door and drying her hands on a towel.
“Your cheesecake rivals what’s sold over at Sweetings,” he said. “My guys and the paramedics left here looking like they’d found the keys to the cookie store.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Cooking and baking relaxes me.”
Years ago, she would have known what to say to this man, a man who so gallantly carried her when she’d fainted as if she were some delicate Southern belle with the vapors. But all that seemed to come from her mouth was inane chatter. She couldn’t seem to think straight. As a matter of fact, the only thought in her head was that she didn’t want him to go away believing she was a delicate little flower who needed a man’s protection. The fact that she’d lived most of her life just like that only spurred her determination to offer him a logical explanation.
The only problem was, well, she didn’t exactly have one of those handy.
“I wanted to explain,” she said, “about what happened at the door.”
He shook his head, cutting off her words. “There’s no need,” he said. “I’m just glad you got the all-clear from your sister and from the EMTs.”
“My sister is a pediatrician. I’m not a child.”
“No,” he said. “Of course you’re not.”
Something in his tone arrested her, but before Summer could decipher it or determine just why this man seemed to make her so—was it uncomfortable or just aware?—he’d hefted his bag and was headed to the door. He left a packet of materials on the foyer table next to a bouquet of flowers she’d cut from her garden just that morning. The cover design on the new resident’s packet, with a picture of a fire truck said: Welcome Home to Cedar Springs, North Carolina.
As she watched him back the fire department’s sport utility vehicle out of her driveway, Summer didn’t feel welcomed, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was letting an opportunity slip away.
Chapter Two
At Manna, the Common Ground soup kitchen, Vanessa Gerard peered at the recipe Summer handed her.
“Summer, I can’t cook. Honestly, I can’t. I burn water when I try to make a cup of tea.”
“Vanessa, it’s easy. See, just five ingredients and they are all right here. The mise en place has already been done. And there are just four steps, easy peasy.”
“The meeson what?”
“It means all the ingredients are already prepped. So you don’t have to chop or measure anything. Just follow the steps on the recipe.”
The brown-skinned woman with the long braids didn’t at all look reassured. “We’re supposed to be helping these people,” Vanessa said, “not giving them food poisoning.”
Summer laughed and gave the soup kitchen volunteer a comforting pat on the back. “You’re not going to give anyone food poisoning. And you’re going to be shocked at how well they turn out.”
Vanessa had been coming in a couple of times a week to get out of the house. But this was her first time actually working in the kitchen. She usually served meals to the people who came to Manna at Common Ground. Many of them were homeless and came in for a meal before checking in at the homeless shelter, which was one of four community outreach programs operated by the Common Ground ministry.
The faith-based ministry known as Common Ground was formed by the pastors of three diverse congregations. Its mission was to strengthen Christian ties, unite the churches and to work together in community outreach and service.
Still looking doubtful, Vanessa eyed the recipe. “If you say so.”
Confident that the casseroles would be just fine, Summer went to check on the progress of her cookies, and then one of the other volunteers. Just a handful of the volunteers at the soup kitchen came in on regular schedules—a fact she quickly ascertained, so she never knew how many people might be available to help cook on any given day.
That was one of the situations that Ilsa Keller, as director of the soup kitchen, should have addressed. When Summer suggested setting up a schedule, she’d been told that things operated just fine and essentially to mind her own business.
For the Wednesday lunches and dinners, Manna needed at least four helpers in the kitchen, because of the extra baking required for the coffee fellowship after the weekly Bible study. At the volunteers’ meeting last month, when Summer noted that Wednesdays were especially strained and could use a dedicated roster of volunteers, Ilsa had shot her down until someone else said the same thing. And then the soup kitchen director had been forced to promise she would consider their suggestions.
But when only two volunteers showed up today, Summer talked Vanessa into assisting in the kitchen.
She grabbed a couple of heavy potholders, and then from one of the two double industrial-sized ovens, pulled out a tray of white chocolate macadamia cookies and an oversized flat pan filled with red velvet bars. She would whip up the creamy vanilla frosting for the bars after they’d cooled and she got the chicken soup on simmer.
“Summer, there’s someone here to see you,” Mrs. Davidson trilled from the doorway.
Startled, Summer glanced up. “Me? Here?”
The plump woman with the face, voice and disposition of everyone’s favorite auntie, smiled. “Yes, dear. Don’t keep him waiting.”
What him would be calling on her, and at the soup kitchen no less?
She placed the baked goods on cooling racks and slipped off the gloved potholders. “I’ll be right there,” she told Mrs. Davidson. But the woman was already gone.
Pulling the ever-present tube of lip gloss out, she touched up her mouth using the bottom of a baking pan as a mirror, making sure she didn’t have flour or some other ingredients on her face, then headed to see who’d come calling.
Summer was stunned to see him.
Cameron Jackson, the city fire chief, was at the soup kitchen and had come to see her?
She blushed at the thought that two days ago he’d carried her when she’d actually fainted on him at her front door.
Summer almost didn’t recognize him as he stood waiting in the dining hall, near the brick fireplace, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt sporting the Cedar Springs Fire Department logo. He looked like a regular guy, a handsome one, but a regular guy. Gone were the starched and pressed dress blues of his fire chief’s uniform. His blond hair looked slightly tousled, as if he’d just run his hands through it.
She looked around to see if someone else might possibly be waiting for her, but they were the only two people in the room. As she approached him, he stepped forward.
“Chief Jackson. This is a surprise.”
“Please, call me Cameron.”
“Cameron.”
She said the name tentatively, as if not quite sure she wanted to commit to the familiarity of it. She had pretty much spent the last
