Page 21 of Coming Home

“I’ll put in your order now, Mr. Martin. The salmon cakes will be out shortly.” The server left.

Jackson turned to her. “You remember me, but I don’t really know much about you, beyond the fact that you own your own business at a very young age and make the best damn cupcakes I’ve ever eaten. So, what’s the Ainsley Robinson story?”

She wanted this man to really know the true her.

“I might be a business owner, but I came from lower middle-class stock. Dad was a mechanic at a body shop in Salty Point. We lost him to a heart attack when I was sixteen.”

“That’s a young age to lose a parent. I know because I lost both of mine when I was six. I’m grateful that Boo had pictures of them because, as I grew older, I only had bits and pieces of a few treasured memories. I guess losing him made things tough for you and your mom.”

“Mom had her own troubles,” Ainsley revealed. “She battled breast cancer when I was in middle school. That’s when I started my fundraising activities. I told people it was to put me though college someday. In reality, it was to help pay Mom’s doctor bills. I would bake cookies and brownies and sell them before all the athletic events because they were so well attended. Fortunately, the people of the Cove—and even our opponents—would stop at my table and buy something from me.”

She paused. “Boo was one of my best customers.”

Jackson chuckled. “My grandmother had a sweet tooth. If she could have had sweets three times a day, she would have been in heaven.”

“Boo would always ask how much something cost—and then give me double the price, telling me I was an artist in my own right and my sweets were edible art. She told me to never stop believing in myself.”

He squeezed her fingers. “That’s my Boo. And based upon the cupcakes you brought to Game Night, I do believe you are an artist. I saw the shelves of pastries and desserts when I was in your bakery yesterday. They were works of art. You are incredibly talented, Ainsley.” Jackson grinned. “Besides, if you can convert a non-dessert eater like me, you deserve a gold medal.”

He took a sip of wine. “You also showed a lot of maturity, starting your own business as a preteen, helping your family with your mom’s medical bills. I’ll bet your mom is proud of you. I’d love to meet her.”

She swallowed painfully. “Mom’s cancer recurred after I graduated from high school. I was attending Central Oregon Community College in Bend, where the Cascade Culinary Institute is housed. I was a week shy of earning my AAS in Baking and Pastry Arts when I got a call from Sheriff Willingham telling me Mom had passed away.”

“That must’ve been hard, being so far away at school while she battled cancer again.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

His hand tightened on hers. Concern filled his face. “She kept it from you.”

Ainsley nodded. “She left a letter for me. It told me how much she loved me—and how she hadn’t been willing to ruin my life with her illness. I was staying in Bend year-round, not coming home, because not only did students have opportunities to study in the state-of-the-art kitchen facilities and take part in cooking labs, but we also cooked and served in the school’s Elevation Restaurant.”

She closed her eyes, the painful memory of hearing about her mother’s death sweeping over her. “I also was finishing up an internship, which was part of my degree program.” She opened them again. “When the cancer returned, Mom still didn’t have insurance. She cleaned houses for a living. Though her doctor told her she would regret her decision, Mom chose not to undergo chemo and radiation again. Her letter told me she wanted to go quietly, without causing a fuss, and encouraged me to follow my dreams.”

The sympathy she saw on Jackson’s face almost did her in.

“I am so sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine how rough that was on you, hearing about her death. Reading that letter.”

“Oh, I was angry for a while. Angry that she had taken away any chance for her to survive. Angry that I hadn’t had a say-so in her decision. It took a few years to get over those feelings. I understand more now, though. I know she loved me, and that love caused her to act in what she thought was my best interest.”

Their appetizer arrived and they fell silent, waiting until the server left. Jackson placed two of the salmon cakes on her plate and took the other two for himself.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Rylie is it. We’re cousins, but closer than sisters. Her family life was no picnic either. She spent summers with us. We shared a bed. Clothes. All our secrets. I’ll always be close with her. She’s the one that convinced me to seek the help of a therapist. By then, I had left a job working in Portland, where I was a line cook, and had moved to Seattle. They have an amazing restaurant community. I became a sous chef and eventually went to work for a well-known catering company, which gave me free rein on creating desserts.

“I got the therapy I needed. I forgave Mom. And myself. By then, I had saved enough to study abroad in Paris at l’Ecole Len?tre.”

“Last night you mentioned it being high pressure.”

“It’s considered to be in the top three best pastry schools in the world. Students from over one hundred countries come to study there each year. It’s mostly a traditional French cuisine. Gaston Len?tre, its founder, was one of the best-known names in pastry. Ever. It’s a tough place. Extremely competitive. But I learned from the best and came away confident in my skills and creative process.”

Ainsley took a bite of the salmon cake and moaned. “Oh, this is to die for. I’m glad you ordered for me.”

“You came home from Paris and started Buttercup Bakery?” he asked, attacking his own portion of the appetizer.

“I did. I became close with one of the instructors at the Cascade Culinary Institute. She really served as my instructor, mentor, and friend. Just before I returned from Paris, I received word from her attorney that she had died from a sudden stroke. She had no children or relatives. Her students had always been her family.”

Ainsley sighed. “She left me thirty thousand dollars. I used it to lease the space on the square. Put in the best commercial ovens money could buy. I invested in the kitchen equipment I needed. Hired one person to help with the baking. Nothing was left after that. I have done well enough to hire on two more employees, but I really have to watch expenses.”

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