“According to whom?”
Benita looked around at her great-aunt. Ms. Helen seemed more curious than angry. Benita quickly constructed the sandwiches, then turned off the stove. “No one’s said anything, at least not to me. This is a concern I’ve had for a while.”
“Benita, I’m a scientist. If you want to convince me of your hypothesis, you’re going to have to offer something more than your feelings.”
Had the temperature in the kitchen dropped about twenty degrees? Benita filled two bowls with the chicken soup. She carried one of the bowls and a sandwich to Ms. Helen, then returned for her own dishes.
“Aunt Helen, how old are you?” Benita sank onto a chair at the kitchen table.
“I’m old enough to know when someone doesn’t have the facts to support their premise.” Ms. Helen gestured toward Benita with her soup spoon. “You claim I’m too old to live on my own, but you don’t know my age.”
“Aunt Helen, I—”
“What examples can you offer to validate your concern?”
Benita hadn’t thought this through. She spread her napkin on her lap, trying to buy time. It didn’t help. “I can’t think of any.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?” Ms. Helen spooned up some soup. “You say I look as though I need help. Well, science has proven that looks can be deceiving.” The retired university chemistry professor proceeded to eat her lunch in stony silence. Her displeasure was obvious in the set of her shoulders.
Benita swallowed a sigh of despair. Vaughn had ended their relationship. Ms. Helen was irritated with her. How many other people in her hometown would she alienate before returning to L.A. in a month’s time?
“I don’t know how I’m going to do it.” Doreen’s fingers trembled with the need to rip out her hair Tuesday morning. All of it. By the roots.
Megan McCloud, her employer, dear friend, and her son’s girlfriend—soon-to-be-fiancée?—was lending a sympathetic ear as Doreen voiced her anxieties. It was coming up on seven in the morning. Megan was keeping Doreen company in Books & Bakery’s kitchen before the store opened at eight A.M. It was a habit they’d developed when Doreen had first started working for Megan almost three years ago. The bookstore owner wore a warm gold pencil-thin skirt with a hem that ended just above her knees. Her maple brown scoop-neck blouse complimented her cinnamon skin.
The kitchen was a bakery chef’s dream—or at least it was Doreen’s dream. The modest white and silver room was bright and lined with modern industrial equipment. All of the appliances were clean and well cared for, and everything was positioned within her reach.
“You don’t have to plan your wedding all by yourself, Doreen.” Megan spoke from her usual perch on one of the two honey wood chairs nestled into the corner of the kitchen.
“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it.” Doreen measured flour, salt, and cinnamon into a mixing bowl. “It’s been years since I’ve attended a wedding.”
“Me, too.” Megan smoothed back her shoulder-length dark brown hair. “My last single friend got married a couple of years ago.”
Doreen gave Megan a brief look before returning her attention to her Trinity Falls Fudge Walnut Brownie mixture. Turn off the Mommy Radar. Time enough to worry about Megan and her son, Ean’s, relationship when she and her fiancé, Sheriff Alonzo Lopez, returned from their honeymoon. Urgh, the honeymoon. Another thing to add to the task list. And they would have one or Alonzo would rue the day, especially after everything he was putting her through to plan their wedding on his impossible time frame.
“Alonzo did agree to wait until June.” Doreen measured cocoa, nutmeg, and butter into the electric mixer. “He’d originally wanted a May wedding.”
“That’s an additional four weeks.” Megan seemed satisfied.
Doreen wasn’t. “I don’t understand why he couldn’t wait until next June.” She let the blender run before continuing. “He proposed in January. Six months isn’t enough time to enjoy the engagement much less plan a wedding.”
“But, Doreen, Alonzo’s already waited forty-three years.” Megan’s tone was indulgent.
Whose side was she on? But the knowledge that Alonzo had loved her so much for so long gave her a warm, dreamlike feeling. She held on to the sensation a moment longer.
“That’s the reason he wants a traditional wedding.” Doreen combined the contents of her two ingredients bowls. Then she wrapped in a cup and a half of wheat flour. She spread the brownie batter into the pretreated baking pan. “He said he’d waited too long to settle for the justice of the peace.”
“He has a point.”
Yes, he does. Doreen didn’t want to celebrate their love with a rushed ceremony, either. Wasn’t there something halfway between a shotgun wedding and the ceremony from The Sound of Music?
“He can’t have it both ways.” Tension twisted the muscles in Doreen’s shoulders. “He can’t have a big, traditional wedding on a justice-of-the-peace schedule. There’s just too much to do.”
“But you don’t have to do it all yourself.” Behind her, Megan’s voice was persuasive. “Ean and I can help you. I’m sure Audra, Jackson, Peyton, and Darius would be happy to help as well.”
Megan had listed four of their closest friends, two couples who were showing signs of moving toward their own happily-ever-after soon.
“I bought one of those bridal magazines. Even with help, there’s a lot to get done in three months.” Doreen settled the baking pan with the brownie mixture in the oven, then closed the door. She wiped her hands on her chef’s apron.