Authors: Mariah Stewart
“Don’t mention it.” Brooke split the little cakes equally between the three boxes and left them on the counter. “I should get going. I want to see Logan before he falls asleep. I’ll see you all on Saturday.”
“Thanks for the bringing the refreshments.”
“You’re welcome, Ness.” Brooke opened the front door. The wind had picked up since she arrived earlier, and a cool shot of air hit her in the face. She lowered her head as she headed out.
“Wait up,” Steffie called just as Brooke was about to close the door behind her. “I’ll walk out with you.”
“Brr, it’s getting chillier every day.” Brooke huddled inside her sweater and watched a small tornado of leaves spin across the front lawn.
“I know. We both should have worn jackets.” Steffie followed Brooke down the sidewalk.
Brooke stepped into the street and stopped in front of her car. “Stef, I really do appreciate your offer to sell my cupcakes at Scoop. I want you to think about what percent of the sales you want.”
“What are you talking about? You mean charge you?” Steffie frowned. “I’m not going to charge you for bringing them in.”
“But you’ll be taking your time …”
Steffie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, as much time as it takes for me to say, ‘Would you like a cupcake with your ice cream?’ and ‘Which flavor?’ ”
“Still, I think I should …”
“And I think you shouldn’t. If you want to do anything at all, just pay it forward someday when you get the chance.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“People were very kind to me when I first started Scoop, gave me breaks that I didn’t expect. It’s my turn now. Someday it’ll be yours.”
“Thanks, Stef.” Brooke unlocked the car with the remote.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, right?” Stef called over her shoulder as she hurried against the wind to her car.
“Right. See you then.” Brooke opened the driver’s-side door and slid behind the wheel of her old Toyota. She took her time getting her seat belt on and the key into the ignition. Stef’s unexpected kindness had almost brought tears to her eyes. Not that Stef would have made very much off a few dozen cupcakes, but still, it was the gesture that mattered.
Brooke shifted into gear and headed toward the farm, the game plan for her business running through her head. She really believed that if you visualized what you wanted often enough, sooner or later it would become reality. So in her mind’s eye, she saw her cupcakes displayed on a tiered stand on the counter at Scoop. Then she visualized the stand empty after all the little cakes had been sold. She saw them in the front case at Cuppachino, the coffee shop where the local merchants met early in the morning before they opened their respective establishments and stopped in for a quick bite at lunchtime. She saw them on the dessert cart at Café Lola, St. Dennis’s upscale dining spot. She saw herself making her deliveries—and for a while, even selling down in the municipal parking lot—from a pink van with a big pink-frosted cupcake on the side. Lastly, she saw
them in the window of her own shop on Charles Street, right in the very heart of the business district. There’d be an old-fashioned striped awning and fancy letters spelling out the name:
CUPCAKE
.
Every journey begins with a single step, she reminded herself. Tonight, she’d taken hers. Feeling better about things than she had all day, she drove slowly up the long drive to the farmhouse, envisioning herself behind the wheel of her van, then eventually, turning the sign in the window of her shop from
CLOSED
to
OPEN
.
She parked the car near the back gate and got out, pausing for a moment to look up for a star to wish on. It didn’t occur to her until much later that, for the first time in a very long time, her wish had been all about her and her plans for the future—
I wish this could work out for me
—and not about her past.
“Wow, they look great.” Clay reached a hand out just as Brooke began to arrange cupcakes in the covered carrier she would use to transport her carefully crafted creations to Scoop.
“Keep your mitts off, bro.” She moved the tray out of his way. “None for you this time around.”
“Who are they for?”
“I’m taking them to Scoop. Stef offered to sell them in her shop, so I made a few batches when I got home last night.” She added the last two cakes to the carrier.
“Nice of Stef.” He watched her snap on the lid.
“It really is. And she won’t even take a percentage of the sales.”
“That’s a good friend.”
“Don’t I know it. I need to get my business up and running as soon as humanly possible so that I can cash in on the coming holiday season, then hopefully build it up through to next year’s wedding season. A lot of brides are replacing the traditional wedding cake with special cupcakes. Dallas serving my cupcakes at her birthday party last month did a lot to call
attention to me, but now I have to capitalize on that.” Brooke looked through her bag for her car keys. “I want to stop at Lola’s and Cuppachino this morning and see if they’ll let me sell there as well.”
“You’re going to be baking around the clock if everyone says yes,” Clay pointed out. “Which I fully expect they will. The last time I was in Cuppachino at lunchtime, the only baked stuff they had were the muffins left over from the early-morning delivery, and to tell you the truth, they weren’t all that good. Maybe you could take over the muffins, too.”
“That’s up to Carlo. Meanwhile, I have to get moving. I have a class at one.” She glanced at the clock as she gathered her things. “By the way, that old van in the garage?”
“What about it?”
“Are you using it for anything?”
“Not at present.”
“Could I use it?” She paused in the doorway.
Clay frowned. “Something wrong with your car?”
“No, but it’s too small. I could use the van to deliver my cupcakes and I could sell out of it, sort of like a hot-dog vendor.”
“The van needs a lot of work, sis. For one thing, it has some body cancer. Rust. For another”—he poured himself a glass of water and took a long drink—“it doesn’t have a backseat. I took it out so I could transport stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know, stuff. Bushels of apples. Buckets of herbs. Stuff for the restaurants that we supply during the summer months.”
“Can I clean it up? Paint it?”
“Sure. Do whatever you want.” Clay shrugged. “I’m not using it.”
“Great! Thanks!” Brooke blew past him on the way to the back door.
Brooke mentally checked off
van
from her list of things she needed to keep her plan moving forward. There was a place in town that painted cars. Over the weekend, she’d drive the van out and get an estimate. Maybe they could do something about the body rust, too. And she’d need to see about having some advertising painted on the side of the van as well. She knew exactly how she wanted it to look.
The flagman for the road repair crew held up a hand for her to slow, then motioned for her to detour from Charles Street onto Elgin. She waved to acknowledge the instruction then turned left. She made a four-block loop before taking a right onto Old St. Mary’s Church Road and around the square, the heart of the historic district. A tall, lanky dark-haired man crossed diagonally at the intersection ahead of her, and she stopped at the stop sign to let him pass. He wore a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and khakis. Brooke smiled as she rolled down the driver’s-side window. He certainly did justice to those khakis.
“Looks like casual Friday,” she called to him.
“No court today.” Jesse walked over to the car. “No tie, no jacket.”
She made a point of looking at her watch. “I’ve heard of banker’s hours, but I didn’t know lawyers had them, too.”
“I’ll have you know I was at my desk before seven
this morning.” He held up a brown paper bag. “I just ran up to Cuppachino for a midmorning snack.”
“Let me guess.” She closed her eyes and pretended to go into a trance. “I see … a cranberry-orange muffin.”
“Not even close. Walnut-apple muffin for me, a strawberry scone for Liz—she’s my paralegal—’cause she has to put up with Mrs. Finneran.”
“Violet Finneran? Your grandfather’s secretary?”
“The one and only.”
“She’s been there forever,” Brooke said. “She has to be … jeez, about a million years old by now.”
“Close enough.” Jesse nodded. “My granddad expected her to retire when he did, but she wasn’t ready. She only comes in three times a week, but when she’s there, she makes her presence known.”
“Bless her for her fortitude.”
“I’m not sure it’s fortitude that keeps her coming in,” he said drily. “I think she’s afraid I’ll bring the firm to ruin if no one keeps an eye on me.”
“Now why would she think that?”
“Who knows?” Jesse shrugged. “Probably because I’m not my grandfather and I’m not my uncle Mike.”
“She taught us Sunday school one year,” Brooke recalled. “She can be a bit formidable.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“So here’s a hot tip. You’re the first to know.” She lowered her voice as if she were about to share a secret. He leaned in closer, close enough for her to see that his brown eyes were flecked with gold. Nice. “As of today, you’ll be able to get one of my amazingly fantastic cupcakes at Scoop. Cupcake—that’s what I’m calling my business—is ready to roll.”
“Congratulations. That’s great.” She couldn’t help but notice that he had the kind of smile that went all the way to his eyes. “I love cupcakes. I’ll stop down later and pick up a few. Is Scoop going to be your exclusive outlet?”
“I hope not. I’m stopping at Cuppachino and Lola’s this morning to see if they’re interested.”
He held up the brown bag. “You mean after today I could be picking up cupcakes instead of muffins in the morning?”
“I don’t know that cupcakes could be considered part of a nutritious breakfast.”
A car rolled to a stop behind her and the driver laid on the horn.
“Oops! That would be for me.”
“I’ll see you at Vanessa’s on Saturday night?” he asked.
“Sure thing.”
Jesse stepped back from Brooke’s car, and waved amicably at the impatient driver who’d just hit his horn for the second time.
“See you,” Brooke called as she hit the gas.
Seconds later, her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. She was surprised to see Jesse standing on the corner, watching her drive away. At least, she thought maybe he was, since he seemed to be looking after her car. She glanced out both side windows, but nope, there was nothing happening on either side of the street. When she stopped at the next stop sign and checked her mirror again, he was gone.
Seeing him reminded her that she still hadn’t made the appointment with him to have her will redone. It was time to take Eric out and put Logan in—past
time, really. She knew that. She just hated having to do it, as if she were officially erasing Eric from her life.
Brooke made a left onto Charles, then a few blocks farther, a right onto Kelly’s Point Road, which led to the municipal parking lot, the town hall—the administration building that housed the police department as well—and the marina. Kelly’s Point ended in a tee at the boardwalk that ran along the Bay. To the right of the tee and past the marina was a well-regarded seafood restaurant, Captain Walt’s, and to the left Steffie’s ice cream shop, One Scoop or Two, known as Scoop to the locals.
Brooke parked in the municipal lot, swung her bag over her shoulder, and grabbed the carrier holding the cupcakes. It was still early in the day, but already she could see that Steffie had customers inside the shop. A tinny bell rang when Brooke opened the door and Stef looked up from whatever concoction she was preparing behind the counter.
“Hey, Brooke,” Steffie called to her.
“Hi.” Brooke pushed the door closed with the toe of her shoe. “Brought you a little something.”
“Yum. I can hardly wait to see.” Stef smiled at her customer and handed over a triple-scoop cone. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a dish? Just in case?”
“Maybe I should.” The man who appeared to be all of twenty had justifiable second thoughts.
“You eat all that, you might want to come back for a cupcake.” Stef handed him a dish, a spoon, and a pile of napkins.
“Brooke, bring your goodies right here.” Stef pointed
to the counter, where she was handing change to the three-scoop patron.
“I left the display stand in the car,” Brooke told her. “I’ll be right back.”
Minutes later Brooke was setting up her stand, which resembled a Christmas tree in shape, with arms that had little metal cups to hold the cupcakes. She carefully placed the cupcakes onto the stand.
“Don’t they look magnificent?” Steffie’s hands were on her hips as she admired Brooke’s production. “I’ll have these sold by two this afternoon. If they last that long.”
“You’re optimistic.” Brooke smiled.
“I know my clientele,” she said confidently, then turned to her customer, who was still trying to get his change into his wallet. “What do you think? Don’t they look delicious?”
“Yeah, they do.” His tongue took a swipe at the top scoop on his cone while he surveyed the display. “They’re for sale, right?”
“Absolutely,” Stef assured him. “Made right here in St. Dennis by my lovely friend Brooke.”
“What kind is that one?” He pointed to a chocolate-frosted cake.
“That one is mocha with fudge frosting.” Brooke gave him a smile.
“I’ll buy that one. How much are they?”
Brooke and Steffie exchanged a glance. They hadn’t discussed pricing.
“Tell you what,” Brooke said. “Since you’re the first customer I’ve had, yours is on me. But if you like it, you have to tell everyone you know to come down and buy one.”
“Deal,” he readily agreed.
Stef put the cupcake on a napkin and handed it to him. “Sorry I don’t have any paper plates …”
“I don’t need a plate,” he said as he walked to one of the tables.
“I’ll drop some off,” Brooke told Steffie. “I should have thought of that. And I should get some plastic forks, too.”
“Not to worry. Most of the customers I’ll have this afternoon will be kids and they won’t care what it’s on or whether or not there’s a fork to eat it with.”