Sam passed by a few people braving the not-quite-cleared sidewalks. He gave each of them a Minnesota hi sign, flicking his index finger up from the steering wheel. As he made the turn into the Fox Bakery parking lot, he narrowly avoided Casper Christiansen behind the wheel of the municipal snowplow. The volunteers had been working all week on clearing snow, him included. If Casper didn’t finish up tonight, Sammy would take another shift tomorrow.
He pushed through the bakery door. The familiar sweet, yeasty scent assaulted him. Why had he promised his mom he would come? Elaine Fox stood behind the cash register. A picture frame perched on the counter—a print of him and Robin with their prize at Distinctive Bakes.
Looked like he would be getting a side of heartache with his daily bread.
“Sammy! Good to see you.” Elaine came around the counter and gave him a hug. “Are you here for a baguette or a raisin loaf?”
“You know me well,” he said, a smile creeping up on him. “Raisin loaf today.”
“Coming right up.” Elaine moved back behind the counter and began bagging up his order.
Don’t ask about Robin.“How is Robin doing?”Shoot!His mouth had a mind of its own.
Elaine paused. Her lips tipped up briefly. “I don’t think Chantilly is everything she hoped for. But she’s a smart girl. She’ll figure it all out.”
“I believe in her. She was made for big things. I’m glad her dream is coming true.”
“You helped her realize that dream.” Elaine touched the edge of the photo frame. “By the way, we have people coming in all the time asking for her caramel mocha cupcakes. I haven’t the faintest idea how to make them. I don’t suppose you know?”
“Actually, I do.” An image of Robin, hair tied on top of her head, laughing as she mixed the cake mix, flashed through his mind and speared itself somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. A ghost of chocolate mocha hovered in his nose. “The secret is in the fresh espresso. Or so Robin always said.”
“Are you looking for a job? I need someone to make those cakes.” Elaine clasped her hands together.
A lumberjack turned baker? Why not? Robin had already introduced him to how fun the kitchen could be. “If you’re serious, I could probably come by once a week.”
“Works for me,” Elaine said. “We’ll need to work out a payment schedule.”
“Didn’t Robin tell you? I work for cupcakes.” He grinned at Elaine and took his raisin loaf.
Sure, being back in the bakery would be bittersweet, but maybe with time, the sweet would be all that remained.
seventeen
He ought to feel proud of himself.
A few days after talking to Elaine at the bakery, Sammy surveyed the youth center around him.
When their grant had come through, Vivien had immediately begun planning this night. The other volunteers, parents, and youth who used the center had gathered for a party to celebrate having their first full-time, paid staff member. Him.
Standing in the center of the chaos of tonight’s party, Sammy knew he’d made the right choice in turning down the smoke jumping job. He had a calling to Deep Haven, to help the town in any way he could. And to follow through on building a house out on his land. Something made with big logs to stand the test of time.
He already had big plans mapped out for how they could benefit more kids. Thinking about the tutors he wanted to line up made his heart quicken. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He could be a hero to kids every day, in small ways. Being a firefighter or smoke jumper wasn’t the only way to protect and serve.
Crepe paper streamers and crooked signs proclaiming “Congratulations” papered the walls. Near the door a table groaned under a huge spread of food. Over in the corner a “Welcome home, Sammy” card hung over a freshly painted desk and a brand new chair with a huge bow pinned to the back.
And yeah. This place did feel a little like home.
He’d also come to grips with the idea that he and Robin were on different paths. He loved her, but he needed to let her live her life the way she thought best. He was ashamed that he’d ever implied that he wanted her to change. He’d sent her a text just that morning.
Sammy
We should talk. I’m sorry for the things I said in New York.
She hadn’t replied, but that was okay too. Tomorrow, after the party stuff had settled down, he would try to call her. Apologies should be delivered in person if possible, but a cell phone would work in a pinch.
“Hey, Mr. J. Want to lose?” Ben Zimmerman held up a pair of Ping-Pong paddles, his eyebrow raised.
“Bring it on.”
