Batter Up Read online

  Two days later, they had a long talk where Michael promised that this move was temporary and just something he needed to get out of his system. New York City was only an eight-hour drive, or short plane ride, away. They’d make it work. Emma had remained hopeful those first few weeks, but as the days passed and Michael’s calls grew less frequent, she finally realized what everyone else in town already knew. She had been dumped. In late February, she sent Michael an e-mail asking him not to call. He responded cordially that he would respect her wishes and hoped that one day they could be friends.

  Friends? How was that possible?

  In typical Emma fashion, she threw herself into her work, spending almost every waking hour running the bakery. After college, Emma had begun working full time at the Sugar Spoon. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but she learned quickly that sometimes plans change. Since her grandmother passed away and her mother retired, ownership of the bakeshop had transferred to Emma. She oversaw its complete operation with Abby’s help.

  She also carried on her grandmother’s tradition of Batter Up night. Every Monday evening, she put all her attention into helping one lucky bachelor find his true love. Focusing on someone else’s love life forced her to not dwell on her own heartache. In a strange way, it helped her move on. Week after week, she began to realize that perhaps Michael wasn’t the man for her. So many men came into her bakeshop on Monday night with one purpose: to obtain the name of the woman they could fully commit to. This was the kind of man she wanted to be with. Not someone who would up and leave her.

  Her thoughts drifted to Bridget and Tom. They had texted her a selfie from their wedding in Las Vegas this weekend. Both were grinning and showing off their rings, an Elvis impersonator wedged between them. It looked like it had been an absolute hoot.

  No one was surprised by their whirlwind courtship over the last two months or their sudden trip to Sin City to get hitched. Bridget was his perfect match: both adventure-seeking and spontaneous. What surprised Emma was that Tom needed her help in the first place. Still, she was happy to give him the assurance and nudge he needed to ask the librarian out.

  Emma couldn’t wait to catch up with the newlyweds when they returned. Perhaps she’d stop by the library after her shift tomorrow and get the scoop from Bridget. Her friend had mentioned that they were postponing a real honeymoon until next winter when Buttermilk Falls would most likely be under two feet of snow.

  Grabbing her hot pink ceramic mug, Emma crossed her tiny living room and slid the glass door open to her lake-view deck. This was her favorite part of the weekend. There was simply no place on earth she’d rather be than watching the morning sunrays shine down on the beautiful crystal lake.

  She took a seat and watched as a family of ducks waddled across the pond. How cute. No doubt it was going to be a gorgeous summer day for feet in the water, webbed or not.

  She began to mentally run through her to-do list. Being Sunday, it wasn’t too long. The bakery was closed, and she had the glorious day all to herself. Her afternoon always included a routine stop at the Star Lite diner.

  The sound of a door shutting jarred Emma out of her thoughts. She watched as Caitlin Reynolds stepped outside from the cottage next door in nothing but a men’s light blue buttoned-down shirt. Emma leaned back in her rocker and cocked her head. Well, this is interesting.

  Caitlin and Emma were rivals in high school, always fighting for top spots on the debate team, the cheerleading squad, and editor of their school’s newspaper. Michael had dated Caitlin all senior year and throughout college. Shortly after they graduated, their relationship fizzled. Two years later, Emma and Michael began dating while he commuted to law school. Whether it was a random run-in at the supermarket or sitting at a table near each other at the Star Lite, Caitlin always had a snarky word for her. Some people knew how to hold a grudge, and Caitlin Reynolds was one of them.

  Her arch rival’s parents owned the cottage next to Emma’s and sometimes rented it out during the summer months. Since Emma started dating Michael, Caitlin rarely stayed there.

  She turned around, shooting Emma a smug look. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” Emma chirped back. God, put some pants on.

  “How’s Michael?”

  Bitch! Caitlin knew they were broken up. The whole town did.

  “Just fine,” Emma shot back and stood. Typical Caitlin to take a cheap shot at her. If she stayed on her deck a minute longer, she was sure her petty rival would take another. She closed the glass door and sighed. Her mother would be disappointed to learn that the new bachelor with dimples to die for appeared to be already taken. Good. Any guy interested in Caitlin Reynolds was definitely not for her.

  3

  Jason hopped out of the shower and grabbed the crisp white towel he’d set on the bathroom counter, wiping the moist drops from his face. Sleeping in this morning was exactly what he needed. He’d thought he’d heard someone knocking on the door earlier, but he just couldn’t drag himself out of bed to see who it was.

  Feeling invigorated, he now needed to get a move on it. There was a lot of ground to cover.

  First, he needed to check in with his editor. Tina had approved his trip to Buttermilk Falls. She’d laughed the whole time and said if he didn’t file the story by Friday, she was sending the men in white coats.

  He wasn’t crazy—or was he? It was only two days ago that he’d sat in the tacky Vegas wedding chapel listening to Tom go on and on about some magical cake spell predicting that Bridget would be his wife. It was the wackiest story he’d ever heard, but nevertheless, intriguing. So much so, he wanted to learn more, if not fully get to the bottom of it.

  Plus, he wasn’t really in any hurry to head back to his life in Miami. Truth be told, he’d been thinking of leaving South Florida for some time. Sure, he loved his waterfront condo on South Beach, but being there also reminded him of the life he’d lost.

  Buttermilk Falls was a nice change of pace. It reminded him of the time he spent in New England for journalism school. Although it was no Beantown, the town did appear to have a subtle charm from what he’d seen. Perhaps this place could give him some clarity, or at the very least, provide a nice break from the city. If he wrote the article fairly quick, he could spend the rest of the week fishing or hiking the nearby hills.

  Tom had mentioned that the view of the falls from the hilltop was spectacular. He’d enjoy a good solitary hike on a beautiful summer day. Although, he’d have to buy some hiking shoes. The current contents in his suitcase were more suitable for a night out in Sin City than the outdoors.

  His stomach let out a large growl. Before he did anything today, he needed some fuel. Then he would begin exploring Buttermilk Falls and one bakery in particular—the Powdered Fork or Peppermint Stick or something. He couldn’t actually recall its name, but how many bakeries could be in this blip of a town anyway?

  He dressed hurriedly in jeans and a white T-shirt and headed to the kitchen. His eye caught the backside of his new roommate crouched down in front of the opened refrigerator. She was dressed in a long, light blue shirt that he immediately recognized. He suspected there wasn’t much else on underneath the fabric.

  “Hey.”

  “Jason!” Caitlin sprung up and shut the refrigerator. “Did I wake you? I was just getting a snack.” She batted her eyelashes in his direction and pointed to a bowl filled with strawberries. With a mischievous smile, she held up a can of whipped cream.

  “No. I was in the shower.” He went over to the coffee maker. The strong aroma of a freshly brewed pot filled his nostrils.

  “What are your plans for today?”

  “I was going to head to town. Do a little work.”

  “On Sunday?” She crinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “The news never takes a day off.” He grabbed one of the strawberries and took a bite. The juice burst in his mouth. “Say, where’s a quiet place to grab a little lunch?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.
The Star Lite diner. They have the best burgers. Their BBB Burger is to die for.”

  “BBB?”

  “Blueberry, bacon, and blue cheese.”

  He grinned wryly. Somehow, he doubted Caitlin Reynolds kept that body in shape by downing BBB Burgers . . . or maybe that was her secret.

  “Yep. It’s a couple miles down the road. Once you exit Lake Drive, take your first left at the red light into town. It will be on your right. There’s a big star on the diner.”

  “Sounds charming.”

  She grabbed two bottles of water and the bowl of strawberries from the kitchen island, lodging the can of whipped cream under her arm. “Energy for later.” She winked and headed down the hallway.

  Jason smirked. “Tell Brandon I said, ‘Hi.’”

  Caitlin waved and disappeared behind the bedroom door. He suspected his buddy’s blue shirt would be off in seconds. He laughed. Time to leave before he had to listen to round three or four—he’d lost count.

  He looked around for his car rental keys. The kitchen was decorated with country knickknacks and reminded him of his mother’s old place in Charlotte, North Carolina. He missed her. She had passed away from a heart attack when he was in graduate school.

  He was happy that Caitlin had so readily offered up her family’s lakeside cottage to Jason immediately upon hearing he was interested in visiting Buttermilk Falls. Brandon didn’t hesitate to extend his own vacation a few days.

  Jason looked again out at the lake, the water glistening in the sun. It would be nice to have a fishing buddy. He chuckled. That is, if Caitlin let Brandon out of the bedroom.

  He thought about the reason that brought him here. It was pretty impulsive—to chase after a highly improbable story.

  The way Tom and Bridget had gotten together sounded preposterous. Come on. Cake batter prophesized their union? Yet, Bridget’s bridesmaids had each confirmed Tom’s story that some woman named Emma did it, and that she does it all the time.

  The next day, Jason booked two tickets to Syracuse, New York, an hour’s drive to Buttermilk Falls. Brandon and he met the wedding party in Chicago and picked up the final flight to Syracuse together. Fourteen hours after leaving Las Vegas, they were in small-town America. Not a neon light, stripper, or Elvis impersonator in sight.

  Caitlin had said it was no problem for Brandon and him to stay at her family’s cottage. Her parents were traveling throughout Europe for the summer and, according to her, would rather have guests in the lakeside cottage than leave it empty.

  So here he was. This unexpected detour seemed surreal and a bit stupid if Jason was really honest. He was an award-winning, just-the-facts journalist. Yet, now, he was chasing a story that was downright illogical. Maybe his angle should be how some woman had managed to dupe an entire town into believing her magical cake could determine their fate. “Magical cake is my evidence?” he muttered. Had his career just nose-dived?

  Emma pulled her silver Toyota into the Star Lite diner and maneuvered into her usual space. The car was on its last leg, and Emma had been saving since January to buy a new one. Hopefully, she’d have enough for a healthy down payment in the next month or two.

  Grabbing her tan hobo purse from the passenger seat and her newspaper, she hopped out of the car. The parking lot was practically deserted. Since most of the Sunday brunch crowd had cleared out, she’d have the small restaurant virtually to herself.

  “Well, there she is.” Mel, the owner and cook, gave her a warm greeting as she walked in the door. He looked down from his bifocals. “My, you get prettier and prettier every week.”

  “Mel, you’re such a charmer.” She laughed. She loved this place. With its fun fifties-style décor, it was the cutest establishment in Buttermilk Falls, besides the Sugar Spoon, of course. Having brunch here was just as much a part of her Sunday ritual as sitting on her deck and watching the sun rise over the lake.

  She’d been coming to this diner every Sunday since she was thirteen. She knew it was silly, and she always left a bit disappointed, but it was something she needed to do.

  One evening, years ago, Emma had overheard her mother talking to her Aunt Jackie about a premonition she’d had. They’d thought Emma was asleep. The premonition was that one day someone Emma loved would step off the bus and back into her life. It had to be her dad.

  Her father had left her mother before Emma was born, disappearing without a trace. Emma’s mom tried finding him, even hired a private detective. He’d never turned up.

  Emma remembered overhearing her mother’s premonition as if it were yesterday.

  Her mother said it would happen at two p.m. on a Sunday. Emma’s mother even told her Aunt Jackie what table in the Star Lite Emma was sitting at in her premonition and that she’d be reading a newspaper. That table was now unofficially “her table” at two o’clock every Sunday as she waited for the afternoon bus to arrive while reading the paper that she never forgot to bring with her. She hadn’t missed a Sunday in fifteen years, except for holidays when the diner was closed.

  She’d never told her mother she’d overheard the conversation. No. She kept that secret to herself all these years, wishing every, single Sunday that it would be the day her mother’s premonition came true.

  Michael was the only person she’d confided in. He had thought her Sunday ritual was a waste of time and a bit naïve. In hindsight, that should have been a huge clue that he was all wrong for her.

  “Emma!” An old woman wearing a bright red apron and matching lipstick greeted her with a hug. “Good to see you, dear. How’s your mom?”

  “As great as ever, Betty.”

  “Glad to hear it. We’ve been worried about her after her fall. Someone needs to do something about those steps.”

  Emma shook her head. Betty was referring to her mother’s recent accident, in which she’d taken a tumble on the steep stairs to the post office and broke her foot. “She’s getting better. Aunt Jackie brought her over to my cottage this morning to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Splendid! I knew she’d be back to baking before long. Those cookies are a dream. I need to get her to give me the recipe.” She winked.

  “Good luck with that. She won’t even share it with me. Says I’ll only sell them in the bakery, and they’re way too good to put a price tag on.” She also suspected her mother enchanted them in some way, but she couldn’t prove it. Emma proceeded to her table. Halfway there, she stopped in her tracks. A man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt hovered over a laptop. He had short black hair and, from what she could tell, was tall, thin, and quite attractive. He held a coffee cup close to his lips.

  “You okay, sweetie.” Betty came up behind her. “Oh, shoot. I didn’t realize he was still here. It’s been almost three hours.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll just ask him if he wouldn’t mind moving to another booth.” Men in this town always did the polite thing when a pretty woman asked. She looked down at her iPhone. It was 1:55 p.m. She needed to hurry.

  Emma walked up to the stranger and opened her mouth. His masculine cologne filled her lungs. “Excuse me.” He looked up and she could see his phone glued to his ear.

  His gorgeous ocean-blue eyes sent a tingling sensation through her, nearly knocking her over. Emma steadied her legs. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. This is going to sound funny, but would you mind if we traded tables?” She pointed to an empty booth behind him.

  “Sorry? You need me to move?” He put the phone back to his ear, not taking his eyes off Emma. “Hold on, Tina.”

  “Yes, I sit here every Sunday.”

  He glanced around at the empty tables and booths in the restaurant. “And you can’t sit at any of those?”

  “No.” She realized she sounded a little OCD but didn’t care. “It has to be this one,” she said meekly.

  “I see. Listen, I’m on an important call. You’ll need to sit somewhere else today.” The stranger turned back to his laptop, completely ignoring her. He continued his phone conver
sation.

  Emma huffed. Was he really not going to move? He clearly didn’t belong in Buttermilk Falls. Guys from this town never displayed such rudeness.

  “Fine.” She slid into the booth behind him, opened her paper, and stared out the window. The view from her new vantage point would be fine, but that was hardly the point. It wasn’t her table. It wasn’t the place that her father would see her outside the window and recognize his daughter.

  Who the hell did this egotistic out-of-towner think he was? She cocked her head and studied his backside. He didn’t look familiar. Maybe he was someone’s distant relative just passing through.

  She scooted all the way inside the booth to get a better look out the window. It was one minute to two o’clock. She held her breath and watched. A minute later she let it out and frowned. The scene outside was always the same.

  Disappointed, she glanced one last time at the stranger. He stood and gave her a smug smile. “Table’s free.”

  “No, thanks.” Stupid ass. “Say, how do you feel about the color green?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She narrowed her eyes and sipped her coffee, watching him pay his check. Too bad she couldn’t channel her deceased grandmother and turn this handsome jerk into a frog.

  4

  Emma slid into her car and reached in her visor for her black sunglasses. Another Monday. Luckily, her shift didn’t start until noon. It was Abby’s turn to open the bakeshop, a nice opportunity for Emma to do some work around the house. Even though the calendar said July 22, she still hadn’t pulled all her summer clothes out of storage. Feeling accomplished, she headed to work.

  Pulling out, she glanced over at the cottage next door and shook her head. Caitlin’s black BMW sat in the driveway. It had sat there all weekend. Still no sign of the mystery bachelor her arch rival had managed to snag. God knows what they were doing inside.

  She hoped he wasn’t any of the guys who would stop by tonight. The last thing she wanted was to see Caitlin’s name swirling in her batter.