“You really love her.” It was maybe a strange thing to say, but from the way Turner softened, even before he nodded, she knew she was right.
There was something she needed to say here, but then her phone alarm chirped, and she gave Maisey one last pat before standing up.
“I need to get the cookies going,” she said. “The dough’s chilled long enough in the fridge, and now I need to start the process of rotating all the trays, actually baking, decorating, things like that. I’ll try to come back out when I can, but, if youthink I can help in any way at all, come get me okay? It doesn’t matter how or when, just come get me.”
It startled her how much she meant it, and the thought haunted her as she walked back to the house. It was one of the last things that Ruth had said to her at the end, that Ilona was there for the short term, not the long haul. She’d never wanted to do the settling down thing that Ruth and a lot of their friends in Chicago were doing. Living in some townhouse surrounded by people and always worrying about what car their neighbors were driving sounded like hell to her. She never put her name on a lease, never got so much as a shared bank account with Ruth or any of the people who had come before her.
Now it was all turning around, and, when she watched Turner with Maisey, she was thinking about things like what it meant to watch over a new unicorn herd and whether it could include a kitchen with a convection oven and a stand mixer, if she could start up some kind of renegade bakery and join together what were in the end two very different lives.
We would make it work,she thought suddenly.And it wouldtakea lot of work, a lot of time, a lot of effort, but he’s not afraid of hard work; and neither am I.
Ilona shied away from the thought, a little like Maisey herself. It wasn’t like her to want to settle down like this, to put down the roots it felt like she’d been trying to dodge for so long. Deep down, it wasn’t that she couldn’t make a commitment. Instead, it was the fact that when she made one, she couldn’t do anything but see it through to the end. When that involved significant others, it could get messy.
She shook her head, buttoning up her smock and fastidiously twisting her hair back up again before scrubbing her hands. She didn’t have time to stop and think about commitments and life paths. Instead, she had a whole mess of baking to do, and she was going to do it.
Ilona had been baking for most of her life, and she quickly fell into the rhythm that had seen her through so many difficult times. Shortbread cookies were Aunt Freddie’s favorite, and those were made as traditionally as could be, rectangular and pierced with a fork to ensure even baking and, incidentally, to hold more sugar. Thumbprint cookies were always a crowd-pleaser, especially when she added her homemade peach and mango preserves to the center. The sugar cookies were delicious, of course, but very plain, or at least they were before she got out her icing. Then they’d become Christmas cottages, blue skies sprinkled with tiny sugar stars, and Christmas tree ornaments decorated with loops and lines of color.
On their own, none of the cookies were difficult, but, taken together, what went into the oven and for how long became a meticulous balancing act. It was the exacting kind of work that left very little room for error; and Ilona threw herself into it, one tray out of the oven, another tray ready to take it’s place; and, slowly, the counter filled up with gorgeous treats packed into a series of clean plastic tubs with tissue paper.
As the afternoon turned to evening, she made her way out to the barn every hour or so. She had fully intended to wait until Turner called for her, but something in her didn’t like him out in the barn with only Maisey for company. Every time she came out, she brought him a piece of shortbread, ora thumbprint cookie, or a sugar cookie liberally decorated with swoops of color. Turner was enthusiastic about all of the treats, but it was the thumbprint cookies with mango jam that made his eyes go wide and an inescapable grin cross his face.
“Ilona, you’re incredible. If you weren’t my true mate, I’d marry you for this cookie alone.”
“I sell them for two dollars apiece. At least, I did when I was still a baker.”
He cocked his head at her in a surprisingly lupine gesture. “Are you not a baker anymore?”
“No, I am. I just lost my job at a bakery in Chicago a few months ago. I’d sell baked goods independently, but I don’t have any contacts in town. And, unfortunately, the city of Clearwater frowns on people selling cookies on the street.”
“Well, the Girl Scouts do it, and I guess they can be pretty tough customers.
“I’m looking for another baking job, and I have the resume and the skills. It’s just that no one’s hiring right now, and all I can do is bake cookies about it.”
To her surprise, Turner took her by the shoulders, giving her an intent stare until her words came to a stop, and then he nodded.
“There’s nothingjustabout your cookies,” he said with a hint of sternness in his voice. “Your baking is phenomenal, and I have a feeling that everyone else who’s had them knows that too. They’re great, and if you’re not selling them, it’s because you don’t want to. That’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with that. But these cookies are amazing.” Then more softly, “So are you.Anyone would be lucky to have you or your baking. I know I am.”
His words hit her hard in the chest. For a moment, all she could do was stare into his eyes, looking for the lie there, not finding it. She knew she never would, and her throat closed as she pulled away.
“I have. That is. More cookies. So many more cookies. There’s a rotation, and I can’t waste the heat in the oven and the moisture and—”
Turner grabbed her by the hand.
“Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m okay, and you didn’t say anything wrong. You said I could have time, as much as I wanted.”
“I did.”
“And there are the cookies,” she said lamely. He nodded, still worried, and Ilona reached over to give Maisey one last pat before turning to flee towards the house.
She could see it, was the problem. She could see her place beside Turner, maybe in Clearwater, maybe a ways farther off. She imagined how life might be like with him, Maisey and Maisey's baby, and she wanted it so badly she could almost taste it.
At the same time, she could feel every moment she had given up, backed out, even run away. She had had good things before with good people and good jobs. All of that paled next to what she could see waiting for her with Turner. If she messed this one up, it was going to hurt so much more. It was going to be so much worse.
Ilona put it aside. She couldn’t think about it right now. She had work to do.
As she made her way back to the house, thick flakes of snow tumbled down from the sky. The ground had turned pure white in the short time she’d been in the barn.
