Page 29 of Coming Home

And this woman.

They stopped at Costco first, arriving just as the doors opened. Ainsley knew exactly what she wanted and where it was located, directing Jackson to stack sacks of flour and sugar on the flatbed cart she pushed. She pitched in, as well, and they also went to an aisle with various spices. Ainsley explained which ones she used in baking different sweets. She also added two large bottles of vanilla and boxes of confectioner’s sugar before they proceeded to the checkout stand. By the time they paid and unloaded her purchases and got in the car, it was ten-thirty.

“That went pretty quickly,” he told her.

“I’ve got a routine and know now how much to buy during each season. Costco is a weekly stop for me because they stock the basics I need. The next place we’re heading to has more specialty flours and caters to business owners of bakeries.”

They arrived twenty minutes later, and Ainsley took him inside. Not only did this store have edible items, it also had ones to aid in baking, such as large cookie sheets and baking tins. She walked him around the store briefly, pointing out various things she used. She then led them to the register and gave her name to the clerk manning it.

After consulting the computer, the clerk said, “Your online order is almost ready, Ainsley. You can go ahead and drive around back to the loading dock.”

She thanked the clerk, and they returned to the car, driving to the back side of the warehouse.

“I suppose you do a lot of business here.”

“I do. I tried one other distribution place on the far side of Portland, and I found their prices to be a little higher and their customer service to be nonexistent. A fellow baker recommended this place, and I’ve been using them ever since.”

She got out of the car, so he did the same. Ainsley opened her tailgate and one of the rear passenger doors. A worker appeared and greeted her by name, rolling a dolly to her car. Jackson helped the man place some of the boxes in the rear. When they ran out of room, they loaded the rest into the back seat.

“One more trip and we’ll be done, Ainsley,” the worker said, disappearing.

“You buy this much each week?” Jackson asked, wondering about the volume of business Buttercup Bakery did.

“Actually, more at each place once the tourists hit the coast. Today, I’m buying a little more than I usually do. They have some new muffin and cupcake tins I want to try out. If I like them, I’ll eventually replace all the ones in my bakery.”

The worker appeared again, and Jackson helped him load the last three boxes into the back seat. Ainsley thanked the man, slipping him some cash. Jackson thought about teasing her as to what kind of tip he could expect but decided to wait. He still was aware that he might be rushing things, having seen her three nights in a row, as well as asking her to spend part of today and tomorrow with him.

It was now almost eleven-thirty, and they were ready to head back to the Cove.

He said, “We’re going to need to eat lunch at some point. Why don’t we grab a bite here in Portland for something different?”

“That’s fine with me. I have just the place. It’s nearby and the food is fantastic.”

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a strip shopping center and parked. He knew from L.A. that some of the best places to eat were the small, out-of-the-way ones, the mom-and-pop restaurants that had a fiercely loyal clientele.

“I hope you like Italian,” she said, as they headed toward the door.

“One of my favorites.”

They entered and although it wasn’t even noon yet, the place was already three-quarters full on a Monday.

“Ainsley, dear. How good to see you,” a large woman with dark hair greeted. She enveloped Ainsley in a hug. “How is your bakery coming along?”

“It’s doing really well, Marta. I was in Portland stocking up on supplies, and I thought I’d bring my friend here to eat. This is Jackson.”

He noticed she hadn’t called him her boyfriend, even though he had applied the label of girlfriend to her in her bakery yesterday morning. Knowing how gossip spread in a small town, he figured most of the Cove by now knew of their budding relationship. It didn’t upset him that she didn’t say anything now. Ainsley seemed to be a person who valued her privacy. Not knowing who this Marta was, Jackson decided to keep quiet. For now.

But the day would come when he wanted to clarify—and solidify—their relationship.

The woman took his hand and squeezed it, giving him a warm smile. “Hello, Jackson. It is so good to meet you. I’m sure you have eaten some of Ainsley’s fabulous desserts.”

“I’ve had a few and plan on many more, Marta.”

The woman led them to a table for two, and Ainsley waved away the menus.

Looking at Jackson, she said, “Let me return the favor and order for you today.”

Quickly, she reeled off an order that included a toasted ravioli appetizer, pasta fagioli soup, and lasagna.

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