The Forget-Me-Not Bakery

Chapter 2

Cohen

‘You’re right. They almost do look too good to eat.’ Cohen carefully closed the box of cakes and placed it on the table in the lunchroom. ‘You’d better head over there now if you want half a chance at anything being left. She’s going to sell out by the end of the day, I’m sure of it.’

‘Really?’ Rhonda, the technician at his veterinary clinic, pointed toward the waiting room. ‘But what about the next appointment?’

‘Don’t you worry about Mr Rutherford and Max,’ he insisted. ‘It’s a quick appointment for vaccines and itchy ears. I can handle it. You go on and check out the bakery, or else you’ll be stealing Bryce’s chocolate fudge cake before he gets here, getting us both in trouble.’

‘I’m not sure either of us could handle that kind of wrath.’ Rhonda plucked her leather purse from the lunchroom table and headed for the front door of the clinic.

Cohen chuckled to himself. There wasn’t a person in Port Landon brave enough to come between a strong-willed boy like Bryce and his love of chocolate fudge. He was only ten, but there were times when Cohen forgot he was still so young. He acted older, and he was terribly smart. Cohen often wondered if it was his genetics that made him so mature for his age, or the enormity of what he’d been through in his short life thus far.

He shook his head, brushed some dog hair from the hem of his scrub top – left there by Coby, the Andersons’ always-shedding Labrador retriever, during an earlier appointment – and met his next patient in the waiting room. ‘Mr Rutherford, hello. How about we bring Max into the exam room and see what’s going on with those ears, shall we?’

Max was a five-year-old cocker spaniel with a robust love of life. He also had a love of water, getting into any puddle, stream, or lake he could find. Mr Rutherford’s neighbor, who owned the biggest inground pool in Port Landon, didn’t much appreciate Max’s love of water, or the fact that Mr Rutherford let Max run loose in the yard every now and then. Or in his yard, based on the gossip that permeated the clinic walls daily. The dog had been caught paddling around in the pool more than a few times.

However, Max’s love of water was hard on his ears and he’d developed a couple of infections over the years because of it.

One look and Cohen knew he’d better send the dog home with a course of antibiotics and a follow-up appointment in ten days. Max squirmed the entire time, but Cohen managed to get his ears cleaned as best he could, then he applied a few drops of a topical antibiotic into each ear, much to the dog’s dismay. Max shook his head, letting his floppy ears flap dramatically, but his tail still wagged wildly. The dog had been there many times before; he knew the drill. And sure enough, after directions to apply the drops twice a day and try to keep the ears as clean and dry as possible, Cohen reached into the glass treat jar on the edge of the countertop and offered Max the beef liver treat he’d been waiting for since the moment he arrived.

‘I’ll see you in ten days,’ Cohen advised Mr Rutherford with a smile. He crouched down and patted the dog on the head affectionately. ‘And I’ll see you, too, Max. Heal those ears up and be good, for heaven’s sake.’

He made sure Alice, the receptionist, was helping the elderly man to settle his bill at the front desk, then made his way back toward the pharmacy room, intent on typing his shorthand notes into the computer system. But as Cohen rounded the corner, he barely registered hearing the back door of the clinic swing open before he was hit by a sprinting Bryce.

‘Oomph!’ Bryce made an incomprehensible sound before reeling back to stare up at his father with wide, excited eyes. ‘Dad! Did you make it to the bakery yet? Josh says his mom went to get him some apple pie, but they were sold out!’

‘It’s good to see you, too, Bryce.’ Cohen chuckled. ‘Glad you’re so happy to see me.’ He held the boy out at arm’s length, checking him over, as he did almost every day. A familiar sensation washed over him daily around this time, just as Bryce made his way home from the public school, located two streets over. It was relief. Relief that his son was home, safe and sound. Relief that he could see him again, like laying eyes on him equated to knowing everything was okay.

‘I am happy to see you,’ his son replied, beaming. ‘I’m just happy to see chocolate cake more!’ Bryce cast a glance through the doorway into the lunchroom, eyed the takeout box, and dove for it.

Cohen leaped forward in a half-hearted attempt to stop him from reaching the box. He managed to get a hold of Bryce’s T-shirt near his shoulder and pull him back against him just inside the lunchroom doorway, holding the boy against his chest with one hand and picking up the box of cakes with the other. He held it away from him, causing laughter and cries of feigned desperation to erupt from his mouth.

‘Dad, that’s mine! You bought it for me, remember?’

‘One more false move and Jazz gets it!’

As if on cue, Jazz wandered in, her docked tail wagging excitedly at the sight of Bryce, her eyes squinted from the big smile on her face.

‘You wouldn’t give the cake to Jazz,’ Bryce hollered, arms outstretched and flailing wildly in hopes of snatching the box from his hand. ‘You can’t give chocolate to dogs. What kind of veterinarian are you?’ The boy laughed as Cohen expertly placed a foot behind his own, purposely causing him to trip backwards as his father lowered him to the floor.

Jazz was on him in seconds, attempting to lick his face and communicate her happiness at seeing him despite Bryce’s attempts to crawl away from her.

‘See, even Jazz thinks you don’t need cake,’ Cohen laughed, his heart swelling at the sight.

‘Well, Jazz would be wrong, Dad!’

Hearing her name from Bryce’s lips again only heightened the brindle boxer’s excitement, and she bounced happily on her front paws as though playing some sort of game. One that only she knew the rules of, and if there were rules, they were likely: Rule #1 – Jazz wins. And what was the name of the game? Jazz Wins.

And Jazz was definitely winning.

‘Okay, okay, I give up!’ Bryce cried out, laughing so hard tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. ‘Get the attack dog off me, Dad!’

‘All right, Jazz,’ Cohen chuckled. ‘Come on back, girl. Let him at least stand and fight for the cake he loves.’

Jazz had traipsed into the lives of those who worked at Beckett Veterinary Hospital last year. Surrendered by her elderly owner due to unforeseen health reasons, the plan had been to place her into a rescue group for foster placement until a new forever home could be found.

A year later, Jazz still called the clinic her home, and she owned the clinic employees and anyone else who scuttled through the door. Someday, someone special would come along and fall for Jazz the way everyone who worked there had, Cohen and Bryce included. It was inevitable when she was such a companionable, loving animal without an angry bone in her body. She rarely barked, was trained to ring one of the bells hanging from each door of the clinic when she wanted to go outside, and she adored absolutely everyone she met. But, so far, no one had come forward.

No one but Cohen, Bryce, and the team who worked there, as a collective whole. Jazz was just as much a part of the Beckett Veterinary Hospital family as the employees. No one was rushing out to try to find her another place to live.

Most veterinary clinics had a clinic cat, because cats were more independent and simplistic to own. In theory, anyway. But they had a clinic dog, and she fit in perfectly.

Bryce stumbled to his feet once Jazz relented, and he immediately jutted his hands out. ‘Dad, please! Let me see the cake. Please!’

Cohen held it further away. ‘You can’t have it until after supper, though. You know the drill.’

‘I didn’t say I was going to eat it, I said I was going to look at it!’

‘Why put yourself through the misery?’ Cohen pursed his lips, thoroughly enjoying himself.

‘Because I need to make an educated opinion about the new bakery, and that opinion starts with the presentation of the cake!’ Bryce wiggled his fingers for the cake to be passed to him.

Inwardly, Cohen groaned. When did his sandy-haired, green-eyed, ten-year-old son grow up so much that he needed to form ‘educated opinions’ about the artistic presentation of cake? It was just one more moment in a long list of them when he realized that his boy wasn’t a baby anymore.

Mostly because he was anticipating seeing Bryce’s face when he caught his first glimpse of the cake Paige had boxed up for him, Cohen gave up, passing the box to his son. ‘It was all I could do not to try a bite,’ he admitted. ‘Rhonda’s over there now. Once she saw your cake and cupcakes, she couldn’t help herself.’

‘Whoa …’ The animated look on Bryce’s face as he opened the box and revealed the fudge-drizzled cake slice was worth ten times the price Cohen had paid for it. His eyes grew so round, his mouth dropped open – his father’s chest tightened a little.

There he was – his little boy, with wide eyes full of wonder. His baby was still in there somewhere.

‘Dad, it looks like it’s out of a magazine!’ With his gaze fixed on the box of treats, Bryce reached a finger out, intent on scooping a bit of frosting off the top of one of the cakes.

‘Hey!’ Cohen chuckled. ‘What did I say about supper first?’

‘Just one taste!’ his son pleaded. ‘Just one, Dad! Please?’

The desperation in Bryce’s eyes was enough to break down Cohen’s resolve. Sometimes, battles had to be picked. It was just cake icing, after all. ‘Try the frosting on one of the cupcakes. But leave the other one untouched – that one’s for me.’

Bryce didn’t hesitate, scooping the end of his index finger into the mocha frosting. The boy’s eyes crossed and he moaned dramatically. ‘Oh, wow, Dad! That’s seriously some of the best frosting I’ve ever had. You’ve got to try it.’ He held out the box to Cohen, but Cohen held up both hands.

‘I’ve still got one more appointment, then I can sit down and have dinner with you. There’s lasagna in the crockpot. After that, we dine on chocolate fudge cake and mocha frosting. Deal?’

‘Best deal ever,’ Bryce said with a grin.

‘Good,’ Cohen replied. ‘Because you’ve got homework first while you wait for me.’

‘But, Dad, I wanted to walk down to the bakery and look inside.’

Cohen halted his footsteps. ‘Not today. I’ve got one more appointment scheduled, and you need to get your homework done.’

‘I will, but the bakery’s only open for another half an hour and—’

‘I can’t take you today, Bryce. I’m still working, I’m sorry.’ Cohen felt a familiar ache, painfully aware of how often his son heard those words – ‘I have to work’ – come from his mouth. It pained him every time he had to deny his son any activity or outing he wanted to attend because of it.

It might have been eight years since Stacey passed away, but it felt like only yesterday in many ways to Cohen. He knew Bryce didn’t really remember his mother, having been only two years old at the time. That didn’t mean the boy didn’t acknowledge the void of a mother figure’s presence, though.

‘I could go alone, Dad,’ Bryce insisted. ‘It’s only up the street.’

He couldn’t fault his son for his logic. The veterinary clinic was on the corner of Clinton Street and Main Street. There was a vacant lot beside it where the first in the row of downtown shops had once begun, but the first shop had burned down two decades ago and was never rebuilt. In its place, a park had been built across both lots, with picnic tables and a variety of different children’s playground structures. Beside that was the Portside Coffeehouse, owned by Allison Kent. And besides that, Paige Henley’s new bakery.

Any other day, Cohen probably would have caved in and let Bryce meander over to the bakery on his own. But he prevented himself from giving in to his son once again during this conversation, and not just because he didn’t want to seem like a pushover.

He selfishly also wanted an excuse to go back again. To see Paige again.

She seemed friendly enough, and kind-hearted. Such a drastic contrast from the slew of rumors that whirled around town for the months preceding her bakery’s grand opening. No one had really seen her or been formally introduced until today, but that hadn’t been enough to stop the public opinion from forming that the bakery’s new owner was an uppity city slicker who undoubtedly believed she was better than the residents of little ole’ Port Landon.

But, boy, had she proved the gossipmongers wrong today. Paige was anything but arrogant, and her gentle demeanor emanated from her like a warm embrace.

Her pretty blue eyes didn’t go unnoticed, either.

He knew exactly what Sonya Ritter had been hinting at earlier. The old woman was notorious for trying to set him up with every single woman that crossed the Port Landon town limits. She had been hell-bent on playing matchmaker since the year after Stacey’s passing. Very unsuccessfully, to Sonya’s dismay. Cohen, however, hadn’t cared one way or the other, and that told him everything he needed to know. Either the woman Sonya was trying to pair him up with wasn’t the right one, or Cohen just wasn’t ready. He put his bets on the latter.

He hadn’t put much effort into looking for love, anyway. Okay, more accurately, he hadn’t put forth any effort. His main priority was Bryce, and Bryce alone. While he knew his son needed a mother figure, he had been content to raise him on his own without a second thought, for no other reason than the fear of losing someone else and his son getting hurt in the process. He couldn’t take that chance. Losing Stacey had almost wrecked him. He couldn’t let his son witness that kind of pain again.

Despite everything, Bryce had grown up well-rounded, he thought. He was a smart kid, did well in school – save for history and English, but those had once been the bane of Cohen’s existence, too – and he was polite and well-liked in the community. He helped their neighbors rake their leaves in the autumn and knew enough to hold the door open for other people and use his manners. Cohen thought he’d done pretty well, all things considered, and there were no words to describe how proud he was of Bryce and the boy he’d become. They were content just as they were; Cohen, Bryce, Norman the black cat – who despised Jazz – and Jazz, the brindle boxer, who loved everyone, Norman included.

Sonya Ritter was another story. She couldn’t and wouldn’t believe Cohen was truly content until there was a woman on his arm who’d taken his last name.

‘I know you could go yourself, pal,’ he advised his son. ‘But not today, okay? How about this: If you can go feed Jazz and finish up your homework, that should give me time to get through my last appointment for the day. Then, we can head home, sit down, and eat lasagna. After that, we’ll take Jazz for a walk down to the pier and let her drink from that oversized water bowl we call a lake. Sound good?’

Bryce’s jaw worked as he mulled over his father’s proposition. ‘I thought we were going to eat cake?’

The corner of Cohen’s mouth twitched upward. ‘We’ll take two forks with us. That cake isn’t going to eat itself.’

Chapter 3

Paige

The second official day of The Cakery being open was just as busy as the first. Maybe even busier, but Paige had lost count of the customers she’d served despite her unsuccessful efforts to keep track. Late into the afternoon, she received a well-deserved moment to herself, her first since she’d unlocked the door at nine o’clock that morning. After tackling the previous day with her witty, nothing-fazes-me cousin by her side, Paige was acutely aware of the void Allison’s absence left. She knew she couldn’t expect her to abandon her own thriving business every day to help her out, but it had been nice to have the support and camaraderie that came from taking on the world together yesterday, even if it was just in the name of a good old-fashioned sugar fix.

The two of them had been thick as thieves in high school. Inseparable. They were family, but they were best friends, too. Had been for as long as Paige could remember. Even when Paige boldly fled their hometown of Grand Rapids after graduation and set off for New York, while Allison chose to test out her entrepreneurial skills with the Portside Coffeehouse in Port Landon – a little town Paige had only heard of before moving there – the only distance it created between them was in the tangible sense. Thanks to decent long-distance cellphone plans and the aid of Skype, the two women took on their new roles together, despite the eight hundred miles between them.

Both had excelled, but as the years wore on, each one passing by quicker than the last, it had been only Allison that carried the same excitement and contentment in her choice of career. Paige would never in a million years call her life spent in New York City a mistake, and those years would never be something she regretted.

But she was glad she’d listened to Allison’s not-so-subtle hints, suggesting she should stop talking about leaving her hectic marketing and design position in New York ‘someday’ and come back to her home state of Michigan to fulfill her dream of owning her own bakery.

At first, Paige had balked at the idea. She’d thought, Surely I couldn’t do such a thing?

But, as time wore on and Allison’s suggestions became less veiled and more detailed, transforming from hints into full-fledged daydreams, she began to listen to her cousin’s ideas of what it would be like to live in the little town of Port Landon. And when Wilhelmina Morrison put her well-known and well-loved bakery up for sale, citing that seventy-nine was as good an age as any to retire and start doing the adventurous things she’d always dreamed of, like taking road-trips and quite possibly skydiving, Allison’s incessant prodding became unabashed nagging.

‘You always said you wanted to own your own bakery and make pretty cakes and decadent cookies and cupcakes to your heart’s content!’ she’d reminded her, again and again. ‘Here’s your chance! Besides, the bake shop building is right beside my coffee shop, Paige. It’s perfect!’

That was what scared Paige the most – it did sound perfect. And despite the fact she had been thinking seriously about Allison’s proposition, she was petrified to leave the safety net of her executive job in a breakneck-speed city like New York and start over in a small town of only a few thousand people. It was what she knew, her comfort zone. She’d attended college there and built the only adult life she’d ever known.

Until now. Fifteen years after that wide-eyed teenager moved to one of the biggest, busiest cities in the United States, Paige Henley did the unthinkable.

She left.

Paige took her cousin’s advice. And in the end, it wasn’t because of Allison, or because of her job, or even her own grown-up decision.

It was because of a homemade cake given to a man she could have – no, should have – fallen for.

Her final official board meeting with Livingston Designs was never meant to be her last. It was a meeting like any other, all digital screens and laser pointers and long rectangular tables. Her boss, Alex Livingston, sat to her left, as he always did, and the same team of enthusiastic go-getters surrounded her. The only difference was that the coffee and sweets usually brought in for them was from a new place that had just opened up. Paige couldn’t remember the name of the place, but it had been something as light, fluffy, and delectable as the mini cakes that accompanied the coffee.

The coffee was good, but the cakes were downright mouth-watering.

‘Oh my gosh!’ she’d exclaimed, her eyes fluttering as the sugary explosion burst on her tongue. ‘Whoever baked this deserves a medal!’

Alex had merely scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. ‘It’s a cake,’ he replied absently, under his breath. ‘Not exactly worthy of awards in my books.’

Mouth still half full, Paige stopped mid-movement. She’d never walked on eggshells before with Alex, but Paige had known better than to bring up something so menial. She knew the pressure he was under to secure the marketing deal they were working on, and it was bringing out his curt side. Still, she couldn’t contain her urge to argue. ‘You haven’t even tried it, Alex.’