in the direction of the young man at the table. “What’d I tell you? Does he look like he needs a fork?”

The cupcake was almost gone.

“But we do need to decide on a selling price,” Stef reminded her.

After a few moments of discussion, they came to an agreement.

“I really appreciate this,” Brooke said as she snapped the lid back onto her empty carrier.

“Don’t mention it.” Stef waved her off. “I think it’s great for my shop to offer a little nibble with the ice cream. I’ve been thinking about bringing in coffee and tea for the after-dinner crowd. Of course, now that the weather has cooled, I’m closing at seven at night, so there won’t be too many of those.”

“How was it?” Brooke asked the young man at the table who’d just finished his cupcake.

“It really kicked.” He nodded appreciatively. “Seriously good stuff.”

“Great. Glad you liked it.” Brooke grinned. “Now go tell your friends.”

“Sure thing,” he told her, “but I think I’ll take a few to go. Maybe one of those pretty ones with the flower on it for my girlfriend. The pink one. And maybe another chocolate one.”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll bag them for you.” Stef turned to Brooke and whispered, “What did I tell you?”

“You do know your people,” Brooke agreed, and made a mental note to order some small boxes. She had ordered the larger ones, some to hold a half dozen and bigger ones that could contain a dozen, but smaller ones, for individual sales, would be nice. And she’d have to come up with a logo for the top of the boxes.

She noted the time on the clock over the door. “I need to get going. I was going to stop at Lola’s and at Cuppachino to see if either would be interested in putting my cupcakes on their menu.”

“I’m betting they will. Lola hasn’t had a really good pastry chef since Renée left, and Carlo is getting his muffins from some commercial bakery and he’s never really been totally happy with them.”

“Well, then, I’m on my way.” Brooke nabbed her shoulder bag by the strap. “Wish me luck.”

“Of course.” Stef leaned against the counter.

Brooke waved good-bye to the young man at the table and took off for her car. She was running a little later than she’d planned, but if she hurried—and didn’t stop to talk to anyone else—she’d be able to make all her stops and still get to school on time.

She moved her car to Charles Street and, as she
feared, found no empty parking places, forcing her to park on one of the side streets. She grabbed one container of her samples and dashed to the corner, crossed at the light, and stepped into the elegance of Lola’s Café, where the lunch crowd was just beginning to trickle in.

“Hi, Jimmy,” Brooke greeted the host.

“Hello, Brooke. Nice to see you.” The elderly gentleman had worked for Lola for thirty years and knew everyone who’d ever passed through their doors.

“Jimmy, is Lola here, by any chance?” Brooke scanned the room for the owner, a woman in her nineties, who still ran the business, and from all indications, ran it well.

“She’ll be a little late getting in today,” he told her. “Would you like to leave a message for her?”

Brooke held up the container and explained the reason for her stop. She popped off the lid to show off her wares.

“My, they do look luscious.” Jimmy’s eyes lit up and he reached for the container. “Now, you just leave them here with me. I’ll be sure to pass them on to the boss.”

“Can I trust you not to eat all of them?” Brooke teased.

“I promise I will not eat them all. I cannot promise not to sample one. Or two.”

“Go for it.” Brooke handed him the container. “Enjoy.”

“I imagine I will.” With a smile, he patted the container. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from Lola before too long.” He paused before adding, “That woman has a fierce sweet tooth, you know that, right?”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Brooke waved and stepped aside to allow a small group of diners to enter before she went out through the door. Once outside, she hurried back to her car to pick up the remaining container of cupcakes and practically ran back to Charles Street with them. She again crossed the street and went directly to Cuppachino, where she noted a group of local merchants seated at a large table facing the picture window that looked out onto Charles.

“Hi, guys,” she called to the locals.

“Hey, Brooke,” several voices responded.

Brooke looked around the coffee shop for Carlo, the owner. Locating him near the very end of the counter, she waved as she approached him.

“Carlo,” she greeted. “Do you have a minute.”

“A minute, yes,” he told her. “I’m short a person on the counter today.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should come back …”

“You’re here now. There was something you wanted to see me about?” He gestured for her to get to the point.

She did.

“So show me what you got,” he said impatiently.

Carlo’s eyebrows rose when she removed the lid from her carrying case. He scanned the contents.

“What have we here?” he asked.

Brooke told him.

He picked a cupcake from the container, peeled back its paper cup, and took a bite.

“Uh-huh. Very nice flavor. Uh-huh. Very nice.” He nodded. “You made these?”

“Yes.”

“How many of these can you make for me?”

“How many would you need?”

“First week, probably three, four dozen to start. Maybe a dozen, dozen and a half every other day.”

“I can do that.”

“Good, good.” Carlo grabbed a napkin from the counter and touched it to the corners of his mouth. “On second thought, bring me two dozen for tomorrow, let’s see how they go. Have them here by seven
A.M
. Do something to mark them so we know the flavors. What are we charging?”

She told him what Steffie was charging, and he nodded. “That’s a fair price.”

“And you can let me know what you’d like to keep for carrying them,” she said.

“You just starting?” he asked. “You’re planning on making a business, right?”

“Right.”

“I know what it’s like to start a business, get a break here and there. We’ll sell these for you and give you a break, turn over whatever we take in, okay? Maybe someday you’ll name a cupcake after me. The Carlo.” He winked at her.

“Carlo, that’s very nice of you, but—”

“No
buts
. I gotta get back to work. Go home, start baking. I’ll look for you in the morning.” He grabbed one more cupcake off the tray, then called to one of his employees. “Rachel, I want you to put these cupcakes in the front case and then give Brooke back her container.”

Without another word, Carlo turned his back and went into his kitchen through a swinging door.

Brooke popped the lid back on the case and turned to go, and walked right into Grace Sinclair.

“Oh, Miss Grace!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“My fault, dear,” Grace said. “I came up behind you without paying attention to how close I was. I had my eye on that tray of goodies Rachel just put into the display case.” Grace got a little closer to the glass. “Of course, they’re yours. You made something similar for Dallas’s party. They were certainly delicious. And you’re selling them here now?”

Brooke quickly explained the arrangement and tried not to look at the clock. She knew she’d be late for class if she didn’t leave now, but she couldn’t bring herself to be rude to Grace, who was everyone’s favorite seventysomething lady in town.

“Well, you’re certain to be a success. We haven’t had a decent bakery here in town since …” Grace paused and appeared to think. “Frankly, I don’t think we ever had a really good baker in St. Dennis. That new place doesn’t do it for me. And frankly”—she leaned closer to Brooke—“I don’t think they’re going to make it. Apparently they aren’t doing it for anyone else around here either. So the field is wide open, dear. Now’s a good time to make your move.”

“From your lips, Miss Grace.”

“Yes, well, after you get a few weeks under your belt, we’ll do an interview for my paper. Get some customer feedback to go along with it. Nothing like word of mouth.” Grace patted Brooke on the arm. “And speaking of which, I think I’ll try one with my tea. Which do you recommend?”

“All of them,” Brooke replied. “But I know you’re partial to fruity things, so you might try either the lemon, the strawberry, or the pineapple coconut.”

“Oh, the lemon.” Grace motioned to Rachel. “I think we need to put some little index cards out here, pass them out with the cupcakes so people can leave their comments.”

“Grace, that’s an excellent idea. I wish I’d thought to do that.”

“Like I said, dear, nothing like word of mouth.” Grace searched her bag for her wallet.

Seeing an opening, Brooke smiled and said, “I’m off to class now. Enjoy your cupcake.”

“I loved the ones you had at Dallas’s,” Grace told her. “I’m sure this will be just as good.”

“I hope you think so.” Brooke bolted toward the door, and hurried across the street.

Vanessa stepped out from Bling’s front door and waved. “Hey, Brooke. I put a few dresses aside that I think you might like for Saturday.”

“No time now. I’ll be back later,” Brooke called back. “I have to get to class.”

“I’ll be here,” Vanessa assured her.

Back in her car, Brooke took a deep breath. She didn’t dare stop to compute how many cupcakes she’d have to bake, frost, and decorate by tomorrow morning. She’d worry about that later. Right now she just wanted to savor the feeling that someone—
several
someones—had agreed to sell her cupcakes. She’d taken her first orders. The cupcakes she’d made for Dallas’s party had been a gift and therefore didn’t count. These cupcakes—the ones she’d make for Steffie and for Carlo and hopefully for Lola—were stepping-stones that would, hopefully, in time, lead to that little shop she’d been dreaming of.

Next stop, school. After class, she’d stop at Bling,
try on the dresses Vanessa had put aside for her for the party, then she’d run home, help Logan with his homework, and once he was settled, she’d start baking.

Tomorrow, after she made her deliveries, she’d take Clay’s old van out to Krauser’s Auto Body and see what Frank could do to pretty it up. It was time for her to get her show on the road. Literally.

When he realized that he’d just read the same case notes for the third time, Jesse gave up and closed the file. To say he was agitated would be an understatement. He’d been on edge since he’d spoken to his sister, Sophie, and as much as he tried to tell himself that he wasn’t going to be affected by anything their father did, his inner self apparently wasn’t listening. The call from Sophie had been unexpected but not particularly surprising, given their father’s track record.

Then again, pretty much everything associated with his father turned out to have a downside.

“Mom doesn’t know that I’m calling, so if she calls, don’t let on that I gave you a heads-up.” Sophie had opened the call on an ominous note.

“What’s the matter?” Jesse had been deep in notes for a trial that was scheduled to start the following week.

“It’s Dad.” Heavy sigh from Sophie.

“Isn’t it always?” Jesse had muttered. “What is it this time?”

“He’s left Pammie and he’s living with this woman
he met at a casino in Atlantic City. He says she’s his soul mate.” If an eye roll had a voice, it would sound exactly like Sophie’s. “Say something, Jess.”

“I’m trying to decide who I feel sorrier for, Pammie or the soul mate.” Whenever Jesse was angry or tense but needed to maintain control, he drew little concentric circles on whatever paper was available. He picked up a pen and started to draw on the back of an envelope on his desk, and wondered what it said about his personality that the more tense or angry he became, the smaller the circles he drew.

“Yeah, poor Pammie, right? And yes, I did remind her that Dad left Mom for her, and that once upon a time, she was the other woman.”

“Payback’s a bitch, Pammie.”

“Oh, so true,” Sophie agreed. “I have to admit to feeling a certain amount of satisfaction on that score. I’m petty that way.”

“Karma can be a good thing.” Jesse knew exactly what his sister meant. He was fifteen when his father left them for Pammie, who at the time was twenty-four. “Does she still call herself Pammie?”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened? She just called you out of the blue?”

“First she called Mom, and I guess when it dawned on her that she wasn’t going to get any sympathy from Mom, she called me.”

“Bad move on both counts.” Jesse’s circles grew smaller.

“Duh.”

“Another day, another Craig Enright scandal.”

“Dad doesn’t even scandalize anymore. Everyone just pretty much ignores him, Jess.”

“Which is exactly what I think we need to do. Ignore it. He’ll either crawl back to Pammie or he’ll take off with … what’s this one’s name?”

“Tish something. And Jess?” Sophie paused. “She’s thirty-three. Younger than you but older than me.”

Jesse’s circles continued to shrink.

“Well, like I said, just ignore it, all of it. It’s not like we haven’t been down this road with him before.”

“Easy for you to say from down there in that cozy, idyllic little town. How are things, by the way?”

“Cozy and idyllic.”

“I swear, if I didn’t have so much going on here, I’d be studying up to take the Maryland bar.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe you should think about it.”

“I did, but Jonathan wasn’t wild about the idea.”

Count to ten, Jess
, he told himself. For some reason, his sister’s boyfriend always brought out the snark in Jesse. When they hung up a few minutes later, he was still trying to figure out what Sophie saw in Jonathan.

Or what Tish saw in his father, for that matter. Was she aware of his track record? That he’d had three children with wife number one—none of whom he’d had contact with in years; two children with wife number two, that would be Lainie, Jesse and Sophie’s mother. And now he was apparently leaving wife number three; at least he’d refrained from reproducing again. It was enough to make your head spin.