The Café between Pumpkin and Pie Read online

  “Double that order.”

  Love Rising

  STACY FINZ

  For my husband, Jaxon Van Derbeken

  Chapter 1

  What . . . the . . . hell?

  The screeching noise was so incessant Sydney bolted straight up from her grandmother’s bed. At first, she thought it was a bad dream. A buzz saw running rampant through the little town of Moonbright, Maine. She didn’t need Freud to know that the buzz saw represented the current state of her life.

  But now, wide awake, she realized the noise, which also included a pounding that reverberated through the walls, was no dream. Just your garden-variety construction nightmare. It was happening all over San Francisco, where new buildings were going up faster than jetliners over the bay.

  But in Moonbright?

  She threw her covers off and padded to the window. There was a red pickup truck parked in the driveway, and the carriage house doors were flung wide open. Syd grabbed the first things her hands touched in her suitcase, dressed, and flew downstairs, straight out the back door.

  There was a man tearing out the walls of Gram’s beloved crafts room.

  “Excuse me,” she shouted over the hammering and Mick Jagger wailing that he couldn’t get any satisfaction. “Excuse me!”

  The man whirled around, took a longer than necessary look at her, and grinned.

  “I guess you don’t remember me.”

  She remembered him all right. Right up to the moment when . . . well, she’d gotten the thankless jerk through his junior year of Algebra II. Except Nick Rossi was no longer a high school student. The once rangy teenager had turned into a full-fledged man. There were now a few crow’s-feet dancing around those chocolaty brown eyes of his, and the broad shoulders she’d once ogled in math class had doubled in width.

  Even in the brisk autumn air, he wore only a white, slightly damp T-shirt that clung to his chest like a second skin. He still had that thick head of wavy brown hair, though. Not like Gage, who by the time they’d broken up had started a regular regime of Rogaine.

  “My dad retired,” Nick said. “My brothers and I took over Rossi Construction about two years ago.”

  Okay. But that didn’t explain why he was destroying the carriage house.

  “What’s going on here?” She pointed at the walls or, rather, lack of them.

  The question seemed to surprise him, judging by the look on his face, which was a combination of mystification and you’re joshing me, right? “I’m installing the kitchen Stella wanted.”

  Kitchen? The Victorian already had a kitchen. And Stella . . . was dead.

  “I think we’d better start at the beginning because I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t we go inside?” In her haste, she’d forgotten a jacket and was cold. October in California was still like summer. Not so much in Maine.

  He nodded, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and followed her to the kitchen. “I know it’s only a short time since the funeral. But the last time Stella and I talked . . . before she, uh, passed . . . she was in a rush to get it done.”

  What done?

  “I guess that’s where we need to start,” Syd said. “Gram never said a word to me about turning the carriage house into a kitchen.” Gram loved to cook, but a second kitchen seemed a little excessive for an elderly woman suffering from cancer. Not to mention that for years the spacious granny unit had been Gram’s refuge, a place where she’d gone to sew and work on her many craft projects.

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. But if you’d like to see the contract, I’ve got it in my truck.”

  “Yes, I’d like to see it.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He blinked at her in surprise, then became a little less congenial. “What? You think I made the whole thing up? That I get my jollies sneaking into people’s homes and rebuilding them for shits and giggles?”

  “I don’t know; do you? What I do know is there is absolutely no reason my grandmother would’ve wanted to turn her carriage house into a kitchen.” She’d had pancreatic cancer, not a brain tumor.

  Nick snorted, turned on his heel, and returned a short time later with the contract. At the bottom of the paperwork was Gram’s signature, clear as day. “You happy?”

  No, she wasn’t happy. Why would Gram have done this without consulting with Syd? They were as close as mother and daughter. Syd had traversed the country ten times in the last year to be with Stella in her final days and not once had she mentioned converting the carriage house. Hell, if she’d wanted a new kitchen, why not remodel this one? Syd glanced around the room, noting all the ways it could be updated.

  Other than adding a few modern appliances, her grandparents had kept the kitchen the same as when they had purchased the Victorian more than fifty years ago.

  She let out a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say. This has caught me completely off guard. Obviously, a second kitchen is no longer necessary. And of course I’ll pay you to put everything back the way it was.”

  Nick rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because your grandmother paid me in full and I’ve spent a good chunk of the money on lumber, cabinets, materials, and appliances.”

  “Can’t that stuff be returned?”

  He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “The things are custom for the job, so, no, I can’t return them.”

  This was certainly a conundrum. One Syd didn’t need, considering all the other complications in her life. Besides her losing the most important person in her world, her ex-boyfriend had just announced his engagement to Syd’s former assistant. On top of that, Syd was knee-deep in starting a new business.

  “Well then, just put them in here.” Syd thought the idea inspired. It would kill two birds with one stone—restore the carriage house back to a granny flat and spruce up the Victorian’s dated kitchen. “I’d like to get the house listed, and bringing the kitchen into the twenty-first century might help sell it.”

  “Oh,” he said, taken aback. “I’d assumed you’d be staying.”

  She couldn’t fathom what had given him that idea. Syd had hightailed it out of Moonbright right after graduation. Sure, she’d come back often to visit her grandmother, but small-town life wasn’t for her. After culinary school, Syd had preferred the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, a foodie mecca and the perfect location for her bakery, Bread & Cie. She was already scouting sites for a second bakery and was hoping for a grand opening to coincide with the release of her first cookbook.

  “No,” she said. “I’m just here for a few weeks, enough time to deal with my grandmother’s estate.” She glanced up at the peeling plaster on the ceiling where there’d been a leak from the upstairs bathroom. “So it’s settled. We’ll just do the work in here and I’ll reimburse you for whatever you’ve done so far on the carriage house.”

  Nick gazed at the furniture-style cabinets and the old farm sink. “What part of ‘custom’ didn’t you understand? None of the stuff your grandmother ordered will fit in here. The ovens alone would take up a third of the space.”

  “Do you like being difficult?” He certainly had in high school.

  He threw up his arms. “Who’s being difficult here? Stella hired me to do a job, and I’m following through with my obligation.” He rubbed his hand down the back of his head and searched the room until his eyes fell on the coffeemaker. “You mind if I make a pot? I think we could both use a cup of coffee to figure this out.”

  “I’ll make it.” She rifled through the cupboard, found a bag of ground beans, turned on the machine, and got down two mugs. Nick didn’t strike her as a cream and sugar kind of guy, so she served him his coffee black. He motioned for her to take a seat at the small table.

  “Isn’t there any way you can just make it work?” she said. “Cut down the cabinets if you have to.”

  Nick frowned. “The stuff for the carriage house is sleek and all commercial grade. I
don’t think your grandmother would’ve wanted that for here. The house is original. We should keep it that way. Then there’s the small issue that I was hired by your grandmother, not you. And she wanted the kitchen in the carriage house.”

  Syd bristled at his presumptuousness, but the truth was Stella Byrne had loved this house like her own child. And while the upkeep had become too much for her in the last decade, she had preserved the Victorian as one did a piece of treasured history. With respect and affection.

  “Did she tell you why she wanted a commercial grade kitchen?” The whole thing baffled Syd.

  “Only that she had big plans for Moonbright and that she was keeping things under wraps until she got further along in the process.”

  “When? When did she tell you that?”

  “Two months ago.”

  That was crazy. Three months ago, she had received her diagnosis. Pancreatic adenocarcinoma.

  “She wanted me to get going on it as soon as possible,” Nick said. “I kind of got the impression that it was her . . . you know.”

  “Dying wish?”

  He nodded, his expression solemn. “We were just waiting on permits. And now that I’ve got them, I’m gonna finish the job.”

  She wanted to say that he wasn’t the boss here. She was. But it would only sound childish. Furthermore, she didn’t want to go against her grandmother’s wishes, even if she was flying blind to the reason for them. It just seemed so wasteful to build a commercial kitchen in a residential property. Unless Syd sold the house to a restaurateur—the chances being slim to none—it made more sense to leave the carriage house as a spare room. That way the family who bought the place could use the granny flat for anything they wanted.

  She blew out a breath. “Do you have an inventory of the materials I can see?” Maybe it would give her a clue about her grandmother’s intentions.

  “It’s back at the office. I can get it for you.” He paused, then said, “Stella was explicit that there was a plan for all of it. I’m sure if you did a little poking around, you could find out what she had in mind.”

  Syd didn’t need Nick Rossi’s condescending advice. She was about to tell him that when she thought better of it. Why spare the energy? Of course she planned to poke around. The question was where? If Gram hadn’t told Syd her plans, whom had she told? “In the meantime, get me that list?” She rifled through her purse and shoved a business card at him.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Nick dropped his own card on the counter.

  “Great, then I’ll let you clean up.” She leaned her head in the direction of the carriage house in a not-so-subtle hint. “I’m sure you have other things to do today.”

  She walked him to the door, then poured herself another cup of coffee. The temperature had dipped into the forties and she turned up the thermostat, pondering what to do about breakfast. In San Francisco she had a plethora of options, including her own bakery, which served a mean scone. Here in Moonbright, the locals were most likely to eat at the Corner Café, a family-owned restaurant and Gram’s favorite. The café’s whoopie pie was off the charts. And everything else on the menu had that delicious hearty homespun quality that San Francisco’s chichi restaurants and coffeehouses lacked.

  But it was the morning before the town’s big Halloween parade and the Corner Café would be a zoo. Syd wasn’t up for seeing Gram’s friends and neighbors so soon after the funeral. Though Gram had been sick for a long time and her passing hadn’t been unexpected, Syd was still grieving.

  She grabbed some eggs from the fridge and found a package of English muffins in the bread box. Comfort food for a chilly autumn morning. She’d just begun to whisk a little cream into her bowl of eggs when the racket started all over again.

  “What the . . . ?”

  She peered out the window. Nick was on the roof of the carriage house with a circular saw. She rushed out the back door.

  “Hey,” she called up to him, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise. She scurried up the ladder. “Hey!”

  That caught his attention and he turned off the saw. “What’s up?”

  “I thought we decided to wait on this until I saw the materials list.”

  “I thought I told you that Stella hired me to do a job and that I planned to see it through.”

  “Are you serious? You can’t even give me a day to digest this cockamamie scheme or find out why Gram hired you in the first place?”

  He pointed at his watch. “Time is money. So nope.”

  She would have ordered him off her property if it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t legally own it yet. Until Gram’s estate was settled, everything had to go through Stella’s lawyer. And Syd would be damned before she bothered the man over stupid Nick Rossi.

  “Well, then, keep it down. I have work to do.” She started to get down from the ladder when it swayed.

  Nick steadied it before she toppled to the ground, and hauled her up onto the roof. “Sit. Otherwise you’re liable to kill yourself.” He grabbed the spot next to her. “You’re still pissed at me, aren’t you?”

  “Over what?” She pretended not to know what he was talking about, because only a loser would hold a grudge that long over something so petty. So ridiculous. Besides, it was ages ago. She was a successful businesswoman now, not a lonely teenage girl.

  He searched her face, trying to determine whether she was telling the truth. Apparently satisfied that she was, he said, “Syd, I’m just trying to do the right thing here. This was important to Stella. I don’t know why she wanted a commercial kitchen in her carriage house, but she did. Enough so that she paid me in advance because she knew she wouldn’t be around to see it finished. I won’t renege on the deal she and I made. When it’s done you can pull it all out if that’s what you want to do. Sell everything on Craigslist. But I’m not walking away until I’ve fulfilled my promise.”

  She couldn’t argue with his dedication, even though she wanted to.

  “I just want my grandmother back.” She squeezed her eyes shut, valiantly trying to stop a flow of tears.

  “I’m sorry about Stella, Sydney. We all were. In fact, I don’t remember a funeral that well attended in Moonbright in a long time. That’s how special she was.”

  Had he been there? The day had passed in such a devastating haze that Syd could barely recall the service, let alone the attendees. She’d moved through the postfuneral reception, accepting condolences like a ghost.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice near a whisper.

  They sat there for a long time, neither of them speaking. Syd tried to collect herself, but being back in Moonbright only served as a reminder of all that she had lost. First her parents sixteen years ago. And now Stella.

  The sooner she left this town the better.

  Nick’s phone beeped, breaking the silence. He studied what seemed to be a text and said, “Today’s your lucky day. I’ve got to put out a fire at another job site. So you’ve got a reprieve until Monday.”

  He got up and readjusted the ladder. “I’ll go first and hold it for you. Promise me you won’t break your neck. Last thing I need is for my insurance premiums to go through the roof.”

  She gave him a dirty look, then followed him down the ladder. When she landed on the middle rung, he hooked her around the waist, lifted her into the air, and gently dropped her on solid ground. Show-off, Syd silently muttered to herself. But an unwanted tingle went up her spine just the same.

  She stood to the side of the driveway as Nick packed up his stuff and locked up the carriage house.

  “See you at the parade tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he headed to his truck, his tool belt hugging a slim pair of denim-encased hips.

  The parade.

  She hadn’t planned on going, which was sacrilege in Moonbright. Every year, the entire town gathered for the big event, a processional of costumed locals that included everyone from the high school marching band to fifth-generation families. The Macy’s parade it was not. But it was
Moonbright’s thing the way the Bay to Breakers was San Francisco’s. Gram—Gramps, too, when he was alive—had loved it, planning and sewing her costume months in advance.

  Perhaps it would be good to get out, Sydney thought as she watched Nick drive away. An opportunity to ask around about Gram’s kitchen. She’d avoid Nick Rossi like a colonoscopy.

  Last she’d heard, he’d gotten engaged to Jennifer Gerard, his high school sweetheart. Back then, Jen had been voted the girl most likely to become a movie star. Tough to do from tiny Moonbright, Maine. Syd guessed Nick Rossi was Jen’s consolation prize, such as it was.

  Unfortunately, for the next few weeks he was going to be the bane of Syd’s existence.

  Chapter 2

  Nick passed the Corner Café and Bellaluna’s Bakeshop on his way home that evening, pondering the wisdom of stopping for takeout. But parade prep, including blocking off the main route, was in full swing and finding a parking space would be a bitch. Quicker to pop leftovers in the microwave.

  He bypassed the chaos, taking a side street to the east side of town where his small Cape Cod was nestled in a tidy, tree-lined neighborhood of modest homes. It was a far cry from the colonial he and Jen had shared on one of Moonbright’s most prestigious streets. And to tell the truth, he hadn’t done much to keep up the little house. The shutters were rotting, the paint on the siding chipping, and soon he’d need a new roof. What was the saying about the cobbler’s kids having no shoes?

  Rossi Construction was so busy he barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone do work on his own house. Things were supposed to let up in fall with the bad weather, but the jobs kept coming. Everyone wanted a kitchen redo or a bathroom makeover in time for the holidays. But hey, it was good for Nick’s bank account, so he wasn’t complaining.

  He’d actually been looking forward to Stella’s job. Not so much because the work interested him but because he’d always been fond of the old woman who’d defied age. Hell, the last time he’d seen Stella, she’d been dancing in her kitchen to a Guns N’ Roses song. Only in the last few weeks of her life had she shown the ravages of cancer.