She had a point. But he was going to try. He just didn’t want his dad to know…and act all smug.
“Told you business was second nature to you.”
Through the doors and into an industrial kitchen, which was much like the ones in the other restaurants HARDRICK LLC owned, Sam looked into the office, spotting Rick and the barrel-chested Bob Morton at a metal desk strewn with papers next to a computer monitor that had been considered high tech the decade Sam was born. Bob’s wife, Donna, sat in a chair next to him, scrolling through pictures on her phone.
“Sam.” Rick greeted him. “Glad you made it in time for the manager interview. Daughter of a friend of the Morton’s but experienced. She should be here shortly.”
Sam shook Bob’s hand and gave Donna a hug. “Haven’s won’t be the same without you two, but we’ll do our best.” He took a seat on the small sofa.
“How was therapy?” Rick said.
“Dr. Morgan was more cautious than optimistic about getting me on the field this season.” She’d had a lot to say about his personal life too. Had slipped back into her role as his surrogate mom like he’d been fifteen again and hanging out with her son and crushing on her daughter. Lecturing him to forgive Frank and Janice for the affair that basically ruined his high school life. To let go of the grudge he’d been holding on to for over a decade.
Forgiving his father and his second wife for their affair, for destroying Sam’s family, was something he still struggled with from time to time, and he was fully aware that bitterness and resentment would eat him alive. He didn’t need “Mom” Morgan to tell him how emotions affected his body.
“That’s good news, right?” Rick said. “That she’s willing to work with you, at least.”
Sam shrugged. “I have to come for therapy three days a week and do exercises at home, but yeah, my goal is to play.” Dr. Morgan had sent him on his way with a month of appointments and an admonishment to at least try to like and trust his dad again.
“I’ll see you at his sixtieth birthday party next month. Doctor’s orders.”
He’d agreed, because really, what choice did he have? He truly believed she’d drop him as a patient. So, he smiled and nodded and kept his mouth shut.
But when it came to owning HARDRICK businesses—Sam had a whole lot to say about that.
“Rick, I need to talk to you,” he said.
When Chloe reached Haven’s, she paused by the front door. So this was it. The beginning of her new future. Back home in Hearts Bend, the quintessential opposite of her old Bastille neighborhood. Her pride battled the grief she’d carried for the last ten months. Look, this wasn’t the last stop in her life. She wouldn’t work here forever. This was just to stay out of Mom’s hair and keep busy until Mom was cancer free. Besides, she could use the money since Jean-Marc had emptied their bank account.
Go in.
The bell swinging from the door rang as she entered the bakery. Chloe paused just past the threshold. The scent of coffee, baking bread, and cakes made her feel a bit more alive. This was her sweet place. No pun intended. A group of silver-haired women huddled around a table under the window overlooking First Avenue, coffee mugs and plates with sweet rolls in front of them, chittering like a flock of sparrows. They looked up but quickly returned to their conversation. Chloe did a double take. One of the women looked familiar. Probably a friend of Mom’s.
She took a moment to gaze around. The daily special written on the chalkboard—vanilla cake—looked fresh and appealing, though it couldn’t be as good as MeMaw’s, she thought loyally. Lots of Hearts Bend’s residents laid claim to the best vanilla cake in Tennessee, but only MeMaw had taken a blue ribbon at the state fair three years running. Rows of cinnamon buns, muffins, and donuts lined the trays, and stacked pink boxes waited to carry those treats home. A pair of swinging doors behind the counter led to the kitchen. The front part of the bakery held scattered tables and was lined with booths.
A low hum of conversation filled the room. Chloe tilted her head. Whether in French or with a Southern accent, conversations with a sweet pastry and coffee added something special to the day. The woman behind the counter wore her hair in a tall, gray wispy beehive hairdo underneath her hair net. She had a pencil tucked into one of the honeycombs of her hair. She wore bright pink lipstick and?—
“I declare,” Ruby said, looking over her half-glasses at Chloe. “I thought homecoming was in the fall. Chloe Beason, is that you?”
“Ruby? Hey, yes, it’s me.” Chloe melted into the woman’s soft, bosomy embrace. She smelled like MeMaw. Of vanilla and sugar. “It’s Chloe LaRue now.” She hoped Ruby wouldn’t break in with a plethora of questions such as, “What have you been up to?” or “Tell me all about Paris.”
She’d have to know about Jean-Marc. His death notice ran in the Hearts Bend Tribune.
“I’m looking for Rick Moses,” Chloe said. “We have a meeting.”
“In the office, sugar. Through there.” Ruby pointed to the double doors. “Welcome home, Chloe.” Her voice…so much sympathy. So yes, she knew about Jean-Marc.
“Thanks, Ruby.”
Through the doors, Chloe spotted the office in the back, but what really caught her eye was the young woman icing a cake on the prep table. Her baker’s coat was covered in as much blue and yellow frosting as the cake, and even more colorful blobs layered the table. The area looked like a buttercream bomb had exploded. Yet the cake’s frosting gleamed as smooth as the surface of Lac de Gravelle—Gravelle Lake in Paris. Flawless. Beautiful. But goodness, did Donna Morton allow such a disastrous workstation?
“Chloe LaRue?” A man stood at the office door. He was nice looking, very well dressed, his blondish hair perfectly styled and his cologne just strong enough to make her think of a walk in a French forest.
“Yes.” She extended a hand. “Rick Moses? It’s nice to meet you.”
“Please have a seat.” He motioned for her to come on in.
“Thank you for interviewing me.” Chloe hugged Bob and Donna. “I can’t believe you’re retiring. And all the way to Florida.”
