Page 42 of Whisking It All

Jamie took a seat in the armchair across from the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Good, good.”

“You are such a bad liar. Even worse than Ricky.”

He sighed. “It’s fine, it’s just not what I expected. There are so many moving parts, and we still need to figure out how to incorporate Tessa and Kyla’s ideas about marketing to twenty-year-olds—”

Cheryl laughed through a mouthful of waffle fry. “Yeah, I heard about that. Please tell me they’re filming you walking in slow motion on the beach.”

“Don’t give Gavin any ideas. But really, it’s fine. If it brings in more tourists, then it’s worth it.”

“And how are things with Tessa working out?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced away, hoping he didn’t look as flustered as he felt. At some point that had to go away, right? The immediate flash of memory of her naked and stretched out beneath him every time someone said her name.

“Are you guys working together alright? I know how much of a dictator you are in the kitchen.”

“I am not,” he protested.

She laughed again, reaching out to accept the nacho cheese from Ricky before he’d even fully re-entered the room. “You most certainly are. I was nervous about working on the festival with you and we’ve known each other for years.”

“You were? Cheryl, if I ever made you feel—”

She waved him off with half a fry. “You didn’t. But you’re this big professional chef and I’m just a farmer’s wife who sells brownies at a farm stand.”

“And you run the most successful holiday bakery in town.”

She laughed. “It’s the only bakery in town. The only reason the pop-up does well every year is that nobody in this state likes to cross bridges, least of all to get a pie.”

“That’s not the point. You’re a fantastic baker. I’m hardly in the kitchen anymore. Ever since I bought Lemon and Thyme, Anabel does most of the cooking.” It was the thing they didn’t tell you about becoming a restauranteur—there wasn’t a whole lot of chef-ing for the chef-owner.

“But Tessa’s more on your level. Mrs. Kemp and Mrs. White were telling me she worked for some fancy, award-winning chef in Vegas.”

He nodded. “Yeah, she did.”

“I can’t wait until she opens Sugar Grapes. I already told Ricky—‘Ricky,’ I said, ‘when Tessa Jayne opens Sugar Grapes, you are going to buy me one of everything.’ Ethan’s mom used to make the best banana bread. I hope Tessa has that recipe.”

“You make pretty good banana bread yourself.”

“Not like this. It had some spice in it. Oh, what’s that spice called? Ricky, what’s that spice called?”

“What spice?” he asked.

“The one in Mrs. Hart’s banana bread.”

“Something with a ‘c’,” Ricky said.

She dipped a fry in the bright yellow cheese. “Cardamom.” She groaned, as though she were eating it then. Jamie didn’t blame her. If Louise’s cardamom banana bread was anything like Tessa’s cardamom bananas foster, it was certainly groan-worthy.

Jamie’s phone vibrated. He pulled it free from his pocket and immediately got to his feet. “It’s Ethan. I have to take this,” he said to Cheryl with an apologetic smile.

“Say hi to him for us and send our best to Mr. Hart. And thank you for all the food, Jamie. Really.” Cheryl squeezed his arm and shooed him off.

Jamie answered his phone as he stepped out onto Cheryl’s front porch, pulling the door closed behind him. “Hey. How’s your dad?” he asked.

Ethan chuckled, a tired, happy sound, on the other end of the phone. “He’s just as opinionated as ever, and really not happy that mom’s siding with the doctors about changing his diet.”

Jamie laughed as he climbed into his car. “He’ll come around. How’s your mom holding up?”

Ethan filled him in on the thousand ways his mother had found to fuss over him in the last few days, insisting he add a salad to his lunch tray in the hospital cafeteria, grilling him on when he was going to find a ‘nice girl’ and settle down.

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