A Recipe for Reunion. Vicki Essex

      Steph massaged her temples. Her mother had a one-track mind. “This isn’t about wanderlust.” They’d had this argument every time she’d called since moving out. After the reunion, she’d made it her mission to move on and up in life. Moving out of her parents’ house had been the first big step. “And I can’t settle down. Not right now.”

      “Listen to me, baby. I thought the same thing when I was twenty-five. Your father and I were still young and we thought we had all the time in the world. But when we were ready for kids, we tried and tried... We wanted four kids, you know that?”

      She closed her eyes. “I know, Mom.”

      “It wasn’t until very late in the game that we finally had you. But there were complications. I was sick for weeks afterward, and the doctor said I couldn’t risk having any more children. I still thank God every day I have you, our perfect little angel.”

      Every time Helen told this story guilt pooled in Steph’s gut. “That’s sweet of you to say, Mom, but—”

      “You’re thirty, dear.” She made it sound like a curse. “Don’t you want to have kids?”

      “Of course, but—”

      “Then you need to think about that.” Her words were precise, final, loaded with prim admonishment.

      Stephanie mouthed a curse at the ceiling. This was exactly why she’d needed to move out. Living at home, she’d accepted her mother’s wishes that she go forth and multiply as if that were her only purpose in life. And, for a while, she’d believed it. After Dale, she’d dated a lot, including men her parents had found for her, but no one had held her interest long enough to sound the wedding bells. Her Mom once had accused her of being picky, and they’d gotten into a big argument. That’d been around the same time Steph had started working for Georgette.

      “You’re coming next weekend, aren’t you?” Helen asked, her tone switching back to honey-sweet.

      “For Dad’s birthday party? Of course. Once all the morning baking’s done, Kira should be able to handle the counter. And Aaron will be there, I guess.” She grudgingly accepted that he’d take care of things at the bakery and make sure his grandmother got her rest. She’d almost canceled on her mom, but Georgette wouldn’t hear of her missing Terrence Stephens’s sixtieth birthday.

      “Good. Because there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

      Steph suppressed a sigh. “You’re not trying to set me up again, are you?”

      “You’ll like him,” Helen insisted. “You really will. He’s a rancher we met at the club last week—”

      “I’ll come to the party, but don’t expect anything.” Steph would be polite, but she made no promises. She was determined to become the best Stephanie Stephens she could be, and for now, that meant no dating.

      * * *

      AARON RUBBED THE crust from his eyes, cursing the cold, dark February morning. Six o’clock was way too early to be up and driving, but he’d wanted the contractors to get the dining room sealed before the bakery opened at seven.

      Only one other car was in the lot—a rather nice Mercedes mini SUV. As he got out of his Gran’s station wagon, his foot met a patch of ice. With a yelp, he snagged the door before he slid under the chassis, then regained his footing, cursing. The slick parking lot was a lawsuit waiting to happen. He’d have to take care of that.

      Unlocking the door to Georgette’s, his mood was temporarily dispelled by the sweet smell of baking.

      He inhaled, thinking of happier times. Mom and Dad taking him to visit his grandmother; carefully choosing the one treat he’d take home with him in the car—it was almost always a bran muffin, though he’d sometimes choose an oatmeal cookie; enjoying the long, winding drive out of Everville to see the fall colors...

      His walk down memory lane came to an abrupt halt as he entered the kitchen and tripped on an open bag of flour. He managed to right it before it spilled onto the ground.

      Steph glanced up from a mixing bowl. Her brassy hair was tied up in two pigtails, and a hairnet hung off them like a saggy black spiderweb. Her white apron was stained with smears of chocolate and batter, and there was a dusting of flour on her cheek, but she glowed with sunny cheer. “Good morning,” she greeted brightly. “Two cups of brown sugar.” He was confused for a moment as she emptied a measuring cup into a large bowl. “Watch your step, there.”

      He grabbed the bag and dragged it out of his path. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked irately.

      “Uh...baking? I’ve been here since four.”

      Duh. Of course. He so wasn’t a morning person. “You didn’t salt the parking lot.”

      Her smile faltered. “Huh?”

      “The parking lot. It’s covered in black ice. I slipped out there. Could’ve broken my tailbone.”

      The rays of happiness wreathing her face disappeared as if clouds had gathered around her. “A pound of butter,” she muttered as she dumped the cubes into the mixing bowl. She stirred, her arm working hard. “Sorry to hear that,” she said to him.

      She wasn’t. And she wasn’t taking him seriously. Just another indication of how thoughtless and self-absorbed she was. She hadn’t changed a bit. “I’d appreciate it if you could have taken a minute to make sure other people weren’t getting hurt by your carelessness. If someone broke a leg out there—”

      She slammed her spatula onto the worktable. “Look, if you’re not going to be helpful, I need you to get out of my way. I have a lot to bake still and I have three cake orders to fill today. You do what you need to do, but I don’t have time to deal with icy parking lots or whatever your problem is.”

      For a moment, Aaron was shocked by her flash of temper. More surprising was the shame he felt. Barging in and acting like a tyrant wasn’t his style. He needed to get a grip.

      “I’m sorry. I apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I...” He shook his head. “I need coffee.”

      With a glare, she pointed toward the door. “On the counter up front. A quarter teaspoon of salt.” Her dismissal was clear, even if her instructions to herself were perplexing.

      He pushed out of the kitchen, went to the carafe and filled a mug. His first big gulp scalded his tongue, bringing tears to his eyes. He deserved that. He’d been an asshat to Steph for no reason except that he was cranky and had slipped on some ice.

      She clearly resented his presence at Georgette’s. Maybe she’d thought she was going to inherit the bakery. He hadn’t considered that before, but it would explain that hunted look she often bore, as if she were expecting him to kick her out any minute. He might not do that, but there was no way Aaron would allow Stephanie Stephens to run his grandmother’s legacy into the ground, either. He may never have woken up at four in the morning to bake, but he knew how to run the business. Besides, he was family. His grandmother would never choose a former cheerleader over her own kin.

      Family or no, Georgette would not be pleased to hear they’d already started off on the wrong foot. He needed to smooth things out with Steph.

      He took a few minutes to scatter deicer and sand over the front steps, around the lot and along the walkway. When he got back inside, he was shivering, but the bracing cold had cleared his head a little. He took a deep breath and pushed back into the kitchen.

      “Stephanie.” She flicked him the briefest of glares, and he continued. “Look, I was out of line. It was rude of me to talk to you that way. I appreciate that you’re busy. It can’t be easy doing all the baking on your own.”

      The chill in her storm-blue eyes thawed some, but she didn’t stop moving as she spooned batter into muffin tins. “It’s not.”

      “What can I do to help?”