Love lies and lemon pie, p.1
Love, Lies and Lemon Pie, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, locales, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real life events, places or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except in the case for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without written permission from the author and publisher.
Love, Lies and Lemon Pie
Copyright © 2021 D.E. Malone. All rights reserved.
ISBN (paperback) 978-1-951516-10-9
(ebook) 978-1-951516-11-6
Cover designed by Blue Water Books
First Edition
For book news, please subscribe to D.E. Malone’s newsletter at www.demalone.com.
* * *
Summary: Ambitious pastry chef Mila Warner sets her sights on claiming a prestigious culinary award at the Taste of the North Shore Festival but doesn't bargain on winning the heart of newspaper editor Cam Beckett, whom she suspects of having ulterior motives when his company sponsors her for the contest.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Also by D.E. Malone
About the Author
Chapter One
Mila Warner floated the pastel quilt onto the grass, where the tall, narrow shadow of Clearwater Lighthouse blocked the midday August sun. She checked the time.
Almost noon.
She had twenty minutes to stage this picnic for her most important client yet.
Mere minutes to arrange a picture-perfect backdrop for Autumn Manderly, director of Great Lakes Tourism Bureau, and her husband-to-be. She was overwhelmed and honored that Autumn picked her to help commemorate their recent engagement. And who knew where this would lead? Her little side gig catering picnics was quickly becoming more lucrative than her other two side jobs together.
She worked quickly, opening one of her plastic tubs filled with supplies for the place settings. There were cream fringed pillows and a mini decorative chalkboard with the handwritten menu in another tub. After catering dozens of picnics these last three months, Mila could stage one of these blindfolded. That the sun sparkled like a gem on the crystalline waters of Lake Superior in the distance was an added bonus. She really did have the best job.
Her phone buzzed. Grant’s name scrolled across her screen. Now was not a good time, but she answered anyway.
“Hey, Grant. I thought you’d be in the middle of the lunch rush by now.”
“Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Are you all right? You sound tense.” He never called her on weekends. It was only Friday, but that was the weekend in the restaurant biz. And she knew better than to bother him, too, even though they’d only been dating a few months.
“I’m fine. Just driving to the restaurant now. I got held up at home. How’s the picnic prep going?” he asked.
She’d already given him a progress report when they’d texted earlier. But he was scatterbrained when he was busy. She got that. He was big time after all. Grant Mirelli, owner and chef at the Hightower in Minneapolis. What profit she made from Autumn’s booking today was the per-plate charge at Grant’s restaurant.
She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder while she arranged the woven placemats onto the low-platform table. “I’m adding the finishing touches while I wait for the client to show up.”
Silence.
“Grant? Are you still there?”
“I thought you were always long gone before the couple arrived.”
“Usually, yes. But the woman wanted to meet with me before her fiancé shows up. She’s extra picky.”
He mumbled something, punctuating it with a loud sigh. Twin City traffic got the best of him most days.
She surveyed the blanket with the phone still to her ear. “Listen, it sounds like you’re distracted. I’d better let you go. I still have a lot to do before she gets here. Talk later?”
Another extended pause. Then, “Yes, later. I’ll call you,” he said.
The connection was gone before she said goodbye. It was just as well. This would be an especially busy few days for him with everyone out and about for Labor Day weekend. Frankly, she didn’t even like talking to him on the weekends.
A diminutive red convertible zipped into the space next to Mila’s car a few minutes later. The woman waved to Mila above the tiny windshield before she hopped from the car. As Mila watched her glide across the grass, this statuesque woman looked like a breeze personified. From her frothy blond curls down to the gauzy black skirt floating behind her, Autumn Manderly looked like she’d blend in better on a Parisian street in springtime than on the grounds of the historic lighthouse. Mila raked her fingers through her own hair self-consciously, not that her fine, shoulder-length cut needed smoothing.
Autumn’s smile grew wider as she drew closer.
“Is this darling or what?” Her tone rose an octave from the first word to the last, the syllables quivering in the air like the sound of birds on a spring day.
“I’m happy you think so.” Mila rose from where she’d been kneeling.
Mila had talked to Autumn on the phone several times since she’d first called about Mila’s custom picnics. Autumn’s enthusiasm could be felt through the airwaves as Mila coordinated the meal preferences. A mental image had formed in her mind of a woman as particular about her appearance as she was with the details of this picnic she’d commissioned.
“And dessert?” Autumn scanned the area, palms pressed together like a prayer.
Mila opened the cooler to lift the cardboard box tied with a pink gingham bow. “I hope these are what you had in mind,” she said as she peeled the tape from the pastry box so Autumn could get a sneak peek at the cupcakes.
“Oh, they’re darling!”
From their first conversation, Mila gathered that “darling” found its way into Autumn’s compliments often.
“Are those pansy petals?” she said, pointing to the intricate yellow, white, and violet blossoms.
“They are. Picked just this morning. And the cupcakes are chocolate raspberry with raspberry filling and buttercream frosting.” Mila sealed the box again and put it back into the cooler.
“Just darling. He’ll love them. Actually, he’d love anything, really. He has a big sweet tooth.” Autumn made a face. “For anything except lemon.”
“My boyfriend can’t stand lemons either. I don’t even keep lemons out in the open when he comes over.” It was too bad, really. Her lemon pie recipe was among her favorites to make. Southern roots and all.
“And I’m sure your lemon desserts are just lovely,” she said, sighing dramatically. “It’s sad. The compromises we make to keep them happy.”
Mila bit her lip, thinking how proud she was of her lemon chess pie. She hadn’t made it in months.
“But then if you try too hard, you seem desperate.” She looked back at Mila and shrugged. “The trick is to find the one who’ll eat your lemon desserts in spite of not liking them. Then you know you have a winner.”
Mila smiled while she tried to picture Grant tasting her lemon pie. All she could conjure up was an image of him grimacing. And he wouldn’t hesitate to spit it out. His bluntness was one trait of his she could do without.
Autumn scanned the spread on the oversized quilt and clapped her fingertips together excitedly. A vintage metal tray held a vase of pink dahlias and daisies Mila had picked up at Buds N’ Blooms earlier in the day. She’d found a large wicker picnic hamper at Del Arbuckle’s auction house last spring that she’d customized with an insulated sleeve. Lunch was inside. There was a bottle of a local Riesling chilling in a silver ice bucket. And the custom-built cedar table, a foot tall and one of a dozen she used for larger events, gave picnic-goers a stable surface on which to eat. Pillows for sitting and a mini CD player with Mila’s curated playlist put the finishing touch on the quaint scene.
The woman bent over the table and picked up one of the china plates, turning it over. “I think I recognize this strawberry pattern. My aunt had this set. She hosted the most wonderful summer soirees.”
Mila laughed. “Any party with those as place settings is bound to be wonderful.” As soon as she’d said it, Mila regretted sounding like she was calling attention to her work. “Your aunt’s parties must have been very elegant.”
Autumn set the plate down and planted her hands on her hips, surveying the scene again. “Well, this is even more darling than I imagined,” she gushed again.
Mila looked at her phone for the time. “I should clean up and
Autumn came in for a hug. “Thank you so much. I’m so glad I found you.”
“I’m happy you’re pleased. I hope you enjoy your lunch.” She gave the area one last perusal. “Don’t worry about cleaning anything up. Just leave it. I’ll be back at two to clean up.”
Mila loaded the empty boxes and plastic tubs into the trunk of her car. She’d return in two hours to clean up the site, repacking her props and serving pieces while the couple hung out on the beach below the lighthouse. Autumn had made it perfectly clear that dessert should be left on the picnic table near the bluff’s edge with disposable plates. There was an ideal amount of shade there from an ancient maple. The cupcakes should be fine when they arrived back on top of the bluff, according to Autumn’s carefully orchestrated plans.
Mila’s usual protocol was to be well out of sight before guests arrived at the picnic site. Autumn’s insistence on meeting her to give final approval of the layout was unusual. But Autumn was paying her a bundle, so what Autumn wanted, Autumn got. Mila couldn’t deny how Autumn’s compliments boosted her spirits too. It was rare to see a live-and-in-person reaction to one of her picnics, and she delighted in it.
Mila shut the back door of her car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and was on her way in less than a minute.
Traffic was heavy on Highway 61 this time of year. Tourists darted up and down the North Shore, taking advantage of the cool, humid-free temperatures for fishing, boating, and hiking before Lake Superior showed its temperamental side for the other nine months. Mila waited for an opening between cars. Her back wheels spun a little on the gravel drive, and then she was zipping along the road like the rest of the swarm until she neared the outskirts of Hendricks again.
Growing up on the Florida panhandle, she’d always studied license plates as vehicles passed through her small town, where she lived with her big, boisterous family in a house on Cape Blanca Beach. She’d watch the endless parade of tourists drive by while they marveled at the mansions.
Washington. Utah. Michigan. Maine. They came from all over the country, places she wanted to see. Places away from the white-hot sun, where the air could be practically wrung like a wet towel, and shoes filled with sand was a constant. Her habit of reading plates stuck after all these years. Now a steady stream of cars coming from town passed too quickly for her to glance from one to the other.
But there was a short lag in traffic. When the brake lights of the car in front of her blinked on, she slowed down. That’s when one plate in the oncoming traffic caught her eye. ICOOK.
Mila caught a glimpse of the driver as he passed, and her breath caught.
Blond brush cut.
A hexagonal piece of fluorite dangling from the rearview mirror, catching a glint of sunshine.
Blue-lensed sunglasses that she’d bought him after he accidentally stepped on his old ones.
Grant.
What was he doing in town?
She smiled, thinking maybe he’d arranged a surprise. And he’d taken off work on a Friday? Impossible. The thought made her grin even harder. That was a huge sacrifice for him, being away from the restaurant on such a busy day.
Lemons.
The word popped into her mind like someone leaned in from the backseat and whispered it in her ear.
He doesn’t like lemons.
That was what Autumn had said about her fiancé.
And Mila had just passed the biggest lemon hater she knew, driving in the opposite direction toward Clearwater Lighthouse.
Mila slammed on the brakes. She’d unwittingly inched up, almost hitting the person in front of her as she watched Grant’s white Toyota in her mirror. She signaled to turn into Two Tree Coffee so she could follow him back out of town. She did a tight circle in the parking lot then scooted back onto the highway.
There were three cars between her and Grant. Her heart beat madly as she worried for a second that he’d seen her. Or maybe it wasn’t him. Mila held out hope that her eyes had somehow tricked her. She prayed the man driving Grant’s white car with the same Grant hairstyle, wearing Grant’s blue sunglasses was not the same person leading her back toward the picnic she’d just arranged at the lighthouse. Maybe he’d lent his car to one of his employees. Or there was an order of fish to pick up at Grady’s Fish Market. Or maybe he did in fact come into town to surprise her for the weekend.
That wasn’t it though. In her heart of hearts, she knew that. Mila detected something distant about him almost from the start, but she’d been blinded by his celebrity status in the regional food scene. And now the tickling sensations on her shoulders and at the back of her neck confirmed her instincts.
Up ahead, the white car’s signal blinked on. It turned into the Clearwater Lighthouse parking lot. She continued straight, willing the few cars in front of her to speed up. She dared one quick look. That little crystal hanging from his mirror winked back at her as if to say told you so.
Grant was engaged to be married.
He hadn’t mentioned the little detail of being in a serious relationship when he walked into Osage Tearoom three months ago and asked if she’d like to accompany him to Fernando’s Bar and Grill that evening. He was in town for a meeting and didn’t like eating alone, he’d explained. And he didn’t mention he had a girlfriend during their subsequent times together either. They’d never talked about being exclusive, but Mila assumed it since he called her almost daily.
Mila turned around in the parking lot at the Sage River trailhead to head back into town. It would be a long two hours, waiting to return to the site to collect her supplies, stewing over whether to confront Grant today or wait. And she had that interview with Cam Beckett at the Lakeshore Weekly office within the hour. The thought to reschedule occurred to her, but the publicity was too important. The longer she delayed, the more days she lost promoting herself.
At home, she moved blindly from room to room, stewing, plotting, shaking her head incredulously at Grant’s deceit. She stared at her phone, at the last text she’d shared with Autumn, wondering if she should send a little heads-up to her. Mila would be doing her a favor, blowing the whistle on this guy. It took all of her willpower for a few minutes not to type out that text.
But no, she couldn’t possibly follow through with it. Their relationship wasn’t her problem. Keeping her business intact was. What if it backfired and Autumn trashed her with a bad review? That would be nuclear coming from the director of the Great Lakes Tourism Bureau.
No, she’d sit on this for the time being.
While she waited for the time to pass, she undressed and took a quick shower, even though she’d showered hours earlier. She hated being the collateral damage to Grant’s unscrupulous secret. It wasn’t her fault, but she felt guilty just the same.
Chapter Two
The Lakeshore Weekly’s skeleton crew had wandered into the newspaper office earlier than usual that Friday morning and Cam Beckett couldn’t help but hope it had something to do with him.
He’d replaced the coffee filter, poured water into the reservoir, and flipped the switch on his personal coffeemaker when Lexi Hollander walked into the room, the first one to arrive.
“You’re early.” He cringed as he uttered the words. Nothing like pointing out the anomaly to people he hoped to win over. “Big plans for the weekend, Lexi?”
His lone photographer shrugged her shoulders. “I may have a date with a canoe.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. “We’ll see.”
“Just make sure you come back on Monday all in one piece.” In the short time he’d joined the staff there as interim editor, he’d discovered everyone was indispensable.
Behind Lexi, the office assistant, Mindy, spotted the vanilla latte waiting on her desk. She squealed with delight and sipped it, closing her eyes.
