A Recipe for Reunion. Vicki Essex

an upstanding guy.”

      “Ollie’s good,” Georgette agreed. “But I do wish you’d considered hiring Jimmy Tremont.”

      “Gran, he’s not a licensed contractor.” She’d brought him up when Aaron had started talking renos. The guy had lost his job at a processing plant last month. “I’m not paying some random guy for a big job like this.”

      Georgette moved the food around her plate demurely. “He’s hit hard times, Aaron. We try to help each other out around here.”

      “He’s not even insured. And I’d end up paying him under the table.”

      “But you’d keep food on his family’s table,” she said, studiously eating her cut-up spaghetti.

      Aaron sighed. Gran was a softie, taking in strays and playing patron saint to the hungry and down-on-their-luck. Not that he didn’t appreciate her generous spirit—he’d been one of those poor lost souls once. “I’ll see if there are any small jobs he can handle,” he said. He’d already planned to do the painting himself: Jimmy could help him with that and a few other finishing touches.

      “By the way, Stephanie called me. She was concerned about how the renovations would affect business. She’s worried about the mess it would make.”

      “I’ve already consulted Ollie about this. He even talked to Ben, the health inspector in town. We can keep the bakery open. Everything’s going to be isolated in the dining room. As long as we seal it off and keep a ventilation fan pointed outside, we should be fine. Knocking down the dividing wall and tearing up the flooring will take less than a day. It’s the electrical and drywall and finishing touches that take time.”

      “It takes weeks for plaster dust to settle, Aaron. Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited for this project of yours, and I wouldn’t think of stopping you. But...I’m hoping you’ll reassure Stephanie.”

      Aaron stuffed a forkful of noodles in his mouth and chewed to hide the tick in his cheek. “She’s got nothing to worry about.”

      “She’s a sensitive girl. She doesn’t handle change easily.”

      Well, that’s too bad. But he knew it was unfair to be so coldhearted. Gran liked her and had hired her, and that should be enough for him to at least give her a chance.

      Privately, he admitted he’d been rude to her. Not because of what she’d done to him in high school, and not because he suspected she was costing his grandmother hundreds if not thousands of dollars. It was because her very presence upset his equilibrium. Made him lose focus. As far as he could tell, she was still the same girl she’d been in high school: flaky, flighty and so self-centered that she was oblivious to what was going on around her.

      And he was still attracted to her. It made no sense. At all.

      She wasn’t his type—not anymore. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for her. But the line between grudge and the burning regret that accompanied unrequited love was blurring rapidly. He hated that her reappearance in his life should give rise to such angst.

      He was a grown man, dammit. And he had adult things to take care of.

      “I’ll talk to Stephanie,” he said shortly.

      “Good. It means a lot to me that you’re both trying so hard to keep the bakery going. Your grandfather would be proud.” She put her spoon down carefully. “I think I’m done here.”

      “You barely ate.”

      “I haven’t had much appetite.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably the medications.”

      He frowned. “When’s your next appointment? I’ll go with you and we can ask the doctor to switch your prescription.”

      “Don’t worry about it, dear. You need to focus on this book business.”

      “No, I need to focus on you. The bookstore is second. Anyhow, once the renos begin, I can’t do much on-site. I’ll be contacting publishers and ordering inventory, but I can do that from home.” When Georgette looked as if she was going to argue, he said, “I’m your grandson. You took care of me. Let me take care of you, okay?”

      She patted his arm with a rueful twist of the lips. “You’re a good boy, Aaron.”

      Not good enough if he couldn’t keep Gran happy and healthy and make sure the bakery survived.

      * * *

      “AARON CARUTHERS...” Helen Stephens drew the name out over the phone later that week as if it were taffy. “No, I can’t honestly say I remember him. Did he come to your graduation party?”

      “It wasn’t a grad party, it was an end-of-school party.” Despite the fact that she hadn’t graduated with the rest of her class, her parents had let her throw the bash anyhow, complete with a DJ, catering and decorations. They’d even bought the beer kegs. The football team and cheerleaders had had a wild night, vomiting everywhere but in the toilet and breaking one of Mom’s favorite vases. Helen hadn’t been that upset. She’d just wanted her only daughter to be happy. “Aaron definitely wasn’t there.”

      “Are you sure? There were so many kids I couldn’t keep their names straight.”

      “Trust me, Mom, he wasn’t there.” Back then, Steph wouldn’t have been caught dead inviting someone like Aaron to her party. He’d been one of those nerdy, intense kids who nobody had understood whenever he’d opened his mouth. She was seriously regretting not being nicer to him now.

      “In any case, it doesn’t sound like he’s doing anything unreasonable. He left his life behind to take care of his grandmother. That’s quite a sacrifice for a man to make.”

      “But he’s taking over,” she said, an exasperated whine pitching her voice. She cut herself off ruthlessly, pressing a fist against her lips. At the moment she was a particular kind of frustrated—the kind that couldn’t be placated with a few kind words—and she was having a hard time communicating that to her mother. “I’ve worked there five years. I’m the one who knows how everything works. I’m the one who knows all of Georgette’s recipes. He’s been there a week and he acts like he owns the place.”

      “He’s entitled to it. Blood is thicker than batter, and he’s Georgette’s grandson. Why, we’ll be lucky if the place doesn’t shut down after she kicks the bucket.”

      “Mom!” Steph gasped.

      “I don’t mean that in a mean way, dear. I don’t want to see her go any more than you do. Where else would we get our croissants?”

      Stephanie set her teeth. Mom wasn’t shallow, but she did have a habit of trivializing bad things to avoid thinking about them. “Georgette’s not going to die. Not anytime soon.” Not before Steph could convince her to sell the bakery to her, and not for a long time after, either. Steph would take care of Georgette herself if it came down to it. She loved her as if she were her own grandmother.

      “Everyone dies, dear. All the more reason to find a special someone and give me some grandchildren as soon as possible.”

      Not this again. “Mom.” A headache gathered between Steph’s eyes. “I told you, I’m trying to find myself right now. I don’t want to be involved with anyone until I figure out who I am.” Thank God for daytime talk shows. One of the many Stop Controlling My Life! episodes had given her those words to practice.

      “I know who you are.” Helen’s sweet voice was tinged with a sour bite. “You’re my daughter. You’re a sweet, beautiful, kind, lovely young woman.”

      “But I’m more than that. At least, I know I can be. I’ve spent too much time stuck in a rut. I want more.”

      “Like living on your own in a tiny little apartment when you could be comfortable here at home?” Whenever Helen was miffed she made a noise through her nose that sounded like