glanced down and noticed he’d chosen a basket with a Red Sox ribbon. The dark blue basket with red trim, filled with white foil wrapped chocolates shaped like baseballs and bats, couldn’t be further from the type of thing his staid grandmother liked. He chuckled. “No, that’d be me. I’ve even got season tickets. When she does watch baseball, my grandma is strictly a Yankees fan, though you can’t say that too loud in Boston.”
Kate laughed, a light lyrical, happy sound. Again, Brody realized how far off his imaginings of her had been. “Well, Mr. Red Sox, let me make this more grandma friendly. Okay? And meanwhile, if you want to put a card with this, there are some on the counter over there.”
“Thanks.” He wandered over to the counter she’d indicated, and tugged out a card, then scribbled his name across it. That kept him from watching her and gave his brain a few minutes to adjust to the reality of Kate Spencer.
She was, in a word, beautiful. The kind of woman, on any other day, he might have asked out on a date. Friendly, sweet natured, with a ready smile and a teasing lilt to her words. Her smile had roused something in him the minute he saw her, and that surprised him. He hadn’t expected to be attracted to her, not one bit.
He tried to find a way around to say what he had come to say. Promise me.
He’d practiced the words he needed to say in his head a hundred times, but now that the moment had arrived, they wouldn’t come. It wasn’t the kind of subject one could just dump in the middle of a business transaction, nor had he quite figured out how to fulfill Andrew’s wishes without giving away why. He needed to lead up to it, somehow. Yeah, easier to climb Mt. Everest.
“So…how’s business?” he asked.
“Pretty good. We’ve been growing every year since we opened in 1953. Mondays are our only slow day of the week. Almost like a mini vacation, except at the beginning of the week.”
“You make all the cupcakes and candy things yourself?”
She shook her head and laughed. “I couldn’t. It’s a lot of work. Nora’s Sweet Shop has been a family business for many years, but…” she trailed off, seemed to look elsewhere for a second, then came back, “anyway, now I have a helper who’s invaluable in the kitchen. Why, you applying?”
“Me? I’m all thumbs in the kitchen.”
“That can be dangerous if there are knives involved.” She grinned. “But seriously, baking is something you can learn. I never had formal training. Learned it all at my grandmother’s knee. And if a hopeless case like me can grow up to be a baker, anyone can.”
“Sounds like you love working here.”
“I do. It’s…therapeutic.” The humor dimmed in her features, and her gaze again went to somewhere he couldn’t see. He didn’t have to be psychic to know why sadness had washed over her face. Because of choices Brody had made on the other side of the world.
Damn.
Brody cleared his throat. “Work can be good for the soul.”
Or at least, that’s what he told himself every time he walked into his practice. Ever since he’d returned from Afghanistan, though, he hadn’t found that same satisfaction in his job as before. Maybe he just needed more time. That’s what Mrs. Maguire said. Give it time, and it’ll all get better.
“And what work do you do, that feeds your soul?” She colored. “Sorry. That’s a little personal. You don’t have to answer. I was just curious.”
“I’m a doctor,” he said.
She leaned against the counter, one elbow on the glass, her body turned toward his. “That’s a rewarding job. So much more so than baking. And not to mention, a lot more complicated than measuring out cupcake batter.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “Your job looks pretty rewarding to me. I mean, you make people happy.”
“It takes a lot of sugar to do that.” She laughed. “But thank you. I try my best. Three generations of Spencers have been trying to do that here.”
Brody’s gaze drifted over the articles on the wall. Several contained accolades and positive reviews for the sweet shop, a third generation business that had enjoyed decades of raves, as evidenced by some of the framed, yellowed clippings. Brody paused when he got to the last article on the right. The page was creased on one side, as if someone had kept the paper in a book for a while before posting it on the wall. A picture of a handsome young man in uniform smiled out from the corner of the article.
SHOP OWNER’S BROTHER DIES IN AFGHANISTAN
Brody didn’t have to read another word to write the ending. In an instant, he was back there, in that hot, dusty hut, praying and cursing, and praying and cursing some more, while he tried to pump life back into Andrew Spencer.
And failed.
Brody could still feel the young man’s chest beneath his palms. A hard balloon, going up, going down, forced into moving by Brody’s hands, but no breath escaping his lips. Andrew’s eyes open, sightless, empty. His life ebbing away one second at a time, while Brody watched, helpless and frustrated. Powerless.
Damn. Damn.
No amount of time would heal that wound for Kate and her family. No amount of time would make that better. What had he been thinking? How could buying a basket ever ease the pain he’d caused Kate Spencer? What had Andrew been thinking, sending Brody here?
Brody’s hand went to the card in his pocket again, but this time, the cardboard corners formed sharp barbs.
“Sir? Your basket is ready.”
Brody whirled around. “My basket?”
Kate laughed and held it up. The arrangement sported a new pink and white bow and the sports-themed chocolates had been changed for ones shaped like flowers. “For grandma?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, thanks.” He gestured toward the article on the wall. He knew he should let it go, but he’d made a promise, and somehow, he had to find a way to keep it. Maybe then he’d be able to sleep, to find peace, and to give some to Kate Spencer, too. “You had a brother in the war?”
A shadow dropped over her features. She fiddled with the pen on the counter. “Yeah. My little brother, Andrew. He died over there last month. We all thought he was safe because the big conflict was over, but there were still dangers around every corner.”
“I’m sorry.” So much sorrier than he could say. He wanted to step forward, but instead Brody lingered by the counter. All the words he’d practiced in his head seemed empty, inadequate. “That must have been tough.”
“It has been. In a lot of ways. But I work, and I talk to him sometimes, and I get through it.” She blushed. “That sounds crazy, I know.”
“No, it doesn’t. Not at all.”
She smoothed a hand over the counter. “He used to work here. And I miss seeing him every day. He was the organized one in the family, and he’d be appalled at the condition of my office.” She laughed, then nodded toward the basket. “Anyway, do you want to put your card with that?”
