Ten
"I swear, that racket is enough to make me want to jump into this oven myself."
Vanessa raised her head from the perfect circles of pastry dough she was currently topping with raisin filling to watch Aunt Helen slide a tray of baklava into one of the industrial ovens and slam the door with a clang that only punctuated the loud, staccato sounds of construction coming from the other side of the bakery walls.
It hadn't been easy to put up with both the noise and the added traffic of having so many workers around. She'd made dozens of apologies to customers, as well as creating Please excuse our dust and Apologies for the excessive noise signs. Thankfully, no real dust or debris had made it into the actual bakery side of the building, but having the crew around all day every day didn't make it easy for folks to come in and enjoy a quiet cup of tea and scones.
"They'll be finished soon," she told her aunt, repeating the line the construction foreman had been giving her for the past week. She was familiar enough with this type of thing to know that "soon" was an extremely relative term, but given the fact that they really were making amazing progress, she thought the job would likely be done in just another week or two.
"And you have to admit, it's been nice of Marc to do all of this for us."
Aunt Helen gave a derisive snort. "Don't fool yourself, dear. He isn't doing it to be nice. He's doing it for himself, and to keep you under his thumb, and you know it."
Vanessa didn't respond, mostly because her aunt was right. Without a doubt, Marc wouldn't still be in town if there wasn't something in it for him.
He wanted to be close to Danny and indeed spent almost every evening at Aunt Helen's house with them. They ate dinner together. He helped feed Danny, gave him baths and put him to bed. At his insistence, she'd shown him how to change a diaper, and amazingly, he now did that almost as often as she did. They played on blankets on the floor, and took walks, and went to the park, even though Danny was too young to truly enjoy it.
It all felt so normal, and Vanessa had to admit … nice.
But just as Aunt Helen had reminded her, she couldn't forget for a minute that there were strings attached to everything Marc did. He wanted to know his son, which was understandable and seemed innocent enough on the surface.
Beyond that, though, she knew the entire situation was steeped in ulterior motives. Or at least the potential for ulterior motives.
Right now, Marc was using the remodeling and bakery expansion as an excuse to be close to his son, and something to occupy his time while Danny took frequent naps. But what would happen later?
What would happen once he decided he'd gotten to know Danny as well as he could here in Summerville and wanted to take him back to Pittsburgh to assume his rightful place on one of the silver-lined branches of the Keller family tree?
What would happen when the novelty of helping her create a mail-order business for The Sugar Shack wore off and small town living began to bore him?
And why did she bother wondering about such silly questions, when she already knew the answers?
The past couple of weeks, Marc had reminded her more of the man she'd fallen in love with and married than ever before. He'd been kind and generous, sweet and funny. He held doors for her, offered to help her clear the table after meals and put their son down for naps.
And he touched her. Nothing overt or overly sexual that a casual observer might notice, even considering how they'd spent his first night in town. Just a light brush of his fingers now and then-down her arm, over the back of her hand, along her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She tried not to read too much into the familiar gestures, but that didn't keep her pulse from thrumming or her heart from hammering inside her chest. Aunt Helen had complained more than once that the house or bakery was too cold, but turning up the air conditioning was the only way Vanessa could think of to combat the erratic spikes in her body temperature that Marc's constant presence and attentions created.
Speak of the devil.
No sooner had the memory played through her head than Marc pushed open the swinging kitchen doors, and she nearly bobbled the spoon she was using to dollop raisin filling onto the tray.
There went her temperature again, causing her skin to flush and perspiration to break out along her brow and between her breasts. At least this time, she could blame it on the ovens and all the hard work she was putting in trying to fill an order for six dozen raisin-filled cookies by three o'clock.
"When you get a minute," he said, "you should come over and see what you think. The crew is almost finished, and they want to know if there's anything else you'd like done before they go."
"Oh." That brought Vanessa's head up.
She'd been over to the other side of the shop a couple of times during the construction, but hadn't wanted to get in anyone's way. Plus, Marc had been so on top of things that her presence and input hadn't really seemed necessary.
But now that the renovations were nearly complete, she was suddenly excited to see how it looked. To start picturing herself there, boxing up her fresh-baked delights, overseeing the extra employees they would likely have to hire. Or would get to hire, if the mail-order idea was as successful as she hoped.
Sparing a glance at Aunt Helen, she dropped her spoon back in the bowl of lumpy, dark brown cookie filling, and began wiping her hands clean on a nearby towel.
"Do you mind?" she asked her aunt.
"Of course not. You go, dear," Aunt Helen told her, bustling over to take over with the cookies. "I'll just finish with these, and after you get back, maybe I'll take a peek at the new space myself."
Vanessa smiled and gave her aunt a peck on the cheek, then pulled off her apron and followed Marc. The occasional bit of sanding or hammering met her ears even before they reached the entryway between the two storefronts, but it had been going on for so long that it was nothing more than background noise now, and none of her regular customers seemed to notice or was bothered by it anymore.
Marc opened the door to the other side of the bakery and pushed back the sheet of thick plastic that had been hung as an extra precaution against sawdust and paint fumes. Holding it aside, he let her duck in ahead of him.
An awed sigh escaped her lips as she straightened and took in her nearly finished surroundings. The room was beautiful. More than she ever could have imagined, even after being in on the initial stages of planning.
Shelves and countertops of various sizes and heights lined the walls, creating more work space than she ever could have hoped for. The floor and ceiling had both been redone, and everything had been painted to match The Sugar Shack so that it was obviously an extension of the bakery itself.
"Oh!" Vanessa cried, putting her fingers to her lips.
"Does it meet with your approval?" Marc asked, amusement evident in his tone.
She was sure he could tell by her shaking hands and watery eyes just how pleased she was, but still she managed a breathless whisper, "It's wonderful."
Spinning around, she slowly took it all in again, and then again, her amazement growing with each turn. She didn't stop to think about how it had come about, the strings that were attached, or how costly the bill might be when it finally came due. All she knew was that this portion of the building was hers now, her chance to grow and expand the business of her heart.
With a tiny squeal of glee, she threw her arms around Marc's neck and squeezed him tight. Almost immediately, he circled her waist, hugging her back.
"Thank you," she whispered near his ear. "It's perfect."
When she pulled away, an odd expression crossed his face, but before she could question it, the foreman appeared at her left shoulder. She was coming to think of him as the King of Rude and Untimely Interruptions.
"I take it she likes her new work area," he said with a smile, addressing Marc.