“Stay here with me,” her grandmother had said. “You don’t have to do anything.”
So she stayed in Merritt and, for a month, helped her grandmother grieve and make fudge, chocolate stars, and toffee. It had been bliss. If you followed the directions and cooked the syrup to the right temperature, candy happened. It was a sure thing.
Late one night over a bottle of wine and platter of cheese and fruit, her grandmother had said, “Do you want to learn to make candy?”
“I’ve been making candy,” Lanie said.
“You’ve been making the same homey, old-fashioned candy I make. But do you want to be a real confectioner?” Clarice Heaven asked. “A master chocolatier?”
“I want to stay here with you and make fudge,” Lanie said.
“You mean hide.” Clarice poured them both another glass of wine.
“Hiding is a fine thing, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Clarice pointed out. “I asked you if you wanted to be a master chocolatier.”
Lanie’s grandfather had been raised in the business but had no passion for it. Oddly, his young wife had, and worked alongside her mother-in-law, first in the older woman’s house, and later in the shop they opened together. History had repeated itself. Lanie’s father had no interest in the candy shop, but became an accountant instead.
“When your great-grandmother died, she left Heavenly Confections solely to me. She made me promise to pass it on to someone who cared or close it down.” Clarice might as well have said,
And it can be yours, if you will only take an interest.
“Yes,” Lanie said. “I want to be a real confectioner.” Because, after all, why not?
Clarice got her an apprenticeship with a master chocolatier in his Jackson, Mississippi shop and sent her to professional culinary classes. It was hard work, but Lanie found it soothing. There was comfort to be found in a job where the mistakes could be eaten or melted away.
Though she was good at it, Lanie wondered every day if she would quit, like she had everything else.
Then, thirteen months later, Lanie’s grandmother sent for her. Clarice had been diagnosed with leukemia and six weeks later, the shop was Lanie’s.
In her last days, Clarice had advised Lanie to make the shop her own, to put her personal mark on it. Lanie had set about doing just that and, to her surprise, began to feel like a success.
She finished the renovations her grandmother had barely started, redecorated the shop, and started the online business. She’d done well, but that didn’t fill her empty arms. And, if she was going to be completely honest, a child wasn’t the only thing she longed for. If only there was someone to hold and kiss her sometimes. But that couldn’t happen because it didn’t end with holding and kissing and she couldn’t bear what would follow. She had failed at so many things and now that she had found the one thing she was good at, she tried not to think about what she couldn’t do, what she couldn’t have.
But she had good friends who loved her and would continue to love her even if they learned of her shameful secret. And now she had Luke Avery across the hall and Emma Avery to make her smile. It wouldn’t last, but what did?
• • •
“What a morning!” Lanie high-fived her newest employee. She couldn’t quite believe her luck at hiring Phillip Pearce. He’d just finished his MBA and wanted to work at a small successful business to gain experience. Not only was he cheerful and high energy, he’d worked in a Starbuck’s in college and had written his master’s thesis on Internet sales. She knew he wouldn’t stay forever but he’d promised her eighteen months.
Today was little league opening Saturday and there had been a parade down Main Street at eight o’clock. She’d given Phillip the option of waiting until Monday to launch the coffee bar’s new hours but he’d been eager to get started. Though they hadn’t had time to advertise beyond a sign in the window, they’d been swamped. But with the parade over, the shop had emptied as quickly as it’s had filled up. Everyone had moved to the ball fields where the games would be starting soon.
“If I’d known we were going to be so busy,” Lanie said, reaching for a mug, “I’d have scheduled someone else to come in.”
“We did all right.” Phillip flashed his perfect white teeth. “We don’t have a single muffin left.”
“I might need to call Mary Frances at the bakeshop to increase the order. We’ll see how it goes Monday.”
“Get some brownies,” Phillip said.
“You think people will eat brownies for breakfast?”
“Probably not. But I like brownies.” He closed his eyes and tossed his head. Oh, he was a charmer.
Lanie laughed. “Then I suggest you sashay over to the bakeshop and get you some.”
“I don’t sashay. I stride.”
“Well, if you’ve got this, I’m going to stride back to my office and pay some bills.”
“I got it.” He pulled the list he’d made of the candy prices from under the counter and taped it to the register.
“Call me if you need me.”
Just as Lanie turned to go, strains of
The Candy Man
sang out.
Jill St. Clare. Lanie could do without her this morning. In fact, she could do without her every morning. They’d served together on the Junior League silent auction committee for the Merritt High School Bobcats Booster Fair last spring and Jill was a lot more interested in telling people how things ought to be done than in doing any actual work. This morning, every blond hair was in place and her makeup perfect — as usual. She wore a short denim skirt and a tight red t-shirt, and carried a basket. Lanie was more than sure that it was no coincidence that the red tea towel on top of the basket matched her shirt.
“Well, top of the morning to you, Jill. Are you on the way to grandma’s house?”
“Uh, no.” She looked around, clearly not getting the joke. In truth, most people didn’t get Lanie’s jokes. “Should I be?”
“No. What can I get for you, Jill? Our coffee bar is up and running.”
“Oh, I never drink coffee anymore. Ever since I got my teeth bleached, it seems kind of counterproductive.”
“I can see that.” Lanie took a drink of her coffee. “Phillip, maybe we could work a deal with Dr. Mason. Buy so many cups of coffee and get a discount on a bleach job.”
“Good idea. Maybe we could set up a dental chair right in the shop.” Phillip moved from behind the counter to wipe down the tables. He bent over to pick up a napkin from the floor and Jill surveyed his bottom.
Lanie leaned over and whispered, “He’s young, Jill.”
“Oh.” Jill shook her head. “Is Luke Avery here?”
Well, well, well. It had been four days since Emma and Luke had moved in and as far as she knew this was his first caller. And what a caller it was. Lanie couldn’t help but wonder if Luke had invited her.
“I haven’t seen him come down,” Lanie said. “But I can’t be sure. I guess you’ll have to go up and see.”
“Where would that be?”
Lanie pointed her toward the stairwell and was about to go to her office when the door opened again and Millie Carmichael entered carrying a casserole dish. Lanie liked Millie better than Jill. At least she used to.
“I just brought Judge Avery a little something to welcome him to town.” Millie raised the dish for Lanie’s inspection. Three to one there was mushroom soup and potato chips involved. Maybe even tuna.
“Well, how nice.” Lanie directed her to the stairwell, and called after her, “Lucky for you, you’re going to get to see Jill!”
Nobody had brought her casseroles when she’d moved in. Lanie wasted an hour, when she should have been paying bills and ordering supplies, watching the second parade of the day. Betty Jo Ledbetter, Carla Ashley, Jerrilyn Chambers, Jessica Johnson. Lanie could have gone to her office and left Phillip to play parade director but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Interspersed, a few older ladies from the church also came bearing food — or sent their housekeepers. At least they had the good manners to buy some candy.
Who did these pariahs think they were, anyway, that they could just walk through her shop like it was a street in the tenderloin district? Not that Merritt had a tenderloin district. Phillip was packing up some truffles for Annelle Meade, Lucy’s aunt, when the phone rang.
“Heavenly Confections,” she said cheerfully into the portable receiver.
“Lanie!” The voice on the other end was an agitated whisper. She knew who that whisper belonged to, but he didn’t know she knew. She stepped into the back, taking the phone with her.
“Yes, this is Lanie Heaven. How may I help you?”
“Tell people I’m not home.”
“Who is this?” She bit her lip to stop the laughter. Apparently these women were not anticipated or welcome. There was no reason for that to lift her spirits but it did.
“This is Luke. I need you stop sending those women up here.” Well, that was over the top.
“I’m not sending anyone anywhere, Luke. It’s up to you to answer your door or not.”
She heard Phillip say, “Yes, ma’am. Behind the counter and down the hall. The stairwell door is the last one on the right.” Lanie ran into the kitchen and watched Carol Free stride past her.
“Uh oh, Luke. Hope you like pie. There’s another one on the way.”
“Help me out, Lanie.”
“I’m not your doorman. This isn’t Studio 54.”
“What do you know about Studio 54? It’s not even a club anymore. It’s a theater and anyone with a ticket can get in. You’ve probably never even been to New York.” The urgent hissing in his voice didn’t diminish one bit.
“I know
all
about it. I read a biography of Andy Warhol. And I have too been to New York.” He didn’t need to know it had only been for three days to take a mini course on marzipan and liquid centers.
“Look, Lanie. I’ve had a hard week and I — ”
He was interrupted by Emma’s high, sweet little voice in the background. “Daddy! Knocking on the door!”
“Okay, honeybee. I’ll be right there. Don’t open it. Lanie — ”
“Goodbye, Luke. Enjoy your pie.” And she hung up and laughed for a good long time.
The parade lightened up some in the afternoon but didn’t dissipate completely. Observing it lost its allure, so Lanie did her paperwork and tried out some new molds she’d bought for Easter.
She was showing Phillip how to close out the register when the door opened one more time. Eula Lawson — or Miss Eula, as everyone called her — entered carrying a cake. It was a good bet she had no romantic interest in Luke.
“Miss Eula, come in,” Lanie said. “Come meet Phillip. He’s just moved to town to work with us here.”
“Well, if I’d known that I’d have brought you a red velvet cake too. I brought this one for the judge and his little girl.”
“Yes, ma’am. You can go right up, if you like.”
“Honey, would you mind giving it to him? My knee is giving me some trouble today.”
“I’ll be happy to.”
As Lanie walked down the hall, she heard Miss Eula say to Phillip, “I’ll take a half a pound of those caramel peanut clusters. Now, tell me where you live and if you like red velvet or carrot cake better.”
“Can you make brownies?”
• • •
Luke was surprised at the relief he felt when he found Lanie on the other side of the knock at his door. She was still wearing those silly baggy pants — yellow peeps on a green background — but she’d shed the apron. Her white t-shirt was tucked in and it looked like she might actually have a waist.
Eyes off the waist.
He let them settle on the cake plate. “Not you too.”
“No. This is from Miss Eula Lawson. She didn’t want to climb the stairs. Though I did bring Emma a chocolate duck.” She handed him a little gold box.
“She’s still napping. With all the commotion, she went down late.”
“Hmm,” Lanie said.
He’d begun to lead her toward the kitchen but that stopped him dead in the middle of the living room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?” Lanie widened her eyes, all innocent, like she hadn’t said
Hmm
. He’d seen that look before.
“‘Hmm.’ You said, ‘Hmm.’ What did you mean?”
“I didn’t mean anything. Every sound someone makes doesn’t have to mean something.”
“True. In some random isolated cases that might be true. But that ‘hmm’ was neither random nor isolated. What did you mean?”
“It just occurred to me to wonder if Emma is still napping this late, if that might not give you a little trouble later. That’s all.” She didn’t wait for him but trudged on toward the kitchen like she owned the place — which, come to think of, she actually did. He followed her to the kitchen where the granite counter tops and kitchen table were covered in food.
“Trouble?”
Lanie moved some pies on the table closer together and set the cake down. “I’m just wondering that if you don’t wake her soon, if she might not still be wide awake at midnight.”
He hadn’t thought of that. “I think she might sleep through the night.” That sounded like a lie, even to himself.
And Lanie didn’t buy it for a second. “I’m sure you’re right.” She looked around. “This looks a little like Morrison’s Cafeteria.”
He waved an arm toward the casseroles, platters, and pie plates. “What am I supposed to do with all this?”
“Dinner comes to mind.”
“I can’t,” he said sheepishly. He hated his allergy, hated admitting his weakness, especially to this woman.
He reached into the fridge and brought out two beers. He raised one toward her and inquired if she wanted it by lifting an eyebrow. It wasn’t that he
wanted
her to stay long enough to drink it. It was just that he wanted a beer really bad and it would be rude not of offer.
She hesitated and then nodded. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t eat this stuff. I can’t eat something if I don’t know for sure what’s in it. You’ve seen what happens.” He busied himself with finding the bottle opener and opening the beer. The kind he liked didn’t have screw tops. “Do you want a glass?”
“Not unless you’re going report me to the debutante police.” He handed her the beer and she lifted the lid of a covered casserole “Surely there are no peanuts in lasagna.”
“No. But I learned about peanut oil the hard way.”
“I can see that. Southerners love them some peanut oil.”