Recipe for Romance

Lucy’s eyes softened. “I know, and I’m so grateful, Scott. Honestly, I am.” She lowered her eyes to the ground, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve lived with so much guilt knowing that Bobby accidentally caused that fire.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what we would have done if Max Hamilton wasn’t funding the project in exchange for some land George inherited. You can’t imagine how that felt...the relief.”

No, Scott thought grimly. He couldn’t say he did know how that would feel. There was no stranger to swoop into town and clear up his mess, the way Max had apparently helped so much since moving to Maple Woods after the holidays. Scott couldn’t rebuild the past. He couldn’t raise the dead. There was no righting his wrongs.

“It means everything to me that you’re here to take over the job, Scott. Don’t lose sight of that,” she explained.

Scott eyed her warily. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

Lucy gave a sad smile. “Don’t let this chance pass you by. It’s been a long time. Let things go. Don’t do something you’ll regret forever.” She held his gaze, and he almost felt his stance weaken, his resolve waver. Almost.

Scott shook his head adamantly, feeling the flush of heat spread up his neck. “I don’t regret staying away, Lucy.” And he didn’t. His father might not have trouble looking people in the eye, knowing the part he played in one of the town’s greatest tragedies, but Scott would rather give up everything he loved than build his life around a lie.

“Well, if you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for me!” she said, her eyes suddenly filling with tears as fury blazed bright.

Scott cursed inwardly, feeling the strain of her emotion, the weight of his burden. After a long pause, he said tightly, “No promises.”

Lucy relaxed her stance. She nodded slowly, saying nothing more as she reached out to take his arm. It took everything in him not to break down then and there, to tell her everything. To shed the weight he had carried for so long. To divulge every last detail of what his parents told him that awful night—what their family had done to the Porters. Those poor Porters.

“Come into the bakery,” she said to him. “We’ve got a special event as part of the opening week and I don’t want you to miss it.”

Scott hesitated. “You’re not working at the diner this morning?”

“Not if I can help it.” Lucy bent down to clip a sprig of blue hydrangea from a whiskey barrel planter. “I barely spent an hour at Sweetie Pie without being interrupted yesterday, they were so lost without me at the diner. I’m hoping things go a little smoother today.”

Without another word, she pushed through the front door, frowning until Scott forced himself to follow. His pulse skipped when he saw Emily standing behind the counter, looking just as pretty as the day before. She met his gaze with a small smile and something deep within his gut stirred. He looked away, around the crowded room, noticing that nearly every table was filled. There was a cheerful buzz to the room, a soft tinkling of music in the background, and the sweet aroma of pie and coffee to make everyone, including him, feel at home.

Home. He hadn’t thought of that word in a very long time. It was a vague idea of something he wasn’t sure he had anymore. He hadn’t dared to think of Maple Woods as home since he’d left, and his condo in Seattle was just a place to live.

“Emily!” Lucy called to Scott’s horror. His breath locked in his tightened chest. “Mind getting Scott settled? I’ve got to check on that order of strawberries. We should have had them an hour ago.”

Emily’s face blanched and she darted her gaze from Lucy to Scott and back again. “Sure,” she murmured as she finished plating a slice of pie for an impatient customer.

Scott turned to his sister. “I came in here to visit with you, Lucy,” he said quietly.

“Emily will take good care of you. If you let her.” Lucy winked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back.

“I’m just saying that Emily makes a damn good pie,” she said airily. “Last I checked, that was the purest way to a man’s heart.”

Scott chuckled in spite of himself. “Lucy! Please!”

“What? I seem to remember you being awfully smitten with her at one point. I always thought you were going to marry her, in fact.” She lifted an eyebrow and turned away from him with a coy shrug, shutting down the conversation.

Scott shook his head and reluctantly walked over to the display case, sparing an awkward smile for Emily. Guilt and shame haunted him, and he tried desperately to shrug off the unwanted feelings.

“Hi.” Emily’s soft voice dragged him from his darkening thoughts and he quickly recovered, perking up as he let his gaze roam over her pretty face. His stomach tightened as his attention lingered on the smoky gray eyes and that plump, upturned mouth stained a shade of red that excited him more than it should.

“Hey.” He stared into his mug as she filled it to the rim. Just the way he liked it. His breath hitched as he caught sight of her feminine curves beneath the apron she wore, and he tried to recall what it had felt like to hold her waist and feel her body against his. The memory was so close, but just out of reach.

She held his gaze, not betraying any outward interest, and Scott felt a flicker of disappointment. She was being hospitable. Playing her role. Doing her job. He wanted to pull her into a back room, somewhere they could talk, and explain everything. He wanted to atone for the pain he had caused, to make it up to her—somehow. He searched her face, imagining her sweet expression crumbling before his eyes as he delivered the crushing news, and his gut twisted. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t, but to never tell her...

“So, I don’t see you for twelve years and now it’s twice in two days,” she said, shaking her head on a sigh. “The pie must be even better than I thought.”

Scott grimaced at the edge of hurt in her tone and took a quick sip of the steaming coffee. “Lucy invited me in,” he began. “I don’t want to upset you. I can leave if you want.”

Fire sparked her eyes. “Leave?” She chuckled, a soft icy sound that pulled at his chest. She really did hate him, and who could blame her? “Leaving seems to be something you’ve had practice with,” she said evenly.

Scott drew a ragged breath and ran a hand over his face, every inch of his heart aching to set her straight, to tell her the truth. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“Believe it or not I had my reasons.” He cleared his throat and finished the rest of his coffee. His body temperature was starting to rise. He needed to get out of here. Even his father’s office would be better than this place. Anything was better than seeing that hurt expression in Emily’s eyes.

Emily leaned a hip against the counter and folded her arms. “I’m all ears.”

The knot in his gut tightened. Not now. Not like this. Not ever. Emily could never know what he had done, the part he had played in her misfortune. The losses she had suffered at his hand. “It was a long time ago, Em,” he finally said.

After a beat, she gave him a withering smile and slapped a hand over his empty mug, pulling it toward her. “You’re right,” she said, before turning her back on him. “And I stopped holding my breath before you’d even crossed the state line.”

He scowled. “You don’t mean that.”

“Is it really so hard to believe?” She snatched a rag from under the counter and began scrubbing furiously at the polished wood counter. “We were kids, Scott. It was a fling, it was fun, and then it was over.”

“Emily.” She couldn’t mean those harsh words. She couldn’t. They’d been in love. “It wasn’t a fling.”

She stopped scrubbing, but her hand remained clenched on the rag. “Maybe it wasn’t. But it was just as meaningless in the end.”

She turned on her heel and walked away before he could open his mouth to reply. From the entrance to the kitchen, Scott saw Lucy smiling at him, her eyes full of hope. He wrapped a hand around his neck and rubbed at the tense and aching muscles.

If Lucy thought she was playing matchmaker here, she was doing a very bad job of it.

* * *

The nerve of that man!

Emily’s blood pounded in her ears as she assisted the next customer on autopilot. From the corner of her eye she could see Scott, sitting at the counter, fingers tented before him, his mouth a thin, grim line.

What was he still doing here? Why wouldn’t he just leave?

She lifted her chin and turned away from him once more, denying the temptation to steal another glance. So he knew he had hurt her, knew how badly he had broken her heart. And now—now!—he wanted to spare her? As if he assumed she was still holding on, still licking her wounds from a dozen years ago.

She gritted her teeth. He knew her better than she wished he did in that moment.

She turned her head slightly, waiting to take another quick peek, her pulse quickening as she did so. Yep, still there all right. Well, no bother. He was here for Lucy, after all. And the freaking pie. Honestly!

He looked up, catching her stare. Flustered, Emily spilled the coffee she had been pouring all over the counter. She hissed out a curse and grabbed a rag, hiding her burning face behind the curtain of hair spilling from her ponytail as she wiped up her mess, trying to ignore the tremble in her hand.

Damn you, Scott Collins! After everything he had done to her—the way he had treated her—she was still irresistibly, hopelessly, foolishly attracted to this man.

A commotion was starting near the door and Emily looked up to see Jack Logan and Cole Davis hollering to Scott, both men grinning ear to ear as they strode past the counter and greeted the town’s prodigal son with slaps on the back and high fives. Emily bit back a scowl. The kid who put Maple Woods on the map with that tie breaking touchdown senior year had graced them with his presence. A photograph of Scott’s victorious win still hung in the principal’s office.

She listened passively as the men caught up, making promises to meet up for beers one night, to talk about the good ol’ times. Her heart fell, wondering why the same hadn’t been offered to her. Hadn’t she been just as much of a mark on that time in his life as his teammates? Hadn’t she been more?

“Emily, we have a problem,” Lucy announced, coming out of the kitchen flushed and breathless.

Emily studied her in alarm. “What is it?” she asked, realizing that Scott had stopped talking with Jack and Cole long enough to eavesdrop.

“It’s the mayor. He has a last-minute meeting. He isn’t going to make it.” She gestured around the packed room of customers, all waiting for a chance to partake in the pie toss. “I hate to let them down. Our first week in business!”

Emily opened her mouth to put her boss at ease when Scott cut in. “What’s the problem, Lucy?” he asked.

Emily trained her eye on Lucy, refusing to feed into his concern. So he felt like being nice now. Felt like playing hero. Where was this chivalry twelve years ago? Where was his sense of responsibility then?

“It’s the pie toss,” Lucy explained. “We seem to be missing our target.”

“Let Scott do it!” Jack suggested, and Cole laughed heartily, slapping Scott soundly on the back.

The men grabbed his shoulders, cajoled him until his face was red and his smile was broad enough to reveal that elusive dimple she had almost managed to forget. He held up his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, okay,” he said, grinning. “But only as a favor for my sister.”

A cheer went up in the room at this and Lucy beamed, leading the group through the front door to where a chair had been set up on the sidewalk for all of Maple Woods to see. If this didn’t pique interest and generate business, Emily wasn’t sure what would. Already a few curious customers from Lucy’s Place had emerged from the open door, lifting their chins to take in the show across the street.

“Don’t go too easy on the whipped cream,” Jack advised her, and she slid him a smile. Oh, she didn’t intend to. “Hey,” he said, tipping his head. “Didn’t you and Scott used to date?”

Emily felt her cheeks warm, but before she had a chance to shut down the question, Jack turned to Scott, who was settling himself into the folding chair. “It’s a real reunion over here, today. You and Emily used to date, didn’t you?”

Emily filled another pie plate, holding her breath. Seconds seemed to pass as she waited for Scott’s answer, her heart racing with expectation.

“Yeah, we used to hang out,” he finally said.

Her hands went still. They used to hang out? Three years of her life, all those days spent laughing and talking, curling into each other’s arms, dreaming of a future. They were just hanging out!

Tears prickled the backs of her eyes, whether from fury or sadness, she wasn’t even sure anymore. She thought it had hurt when he disappeared without a trace twelve years ago, but hearing him dismiss their relationship all over again only broke her heart for the second time.

She set the pie plate down and turned to him, resting her hands on her hips. Watching him sit there with that expectant grin on his face that used to be reserved just for her, practically basking in the attention of half the town who had gathered to see Scott Collins—back at long last!—she felt her heart begin to rip all over again.

“Who’s up first?” Lucy called out, and a shuffling and nervous laughter fell over the crowd.

“Why don’t I kick this off?” Emily heard herself say.

Scott swiveled to her. Dread clouded his eyes, but there was no denying the amused twitch in that cocky grin.

Setting her jaw, Emily swiftly picked up a pie plate and walked to the line Lucy had drawn out in white chalk. Without waiting for a signal, she hurled the plate in Scott’s direction. Whipped cream splattered at his feet.

A rumble went up in the crowd, but Emily barely noticed it. Her chest heaved with each breath as she stared at him, remembering the way his mouth used to curve when he saw her across the room, the way his brow would lift ever so slightly, the way he would quietly come up to her and place one hand on her hip. Lifting her chin, Emily marched back into the bakery, ignoring the way the crowd hushed and then slowly started to whisper with speculation. She walked around the counter, grabbed Scott’s beloved cherry pie from its stand, and beelined back to the door. An audible gasp released from the crowd as she stepped onto the sidewalk, but they were of no concern to her at the moment. There was only one person on her mind, and he had it coming. This was well overdue.

“Emily—” Scott’s old buddy Jack started, but she nailed him with a hard look and he clamped his mouth.

She positioned herself before she lost her nerve, but the adrenaline pumping in her veins showed no signs of slowing. She locked eyes with her target, noticing the way his brow had furrowed to a point. He let out a nervous chuckle. This is for stealing my heart, Scott. She pulled her arm back, fixing her eye on that lopsided grin that quickly vanished as she released the aluminum pan, sending it flying in his direction. And that’s for breaking it.

She knew even before it hit him square in the face that her aim was perfect. And he knew it, too—she saw his expression dissolve into one of frozen shock just before the pie slammed into him, dead center, knocking him slightly to the left. Bright red filling oozed from the sides of the flimsy pan as it slowly slid down his nose. Scott swiped at the cherries and bits of crust that clung to his face, his eyes wide and confused, and for a moment, Emily almost felt sorry for what she had done. But then she remembered. He was no friend of hers. And she had nothing to apologize for. That was his department.

The crowd was laughing now, but Emily wasn’t amused. Blindly muttering something to Lucy about going back inside to man the counter, she wove through the throng of onlookers, ducked into the empty storefront, and pushed past the swinging door to the kitchen. And only then, only when she was sure no one would ever see or ever know, did she allow herself to cry over Scott Collins.

Chapter Three

Scott pulled his car to a stop and shut off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back against the smooth leather headrest. The evening sunlight reflected off the windows of his parents’ house, making it impossible to see inside. He felt an odd sensation of disbelief that he had once lived here at all, much less that he had spent the first eighteen years of his life knowing every inch of the house by heart, thinking of it as home. Still one of the prettiest houses in all of Maple Woods, time was obviously posing a challenge for its upkeep: white paint peeled from various corners of the siding; grass was sprouting up through a few cracks in the brick path leading up to the center door; the yard needed weeding and the bushes needed to be pruned.

Lucy’s car was parked at the top of the driveway, and Scott couldn’t fight the twinge of resentment he felt toward her. She had won—dragged him here against his will. She didn’t understand the circumstances that had kept him away, but why the heck couldn’t she just respect his wishes? Wasn’t he doing enough for her already?

Scott gritted his teeth. It’s now or never. He pulled on the latch and thrust the car door open, closing it behind him with quiet force. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode up the cracking path to the faded green door, wondering if he should knock or just try the handle. Hesitating, he knocked twice, peering through the slender window that framed the door for any sign of activity inside. Seconds later, an older woman with gray hair and a plump middle entered the front hall. When she saw him through the glass, she stopped walking and her hand flew to her heart.

His mother.

Instinctively, he pulled back from the window. He ran his fingers coarsely through his hair. The last time he had seen her she was an attractive woman in her late forties. Now she was sixty. Rationally he knew it had been a long time. He just hadn’t realized the toll the years had taken on her.

The door flung open and his mother’s bright blue eyes locked with his. Blinking back tears, she leaned forward and grabbed him, squeezing him tight to a body that still felt familiar.

As soon as he could, he pulled back, standing uncomfortably in the door frame, allowing her gaze to roam over him with nostalgic appraisal, as though she had just stumbled upon a once-cherished childhood toy in the attic. He hated this. He hated this. He had thought he had cut off his feelings a long time ago—that he would be strong enough to deal with this reunion if it ever came—but the ache in his chest proved otherwise.

“It’s so good to see you,” his mother said breathlessly, and Scott managed a weak smile.

“The house looks nice,” he offered, stepping into the hall. He glanced around. Everything was exactly the same. Every painting hung on its same hook, every chair sat planted in the same position. Yet somehow, it was all different.

“Ah well, I’ve been meaning to get someone out here to take care of the yard now that...” she trailed off and inhaled sharply, closing the door behind him and then smoothing her hands over her skirt.

Scott balled his hands at his sides. “Is Lucy in the kitchen?” he asked, following the smell that was wafting from the back of the house.

Lucy was standing at the big island in the middle of the room, tossing a salad. Her eyes were unnaturally bright when she smiled. When she said hello, her voice was a notch higher than usual. It was then that he realized she was nervous. Well, she was the one insisting on this awkward arrangement. He wasn’t sure why she thought it would be easy. For any of them.

“I see you’re all cleaned up,” she observed.

Scott shrugged. He had hoped to avoid thinking of Emily for just one night, but that was impossible. Being here in this house only stirred his emotions to the surface. “Keep tossing pies at me and I’ll never get into the office to get the library project under way,” he warned.

“Don’t worry,” Lucy replied. “That’s it for the promotional stunts. But between you and me, I think you were a bigger hit than the mayor would have been.”

“Glad I could help.” He glanced around the room. “Where are George and Bobby?”

“George’s at the diner. Bobby’s studying for a test tomorrow.”

Scott nodded. Topic closed, the room fell silent again. He released a heavy sigh. “Where’s...”

“Dad?” Lucy lifted an eyebrow. Tight-lipped, she returned her attention to the salad. “He’s upstairs.”

His mother appeared in the arched doorway that led to the dining room. “He’s so pleased to know you’re here,” she added.

That makes one of us.

Scott rolled his shoulders, pushing back the resentment. He was angry at his parents—angry to the bone—but damn it if a part of him didn’t ache when he thought of them. It was easier, with time and distance, to just focus on the bad—on the event that had severed his ties with them for good. But all it took was one hint of his mother’s smile, the lull of her voice, to make him wish with all his might that things could have been different, that he could have just loved his parents and let them love him. That he didn’t have to look at them and be reminded of everything that had been lost instead.

He set his jaw and turned to the window, looking out over the backyard that stretched to the wood. Tulips had sprung up around the edges of the house providing a cheerful contrast to the situation within.

“Your father won’t be able to come down for dinner,” his mother was saying as she pulled three place mats from the basket on the baker’s rack. “We’ll take some soup up to him after he rests.”

They wandered silently into the dining room, his mother taking her usual place at the head of the table closest to the kitchen, he and Lucy sliding into their childhood seats on autopilot. Scott unfolded the thick cloth napkin and placed it in his lap. “Looks delicious, Lucy,” he said as she handed him a plate with a large steaming square of lasagna.

“Lucy’s been keeping us well fed,” his mother said through a tight smile. “More food than one person can eat, really,” she continued, her voice growing sad. “Have you been over to the office yet?” his mother continued.

It both amazed and saddened Scott that his relationship with his mother had come to this: polite, stilted conversation. As though there was never a bond between them—not a shared love, not a shared life, not a shared secret.

He took a bite of the lasagna. “Not yet.” He forced his tone not to turn bitter when he said, “Given Dad’s commitment to the company, I think it’s safe to assume everything is in place for the library project and I can just take over where he left off.” A heavy silence fell over the room.

Lucy bit on her lip and then asked tentatively, “Why don’t you go upstairs and see him after we’re finished with dinner?”

His stomach twisted, but he nodded. Wordlessly, he finished his meal, slowly pushed back his chair and followed his mother up the stairs, his pulse taking speed with each step. He kept his gaze low, noticing how the floorboards creaked under the weight of each step. Lucy stayed downstairs, under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen, but he knew better. She was down there wringing her hands, saying a hundred desperate prayers that progress would be made, and that all would be forgotten.

Oh, Lucy.

“He might be sleeping,” his mother whispered as they approached the master bedroom. She stopped, her hand clutching the brass knob. “Let me just go in and tell him you’re here.”

Scott stepped back and his mother slipped through the door, leaving it open an inch. Through the crack he could hear her soothing voice telling his father that “Scottie” was home and wanted to see him. If his father said anything in return, it wasn’t audible from this distance.

His mother tipped her head around the door frame and nodded. With one last sharp breath, Scott entered the room, his blood stilling at what he saw. His father, once a strapping, robust man with a handsome face and personality that could intimidate even the strongest of men on a construction crew, had withered into a frail wisp of his former self. His skin, once bronzed from days spent on job sites, was now an alarming shade of grayish-white. Propped up on two pillows, his eyes were hollow and dark.