No Place Like Home - Love in Seattle Page 3

  She shuffled through the articles, realizing that he wasn’t fibbing. Every article from the last six months until now was in this collection of crumpled, overread papers that he had handed her. She could not think of one reason why he would want to read these. They were aimed at the Betty-Crocker-type of women around the world. The busy moms who wanted a quick dessert to bake over the weekend for their families. Never in her mind would she have thought that her rival would be reading them. Especially not every Saturday morning over breakfast.

  “I have always liked to bake,” Colin mentioned, grabbing the articles back from her. She had attempted to keep hold of them, but finally allowed him to take them as she slowly released her grip. Feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny-filled stare, he said, “I always run out of ideas.”

  Nearly spitting her coffee out at the thought of a man baking, she set her cup down and fanned her face. She had never, in her life, seen a man bake, let alone heard of one. Even her own father hated to bake. There were numerous times the fire alarms had alerted her and her mother that he had attempted to make something in the kitchen.

  “What’s so funny about that?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a concerned expression on his face.

  Trying to avoid an asinine response, she shook her head and said, “Nothing, it’s just...”

  “It’s okay,” he offered. “I get it. It’s hilarious to think of a man who bakes. Am I right?”

  She couldn’t resist the laugh that escaped as she made an attempt to cover her mouth with her hand. The look of frustration on his face should have made her feel bad, but it didn’t. She was unable to stand this guy in college. He had always wanted to one-up her—making himself better at everything. He had challenged her multiple times in writing competitions at school, winning all but one—which he said she had won from pure luck. More times than not, she was jealous of his writing abilities and had envied him when he received an invitation to begin his journalism career right out of college with the Seattle Times.

  “I bake for my mother,” he admitted, leaning forward on the table, with his hands clasped in front of him. “If that makes any difference.”

  She felt a soft tug at her heart at the mention of his mother. While they were in college, he had shared the story of his mother’s undying love for baked goods and the smell of his kitchen every Sunday morning before church. She remembered him telling her class, shortly after the start of the first semester, that her health was declining little by little as she aged, due to Alzheimer’s Disease.

  “Within the last year, her hands have crippled from Rheumatoid Arthritis and her memory has failed her, along with her eyesight,” he said, trying to keep his lip from showing emotion as he spoke. “She never once used recipes to bake on Sunday mornings. She had memorized all of her favorites or baked them from scratch.”

  The news of his aging mother did not change the fact that she still resented him, but it did lessen the snarky attitude she had given him upon realization of who he was. She could still envy his success and be saddened by his mother’s declining ability to bake.

  “She hasn’t been able to bake as much since the beginning of the year,” he said, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he held back the emotion she could hear desperately wanting to escape in his voice. She had no idea why he wanted to share this with her, but she gave him respect and kept quiet as she listened. “So, I’ve been reading your articles and baking these recipes every Sunday morning for her.”

  “Hey, Janelle,” Kelsie called out from the counter, interrupting the conversation while holding the phone up. “Josh is on the phone. Says he needs to talk to you.”

  She should have been thankful for the interruption, but part of her wanted to stay seated and listen to him. She was only thankful for the interruption because it allowed her to rake in her emotions and take control of them.

  Grabbing the phone with slight irritation, followed by a roll of her eyes, she held the phone to her ear. “This is Janelle Harper.”

  Listening to him talk only added to her irritation. The guy sounded completely out of it—either drunk or higher than a kite. Either way, she refused to give him any more time to explain why he wasn’t there today.

  “Listen, Josh,” she said, nipping his excuse in the bud before he had a chance to finish. “I don’t have time to waste on your excuses for not being here. This is your job, whether you’re here or not does not make any difference to me, because this is my family’s business. But, it does matter to me that Kelsie has a dependable co-worker to rely on.”

  Before he could offer more excuses and apologies, she said, “If you’re not here tomorrow by seven-thirty a.m., you will be dismissed of your duties at Harper’s Café. You will no longer be employed here.”

  She hung up the phone before she heard his spat on the legalities of being able to fire him, yada yada yada. Sure, she had no idea what the hell she just got herself into, but she’d call her parents tonight and tell them what she had told him. She wasn’t worried, for the simple fact she had witnesses on her side of the conversation.

  She made her way back to the table to grab her cup. If she was going to handle the rest of the day, she needed to have a lot more coffee on board than just a cup or two. Once she reached her table, she saw that Colin was no longer sitting there. She scanned the café, and realized he must have left while she was talking to Josh.

  Chapter Three

  After ending the day strongly, with huge thanks owed to Kelsie, Janelle closed and headed for home roughly after eight p.m. A twelve-hour day at the café had made her well aware of achy muscles in her lower back, and her feet were dying to get out of her shoes.

  The four minute walk to her parents’ house seemed to never end as her feet throbbed and her legs felt like Jell-O. She had to admit that she wasn’t used to being on her feet most of the day. Having an office job back home failed her now that she was in Seattle. The time she would spend on her feet in Seattle tripled in comparison to the time she had in Cincinnati.

  Finally making her way up the steps to the house, she pulled her keys out of her shoulder bag. Luckily for her, she had color-coded each of them last night with permanent marker. A trick she had learned from her mother in order to keep track of which keys were for what.

  Unlocking the door, she entered the breeze-way and hung her bag on the hook. She kicked her shoes off on the welcome mat in front of the door, and made her way into the kitchen. She was starving and wanted to cook something before she even thought of settling in for the night.

  She rummaged through the cupboards, desperate to find something quick and easy to make for a late night meal. Her mother had fully stocked the cupboards in an attempt to keep Janelle’s spending to a minimum while she was back home. She stopped scrounging when she found a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese—her favorite since she could remember.

  She pulled a pot out of a nearby cabinet and filled it with water, placing it on the stove to allow it to boil. She had plenty of time to change into her comfy pajamas before she had to pour the shells in.

  Sprinting up the stairs with her phone to her ear, she waited for her mother to answer. She knew it was late on the east coast, a bit after eleven p.m., and as badly as she had wanted to call her parents sooner, the evening rush hour at the café had not allowed her the chance.

  “Hello, dear, how are things going?” Her mother answered on the third ring. She didn’t sound one bit upset at the late-night phone call, but instead, she sounded groggy from sleep.

  “Sorry for calling so late,” she offered first. “I’ve been meaning to call, but the evening hours are just as busy as the morning.”

  “It’s fine, Elle,” her mother said, almost interrupting her rambling. “How was your first day back home?”

  She didn’t know where to start. Did she tell her about Josh first or wait until the middle of the conversation in order to gauge her mother’s attentiveness to the actual problems of the café—not that there were any,
aside from Josh.

  “It went well for the most part,” Janelle offered. Before tapping the button for speakerphone, she warned her mother and set the phone down on top of the dresser. She searched through the drawer for her soft, one-size-too-big pajama pants.

  “Elle, you’re a Harper, for Pete’s sake,” her mother said sharply over the phone. “Spill whatever you’ve got on your mind. I can tell when you’re holding something back.”

  “Well, okay then,” she said, struggling one leg at a time into her pajama bottoms. Quickly deciding that she wouldn’t hold anything back because her parents needed to know everything, including her thoughts about their employees, she asked, “Have you noticed how well Kelsie does her job?”

  After a minute’s hesitation, her mother answered, “Yes, we have.” Only after another minute, her mother’s irritation came through when she asked, “What’s this about, Janelle?”

  Talking to her mother had always been like walking on egg shells. People wouldn’t believe it if she were to tell them the hardships that came with being JoAnne Harper’s daughter—even if her sister vouched for her as an eye witness for all the times Janelle had to walk on egg shells around their mother.

  “Josh...”

  At the mention of his name, her mother interrupted with a harsh tone, advising Janelle she should not have brought his name into this conversation. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Displeased with how her mother was handling this conversation, Janelle decided to poke the bear a bit more. Her mother needed to hear about the conversation she’d had with Josh only hours ago.

  “Whether or not you feel I shouldn’t have told him what I did is irrelevant at the moment,” she said, picking up her phone and taking it off of speaker phone before putting it to her ear. Flicking off the light, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen.

  “What do you mean?” her mother asked. “Janelle Lynn Harper...”

  Picking the cheese packet out of the box and dumping the remaining contents into the boiling water, Janelle explained the conversation she’d had with Josh earlier in the day. She didn’t leave out a single detail. Her mother could choose to be upset if she wanted to, but in Janelle’s opinion, she had no right to be upset with her.

  “Dear God, what were you thinking?”

  The thought of her mother never really approving of the decisions she made at the café was disturbing. She could only wonder why her parents had decided to let her manage it while they were away if her mother would be unsatisfied with the way things were done in her absence.

  “I couldn’t help it,” Janelle admitted. She hated the fact that her mother was upset with her. She hated the fact that her mother, the one and only, JoAnne Harper, allowed such nonsense to happen among the employees in the café. She couldn’t help but wonder where her mother had gone soft on following through with the rules and regulations both of her parents had established when they set forth with the business.

  Her mother’s silence confirmed her suspicions of whether or not she did the right thing. If she could see her mother now, she would be pacing around the room or releasing smoke from her ears.

  “What are you going to do if he doesn’t show up tomorrow?”

  If she were to be honest, she had not thought about that. She had told him what she felt was right at the time. She hadn’t thought that he would actually test her by not showing up.

  “You haven’t thought about that, have you?” her mother asked, her tone unforgiving. “Well, it’ll be your responsibility to find someone once he’s gone.”

  She would have thought her parents would be thrilled with the news of getting rid of the bum. The guy couldn’t care less about the café. It was apparent in his actions. She assumed he was some young punk who was only working there for gas money so he could afford to drive his piece of crap car around with his buddies. Who knows if he blew the rest of his paycheck on drugs and alcohol.

  “As much as I want to thank you for getting rid of him, I can’t right now,” her mother said, her tone had calmed. “I’m not upset at the thought of firing him, Elle. I’m upset that you didn’t touch base with us first.”

  “It was spur of the moment,” she tried to defend herself. “I wasn’t thinking of the aftermath.”

  “That’s just it,” her mother said. “As a business owner, you have to think through everything. You can’t make rash decisions and expect everything to fall into place.”

  Knowing her mother’s words had nothing to do with the café, but everything to do with Janelle’s attempt at success in Cincinnati, Janelle decided to end the conversation before things took a turn far worse than they already had. She knew what her mother was insinuating. Ever since she had finished college and moved to Cincinnati, her mother had been bitter. She had wanted Janelle to stay and find work in Seattle. Her mother despised the fact Janelle hadn’t been planning on staying in Seattle. The day she left Seattle to move to Cincinnati, was the day her relationship with her mother had taken a sour twist.

  “I guess we’ll see what happens tomorrow,” Janelle said, offering a sense of ease into the conversation. Aside from her mother’s bitterness at her leaving Seattle, they still had a close relationship. Her mother was her best friend and always would be.

  Chapter Four

  The last thought she had before falling asleep last night had been whether or not Colin Davis would make an appearance in the café the following morning.

  Following her new routine, she had woken up and been ready to leave the house by seven a.m. She had arrived earlier than planned at the café, because this morning there was a mix of excitement and uncertainty as to what the day would bring.

  “Good morning,” she greeted Kelsie at the door. “I have something for you.”

  Kelsie followed her to the counter after clocking in. A plate wrapped in saran wrap waited for her in Janelle’s hands. “What are these?”

  “I made them last night when I couldn’t sleep,” Janelle said, as she unwrapped the plateful of baked goodies.

  With a mouthful of apple streusel, Kelsie mumbled, “Oh, my gosh, these are amazing.”

  Smiling, Janelle set the plate down behind the counter. “Thanks.”

  “You should definitely do something amazing with your baking,” Kelsie said, grabbing another streusel off the plate. After scarfing down the pastry, she said, “Have you ever thought of opening your own bakery?”

  Stirring creamer into her morning coffee, Janelle nodded. “You have to believe me when I tell you that the thought has never left my mind.”

  “Then why don’t you?” Kelsie asked, wrapping the plate before tending to the morning routine of washing the tables and sweeping the floors—even though it was done before closing the night before.

  Janelle often thought of why she hadn’t opened a bakery. The main reason was her mom pushing her towards journalism, and the fact she didn’t know the first step in the process. Trying to change the subject, she ventured off topic as she grabbed the Seattle Times newspaper from the box outside the door. “I wonder what article Mr. Davis has to offer us this morning.”

  Laughing, Kelsie finished sweeping and rested the broom against the wall. “Do I hear some bitterness?”

  Rolling her eyes, she tossed the newspaper onto the counter. Attempting to divert Kelsie’s observations to something else, Janelle went back to the topic of owning a bakery. “If you were to walk into a bakery, what things would you like to see?”

  Janelle could see the hesitation on Kelsie’s face. She could tell Kelsie wanted to call her out for changing the subject yet again, but instead, she said, “Simple things. You know, like streusels and cookies.”

  Jotting down a few things in her notebook, Janelle fancied that idea. With no way of knowing if it’d be a good thing to do, she added a circled question mark by her scribbles. She would need to brainstorm on it later.

  “Oh, and don’t forget pies,” Kelsie added, making her way around the café. She was opening the blinds
on every window—allowing sunshine to barge through and ricochet its presence off the tables. “You bake pies, right?”

  Smiling, Janelle answered, “All sorts of pies.”

  Kelsie nodded. “Good, because I love pies,” she said, opening the door so that only the screen door served as a barrier to the outside commotion of buses, cars, and people as they made their way by the café. “People love pies.”

  Checking the coffee pots that lined the counters, Kelsie motioned to the cabinet below Janelle and asked, “Can you look in there and see if we have extra French Vanilla creamer?”

  Opening the door, Janelle was greeted with several unopened boxes of many different flavors of creamers—each stacked according to flavor. Easily enough, she found the French Vanilla. “Do you need it now?”

  “How many boxes do we have?” Kelsie asked, scribbling something down on the clipboard in her hand.

  “Looks like we only have one box,” Janelle said, making a mental note to add this to the list of things to order.

  “Okay,” Kelsie said, scribbling something else onto the clipboard. “How about Hazelnut and Coconut Crème?”

  Janelle paused before she counted the boxes. Looking back to Kelsie, she asked, “Are you doing inventory?”

  “Every Tuesday morning, for orders on Wednesday to be here by Friday.”

  Impressed by this girl’s ambition to get the job done, she didn’t want to take over, but it was only fair to not have Kelsie doing all of the work around here. Janelle was willing and able to pull half the weight off Kelsie’s shoulders. “How about I do this? You’ve done a lot since yesterday. It’s only fair that you allow me to do something.”

  Laughing, Kelsie said, “I am letting you do something. You’re counting, aren’t you?”

  “True,” Janelle said, continuing where she left off with counts. After giving each count for the creamers they had in the cabinet, she said, “I talked to my mom last night.”

  “How’d that go?”