“Don’t you agree?” She’s pointing at the blueberry muffin sitting in front of me.
I look down at the completely intact muffin. “Oh, uh,” is all I manage to say.
“Too much sugar,” she repeats, and I see a smear of blueberry across one of her front teeth.
Addison swipes the muffin from in front of me and takes a bite. She shifts her upper half in her seat so she can directly address the lady. “I don’t think they’re bad.” Her gaze flits over to the girl behind the register, who I’m certain is listening to our conversation. It would be hard not to.
“I’ll make a better one,” the woman says. “I’ve entered the competition, and I’ll win. I’ve been a baker my whole life.”
Addison smiles serenely. Unlike the harsh woman, she does not have blueberry smeared on her teeth. “Good luck,” she tells her, turning back around to me.
“Let’s go,” she mouths, gathering the dirty plates and placing them in a bin on a shelf above the trash can. Grabbing the poor muffin, I nod my head at the woman and follow Addison out the door.
I take a bite of the muffin on the way to the truck. “Tastes okay to me.”
Addison glances at me. “Beatrice was right. It has too much sugar.”
“Beatrice?”
“Beatrice Connelly, according to the sign-up sheet. I looked when I was putting away our dirty plates.”
I nod my understanding and finish the muffin, using a balled-up napkin from my pocket to wipe crumbs off my lips.
“I’ve had the world’s best blueberry muffin,” I tell her, climbing into my truck. Addison clicks her seatbelt and stares at me expectantly.
“It was from a little bakery in a town in northern Arizona. Brighton. That’s where Finn and Lennon are living right now, with Finn’s uncle.” In my mind, I see the cabin Finn built, the road into town, and the quaint street with the bakery. “The window literally has a sign that says ‘World’s Best Blueberry Muffins’, and they sell out of them every weekend by mid-morning. The place is like an institution.”
Addison grabs her phone and starts typing, pauses, then her fingers are scrolling. She glances at me triumphantly. “Got it!” She presses a button and puts the phone on speaker, holding it sideways so the part with the microphone is closer to her mouth.
Ringing fills the truck cabin, and then a pleasant voice answers, “Lady J bakery.”
Addison’s excited, nervous gaze meets mine. “Hi,” she says, her eyes still on me. “Can I please speak with the owner of Lady J?”
“You already are. This is Jane. What can I do for you?”
“Jane, my name is Addison West. I live in Lonesome, Oregon, and I used to operate a bakery in Chicago. My friend Brady was lucky enough to eat one of your famous blueberry muffins recently, and he was raving about it.” Addison’s fist clenches as she speaks. “I’m in a baking competition here in Oregon and the prize is a bakery.”
“That’s quite a prize,” Jane says. “But I don’t quite see what this has to do with me.”
Addison glances at me, then back to the phone, as if willing the person on the other end to give her what she’s after. “I think my competitor is going to make blueberry muffins. We’re supposed to make three things, and I want one of the things I make to be blueberry muffins that blow hers out of the water. And to do that I need—”
“My recipe?” Mild amusement trickles through Jane’s voice.
“Yes, I know it’s a weird request, but…” Addison taps her knee with a finger and looks at me. “I really want to win.”
I try not to show her my surprise. I thought she was entering just to enter, to have something to fill her time. When did it go from reluctant interest to something she’d set her sights on?
Jane laughs, a quiet, easy sound. “You seem like a nice person, Addison. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.” Hope shimmers in Addison’s voice.
I think it’s a good sign Jane is asking Addison a question. Perhaps she has a daughter and she’s thinking of her. Maybe that will tilt things in Addison’s favor.
“I use one tablespoon of lemon zest, and I mash a quarter of the blueberries and mix them into the batter,” Jane says. Addison turns a wide-eyed stare at me, and smiles so huge that it pulls her skin taut.
“Also,” Jane continues, “the remaining blueberries should be coated in flour and then folded in. It keeps them from sinking to the bottom.”
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, thank you so much!” Addison gushes.
