Early the next morning, Mia had to admit that Kenton’s offer to watch the girls made it easier to get to work on time. She’d never relished bundling her nieces into the car during the predawn hours and dropping them off at day care before she’d had coffee. Going straight to the bakery saved her time and trouble, so she couldn’t complain. And after watching Kenton with the twins the day before, she felt assured that all would be well. He’d had a few difficulties, mostly battles of will with Emma, but he’d prevailed.
And he was resourceful. Before noon, a man he had introduced as Anderson dropped off childproofing supplies, including outlet covers and latches for the cabinet doors. Mia had played with the girls while Kenton spoke with his friend on the porch. The snatches of conversation she’d overheard suggested that Anderson was a fellow SEAL and knew about the threats against them. When Kenton came back inside, he had efficiently gone to work installing the items.
Mia drained her third cup of coffee of the morning and surveyed her accomplishments. In addition to the bakery’s usual offerings, she had made loaves of cinnamon bread, blueberry pound cakes, and petits fours coated in pink icing. When she first accepted the job, she’d worried that she’d become bored with it. She’d always worked the front of the house, talking to and serving customers. She’d even felt it was her special talent, since she was good at making conversation and getting guests to feel welcome.
During the months that she’d worked in the kitchen, she’d found it rewarding in a different way. Much of the work was repetitive. She made the same recipe for cake doughnuts every day, after all. At times, though, she’d welcomed that familiarity, as her life had been chaotic in other ways. With her sister’s death and the twins becoming hers, she’d needed the steadiness and the solitude of the kitchen.
But there were opportunities for creativity, for trying something new as well. Like today. She smiled to herself as she dusted flour on her hands before punching down dough.
“You’re a whirlwind today,” Shasta said, coming through the swinging door. “Those blueberry pound cakes are practically running out the door. There’s only one left.”
“Really?” She’d made two dozen.
“Yes, ma’am. Gotta go.” The jingle of the front door sent Shasta back out of the kitchen.
Mia finished punching the dough and checked on the cookies she had in the oven. They were just starting to crisp around the edges. Two more minutes would do it.
“Hi, sweetie.” Margaret Fitzpatrick popped her head in the back door. “Something smells divine. I can usually resist, but…” Margaret’s clothing boutique was next door, and it wasn’t unusual to see the older woman in the kitchen.
“Come have a seat.” Mia gestured to a stool tucked under the counter. “The cookies are just about out.”
“How’s my son?” Margaret asked when Mia handed her a still-warm cookie on a plate.
“Good.” Handsome and single, doing her head in in more ways than one. “He’s watching the girls for me.”
“He is?” Margaret’s eyes went wide.
It suddenly occurred to Mia that Kenton might not want his mother to know about the threat against them. “There was a problem with the day care, so he’s stepping in for the day.”
“That’ll be good for him,” Margaret said, biting into her cookie. “Keep him busy and out of trouble. How are the girls?”
“They’re doing fine. Emma’s still a pistol. I do wonder if part of her behavior is connected to her parents’ deaths. She seems to want to act out, and Ava withdraws.”
“What were their personalities before?” Margaret asked as she finished her cookie.
“Emma’s always been the leader of the two.” She’d been born first and was definitely dominant. “I think those qualities just got magnified.” She’d read articles about helping toddlers grieve and tried to follow their advice.
“Give them time and lots of love,” Margaret suggested. “They’ve had so much upheaval.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Mia said, appreciating Margaret’s words of wisdom. She clearly knew something about raising successful children.
“These cookies are delicious.” Margaret picked up the last crumb on her plate.
“It’s a new recipe that I’ve been playing with.” It was the same basic recipe Mia had made at home a few days earlier, but she’d made some subtle adjustments, and she was pleased with the outcome.
“It’s a winner.” Margaret stood and pushed the stool back under the counter. “Would you save me a few, and I’ll take them home to my husband?”
“Of course.” Mia hadn’t met Kenton’s father, and she wondered about him. Did he have the same broad shoulders and square jaw as his son? What was his personality like? Mia recognized some of Kenton’s traits in his mother. She, too, was organized and dedicated—but warm and friendly at the same time. Kenton showed the first traits clearly, and, Mia supposed, since he hadn’t kicked her out of his house, he must have more of his mother in him than she initially realized.
He was good to her. He’d been kind to her and the girls. They just had different approaches to how to live.
After Margaret went out the back door with a promise to drop back by later for the cookies, Mia finished the day’s baking and cleaned the kitchen. She was measuring ingredients into sealable containers for the next day’s first batch of dough when Shasta returned.
“I closed up the store ten minutes early. The cases are empty, and I feel like I’ve been run ragged,” Shasta declared with a dramatic sigh.
“Maybe you need some help out there.” Mia moved on to the next ingredient.
The older woman smiled. “You know I complain, but I love every minute of it.” Mia laughed, because she did know that about her coworker. “I love things to be a little hectic. Makes me feel alive.”
Mia felt the truth of that statement. Maybe that’s why she resisted the idea of a schedule so much. “Good thing you don’t live where I do. Kenton has established a routine so rigid that bathroom breaks are built in.”
“Good lord.” Shasta squinted up her eyes in a familiar gesture. “That boy was always regimented, maybe even a bit stiff in his interactions. That was true when he was a little one, and I used to babysit him.”
Mia snapped a plastic lid on a flour container. “I wouldn’t say he’s stiff, exactly. He’s trying to be helpful with the girls, and I sure do appreciate that. I think being in control and trying to manage everything is just his way.”
“How’s that working with toddlers?” Shasta grabbed the mop bucket from the utility room and rolled it toward the door to the front.
“There’s a learning curve,” Mia admitted with a small grin, remembering how Emma had refused to eat her peas at dinner the night before. Mia would have either let it go or cajoled the girl into trying at least one, but Kenton had sat there, patiently insistent, until Emma had given in, eaten the peas, and even declared that she liked them. “But he appears to be working it out.”
“Good for him,” Shasta said and left the kitchen, leaving Mia to think about her housemate.