Meet Your Baker (13 page)

Extracting information out of him was going to be more difficult than trying to grate nutmeg into a workable spice. It made me wish I had a mortar and pestle on hand.

“Are you guys an item?” I tried to act casual, giving him a wink.

I should mention that I can’t wink to save my life. Why I even tried is beyond me. The fact that I attempted a wink should be proof positive that I was desperate. Winking for me is like contorting my face into a weird expression where one eye is open and my mouth is cocked to one side, like I’m having a ministroke or an attack of Bell’s palsy.

“Is there something wrong with your eye?” Sterling asked.

“Forget it, I’m fine.” I cracked my knuckles. “I was just asking if you and Stephanie are a thing?”

Sterling turned his head to the counter where Stephanie was ringing up a customer. He shook his head and said, “Nah, we’re just friends.”

I saw the look of longing in his eyes. I was familiar with this face. Unlike my weird attempt at winking, I had mastered his look of unrequited love. So much so that I was pretty sure it was the only look my face knew how to form these days. Sterling and Stephanie might not be an item, but without a doubt he wanted to change that.

Had he professed his love last night? Maybe Stephanie refused his advances and he snapped? That scenario had all the makings of a great stage production, but somehow sitting across from this kid, I sensed that he was sincere and maybe even scared. My intuition said no.

Chancing it, I pushed. “You like her, don’t you?”

He returned his attention to me, looking dejected. “That obvious?”

I leaned closer. “Let’s just say I know the feeling.”

Holding my gaze, he grimaced. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Was I bonding with this kid?

“Yeah.” I sat back and cracked my knuckles again. “It sucks.”

He considered me for a minute, as if he wanted to say more, but instead he rose to his feet and pulled the hoodie over his head. “Thanks for the scone. Your place is really nice. I like it here. It smells like home should. Listen, I gotta split.” He shoved his board under his arm.

I was taken aback by his parting words. What a sweet sentiment from a kid who appeared to be troubled. I watched as he loped past the register, trying to catch Stephanie’s eye. She ignored him, continuing to work at a frenetic pace I’d never seen.

There was so much more I wanted to ask him. What had he and Stephanie been fighting about yesterday? What was his connection to Caroline? What was the picture she’d given him? And, what was he doing in town?

Those questions would have to wait. I had work to do. The lunch rush would be descending on us soon.

I returned to the kitchen and began preparing sandwiches on our ciabatta rolls. At lunchtime the pastry cases are stocked with premade sandwiches that customers can grab and go. For a couple extra bucks Mom packages picnic boxes complete with chips, a drink, and one of her signature cookies. Lunch boxes are popular with the tourist crowd. There’s no better way to experience Ashland in the summertime than grabbing one of our signature lunches and heading to Lithia Park for a midday picnic under one of its giant, shady maple trees.

Since the forecast called for more sun, I opted for light sandwich creations—a caprese with buffalo mozzarella, fresh basil and tomatoes drizzled with the balsamic dressing I’d made for the figs, our famous basil egg salad packed with kalamata olives, and a lemon and dill chicken salad.

It was too hot to make soup, so I decided to use some of the remaining figs as inspiration for another sandwich. I puréed the juicy fruit, adding a splash of olive oil and red wine vinegar, some Dutch chocolate powder and a good shake of sea salt and peppercorn. Spreading a thin layer of herbed cream cheese on both sides of the rolls, I layered turkey, Havarti, and arugula. Then I topped it with the fig spread.

I bit into my creation. The rolls had been baked to perfection, thanks to Mom’s family recipe and expert kneading. They were slightly crispy on the outside with a chewy, soft center. The balance of the tangy fig spread paired with the moist turkey made my palate sing with delight. Lunch was served.

I finished wrapping the sandwich selections in waxed paper and secured them with toothpicks. Thomas strolled through the front door while I was carefully arranging the sandwiches in the case.

“What’s a guy got to do to get one of those?” he joked, eyeing the neatly packaged sandwiches.

“Say the word. What can I get you?” I stood and moved to the side so he could have a better view of the case. Blood rushed to my head as I stood, making the lump on my skull pulse. I put my hand to it.

“Hey, you okay?” Thomas held my arm.

“I’m fine. It’s just this bump. I need another round of Advil.”

“Okay, take it easy, Jules.” He bent over and examined my work. “Hmm, the question is, which one? They all look good. What do you recommend?”

I nudged him out of the way and picked a fig sandwich. “This is my special creation. Fresh figs and turkey. You can’t go wrong.”

“Is anything you make ever
wrong
?”

I laughed. “Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve had my fair share of disasters over the years.”

Thomas’s eyes softened and he looked at me in a way that made me step back. “I find that hard to believe.”

I looked away. “Yeah, well, anyway.” I shut the pastry case and grabbed the tray I used to carry the sandwiches. “I’m going to stick this back in the kitchen. Did you need anything else?”

He shifted his weight and placed his free hand on his hip. I wondered if this was an unconscious response. With this slight posture adjustment he transformed from goofy Thomas to a serious officer of the law.

“Actually, yeah. Do you have a minute?”

“I think so. It’s going to get busy soon.” I motioned to a free table by the windows. “Let me put this back, I’ll be right there.”

Thomas surveyed Torte. Nearly every table was taken. Customers noshed on sandwiches. The space hummed with energy.

“I was thinking maybe we could walk over to the park for a sec? Is it too busy?” Thomas lowered his voice. I watched him eye Andy.

I followed his gaze. Andy per usual held captive the line of customers waiting for coffee, as his quick hands flew over the machine, his eye never leaving the person in front of him.

“If we make it quick. Let me just make sure Mom has everything under control. You want something to drink with that?”

“The usual.” Thomas grinned.

“Right, the usual.” I suddenly felt flustered, flipping the tray in my hands. Why did Thomas make me feel like we were back in high school again?

I checked with Mom, grabbed two bottled iced teas from the fridge and a handful of Advil. I popped them as I returned to Thomas who was waiting outside.

A wave of hot air hit me like opening an oven door as I stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Yowzers! It’s hot.” I handed Thomas an iced tea.

He took the tea and held his arm out for me to walk in front of him. We crossed Main Street. I smiled at a family that had a Torte picnic box tucked in their arms, two tanned kids skipping in the direction of the park, both chomping on oatmeal cookies as big as their heads.

I twisted off the cap of my iced tea and took a swig. As we passed the Merry Windsor, Richard Lord stood on the front lawn. A bellboy in old English garb kept his head down while Richard spoke to him, his jaw clenched.

The Merry Windsor is a popular tourist destination. It’s modeled after Elizabethan architecture. The black and white half-timbered structure looked as if it belonged in the time of the Tudors’ rule. Its design features a stone foundation, slate tile roof, and brick chimneys, and matches the OSF theater. Each guest room is themed after various Shakespearean characters.

If I didn’t know Richard and his tyrannical nature, I’d probably be swept away by the romantic inn too. However, watching Richard berate his young employee reminded me why the inn always felt cold and unwelcoming. It was no wonder with an egomaniac at the helm. It had the opposite vibe as Torte. Or at least I hoped it did.

Richard shooed his employee away. He caught me watching him and glowered. Then he turned on his heels and stormed inside.

“Nice guy, huh?” I broke the silence.

“Who, Richard? Don’t sweat him. He’s all bark and no bite.” For effect Thomas ripped a bite of sandwich with his teeth and snarled.

I cracked up. “Where are we going?”

“Right over here.” Thomas veered from the main path onto a dirt trail that led into a wooded area of the park.

My heart sank. I knew exactly where he was taking me. The site of our first kiss.

What was his agenda? Damn Caroline for trying to put ideas in my head. I thought Thomas wanted to talk about Nancy’s murder. Now I wondered if he wanted to not-so-subtly rehash our teenage love affair.

Chapter Twenty-one

I followed Thomas to a park bench under a cluster of trees that stood rigid in the windless sky. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I wiped it away and took another drink of my iced tea. It had warmed on the short jaunt from the bakeshop. Not so refreshing.

Thomas finished the last of his sandwich, folded the waxed paper and tucked it in his pocket. He tilted his body so our knees were nearly touching. I crossed my legs, making sure my knee faced the opposite direction.

“You look better today. How’s the head?” Thomas asked.

I doubted that. Sweat dripped down my neck. I could feel it pooling under my arms and heat warming on my cheeks.

“It’s better.” I rubbed the lump. “I’ve been knocking back Advil every couple hours.”

“Good.” He paused, watching a squirrel scamper from branch to branch in one of the trees above us.

I breathed in the warm, forest air. It smelled like my childhood—the deep scent of the earthy forest, blooming roses nearby, a hint of sulfur and smoke still lingering in the air.

Rewind fifteen years and I could still imagine myself sitting on this same bench, just as sweaty, jittery with anticipation, and praying internally that Thomas would lean in and kiss me already.

So much had changed since then, but did Thomas want to pretend it hadn’t? I didn’t have the energy or clarity to talk about how things ended with us. I guess the only way was to be honest, as much as that might suck.

He must have read my mind. “Listen, Jules, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he started. He ran his fingers over his gently tanned checks covered with light stubble.

I cut him off. “Thomas. Stop.” I scooted to the end of the bench and wiped my brow again. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m
married.
”

Thomas wrinkled his forehead and looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“This bench. All the checking-in. I know you want to talk about why I left, but I can’t right now.”

A dark look clouded his face. “Am I that pathetic?” He jumped off the bench and yanked a leaf from a nearby tree. “I get it. You’re the grand world traveler. I’m a townie who never left. You think I’m stuck.”

He dropped the leaf, ripped another from the tree and started pacing behind the bench.

I swiveled my body. “No, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

How could I have read his signals so wrong?

“I’m an idiot.” I covered my burning face with my hands and continued. “Really, I’m sorry. Everything’s off center for me right now. Leaving the ship, coming home, Nancy’s murder…” I trailed off.

Thomas stopped pacing.

“Bringing me here.” I waved to the forest. “Our old ‘spot’ and you’ve been so sweet and helpful. I guess I just misread the situation. You know how rumors fly around here. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

He remained still, as if considering my words.

“Please.” I patted the bench next to me. “Come sit. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

“Geez, Jules.” Thomas planted himself on the bench. The hard look in his eyes had softened. “You really know how to make a guy feel like an ass.”

Burying my face in my hands again, I laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Story of my life.” I sighed. Then, I reached out and touched his shoulder. “Seriously, please accept my apology.”

He bent to his side and elbowed me. “Whatever. It’s cool.” He moved back to his end of the bench. “For the record, I’ll have you know that I’ve moved on too. No, I’m not married, but there happens to be someone in my life right now. You don’t need to worry that I’m going to make some kind of move. You’re safe with me.”

The news that Thomas had someone in his life made me a tiny bit jealous. Maybe I’d misread his signals. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to believe that someone other than Carlos was interested in me. After all, don’t they say it’s easier to recover from a breakup by throwing yourself into something new?

Thomas wasn’t the one who was messed up. I was.

“Okay, now that we have that awkwardness out of the way.” Thomas crinkled his face. “Can we get back to business?’

“Yes, please.” I nodded frantically.

“I’m trying to get a handle on the timeline of Nancy’s murder. Can you walk me through one more time when you bumped into Mia and arrived at Torte?” Thomas sat upright, commanding an air of seriousness.

He scrolled through notes on his iPad, nodding occasionally, as I went back through the morning of Nancy’s murder step-by-step.

When I finished Thomas returned his phone to his breast pocket and scratched his head.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, yet.” He checked behind us to make sure no one was nearby.

“Don’t repeat this, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Mia is our top suspect right now, and unfortunately your recollection of events corroborates that, but I’m having a hard time believing she could have done it. She hasn’t been officially charged. We’re holding her on a probable cause warrant for the time being.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if we don’t find any new evidence before her case goes to a grand jury next week, they’ll likely indict her and charge her with Nancy’s murder.”

“Damn.”

Thomas gave me a knowing nod.