Page 16 of A Wedding in the Bay

“What?” he asked, laughing.

“I should have guessed,” she said, smiling in a knowing fashion. “As soon as I asked you, I thought, ‘No, I’m sure he takes his coffee black.’”

“Hmm, interesting. However did you arrive at that conclusion, Sherlock Holmes?”

She chuckled. “Anyone who regularly eats ham sandwiches likes strong flavors. So it makes sense that you like your coffee black.”

He lifted his eyebrows, impressed. Not only was he impressed by her logical guess, but he was a little flattered that she’d remembered that he ate ham sandwiches regularly. Then again, he realized with a small smile, she probably remembered that detail because she found ham sandwiches to be abhorrent.

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked, sitting down on one of the high stools that surrounded the island in the center of the kitchen.

“Oh, I like cream and sugar,” she said. “Although just a flavored creamer will do. Preferably vanilla, although I’ll try anything once.”

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. All of a sudden, he found himself wondering why he had felt so uncomfortable around her before. She was blunt, certainly, but he wasn’t opposed to that. He would rather spend time with people who spoke their minds than people who were too timid to say what it was they really thought.

Soon the kitchen was filled with the warm, nutty aroma of brewing coffee. She took a deep breath of the smell and sighed in satisfaction.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for all day,” she said, looking around her kitchen with a smile. “Being warm and dry and comfortable, with the kettle on, so to speak.” She nodded toward the gurgling coffee pot and he chuckled. “It feels so good to be back inside after that unfortunate ordeal. Thank you again for helping me.”

“Of course.” He smiled at her.

Now that she was finished with her task of preparing the coffee, things were starting to feel awkward between them again. She leaned against the counter, clasping her hands and appearing to be unusually fascinated by a bowl of oranges resting near Everett’s hands.

“Would you mind terribly if I started to bake while you were here?” she asked him, turning away from the oranges and looking at his face. “That’s why I went to the store. I want to make a pumpkin and pecan pie. Something warm and homey. I thought it would be nice to eat something like that on a day as cold as this one.”

“Pumpkin and pecan?” His stomach growled just at the thought. “That sounds delicious.”

“It is,” she assured him warmly. “One of my favorite recipes. I’ll give you a slice or two if you like.”

He nodded, privately wondering if she’d just invited him to stay for a few hours, or if she meant she’d drop the slices off for him another time. “That sounds wonderful. And you bake away—don’t mind me. It’s your kitchen, you do what you want.”

She smiled, looking pleased, and turned back to her cupboards. He watched in a kind of fascination as she began to work, pulling bowls from cupboards, spoons from drawers, and dry ingredients from the pantry. She moved with a graceful kind of precision that he found almost soothing. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, she had everything she needed out on the counter and she began to work on measuring out the ingredients.

“I love baking,” she told him. “It involves so many things at once. It’s like an art and a science at the same time. And of course, then when you’re done you have something wonderful to eat.”

He smiled at her. “Unless you’re someone like me, who burns box mixes.”

She let out a sound that could only be described as a laugh-snort, and he grinned, happy that he had amused her.

“Hmm, well, you like strong flavors. Burnt bakery is a strong flavor.”

“Hey!” He chuckled, and she laughed too. At that moment, the coffee maker finished brewing the coffee, and she poured him a steaming mug full of the dark, rich liquid.

“There you are,” she said, setting it down on the counter in front of him.

He inhaled the fragrant aroma of the coffee, letting out a long sigh. The mug was warm against his dry, cold hands.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a sip. “Oh, wow. This is some high-quality stuff.”

“Thank you! Giving you coffee is the least I can do after you helped me get back inside.”

“Very high-quality coffee and some pie,” he teased, and she grinned.

She turned back to her baking, and he smiled, feeling strangely comfortable with her. It had been a very surprising afternoon, he reflected, as he took another sip of the delicious beverage.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Johanna busied herself with making her pumpkin and pecan pie, wondering how to make conversation with Everett. Ordinarily, she preferred having time to herself, and she wouldn’t normally have welcomed a guest into her kitchen while she was baking. But the quiet, cheerful man in front of her gave off a serene energy that she liked. She felt comfortable around him in a way she couldn’t explain—especially considering how uncomfortable she had felt around him at the dinner party.

---