Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“What did he say?” asked Cheyenne.
“He said he kept the recipe to himself for personal reasons, but now wants me to have it because he trusts me with her legacy,” I said, wiping away tears.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Frannie put a hand over her heart.
“It really is,” Cheyenne added, her eyes shining. “Are you going to bake it?”
“I want to. But it doesn’t feel right to just bake it and sell it here, you know?”
“Hmm.” Cheyenne thought for a moment. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why not bake some for the cakewalk my mom organized for the anniversary event at the garage this weekend?”
“She organized a cakewalk for the event?”
“Yes, and ticket sales will benefit the animal shelter.”
I smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
“So you’ll do it? I think there would be a lot of excitement once word got around that Betty’s apple pies are up for grabs!”
I nodded. “Definitely. What are you serving in the lobby with coffee?”
Cheyenne looked guilty. “Store-bought cookies.”
“Good Lord. No.” I shook my head. “Let’s think—today is Thursday, the event is Saturday. I can make them tomorrow, along with a sheet cake for the lobby, and then drive them down in the morning.”
“That would be perfect,” Cheyenne gushed.
“I would be happy to help,” offered Frannie. “You can use the kitchen here, and we can even bring the girls in on it. You’ll have five sets of hands.”
“You’re the best, Frannie.” I smiled at her. “I’d love that.”
“So I’ll see you Saturday morning?” Cheyenne asked.
“Yes. But Cheyenne . . .” I stopped and took a breath. “I don’t want to run into Griffin. Can I just drop everything at your mom’s house?”
“Of course,” she said. “But are you sure you don’t want to just stop in and say hi? Maybe it would kick his ass into gear.”
“Feel free to take the entire day off,” Frannie said generously. “The girls and I can cover the shop.”
I shook my head. “No. He made his wishes very clear when he told me to go. Seeing him won’t help.”
Cheyenne sighed. “I understand.”
Frannie and Cheyenne invited me to have dinner with them, but I declined—I had a lot of baking to do. I did, however, ask Cheyenne if she’d mind stopping by Cloverleigh Farms before she drove home. I wanted to show her my new apartment, but I also wanted to send something back to Bellamy Creek with her.
She said she would, so after they left, I went home and baked up a batch of blueberry lemon thyme scones for Mr. Frankel. Then I ran out to the drug store and grabbed a card. I wanted to write back, thanking him for his kindness.
Dear Mr. Frankel,
What a wonderful surprise I got today! Thank you so much for sending me a letter, and for the precious gift of Betty’s apple pie recipe. I have been reading over it nonstop, and I’ve so enjoyed imagining her rolling out the crust, adding a little more of this or that to the filling, brushing the top with cream and sprinkling the sugar on top. I cannot wait to try it out this weekend.
I understand completely your reasons for keeping the recipe close to your heart, and I do not believe anyone would blame you. I certainly don’t. But I also love that you’re looking toward the future now rather than clinging to the past. You deserve a lot more happy days!
Get that historic walk all planned out—I hereby request you take me on it someday. Bellamy Creek is such a lovely place, and I think of it often. I hope you enjoy these scones and think of me fondly.
You take care of yourself, my friend.
Sincerely,
Blair Beaufort
P.S. I like thinking of us both as works in progress. If we were already masterpieces, there would be nothing to do!
I sealed the card inside the envelope and slipped it beneath the string of the cardboard bakery box full of scones.
When Cheyenne arrived, she marveled over my carriage house home, took a walk with me across the grounds, peeked inside the inn and winery, and gave me a tight goodbye hug in the driveway. “I’m so glad to see you doing so well,” she said.
“Thanks. I really do love it here.”
“But . . .” she said as she released me, because she knew.
“But I miss him.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “I keep waiting for the morning I wake up and he’s not the first thing I think about. Or the night when he’s not the last thing. I know it’s only been a week or so since I left him, but it just feels like this ache is never going to go away.”
She sighed. “Don’t give up, okay?”
My throat closed. “I don’t want to feel this way forever.”
“You won’t.” She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t tell you this, because he’d string me up by my toes if he found out, but then again, he’s the one being a big jerk. And I have gone over the conversation again and again, and I swear he didn’t specifically tell me not to tell you.”