Grandpa Jim sported a tan, and Grandma Elaine wore a straw hat decorated with a huge silk hibiscus flower. “You two look amazing.” Robin gave each of them a long hug. “Come inside where it’s warm.”
They all dragged the luggage through the door of the bakery. Inside the door, her grandma paused. “Is everything okay, Robin? You look a little thin around the edges.”
“The bakery is fine, Grandma.” Deep breath. “But I did have to make a few changes.” Robin closed her eyes.
“Changes?” The squeak in Grandma Elaine’s voice tightened a vise around Robin’s chest.
Her grandma set her luggage next to the door and walked toward the kitchen, Grandpa Jim trailing behind.
Robin hurried to talk to them before they got through the swinging door. “Well, you know that the oven has been acting up. Finally, one day it wouldn’t start at all.” She told them about the heating element explosion. “It turned out that the oven was fine but the element was faulty. Sammy Johnson and I got it fixed but…well, someone bought us a new one.” She’d promised Sammy she wouldn’t tell them he’d bought the oven. He didn’t want her grandparents to feel obligated to him. And he’d made it clear that he definitely did not want to be paid back. Except maybe in cupcakes.
“Someone bought us an oven.” Grandma’s voice fell flat. She stopped, blocking the door to the kitchen. “Who would spend that kind of money?”
“The appliance company said it was donated anonymously and that we must have an enthusiastic fan.” A slow smile spread across her lips. Sammy was enthusiastic all right.
“An anonymous donor? I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble picturing it.”
There was a moment of silence as Robin tried to think of a way to explain it without outright lying to her grandmother. She wanted to keep her promise to Sammy, but she wouldn’t lie.
“There seems to be a Good Samaritan going around town providing for people. This must be just another incident.” Then her own words struck her.
Sammy.
Sammy must be the Good Samaritan donating to all those needs. It all lined up. A new furnace for the youth center, carpeting for the church after it was listed as a prayer request, even the oven just days after he found out she needed it. She didn’t know how he was affording it on a delivery/handyman salary, especially since he kept insisting on being paid in cupcakes, but this had Sammy Johnson written all over it.
How could she have ever thought she wasn’t attracted to him? Sammy was generous and kind. He laughed at her jokes. He made up games to help kids pass math. He listened to her, and she loved the way that he made frosting.
No. She just loved him. All of him. She didn’t know when it had happened, but right now, yes, she loved Sammy Johnson.
“Still sounds strange to me.”
They hadn’t heard the half of it. She told them about the Good Samaritan and the other gifts around town. “This oven is top of the line. It’s one of those new stackable units. The top is a convection oven, and the bottom is brick-lined. Remember that convention in Paris I told you about? This oven came from one of the European companies I spent time with.”
“Sounds pretty fancy—much more than we need for our bread,” Grandpa said.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his words. The various functions on the oven would improve anything they baked.
But the moment of reckoning had come.
“Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” She swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. “I’ve added cakes to the Fox lineup.” She waited a beat, then another. When her grandparents stayed silent, she rushed on. “We had a major water leak, and I had to call the plumber, and then the floor needed to be replaced and there wasn’t enough money to pay for the repairs before the health inspector came. I had to come up with the money somehow, so I started baking cakes on the side. Cakes bring in much more return on investment than bread.” She stopped the waterfall of words. Held her breath.
“I see.” Her grandma’s tone wasn’t condemning. That was something, anyway. “So you changed the menu without consulting us?”
“I didn’t think you would need to know,” she admitted. And just like that, she was sixteen again, sneaking in past curfew. That hadn’t ended well either. “I’m sorry. I should have told you right away. I just wanted everything to be perfect and non-stressful. I know you don’t like the idea of adding cake to the menu.”
Her grandma spoke. “It’s not that we’re opposed to more items than bread on the menu. We never added cakes because we wanted to focus on baking the best bread we could, not get distracted by other things.”
“And neither of us could ever get the hang of all that frosting.” Her grandpa reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.
She let out her breath in a whoosh. “You aren’t mad?”
Her grandpa laughed, a bright sound lifting the weight the room held. “Who can be mad about cake? I remember that photo you sent of some of the things you were creating in Paris. It would be a shame to waste that talent.”
“Thank you, Grandpa.”
“Is this idea sustainable, though?” Grandma, always pragmatic. “Surely there isn’t much call for fancy cakes.”
Robin told them about the commissions she’d already received, ending with, “And one of my cakes was already photographed for a magazine.” She gave a short description of the Adamses’ party.
