Page 62 of Stony Point Summer
So she puts on a blue-and-white maxi sundress—quick and easy—knotting it at the hem for a casual look. Sandals, a gold bangle, and she’s good to go. After tucking the cake pans into her straw tote, she’s out the kitchen side door and walking through the secret path to the beach.
* * *
“Now aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a voice calls to Elsa.
Walking on the sand, she looks up at the Fenwick deck. Mitch watches her approach from where he leans on the railing. He’s dressed casual, in a loose button-down over cargo shorts. When she meets his eye, he tips that beat-up safari hat he wears, too.
The thing is, his remark gets her smiling. “I’m surprised you needed cake pans, Mitch. Carol baking something?” she asks while climbing the deck stairs.
“Not Carol.” Mitch waits for Elsa at the top of those stairs. “It’s me, today. I’m making something special for your big event this evening.”
Elsa lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head. “You don’t have to do that! You’re my guest tonight.”
“Oh, it is mydistinctpleasure. And Iwould’vepicked up the cake pans atyourplace. Sure didn’t expect you to deliver them, not on your busy day.”
“That’s okay.” Elsa looks out at Long Island Sound then. As the sun rises, there’s blue, blue, blue, as far as the eye can see. “Celia’s coming by later for breakfast,” she tells Mitch, turning back to him. “So I was glad to sneak in a little beach walk before the day’s chaos begins.”
“Chaos? In that case, hold onto your sand chair, because I’ve got a specialty cake planned that will soothe your senses.” He nudges up the brim of his safari hat and squints over at her. “Coca-Cola cake.”
“What? That’s too much, Mitch. I’ve seen the recipe, and it’sreallyinvolved.”
“Nonsense.” Mitch leans on the deck railing and draws a hand along his goatee. “I made the frosting yesterday. It was a good day for it. Mixed some butter, powdered sugar, vanilla extract with a dose of coke, and, well, a few other ingredients, too. I’m pretty good in the kitchen, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are.”
Mitch nods. “I let that frosting set overnight, and it’s just the right consistency today.”
“Well, that’s really very nice of you,” Elsa says. “And I don’t want to keep you from your baking.” She lowers her tote from her shoulder and pulls out the two cake pans. “Nine-inch pans, you said?”
“Yes. Nine inch. We have umpteeneight-inch pans inside, but heck, when I checked the recipe, it called fornine-inch pans. Don’t want to mess it up now.”
“Of course not. No.”
“And the dollar store’s not open yet, but I had a hunchyou’dhave just what I need.”
Elsa gives him another smile and sets the cake pans on the patio table. “I’ll leave these with you and be on my way.”
“Don’t you want to test the frosting, though?” he asks from the railing behind her.
“What?” Elsa turns to see him, arms crossed, still watching her from beneath the brim of that safari hat. A short braided necklace shows in the open collar of his shirt. The early sun rises higher in the sky beyond.
“Test the frosting,” Mitch repeats. “To see if it’s to your liking.”
She looks around, scanning the deck first, then glancing to the slider door to the kitchen. “Carol, too? It’s early, is she up?”
“Oh, she’s up. Up and at ’em. Selling her tin-can bouquets at the farmers’ market.”
“So, it’s … just us?”
“Now I reckon it is. Won’t keep you long, though, Elsa. You have a lot to do today. Which is why you should start the day …slow. With the sunrise, and something sweet.” He heads to that slider and scrapes it open on its track. “I’ll get you a spoonful of that frosting, with a side of coffee?” he asks over his shoulder.
But he freezes there—right there, half in, half out—until Elsa nods.
Surprisingly, as soon as she does, she feels her blood pressure lower and so she drops onto a patio chair. The air is cooler here beneath the table’s large umbrella. A tall rope-wrapped glass vase holds an unlit candle. Then there are Carol’s tin-can wildflower bouquets scattered atop the deck railings. And Elsa, well, she sighs. What a perfect spot to enjoy the sunrise and, yes, something sweet.
Andbreathebefore the crazy-busy day takes over. She sits right there on that elevated deck facing Long Island Sound and lets her worries go. All of them.
That certified letter.
