Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie (19 page)

She sniffed, then beamed a particularly satisfied little smile. “Of course, Natalie Hibbener sure looks a might rosier in the cheeks of late, so . . . sometimes you just have to put the information out there and trust those who need it to take it to heart.”

Dylan didn't risk a look at Honey, who had made a gargling noise indicating she was a breath away from strangling the tiny senior . . . or from giving in to a fit of hysterical laughter. Since Dylan was quite certain he would follow either path with the least bit of provocation, he kept his gaze strictly forward.

“Well,” Alva said, “I'll leave you two to your . . . deliberations.” She winked at Honey, who went blush pink. “Come by the bakery later. We're staying late tonight to bake for a charity event over in Savannah tomorrow. We're all contributing something from our own personal recipes. Kit taught me how to make my famous apple pies into little pot pie size miniatures. Isn't that just the most darling thing? Have you met Kit yet? She ran her family's pie empire until her brother-in-law sold it out from under her. Evil, evil man. Best peanut pie you've ever tasted.”

Alva waved her hand. “Well, that's another story. Please do come. Everyone will be there. I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. You'll love them and I know they'll love you. You don't have to bake, of course, but if you'd like to join in, we'll take all the donations we can get.”

“I”—Honey stopped and cleared her throat—“I'll try.”

“A nod is as good as wink,” Alva said cheerily, then took one last look around the place, let out a satisfied sigh that Dylan expected had very little to do with the empty building space or memories of times gone by. And before he could so much as offer an arm, she sailed out quite capably on her sturdy lavender pumps.

Dylan and Honey stared after her for a full minute without saying a word.

He cleared his throat first. “You handled her really well for a beginner.”

“Good to know.”

“It was smart to set her straight right off on the whole séance thing.”

“You said I should just own it, so . . . I did. Begin as you mean to go on, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Felt pretty good, actually. It's very different. From before, I mean.”

“New place, new people, opinions yet unformed.”

She let out a slow, whistling breath that let him know she'd been a lot more tense than she'd let on. “Yeah. I'm still getting used to that. But, so far . . . it's been a good thing. Well, that and the fact that in this particular place, with these particular people, I benefit from Bea somewhat paving the way.”

“I thought you handled it just right. If you want the word out, the right person's ear to whisper in.”

“That much, I've figured out.”

Dylan smiled. “Don't let her unbridled enthusiasm about setting up shop here affect your decisions on things,” he cautioned. “If we could bottle her energy, we could shut down the power grid. She means well, and her intentions are generally good ones, but don't let her railroad you.”

Honey turned her gaze on him. “When were you going to tell me you owned this place? Before or after you seduced me into staying?”

His eyes went wide at that. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and ground his back teeth together.

Honey broke out laughing. “My God, you should see your face right now. I was kidding. Okay?” She tried to look sober and repentant, but the quivering corners of her mouth gave her barely suppressed giggles away.

“You totally deserved it, by the way,” she added, once she got herself under control. “I think, given the events of the past day or two, the least we can do is be completely up front with each other. You should have told me straight off.”

“I was going to tell you once we'd talked through whether or not the space would even work for you. You'd kind of dismissed it out of hand, if you recall.”

“Because I can't afford rent on a place the size of Bea's tailor shop, much less something like this, so there was no point in getting my hopes up.”

“So, are you saying that, if rent wasn't an issue . . . you think this might work?”

Whatever rational answer she thought she might give him, the fleeting look of yearning in her eyes was all the answer he needed. It was a replica of the one he'd seen in the alley the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. It was as powerful now as it had been then. More so, maybe, because he knew more of what was behind it. And, perhaps, because there was hope along with the aching vulnerability.

“I can't pay you,” she said, then lifted her hand. “And no, I'm not making any wisecracks about other forms of payment. I really was just kidding. We might not know each other all that well yet, but I think I have a pretty good handle on the type of code you live by.”

“Do you now?” he asked, bemused.

“I think so. Anyway, it's all moot because no money is no money.”

“This place is sitting here earning me exactly nothing, whether someone is in it or not. To my way of thinking, it's better if someone is at least in it, right?”

“Fair point, and appreciated, but the renovations—”

“You had some plan for renovating Bea's place, right?”

“I did, but it's a much smaller space. I was going to focus on getting the front area set up to show off my pieces, use the back room for my work studio and her apartment upstairs to live in and as my office, then gradually upgrade as I could. I'd save the more dramatic changes for when the farm sells. Then I would get my own place to live, make the entire downstairs the showroom, keep her upstairs apartment as my office, and renovate the rest into a workshop. Maybe even a small classroom.”

He could envision all of that, and she'd be good at it. It was brilliant in its own way, because she'd be instructing and demonstrating, which invited people directly into her world, allowing them to get to know her. At the same time, by keeping her students' hands on their work . . . she'd have more control in keeping them out of her immediate personal space. It was a way to immerse herself in the community, get close to people, allow them in, but still preserve that tiny bit of physical distance she needed to insure she stayed on an even keel.

He thought back to how extreme it had been for her when she'd been transported back to the garage fire, reliving that terror through his eyes. He realized what a great risk it was to put herself in any position where that might happen in a professional setting. It was one thing for it to happen between the two of them, or even on Miss Barbara's front porch. But what if she was in the middle of a class? Or ringing up a sale?

Who would help her then? Who would protect her?

The ferocity of his immediate internal response to that question floored him. There was leaping tall buildings, and then there was taking on the impossible task. No one could completely protect her . . . and more to the point, she didn't expect anyone to, much less want them to.

Her aunt had successfully offered her “advice” right along with her tailoring skills, but it sounded like Bea never had the kind of “moments” Honey had. Their familial gifts were entirely different. Bea's was much milder than her own, Honey had said. And she had come all the way across the country with the idea of trying to have a normal life, with a normal storefront business, normal friends she could actually spend time with. He didn't know if that made her courageous and brave, or a glutton for the worst kind of emotional and public punishment. But she had his admiration for trying.

“It sounds like you had it all planned out.” He realized how much of a shock it must have been to arrive, only to find Bea's little shop had been renovated completely and turned into a cupcake shipping outlet. “I know this is a bigger space and it hasn't been used in a long time, but if you tried to break it down into smaller, doable chunks, the end result would put you in a much better place, right?”

“In terms of size, yes. But I owned the space in my scenario and, no offense, but now I'd be a tenant.”

“A tenant who is still a property owner. I know it won't bring you income for a few years, but I'm assuming you plan to be in this business for the long haul. In a couple years, you'll have the lease income. You'll also get investment capital from selling the farm, and eventually, a profit from this place, as well. I'm assuming you plan to keep your online store going, too, so that's a good foundation to build on.”

“You make it all seem so doable.”

“Because it is. But only if you want it to be.” He looked around again, then back at her. “You could really do something with a space like this, couldn't you?”

For all her casual dismissal earlier, her guard had been sufficiently lowered, and the poignant longing, the barely concealed, banked excitement was plain to see.

“I know it took a lot to come here, to try. More space would be a good thing for . . . the rest of it, too, right? Easier to control contact if there was less potential crowding.”

“Yes, it would, but—”

“You put your farm up for sale and drove a couple thousand miles, intent on starting your own place, starting a new life. That's not something someone does who is iffy on the idea.”

“Juniper Hollow, where I'm from, is a very small town in a somewhat rugged and isolated area. I didn't think a sale was going to happen right away. If ever. So, it wasn't like I absolutely couldn't go back. A risk, yes, but—”

“But, what if it had? What if the farm sells, and you're here, and it's not going as you'd hoped. Do you have a backup plan?”

She smiled then, and he liked the spark that came back into her sea green eyes as she lifted a shoulder. “Georgia is in the South, right? I figure it has a lot of barns. Probably one I could buy and move into somewhere around here.” She sighed. “The truth is, whatever happened, I didn't want to go back to Oregon. Ever. I wanted . . . something new. Something else. Anything else.”

He held her gaze, then let his own smile come out, as certain about his decision as she was about hers. If she could take that kind of risk and had that kind of determination, then hell, he had no choice. He wasn't leaping the tall building in this case, but the surprise was it felt every bit as good to help her leap her own.

“Then let's do this. Knowing how you feel about helping hands, we'll work out a little lease agreement that includes paying back rent for whatever time it takes to get up and running. We can get Morgan to put it in writing and make it all legal. When your farm sells, or when this place is making a profit, you can handle the lease and the back rent repayment however it works best. Like I said, I'm not making money from this place as it is.”

“Dylan—” She broke off and simply stared at him, clearly torn.

“Sugar, how can you expect me to bet on you if you won't bet on yourself?”

“I do bet on myself,” she said staunchly, but he could hear the quaver in her voice. She broke their gaze and slowly, as if in a dream, turned and took in the space one more time. “I just . . . I don't even know what to say. I've never . . . no one has ever . . .” Her voice drifted off, and he saw her throat work.

“What? Believed in you? Backed you up?”

“Other than my family . . . no. Not that I've let anyone in. It's just . . . a lot to take in. A whole lot.”

“I've learned the only person who can get in the way of me getting what I want . . . is me. If you want it, go for it. Whether you believe I'm behind you or not doesn't matter. Are you behind you? Can you back up your dream with commitment, no matter what? That's what matters. That's what it takes.”

She looked at him again. “Is that what it took for you? I mean . . . I don't know the whole story of your family history and I'm not asking for it, but you've alluded to it, and Alva has, and, if we're being open and honest, Barbara Hughes said a few things.”

He frowned. “Honey—”

She lifted her hand, palm out. “I really don't mean to pry. That's not my point, anyway. I was going to say that it sounds like you've practiced what you're preaching. And that means something to me.”

“We all get where we want to be on different paths, but the one thing we have in common is we have to take the path, embark on it, to get there. You won't get anywhere sitting and wondering. You already know that. So . . . keep going.”

“Why did you buy this space? Don't you have plans for it?”

He shook his head. “The garage had been passed down to me. I owned it when it burned down. We'd been with the same insurance company since the day my grandfather opened. Never filed a single claim. The settlement was a good one. And, between the depressed economy and how long these properties have sat empty . . . well, to say they went for a song isn't much of a stretch. Where my shop is now was already set up as a garage, so renovation was minimal. I had more money than I needed for the garage property. It made sense to put it somewhere instead of giving it away in taxes. I have a house, so”—he shrugged—“I figured, worst case, the investment would keep me from having neighbors I didn't want. Best case, if the garage did start a trend and interest in developing the other channel road properties grew, then I could turn around and sell them at a profit. And, sugar, pretty much anything more than the plug nickel I paid would be a windfall.”

She gave him a perceptive look. “You try to pass as this sort of unassuming mechanic, just getting by, running the old family business. But something tells me you're a lot shrewder than people might guess.”

“Well, darlin', I'm not entirely a bad bet. Business-wise, anyway.”