Page 54

The bakery was finding a new rhythm, Rachel thought as she opened the back of the display cabinet and transferred freshly baked bread from a tray into the case.

Jean Paul had baked his bread early this morning before he’d selected a loaf for himself, winked at her as she’d iced a cake, and left until his shift began again at midnight.

The bakery had been officially open for five days, and so far, business was brisk and profits were on the rise.

Daisy talked more and more about changing their business model, and the girls spent most of their days with their grandmother.

Rachel could concede that life was on the upswing.

The bakery phone rang, and she wiped icing from her hands as she snapped up the receiver and said, “Union Street Bakery.”

“Rachel. It’s Simon.”

Warm energy flowed up her spine, and she nestled closer to the phone. “Hi.”

“Just checking in. We’re still on for Saturday?”

“Yes.” She’d been too busy to think about the date, but the sound of his voice churned nervous energy in her belly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Great.”

She cleared her throat. “If the weather is nice, I can make us a picnic lunch.”

“Sounds good.”

A silence settled, and she scrambled for a question or statement that didn’t pertain to the time, weather, or food.

The words wouldn’t gel, and her panic grew as the saloon doors swooshed open.

Daisy, carrying a tray of freshly iced cupcakes, moved to the display case, opened the glass, and began to line up the cupcakes in single file.

Rachel turned from Daisy back to the phone and said, “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Sure,” he said. “See you then.”

Rachel hung up the phone, relieved, but disappointed she’d been so tongue tied.

“You’re frowning.” Daisy closed the display case and set the tray on the counter.

Rachel imagined Simon in his office, blushing as he sat back in his executive chair. She glanced up at Daisy. “Simon was planning for our date. He likes me.”

“So why the frown?”

“I’m not good with conversation, especially with him. All I know are kids and baking, and I just can’t imagine those topics interest him.”

“Conversation will come in time. And all the talking doesn’t rest with you.” Daisy’s knowing grin sent a fresh wave of nervous energy racing through Rachel’s body. “How do you feel about him?”

Rachel moistened her lips and wondered how different his kisses would be from Jean Paul’s. “I like him. But beyond that it’s hard to say.” She frowned. “I could read every one of Mike’s moods and expressions. With Simon I’m starting from scratch.”

“And Jean Paul?”

Color warmed her face. “We have reached an accord. I leave his breads alone, and he leaves my baked goods alone.”

“I’m not talking about the working relationship. I’m talking about whatever it is that snaps and crackles when you two are close.”

She nibbled her lip, remembering the kiss. “He’s very exciting.”

“Which means?”

She laughed. “It means I don’t know where I stand with either one of them. Who’s to say I’m not just a passing amusement for both.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Daisy waved away her concern. “If you were trapped on a desert island with one or the other, which would it be? And don’t think or analyze. Just give me your gut reaction.”

“Jean Paul.” She blurted the name out before she could censor her thoughts. She lowered her voice a notch. “The sex and food would be amazing, and I could talk shop with him when the conversation lagged.”

“Is it because Jean Paul reminds you of Mike?”

She glanced at her naked ring finger where the gold band had rested for thirteen years.

“He’s not like Mike. Not at all. He’s a free spirit.

Simon is stability. He plans like me. Between the two of them I have the best of Mike.

” Excitement and fear collided. “I don’t know where I’ll end up or with whom, but I can accept that I’m not married anymore.

I’m single. And I’m not as afraid as I was a year ago. ”

“That’s a good thing.”

“It’s very good.”

Daisy pressed her hand into her back. “You can date both men, because we aren’t on a desert island, and you do have choices.”

A sly smile curved the edges of Rachel’s lips. Images of Simon and Jean Paul marched in and out of her thoughts. For the first time in her life, she had the chance to explore, to take the unknown road, and just the thought made her heart beat faster.

Listening to Rachel talk about her budding love life had made me very aware that my love life had fallen apart.

I’d not seen Gordon since Sunday, and that bothered me.

I understood I couldn’t rightfully claim him and the baby.

I’d have to choose. And I had. My kid came first. But that didn’t stop me from missing Gordon.

Missing his touch. His smell. During the renovation, the crazy pace had been enough to push him from my mind.

But now that we’d returned to our normal dull roar, there was too much time in the day to let my mind go to him.

The front bells rang, and I glanced up, hoping it was Gordon, all the while admonishing myself for wanting to see him. And, of course, it was not Gordon. It was an older gentleman, nicely dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. His white hair, brushed back, accentuated a deeply tanned and lined face.

“Welcome to the Union Street Bakery.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He glanced at the display case, a bit lost, like most new customers who were trying to scan the array of goodies.

“What do you have a taste for?”

A frown furrowed his head. “In all honesty, I didn’t come to buy baked goods.” He lifted his eyes, and a curious, doleful gaze met mine. “I’m here to see Daisy.”

When people came looking for me by name, my suspicions tend to rise. Surprises. Never good. “You found her.”

He studied my face as if trying to read my thoughts. Just then the doors jingled, and a young woman entered the shop.

Blond hair framed an oval face and large, expressive eyes.

Her bobbed hair grazed a strong jaw, and she wore jeans and a purple T-shirt.

But as I stared at her, I could have easily imagined her in a calf-length skirt, bobby socks, and saddle oxfords.

There was no mistaking her connection to this place. She was Jenna.

“Granddad,” she said. “I found a parking spot, two spaces from here.”

“Great, Del. Great.”

The man looked at me. “My name is Walter. Walter Simmons. This is my granddaughter Del Johnson. My mom told me you visited.”

Realization dawning, I studied his face for traces of Jenna’s eyes and smile. “Kate is your mother.”

“That’s right. And Del’s great-grandmother.”

I wasn’t sure Kate would have told him about my visit. “How’s she doing? I’m afraid I might have upset her the other day.”

“You did,” Del said.

I thought about the sweet old woman who’d baked Jenna’s cookies. “I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

Walter drew in a deep breath and glanced around the bakery. “Mom told me her sister lived in Alexandria, but she never said what she did while she lived here.”

“You mean Jenna?” I chose my words carefully, not sure what Kate had told her son or great-granddaughter. I didn’t want to trip over any family secrets.

“Yes.” He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and from it removed photos. My photos. The ones that I’d given Kate. “I found this on her kitchen table. I’d never seen them before.”

“We only found them. I thought they should be returned to her family.” Wiping my hands, I came around the counter. “According to her employee file, she worked here between 1943 and 1944. She made a name for herself while she was here.”

Del grinned. “There’s no missing the resemblance. I look like her.”

“Yes, you do,” I said.

“The family doesn’t talk about her much,” Walt said. Sadness coated each of the words.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I heard she was a vibrant woman.”

“You heard?” Del said.

“There’s a man in a nursing home not far from here. His name is Joey. He knew Jenna.”

Walt’s gaze sharpened. “He knew my aunt.”

“He also knew her fiancé, Walter. Joey and Walter served together during World War II. Joey was one of the last people to see Walter alive.”

“How did you find Joey?” Walt said.

I hated dancing around a truth that was so much a part of this man’s history. I wanted to say clearly and directly, We’re talking about your birth parents. But I didn’t. I’d dropped enough grenades for the week.

For the next fifteen minutes I talked about how we’d found Jenna’s recipe box during our renovation and detailed my winding route to Winchester. “I could introduce you to Joey if you’d like.”

Walter listened, his face stoic and stern. I wasn’t sure how much of this he wanted to hear, and half expected him to thank me for my time and leave. But he surprised me when he said “I’d like to meet Joey.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I would suggest sooner than later. He’s ninety-five.”

Walt cleared his throat. “Today would work for me.”

“Sure. Does now work?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Let me grab a box of maple cookies for him.” I moved around the counter, my growing belly leading the way. “The recipe was Jenna’s, and it’s a hit with our customers.”

“I thought I recognized them. My mother used to bake them when I was a kid. They’re my favorite.”

I wrapped one in paper and handed it to him. “Compliments of the Union Street Bakery.”

He took a bite, and for a moment I sensed he was transported somewhere. “Why did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Find me.”

I edged closer to the facts. “I’m adopted. I found my birth mother this spring, and I’ve had no luck finding my birth father. If someone had information about him, it would have been nice if they’d tried to find me and tell me about him.”