Last Kiss of Summer Page 3

  “It comes with an apartment?” This deal couldn’t get any sweeter. Having an apartment would allow her to save up enough money for a down payment on her own home someday—one that didn’t have a live-in heartbreak waiting to happen.

  One that belonged to her.

  “The store, the apartment, her recipes, supplies, and name are all yours if you say yes.” Edna smiled. “Did I mention Fi’s apple pie is a sixteen-time Gold Tin winner?”

  Kennedy gasped. Only the highest honor any pie could receive, and it explained the incredible numbers. It was too good to be true, which in Kennedy’s world meant it was.

  “What’s the catch?” Kennedy asked, her eyes narrowing. “And what happens if I can’t pull it off? Or I can’t make a balloon payment?”

  “No catch. But if you default on the payments, the shop passes back to Fi,” Edna said as if the word default were no big deal. As if it didn’t cause perspiration to break out on Kennedy’s hands and her stomach to roll with unease. After a lifetime of being passed back and forth, only to eventually be passed over by the people who were supposed to love her forever, it was terrifying.

  And sure, money would be filtering in for her half of the condo she and Philip had shared. But she had no idea when he could make that happen or how much it would even be worth—details she wasn’t ready to face. And money she couldn’t rely on.

  “Look at you, already planning yourself right out of an opportunity,” Edna said softly, taking Kennedy’s hand in her frail one, and giving a pat that connected with every insecurity Kennedy tried so desperately to control. “The worst that can happen is that it doesn’t work out, you check a few things off your list, get a chance to live in a new and exciting place, and have memories that will last a lifetime.”

  In true Sinclair fashion, Edna completely overlooked that she’d also wind up broke and homeless. Then again, Kennedy was already the latter, and she’d spent most of her life being the former. But she’d never been a failure—until now.

  She felt the familiar crushing disappointment close in, but refused to let it take hold. Because, while the setbacks caused from her chaotic childhood were out of her control, she’d chosen the path with Philip.

  And she could choose a new path, a path of her own, she told herself, because more than her fear of failing was the fear that she’d be sidelined for the rest of her life. Spend her career behind a desk, managing other people’s dreams and never stepping out to go after something of her own.

  Maybe this was her chance. Sure, it didn’t come in the package that Kennedy expected, but sometimes the best opportunities presented themselves in the most unexpected ways. And hadn’t she just been wishing for some excitement in her simple life?

  Kennedy pulled her phone from her sweatshirt pocket, and swallowing down all the what-ifs that would normally have her wearing out her cream ballet flats, she clicked on the selfie mode of her camera and said, “Smile, Grandma. I need a new photo to go next to my snowball cookies.”

  “Of you covered in crumbs and crying?”

  “Nope, of me going after a little icing.” And Kennedy snapped the photo.

  Chapter 2

  Kennedy was so tired, she wasn’t sure what day it was when she finally saw the giant pie-shaped sign that said, SWEETIE PIES. But the second she stepped out onto the cobblestone sidewalk and took in the crisp costal air, all the stress and worry she’d been carrying for the past four days and twenty-five hundred miles vanished.

  The daylight was long gone, but a million twinkle lights lit up nearly every storefront on Main Street, while gas lamps lined the sidewalks, casting a warm glow over the town square. Every shop had a brick face, a brightly colored awning, and an array of flowers on the windowsills.

  Kennedy closed her eyes, and if she listened hard enough, she could hear seagulls squawking and waves crashing against the rocks in the distance.

  “You were right, Grandma,” Kennedy whispered under her breath. Destiny Bay was warm and welcoming, and the exact kind of safe landing Kennedy desperately needed. A place she could find her footing, build her business, and plan for a future.

  Her future. Her life. The way she imagined it without the restrictions of others.

  Feeling courageous and adventurous, two things that had been lacking in years past, Kennedy grabbed her purse and slipped inside the bakery, a warm blast of cinnamon and tart apples greeting her.

  Sweetie Pies looked like a turn-of-the-twentieth-century bakery with white iron garden tables, pies stacked in the leaded glass window display, and floor-to-ceiling shelves housing a collection of antique flour tins from around the world. And hanging above the display cases and punch key register were sixteen photos of Fi and her Gold Tin, a snapshot to commemorate each one of her wins.

  A reputation of excellence Kennedy vowed to continue.

  The bakery was full of customers, some still in their coats waiting to be helped, others relaxing with family or friends at tables while sharing pie and smiling and greeting one another, inquiring about plans for the weekend, how the family was doing, and if they would be in town for the Gold Tin Apple Pie Competition, as though everyone here was one big family.

  Kennedy didn’t have a lot of experience with family, even little ones, so when the woman next to her smiled and said, “Good evening,” then pulled out the chair as if offering to share her table, Kennedy smiled back, then did what any big city girl would do—took a seat at the counter, kept her eyes on the chalkboard menu, and avoided eye contact.

  “What can I get you?” a twentysomething co-ed in a GAMMA GAMMA SIGMA T-shirt asked, holding a pot of coffee. Just watching the steam waft up into the air was enough to make Kennedy yawn.

  “I would love a mocha. Double shot with extra whip?”

  The woman offered up an amused smile. “We have leaded and unleaded, but I can add a ton of sugar and some whipped cream if that helps.”

  “Double whip?” Kennedy asked hopefully.

  “You bet.” The woman grabbed a mug and set it on the counter. “Any pie?”

  “Yes.” Kennedy looked back at the menu then reminded herself that this trip was all about adventure, being courageous and taking the unknown path. “Surprise me, though. Oh, and I’m here to see Fiona.”

  A bright smile lit the woman’s face, and she patted her hair down. “You must be Kennedy. I’m Lauren, the sometimes baker, sometimes cashier for the shop,” she said, sticking out her hand. “Fi told me you’d be stopping by, but I could have sworn she said you’d be here day after tomorrow.”

  “I got here faster than expected.” The moment Kennedy had crossed that Georgia border, she decided there was no going back. She was going to go big or go broke—but there was no going back to her old home. She’d have to find a new one. No matter what.

  “I think Fi’s already left for the night. It’s Channing Tatum Week at the senior center and tonight’s showing is The Vow. Which is why there is a serious lack of silver hair here.” Lauren laughed. “Fi said she was leaving early to get a front row seat. Didn’t want to have to use her glasses to see his butt.”

  “That’s a butt not to be missed,” Kennedy said with a wicked grin, then she looked at the unfamiliar inky sky outside and a small chill settled on her shoulders. “She didn’t leave a key for me by any chance?”

  Lauren glanced around. “I didn’t see one, but let me check in the kitchen.”

  “That would be great.”

  “I’ll be back with your side of whip.” Lauren slid a piece of pie across the counter that was nine inches tall and filled the entire plate. “And this is on the house. Fi’s HumDinger.”

  The pie that had started it all.

  Mouth watering with anticipation, Kennedy forked off a small slice and lifted it to her nose, impressed with how it held together. She took a sniff, the sweet and tangy scent causing her to sigh. She slid the fork in and—

  “Oh my God,” she moaned as it melted against her tongue and sent her taste buds into an orgasmic frenz
y. “This is better than sex.”

  “My pie’s a prize winner, I’ll give you that. But better than sex? Honey, you must be doing it wrong.”

  Kennedy opened her eyes to find a pistol of a woman in a red SWEETIE PIES apron with spiky white hair, cherry red bifocals, and a name tag identifying her as Fiona. She was squat, floured, and pushing eighty. She took one look at Kennedy and said, “You must be Edna’s girl.”

  Even though the woman seemed as cuddly as a porcupine, Kennedy found herself smiling at the comparison. People were always saying she had her grandmother’s baby blues. “Was it my eyes that gave me away?”

  “It was your hips.” Fi’s eyes dropped to Kennedy’s backside. “Hope you’re not one of those bakers who sample the wears all day long.”

  “No,” Kennedy lied, resisting the urge to peek at her butt.

  “Good because I won’t have people sampling my product,” Fi said. “And why are you so early?”

  “I decided not to stop in Montana and drove straight through.” A decision she was starting to question.

  “That’s a long haul,” she said suspiciously. “Now, being early is fine, but being late won’t fly. Not with me. I run a tight ship. You must have been excited to get here.”

  “I was.” Only now that she was here, little bits of doubt began to creep back in. It started when she realized that half the town was in this bakery, and she didn’t know a single soul, and it grew when Fiona pulled out a contract and set it on the counter.

  “Now, sign this and I’ll take you on a quick tour of the place.”

  “What’s this?” Kennedy asked, still holding to that smile as if her sanity depended on it. Because it wasn’t the contract Kennedy had signed; it was an application.

  “I need a list of your references,” Fi said matter-of-factly. “Need to know who I’m working with. Knowledge is power,” she said as if it were a Saturday morning commercial, “plus, it creates positive working conditions.”

  Kennedy was all for positive conditions, but there was no way she was filling out an application for the business she now owned.

  Leaving Georgia to move to Destiny Bay had been impulsive and brave, and she knew there would be consequences. She just didn’t expect being steamrolled by a grannie with a ’tude to be one of them.

  “I only wanted to have a chance to learn the ropes before you left,” Kennedy said diplomatically, even though she wasn’t feeling very diplomatic at the moment. “However, if you would prefer, I can come back in two days as expected.”

  “Leave?” Fi laughed. “Honey, I’m not leaving. Didn’t your grandma tell you, me and Paula are staying on. We’re going to help you run the bakery. Teach the only other person in the world who has the right to bake my HumDinger what the secret is behind it.”

  “It must have slipped her mind.” Something that she’d take up with Edna later. “But I don’t recall it in the contract.”

  “We can add it if not.” The older woman waved a hand as if the contract were an ever-changing agreement. “Right under the part where I agreed to sell you three acres of my best apples at wholesale.”

  “Plus, Sweetie Pies isn’t Sweetie Pies without Fi,” a woman two seats down said, gaining her a few nods from the counter, and a “Just ask anyone” from a table by the display. And suddenly Kennedy felt as if she were interviewing—for a place in this town.

  She looked out at the customers, chatting like family and bonding over pie and coffee, and that doubt became full-blown panic. The people in this town obviously had decades of shared history, and with history came loyalty.

  Kennedy had a history, too. A history that warned her she had nothing but the deed to a pie shop, and if the people of Destiny Bay were forced to choose, that they’d choose their own. Once again leaving Kennedy the odd man out.

  A position she’d spent her life trying to escape, and never managing to succeed. Until now. Today marked a new start, her chance to be a part of something larger. And if that meant she had to open herself up to others, even stubborn old ladies, then so be it.

  Straightening her shoulders, Kennedy adopted her most professional smile and said, “Of course it isn’t, which is why I was hoping you ladies would share your experience with me. I want to be a part of this town, leave my mark, and sharing with me the secrets to your success would help with the transition of ownership. I want to make everything as smooth as possible for the community.”

  Before Kennedy had even finished, Fi said, “I don’t pour coffee, don’t work weekends, and I’m not filling out an application.”

  “Oh,” Kennedy said quickly. “I think you misunderstood, I just meant—”

  “Did you hear that, Paula? The girl’s keeping us on.”

  “Isn’t that just wonderful,” Paula said, coming through the swinging kitchen doors. Even though she was at least a decade younger, she walked slower than Fi, leaning heavily on a cane. But she had a smile that warmed the room. “Working with us is going to be as easy as pie. Just you wait.”

  * * *

  Whoever came up with the phrase easy as pie obviously never had to shell their own pecans, Kennedy thought as she lifted the side cutter and carefully snipped the pecan hull. The trick was to cut off the ends of the shell and not her fingers—an important lesson she learned yesterday.

  The sun was beginning to set over the lush peaks of the Cascade Range, casting a warm glow over Main Street and the historic downtown, when Kennedy flipped the CLOSED sign, ending her first full week as the owner of Sweetie Pies.

  She looked around the empty shop, then to the sold-out display case. A strange lightness bubbled up from beneath her chest. She had pie orders up the wazoo, enough dough to cover the Great Smoky Mountains, and hadn’t cried over Phil-ep once since she’d moved.

  She’d been too busy baking her way toward success. Independence. A real life. And it felt good. Liberating even.

  So what if she’d gained a few pounds sampling the merchandise? She loved, loved, baking. No spreadsheets, no unattainable expectations, and absolutely no one else’s agenda to distract her. Nothing but her and a never-ending stream of possibilities in sight. Not to mention sweets.

  Pies, turnovers, deep dish, and cobblers; Kennedy was an equal opportunity baker—and taster. Anything that made her shop smell sweet and homey. It didn’t take a genius to explain the appeal. Before living with Edna, there hadn’t been a lot of sweet and homey in Kennedy’s life. And she’d fought tooth and nail for any opportunity that had come her way. Which made her driven and determined.

  A good trait to have since business had been going so well she didn’t have enough apples or shelled pecans left in the barrel to make a single caramel apple pecan pie—let alone to fill the orders for tomorrow. Which explained the fifty-pound order of pecans and apples she’d had delivered today. Kennedy had no idea how expensive heirloom apples were, or just how difficult pecans were to hull.

  So when the mini-apple turnover, sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf of the display case, started silently calling her name, she ignored it, grabbed the NUT BUSTER apron her grandma had sent with the last shipment of pecans, and got hulling.

  Thirty minutes later, the sun had vanished and she sadly had enough pecans to decorate a cupcake. She might love baking, but hulling could suck it. Her fingers were raw, her nails destroyed, and her arm muscles were getting quite the workout. Good thing for her, busting nuts was a skill she was determined to acquire in her new chapter.

  A rustle sounded from the back of the kitchen, scaring the life out of her and causing the sliders to jab her palm, slicing the skin. More immediate than the threat of blood was the shadow that could easily belong to Thor coming through her back door.

  A big and arrogant shadow because, yeah, it was definitely a man creeping into her shop and stomping all over her fresh start. Although he wasn’t creeping so much as smugly moseying—as if he owned the place. As if he had every right to help himself to her safe.

  Indignant irritation p
ulsing through her, Kennedy considered saying that she was closed and pointing to the sign on the window, but her burglar obviously knew that since he used the back door. The locked back door.

  Plus, he was built like one of those MMA fighters with broad shoulders and double-barreled biceps who went by names like The Undertaker or Tank of Terror. In fact, his only hope of sneaking into or out of any place unseen was if it were pitch black and he had a small planet shielding him.

  Kennedy grabbed her phone from her apron pocket to dial 911 when Tank bypassed the safe altogether to grab—

  Oh, hell no.

  Her last six apple pies. Which had been sold, lovingly boxed, and promised to Fi’s favorite granddaughter, Elle.

  Nothing pissed Kennedy off more than breaking a promise. Nothing except someone playing her for a fool. That the someone in question was a smug man set on burgling away the good in her week only added to her fury.

  Acting on pure instinct, Kennedy grabbed the massive rolling pin off the counter. She might not be a trained ninja, but she’d seen Xena: Warrior Princess enough times to know how to handle herself. Doing some creeping of her own, she walked right up behind Tank and stuck the handle of the rolling pin in his back—hard.

  “Hands off my pies, big guy,” she said, then realized he wasn’t just big. He was massive. And smelled really good. Like fresh-chopped wood, hot summer nights, and really bad decisions.

  She half expected Tank to spin around and do some kind of complicated roundhouse, karate chop to the throat combination to disarm her. Only he kept his hands on her pies and looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes twinkling with confidence as he took in her ponytail to her pink toes, and everything in between.