Sugar: A Novel Part 24

"I saw the way she looked at you," I said, stepping backward and out of his arms.

He pulled me back to him and waited until I met his gaze. "You may have seen something on Suns.h.i.+ne's face, but you didn't look too closely at mine. She came in that night to say good-bye." His eyes sparked with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Suns.h.i.+ne moved to Montana last month to live in a yurt and raise her own goats."

I attacked him that time, my hands wrapped around his neck and my mouth peppering his face with kisses.

"What's a yurt?" I said, feeling the scratch of his whiskers on my cheek.

He froze and pointed to the grove of trees behind us. I heard branches snapping followed by an insistent "Shh!"

"Mommy?" Zara sounded forlorn. "How long do we have to watch Auntie Charlie and Mr. Malloy kissy-face? Also, Dane just ate the last carob chip."

EPILOGUE.

I had seen very few sunrises in the previous ten years but, even so, the one that spread across the sky above Forsythia Farms that Sat.u.r.day morning had to have set some kind of record for captivating beauty. The last three months had been crazy-busy, between canceling the movers and finding a new apartment and convincing Alain that I really was not returning to L'Ombre. I'd fully acclimated to getting a full night of sleep and not staggering in the door just before dawn. I'd made a fairly seamless transition from constantly harried to only occasionally neurotic. Still, the slower pace of my new life and perks like getting to watch the sunrise had the power to stop me where I was and make me take notice.

"Staring directly at the sun causes permanent damage to your eyes, you know." Kai ducked under the white canopy he'd built for the little baked goods stand we'd cobbled together with an old farm table, stepladders for shelving, and big bunches of wildflowers. He handed me a steaming cup of apple cider, one stick of cinnamon bobbing along the caramel surface. "I've always thought your eyes were rather pretty, so I'd hate for you to go blind. Especially during the last market day of the season."

I sipped my cider. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness." Pointing to the sky, I said, "Is this kind of divine showing off a normal sight for people who don't work from noon until two in the morning?"

Kai stepped back, appearing to evaluate the sunrise on a sliding scale. "Yep." He nodded. "This is normal. Spectacular, but normal. I have to say, it reminds me, again, that I'm so glad you quit that job. Smart woman, you."

I rearranged a stack of chocolate-pecan cookies that formed a neat line along the front of the table. "At least for a while. Maybe I'll get super bored with jaw-dropping sunsets and you'll have to push me into a cab and send me to the nearest high-pressure commercial kitchen."

"Like an intervention," Kai said.

"Exactly. An intervention. Maybe too much rest and general well-being will make me crazy. You never know."

He didn't speak for a few moments, and I looked up from where I had squatted next to a ladder. My hands were on a tall gla.s.s rectangular jar filled with a tower of scones.

"There are different kinds of crazy," he said, looking at me over the rim of his mug. "Lucky for you I'm helping you with the 'can't handle it when one scone is two centimeters to the left' kind of crazy. That's a particularly scary kind, but I feel you are making progress."

I narrowed my eyes at him as I rose. "I never would have agreed to help out at your little family market this fall if I'd known the kind of workplace hara.s.sment I would have to endure." I could hear the smile in my voice as I tucked my cold hands into the warm folds of Kai's coat and let them settle there.

He leaned down, offering parts of sentences between each kiss. "Garrett, you have no idea (upper lip) the kind of hara.s.sment (lower lip) I can inflict on arrogant pastry chefs (moving resolutely in the direction of my neck)."

A chorus of clearing throats made me jump backward, knocking the farm table hard with my rear end. Dahlia, Gemma, and Tom Breyon stood just under the canopy. Tom laughed.

"It's barely daybreak, young lovers," he said with a wink. "We have a long day of hard work ahead of us."

"All the better reason to fortify oneself," Kai said as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

Dahlia's lips were set in a line, where they had stubbornly remained since I'd arrived during the first weekend market at Forsythia Farms eleven Sat.u.r.days ago. I watched her intently, hoping today would be the day that would thaw her distrust of the woman who had publicly broken her brother's heart and had even gotten paid for it.

"I brought you two some blankets, in case we have a light crowd and the sun doesn't warm us up for a few hours." She set a stack of blankets on a nearby chair.

Gemma nodded at Tom as she spoke. "I'm going to guess they won't need any extra heat." The two giggled like school children until Dahlia groaned.

"All right, prep.u.b.escent teens. Back to work." Leading the way with a determined stride, Dahlia herded Tom and Gemma back to the barn, where visitors would soon arrive to buy donuts, cider, and the remaining bushels of apples from the family orchard. Gemma turned around and caught my eye. She smiled and then rolled her eyes at Dahlia.

I smiled in return but felt my shoulders sag.

Kai noticed. "Dahlia still loves you," he said, his arms still around me. I leaned my back into his warmth. "She just has to punish you for a while so you know she cares. Give her time."

"How much time, would you guess?"

"When I put the pages of her diary through Dad's paper shredder, she didn't forgive me for roughly one calendar year."

I groaned.

"But don't worry. I'm sure she has matured significantly since seventh grade." He stopped to correct himself. "Well, seventh and eighth grade, if you're counting the full twelve months."

I whimpered but stopped abruptly when our first customers approached the table, a couple taking turns pus.h.i.+ng a running stroller. The woman wore a voluminous stocking hat with a bright pink pom-pom that flopped on top. Beside her a lanky, bespectacled man walked, one hand commandeering the stroller and the other cradling a stainless steel carafe. Under a mountain of fleece blankets, two chubby cheeks poked out of the coc.o.o.n.

"Are you guys open?" The woman had dark circles under her eyes but wore a cheery smile. "We've been up for a while and will probably be ready for a nap by nine. Do you mind if we shop now?"

"Not at all." I smiled, marveling at their early morning gumption and thinking Manda and Jack and their kids would probably not make it out to the farm until after noon.

Parking the stroller at the edge of the stand, the woman perused the cupcakes, the m.u.f.fins, the gla.s.s hurricane filled with a rainbow of macarons. "Everything looks and smells amazing." I could hear awe and hunger in her voice. She looked at me with wide eyes. "Did you bake all this?"

"She absolutely did." Kai sounded as if he wanted to beat his chest in victory. "She's pretty much incredible."

I felt my cheeks heat up underneath the pink caused by the cold morning. "I'm used to large quant.i.ties and quick turnaround. This has been just for fun, to help out at the farm." I unfastened a striped round tin I'd placed on the table. "I have samples of the pumpkin streusel m.u.f.fin. Would you like to try some?"

"Absolutely." The woman daintily plucked two samples from the tin and held out one for her husband, who was standing before one of my displays with a studied expression on his face. "Here, Mitch. Better eat this before I do."

He ambled over and took the m.u.f.fin from her hand.

The woman's eyelids dropped sometime during her first bite. "This is exactly what I want to eat every day of autumn. And winter. And most of spring." She grinned. "I'll take a dozen. Does this woman cook for you? If so, you're a lucky man." She directed her words to Kai.

He shook his head. "She has control issues in the kitchen. I cook for her."

Mitch snorted from his resumed position by my display. "Lizzie, maybe you two should be friends."

"I might have one or two control issues," I said to her.

Kai's turn to snort.

I ignored him. "But I bake things for him all the time."

"Four times, actually," Kai said. "And one of them was a bribe to take her back. So that doesn't really count as kindhearted baking."

I c.o.c.ked my head at him and stared. "You are-"

"Well," the woman interrupted with a laugh. "You were right, Mitch. The ambience and banter are just as delightful as the baked goods."

I looked at Mitch. He saw the question mark on my face and shook his head. "I definitely did not use the word delightful." He put his hand out to shake mine. "Mitch Shapiro. I'm a repeat customer."

I swallowed hard as I shook his hand. "Mitch Shapiro, the Seattle real estate man?"

Lizzie straightened from feeding a morsel of m.u.f.fin into the chubby cheeks. "Please do not recognize him. It's so annoying. And it inflates an already healthy ego."

Mitch continued. "I've been out here three other times this fall because of a project nearby, and each time I've gone home wis.h.i.+ng I'd bought more of what I ate from your booth."

Lizzie licked streusel off her finger. "I believe the word would be mooning."

I didn't have much time to get fl.u.s.tered from the compliment because Mitch jumped right in. "Listen, I think you have something here. I've read up on you, on your experience as a chef, your good press from L'Ombre in New York, the TV show gig here with Thrill."

I winced. "Not some of my finest moments."

Mitch waved away my concerns with one hand. "All press can be turned to one's advantage. Particularly if you give some things time. Plus, you have name recognition before you even sign the lease. That's a huge advantage."

My eyes widened. "Sign what lease?"

He grinned for the first time, revealing two deep dimples in his slender face. "Chef Garrett, I think you should set up shop in my new loft development in Seattle. Premium real estate, built-in customer base full to br.i.m.m.i.n.g with folks who want delicious cakes, m.u.f.fins, and cookies, and a generous investment toward start-up costs for a small share in the business." He took another m.u.f.fin bite from the tin. "As long as you keep baking like this, you're going to have more business than you know what to do with."

My head was spinning. Kai had slipped behind Lizzie and the stroller and was giving me hysterical thumbs-ups and mouthing the word "Yeeeeeeessss!" over and over.

"I'm flattered," I stuttered. "And floored."

He laughed and slapped his business card on the table. "Think about it. Everything's negotiable. Just let me know when you want to go for coffee, and we can get things rolling."

The little guy in the stroller was starting to fuss. Lizzie pointed to the jar of scones and, widening her eyes, said, "Nap time approaches, people. I'll need some of those. And a half dozen of the Kitchen Sink cookies."

Kai hustled to help me as I gathered Lizzie's order.

She tore a bite off a chocolate chip and toffee scone. Closing her eyes, she said, "Don't think too long about Mitch's offer. This is delicious."

I watched Kai bundle up the Shapiros' packages and place them gently underneath the carriage of the stroller. We exchanged friendly goodbyes, Mitch taking one more appreciative look of my displays, and Kai and I watched as they made their way toward the cider, Lizzie's hat bouncing with each step.

"That was awesome," Kai said, lifting me off the ground when he hugged me. "You can't help being famous, can you?"

I slugged him, but gently and punctuated with a loud kiss on his cheek. I caught a glimpse of the riot of orange and purple behind him. Turning us both toward the light, I said, "Look."

We stood together watching the cashmere colors of dawn touch the fields and spread over the house and barn. Kai enveloped my hand in his, and we stepped forward into a slant of suns.h.i.+ne that had spilled onto the ground in front of us.

Lifting my face, I saw the morning light was gradually unveiling a pale blue expanse in the swath of sky right above us. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the building warmth of an autumnal sun, the feeling of Kai's fingers entwined with mine, and the heady promise of the new days ahead.

Kai's voice was soft and deep, just the kind of voice a girl could happily hear as perfect bookends to her days. "I'm glad you're here."

My head on his chest, I felt his heart beating through his coat.

"Me, too," I said.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

AUTHORS are wise to admit that books aren't created in a vacuum, that they are labors of love by many, not one. This is entirely true, but you should know that mostly I wrote this book while in my pajamas, pacing a room, yelling at the computer screen, and in dire need of concealer. I was alone, and this was best for everyone. Nevertheless, these people absolutely spurred me on, loved me, and, on occasion, were tactful enough to pa.s.s me a hand mirror before leaving my house.

Thank you to:.

My Seattle advisory team, Jason Pace, Dawn Bilyeu, Laurel and Rick Ballinger, for their ready willingness to make Seattle into a three-dimensional home for Charlie.

My panel of culinary experts, Chef Robert Lewis and Chef George Formaro. Both of these gifted gentlemen are far too well adjusted and not nearly narcissistic enough to have worked in any of Charlie's kitchens. Thanks to both of you for letting me peek behind the curtain. Also, please start following me around and cooking for me all the time.

The Nicoles (Frail and Mele), Brianna Scharfenberg, and the entire Skyhorse team. What a lovely process, working with you people! Thanks for asking me to join in the adventure.

Heather Gudenkauf, who is gracious and kind and very, very generous. You went out of your way to help me move into this next stage, Heather, and I am one grateful Iowa girl.

Valerie Gray, who saw what I couldn't and then was kind enough to destroy the first version of this story. Thank you for pus.h.i.+ng me to write the story I wanted to write and to do it with confidence. You gave me a tremendous gift.

The intrepid women of our writing group: Wendy Delsol, Dawn Mooradian, Carol Spaulding-Kruse, and Kali VanBaale. My writing has flourished, stretched, and grown under your care, as have the friends.h.i.+ps we have built together. Each of you is dear to me.

Chip MacGregor, who is the definition of loyal and true. He's also the definition of an unparalleled literary agent. And of a witty kilt wearer.

Ann, Deanna, Makila, Sarah, and Sarah for deep friends.h.i.+p and a willingness to enter in, no matter the cost.

Ryan, Betsy, Olivia, and Jonah Beach. My life is rich and beautiful and full of s.h.i.+mmying and interpretive dance because of you.

My extended family for buying my books even if you never read them. It's okay. I barely read your Christmas letters, so we're even.

My parents for a.s.suming I can and then cheering like maniacs when I do.

My children, Ana, Mitch, and Thea, for loving good stories and for encouraging me to write my own. Also, sorry about the times I threw unsolicited hissy fits about how I did, in fact, have a "real" job and couldn't help you right that second with the bagel slicer. I understand your confusion. It's hard to take a woman seriously when she's in her PJs.

My husband, Marc, who loves me with a tenacity I do not deserve and who still laughs at most of my jokes.

G.o.d, the Beginning and End of all the greatest stories and the Author of the kind of love that changes everything.

end.