had offered. There was no talk of a community fund with matching contributions. Or lower interest rates.
Maybe Adam had changed. Megs shook her head. She meant the bank had changed. The Sweetheart had been a customer for longer than she’d been alive, so it had been a no-brainer to keep the accounts there as they were before Grammy died. And though she hadn’t been affected by the foreclosures, she knew many of her customers who had been. The town’s population had shrunk by almost a quarter during that time. Slowly, it was changing for the better. People were now buying homes that had been sitting empty for years and bringing their money to spend in her shop and others.
She stole a glance down the aisle to where Adam sat listening to the other bank manager. Had he changed from the angry bully she remembered? The one who hurt others to keep everyone at a distance? He turned and found her looking at him. She turned back and tried to keep her focus on the speaker, her cheeks heating at getting caught.
After another hour, the session broke up with Rick assuring everyone that there would be a follow-up next week at the town council meeting. Megs rose to her feet and reached behind her to grab her thick coat. The snow had stopped for now, but the frigid temperatures had returned with a vengeance. She struggled to get the parka over her shoulder when a helping hand intervened. She turned and looked up into Adam’s long thin face. She stammered and cursed her flaming cheeks. “Thanks.”
“I meant what I said up there, Megan. I’m here to help.” He glanced past her, at her sister and Sam, then nodded and left.
Megs turned to Kelly. “What was that about?”
Her sister shrugged. “Sounds as if he wants to help you.”
“I don’t want his kind of help.” But she felt less sure of that than before.
“But you might need him more than what you want.”
Megs noticed him walk up the aisle to the back of the auditorium before getting stopped by several people with questions. He leaned down to hear them better and seemed interested in what they had to say. He seemed so different from the boy who had bullied her and her friends. Less hostile, more willing to help. But could she trust him? She already had two strikes against her with the other banks. What could it hurt to try the third at Foster with Adam?
But to help her case, she’d be sure not to show up with empty hands reaching out.
* * *
WHEN SHE RETURNED HOME, she scoured Grammy’s cookbooks for the best recipe to use for what she had in mind. She needed to tempt Adam with her sweet treats, but it had to be special. Something more would be required than a batch of chocolate-chip cookies if she expected him to hand her a loan for thousands of dollars. It had to require an effort on her part since she was asking for the same thing from him.
Cannolis? She wrinkled her nose. Those always sent the wrong message, especially if it was a gift for the opposite sex.
Strudel? Nah, she didn’t want to come across as flaky as the pastry.
She willed Grammy to direct her hands as she flipped through pages, as if the woman could tell her from the other side what to do about the business. The back door opened, and Kelly breezed in, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Megs gave a smirk but returned her gaze to the cookbook. “Said good-night to Sam?”
Kelly brought her fingers to her face and nodded. “That man sure can kiss.”
“Hmm, I’ll have to take your word on that.” Despite the fact that she’d known Sam longer and perhaps in some ways better, it was her sister’s attention he had snagged. She flipped through more pages and sighed. “So now that you’ve gotten the all-clear on the house, what are you two going to do with it?”
Her sister hung up her bright pink wool pea coat on a peg, then took a seat across the dining room table from her, snatching a cookie from an overflowing plate. “Good question. The will won’t be out of probate for a few more months, so it’s not as if we have to decide right this minute.”
Megs looked up at her. “Do you think you have the money to buy out Sam’s half? Or are you two planning on something more permanent?”
Kelly teased, “Now that I don’t have my paycheck from the bakery, I have even less money than before. And Sam hasn’t mentioned the future lately. Maybe he’s having second thoughts.” She munched on her cookie for a moment before she said, “The best thing would be to sell the place. As much as I hate to say it.”
Megs shook her head. “Sam’s planning a future, all right. And you’re the only one he’s intending to spend it with.”
Kelly shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
They both looked around the renovated dining room that now opened into the living room. It would be a shame to have to leave not only their family home, but the beautiful showcase that Kelly and Sam had turned it into. But for them to each get their share of the inheritance, it meant selling would probably be their best option. Kelly frowned. “I don’t want to think about that right now. Crazy meeting tonight, huh? So are you going to finally meet with Adam and discuss that loan?”
“That’s what I’m working on.” She held up the cookbook and pointed to a recipe. “Does he look like a Napoleon kind of person?”
Kelly took the book from her. “He’s too tall. You thinking of buttering him up with one of your pastries?”
“I need him to see that I’m more than just doughnuts and cookies. That I’ve got a head for business as well as baked goods.” She picked up Grammy’s old recipe ledger that now had a warped cover from the water damage. She opened it and with a finger traced the blurry handwriting. The ink had run on certain pages, and she wanted to howl at the loss of not only the recipes but Grammy’s notes. This book was her legacy from the woman who had taught her to cream sugar and sift flour. Her mentor who ate the first piece of her peasant bread and sampled her crème fraîche. She ran a hand down one page. “I keep hoping that something will jump out as the perfect recipe.”
“Like this?” Kelly turned the page around of the cookbook she’d been looking at and pointed to their grandmother’s handwriting. “She wrote that these were perfect for desperate times.”
“I’m not desperate.” At her sister’s doubtful expression, she shook her head. “I’m not. Worse comes to worst, I take the insurance money and start over somewhere else.”
“But then it wouldn’t be the Sweetheart.”
“It would. Just in a different location.” She took the book from her sister. “But it wouldn’t hurt to try. Right?”
She read over the recipe for baci, a small Italian cookie that Grammy recommended dipping in chocolate. It looked easy. Simple but elegant. And she had all the ingredients already. It could work.
At this point, it couldn’t hurt.
* * *
MEGS TOOK THE cream canvas bag from her backseat and carefully placed it over her arm as she shut the door. She glanced up at the bank and took a deep breath to calm the buzzing bees that filled her belly. She could do this. She could go in there and prove to Adam that the Sweetheart deserved that loan. That she could meet the repayment terms without a struggle.
She
