The Sweetheart Deal

Megs hopped up on the stool and stared at her hands folded in her lap. She should have kept her mouth shut. She should have let the bully say and do what he wanted. But no, she’d had to stand up to him, and now Kenny was dead.

The swinging doors opened, and Grammy stepped into the kitchen. Megs expected her to talk, to assure her that everything would be okay. Instead, she pulled out an old recipe ledger and flipped through the pages. She finally settled on a page and pointed it out to Megs. “Here we are. This cookie helps to soothe a worried soul.” Grammy chose an apron from a shelf and tossed it at Megs. “Put it on. You’re going to make these on your own.”

Megs raised an eyebrow at this. She’d helped her grandmother make cookies before, but it had never been suggested that she bake them solo. She slipped the apron over her head, then wound the strings around her waist before tying them in front. “But I don’t know this recipe.”

“You can’t always rely on what you know.” Grammy nudged the ledger toward her. “Follow the recipe. Trust in yourself. It will guide you.”

She started to gather the ingredients: flour, sugar, butter and eggs. And the tin of dark cocoa. Megs lifted the lid and took a deep breath. Ambrosia.

As Grammy watched, she carefully measured and sifted, creamed and mixed. She referred back to the ledger when she doubted the next step, and later suppressed a smile when the dough formed into a ball exactly like it should. She glanced at her grandmother, who beamed at her. “You’re a natural, Megs. Like me.”

The next step was to let the dough firm up in the refrigerator for a half hour, so Megs put the mixing bowl in the walk-in cooler and returned to the warm kitchen. Grammy held out a mug of tea to her. “I know that Kenny’s death doesn’t make sense. Suicide never does. But he’ll always have a special place in your heart. And as long as you hold on to that, at least he can live on in your memories.”

Megs cupped her hands around the mug and let the warmth extend down her fingers toward her arms. “I’m afraid that I wasn’t a very good friend to him lately.”

Grammy wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “I doubt that. You’re the best friend any person could ask for.” She tweaked the end of her nose. “After all, you’re the best granddaughter. One of them, at least.”

When the half hour was over, Megs rolled out the dough, then used a knife to cut it into strips. She twisted them into shapes before placing them on a buttered cookie sheet, then slipped them into the oven. She leaned against the marble worktable and crossed her arms over her chest. “Will it ever stop hurting like this?”

Grammy nodded. “One day, it won’t hurt as much. But you’ll always miss him.” She gave a soft smile. “I still miss your grandfather. And your dad.”

“Me, too.”

“But the pain’s gotten easier, isn’t that right?” She put a hand on Megs’s shoulder. “It will be the same with Kenny.”

When the timer went off, Megs used a pot holder to bring out the sheet of twists and placed it on the counter. She grabbed a metal spatula to hold out one of the cookies. Grammy took it and bit into it. Megs watched as she chewed, then relaxed when she smiled.

“You did good.” Grammy finished the cookie and peered at Megs. “One day, this place will belong to you. All my recipes and the business, too. And you will learn to feed people’s souls as well as their bodies. Just like me.”

At that moment, there was nothing Megs wanted more.

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b9330d34-39f2-5958-aa6e-cbca7cb70298)

MEGS RESTED HER hand on the old recipe ledger, missing Grammy even more today than ever before. Had it really been four months already since she had died? It didn’t seem possible.

She shook off her grief and glanced at the clock. It was a little after four in the morning, her favorite time of the day, just before her employees arrived, when the bakery she had inherited belonged to her alone. She flipped through the pages of the ledger, looking for the right recipe. She needed something special. Something that would shake the dark foreboding that sat heavily on her shoulders.

With the radio blaring, Megs sang along as she creamed the butter and sugar. A strange sound made her look up, but only for a moment. Then she was sifting the flour into the butter mixture, beating the silver cup with the side of her hand.

Though many of her customers loved their standbys, she liked to introduce new items every once in a while. Sometimes to good reviews, others to less than stellar. Hopefully, these butter cookies would inspire new beginnings just like Grammy had promised in the ledger.

Another weird groan came from above her, then a crack as if ice were breaking. She glanced at the ceiling and frowned. One fleeting thought sprang to mind: Get under the table. She hugged the ledger to her chest and scooted beneath the worktable just before the roof gave way.

* * *

COLD. SO COLD. Megs peeked from under the table and saw chunks of ice and snow amid roof shingles and splintered wood littering the floor of the kitchen. She remained where she was, however, unsure of whether there would be more falling debris. She hoped not. She hoped this didn’t mean the end of the Sweetheart.

Megs tried not to cry. Would someone hear her if she did? She called out, but it was so early. Who else was up this early? “Help!” she hollered again. “I’m under here!” Only silence followed. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans, but she’d left her phone in her jacket, which was across the room. Out of reach.

Minutes passed. How long had she been under here? She wasn’t sure anymore. It felt like hours, but it couldn’t be. Didn’t matter, her back was cramping badly. Shivers raced down her spine. Staying here for much longer wasn’t an option. She tested her feet, her legs, her arms. Mentally checking if she was all right. She seemed to be. She could be grateful for that at least.

Grateful? How could she—

Was that...

The sirens of the fire trucks and police cars already. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, clutching the ledger tighter to her chest. “They’re coming. Everything will be fine now.”

Oh, how she wanted to believe those words.

* * *

ADAM HAWKINS’S PHONE rang twice before he had reached the bank. Because of the precarious conditions of the roads, he ignored it and continued on his way. He needed to get in early so he could get the sidewalks shoveled before customers arrived. He’d already called to ensure the plows had reached his parking lot, but the sidewalks were his responsibility. Welcome to small-town Northern Michigan.

As much as he hated to admit it, returning to his hometown as bank manager was pretty gratifying. The people in town hadn’t thought he’d grow up to be much more than a thug, but he’d shown them. He’d become respectable, even wore a suit and tie. A man that his father should be proud of.

Not that anyone seemed to have noticed the internal change in him. Not even his parents, who lived in the same town, but still refused to see him. They still saw the bully, though dressed in a suit. He pulled into the bank parking lot near the back, grabbed the shovel he’d stowed in the bed of his truck and walked carefully to the snow mounded on the sidewalks. Within minutes, he had a square foot of cement cleaned off and felt ready to quit and hire someone else to shovel the rest. Despite the deceptive white fluffy appearance, the snow was wet and heavy. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and his arms ached. Still, only thirty minutes remained until his employees would show, then another thirty for his first customers.

Another car belonging to his teller Eva Stone arrived at the parking lot. When she got out of her car, she looked as though she had dressed for Alaska. She was wearing a thick parka with a hood fringed with faux fur, two scarves wound around her neck and fat mittens on her hands. She approached him slowly, carrying a shovel. She leaned back to look up into his face since she only reached halfway to his shoulder. “Did you hear about the roofs collapsing downtown?”

Leave it to one of his employees to have the latest scoop. “What roofs?”

“Several businesses on Lincoln are gone.” She shook her head then started to shovel small loads of snow. “It’s too bad about the Sweetheart.”

Adam stared across the parking lot toward town. Megan, the baker, was a client of the bank’s both professionally and personally. He wondered if she was okay, then reminded himself that she seemed to want nothing to do with him since his return to Lake Mildred. When he ordered pastries for the staff meetings, her sister or another employee delivered them. The night he had stopped in to the bakery himself, she’d stayed in the kitchen for his entire visit until he’d left with his bread. And she never came by his office at the bank when she made her deposits. “Yes, too bad. What other businesses?”

“Will wasn’t sure of the extent of the damage, but it’s huge.” She pushed the snow to the edge of the curb and leaned on her shovel. “The apartments, too. Lot of people homeless this morning.”

Adam put his hand on Eva’s shoulder. “You don’t have to shovel the snow. I can take care of this.”

“You saying I can’t?”

The spark in her eyes made him wince. “No!” He cleared his throat and started over. “Once we get the snow cleared from the front door, I’d like you to get the branch ready for the day. Coffee brewed, hot water for tea. We’re sure to have a lot of visitors today.”

“I can shovel snow, too. I’m not an invalid.”

He’d seen proof of that himself. He held up a hand. “Didn’t say you were.”

“Despite what my son says...” She continued to shovel the snow, and together they cleared a path to the door. She paused as Adam unlocked the front doors. Once opened, she disappeared inside. He glanced around the parking lot, then bent his head and continued shoveling the sidewalk.

Finally finished, he shook the snow off himself, then entered the branch. He sniffed appreciatively and walked through the lobby, down the hall to the staff room. Eva turned and handed him a cup of hot coffee. “Black, two sugars.”

“You’re too good to me, Eva.”

“Someone has to take care of you bachelors.” She took a sip of her own tea, then nodded to the thermoses on the counter. “I made extra if you want to deliver them to the emergency workers downtown. I’m sure they could use a hot drink right about now. Do wonders for the bank’s image, no?”

Adam nodded. When he’d taken the branch manager position, he’d inherited a mess both financially and publicly. The previous manager had been responsible for foreclosing on many homes in the area, known for his tough stance rather than his compassion. Adam’s district manager had warned him what he was walking into. Add that to his own past problems with the residents, and Eva was right. Giving out coffee would be only the beginning of what he needed to do. “I’ll drop them off as soon as Sandy arrives. Great idea, Eva.”

She tapped her head. “Got a bunch of them locked up here.”