Zoe sent her a surprised look. “The dentist.”
“She’s sorta new,” Aunt Jo said. “She’s been here two years. Her office is in the same complex as Doc Bolton’s.”
“Abby’s a good baker,” Zoe said. “I’ve had her plum cake before. But I think the winner’s going to be either Maggie Mayhew and her butter cake, or Haley Tilden from the Farmer’s Depot and that spice cake she makes for the Methodist Ladies’ Group. They say you’ll think the angels came down and made it for her. It’s that good.”
Ella knew Maggie Mayhew, who co-owned Paw Printz with her husband, Ed, but she’d never heard of this Haley person at all. Sheesh, when had Dove Pond gotten so big?
The others continued talking about possible winners for the bake-off and Ella was disheartened to realize she knew only about half of them. Feeling a little left out, she sat quietly. It doesn’t matter. I need to focus on tomorrow.
Her fingers itched to send a text to Angela this very second, but the memory of her face before she’d slammed the curtains closed made Ella realize she had to be cautious. If she didn’t send just the right text message, Angela would simply block her. I’ll have one chance. Just one. I have to say exactly the right thing, whatever that is.
Frowning, Ella considered all her options. One perfect text message followed by a few words with Angela, and Ella would be free to go to wherever her next adventure took her. She was ready for it, her restlessness growing by the second. She just hoped that wherever she went, it would be somewhere far, far away from this surprising and confusing little town where she’d grown up.
CHAPTER 6 ANGELA
Angela used to love breakfast. She loved thick slabs of crunchy toast slathered in real butter, over-easy eggs that exploded with flavor and warmth when she bit into them, and thick-cut bacon that sizzled as it hit the plate.
That was breakfast, not this.
She dug out a spoonful of gruel (she refused to call it anything else), considered it for a second, and then mournfully turned the spoon so that the mess plopped back into the bowl—gray, shapeless, and tasteless. Just like her life.
“Mom, stop playing with your food.” Jules sat at the kitchen table across from Angela and pointed to her own bowl. “I’m eating the same thing.” She took a bite, her expression flickering for just a second before she managed to swallow.
“Well?” Angela demanded.
“It could use a little seasoning. Some cinnamon, perhaps. But it’s not bad.”
That was a lie and they both knew it. Angela pushed her bowl away. “It’s not bad. It’s wretched, horrid, putrid—”
“Putrid?” Gray asked, his voice thick with suppressed laughter.
Angela looked over her shoulder to where Gray had just come into the kitchen from outside, his empty coffee tumbler in his hand. He was dressed in jeans and a faded, wrinkled T-shirt, his face unshaven, his dark hair a trifle too long.
He tsked. “Really, Grandma? Putrid?”
Angela cast a quick glance at Jules and, seeing her daughter laser-focused on her own bowl of gruel, stuck out her tongue at Gray.
He grinned and filled his tumbler with coffee, then reached into the fridge. He held up the cream so she could see it and, smiling widely, added a healthy dose to his coffee. “Mmm, I do love cream in my coffee.” He took a sip and then sighed as if he’d just tasted heaven.
She looked at her own coffee, which was decaf and had water-thin skim milk in it instead of proper cream. Darn it! She glared at him.
He tasted his coffee again. “This is good, but you know what it needs? More cream.”
Oh, if she were able to be herself, she’d rip her impudent grandson a new one. Alas, all she could do was say with an “I’ll get you back for this” stare, “That cream will make you fat.” I hope.
Jules looked up from her oatmeal. “Gray never has trouble with his weight, especially with all the running he does.” She shot him a glance. “Did you run this morning?”
“Ten miles.”
Angela sniffed loudly. “He may not get fat, but if he keeps drinking cream like that, he’ll clog every artery he has and die before he’s forty.” That was harsh, but he’d been asking for it.
He grinned, leaned his hip against the counter, and took a noisy sip.
Wretch.
Jules glanced at the clock and, with an obvious flash of relief, put down her spoon. “I’ve got to go. Wish I had time to eat with you, Mom, but you know how busy I am with the restaurant and all.” She carried her bowl of oatmeal to the sink and dumped it down the disposal.
Right. It was work that had sent Jules to the sink to toss her oatmeal, not the painful blandness of it.
Jules rinsed her bowl and put it into the dishwasher. “Are you leaving now, Gray?”
He nodded and, as soon as his mother’s back was turned, mouthed to Angela, “Lunch?”
She nodded fervently.
With a wink, he reclaimed his coffee tumbler and headed out, calling over his shoulder as he left, “See you guys later.”
“Bye.” Angela picked up her spoon and pulled her bowl closer. “Jules, before you go… Last night, after dinner, Mark was saying there are several new businesses downtown.”
“There’s now a tearoom, a flower shop, a photographer, a feed store, and a real estate office. Our new mayor, Grace, has been a lightning rod for bringing new businesses to our area.”
“Interesting. I don’t suppose Dove Pond now has, oh, a taxi or car service? Like Uber or something like that?” Angela waited hopefully. She knew the answer was no, but there had to be some other option, surely.
Jules’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re not planning on going somewh—”
“No, no! I just wondered because I’ve read that transportation options are the real sign of a town’s growth.”
“Oh. No, we don’t have that yet, but I bet it won’t be long.”
Darn it. I was so hoping there was some way to get around.
Jules picked up her car keys. “Grace thinks we’ll qualify for a state grant for local bus transportation within the next three years, but I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Great. I’ll be dead of boredom by then. Realizing she was making herself depressed, she tried to think of something positive to say. “This housecoat you lent me is crazy comfortable. I may never dress again.”
Jules looked pleased. “I should get you a caftan.”
“I’d be tempted if I could avoid mirrors.”
Jules laughed and came to the table. To Angela’s surprise, she leaned down and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. It was a quick kiss, more of a peck than anything else, but the spontaneity of it made Angela’s eyes misty. She tried to think of something engaging to say, but her emotions had clamped her throat closed, so all she could offer was a tremulous smile.
“It’s nice having you here, Mom.”
Angela blinked away yet more tears and took a gulp of her weak decaf coffee in an effort to clear her throat. “It’s been nice, Jules. So, so nice.” The moment was sweet, poignant, and worth every bit of boredom Angela had been living with.
Jules moved back to the counter and collected her purse. “I’d stay longer, but we’re interviewing for a prep cook this morning. I need to get Mark off the line so he can do more of the management tasks.”