Page 75 of Perfect Pairing
“In the middle of the day?”
She flicked her wrist to check her watch. “First of all, it’s seven p.m. Second, we were absolutely slammed today, and I’ve been up since four. The apple cinnamon scones were a huge hit up at the barn during the festival, so everyone has been coming in to buy some of the mix to take home.”
I couldn’t help but grin at her. God, she’d come such a long way from that fresh faced twenty-two-year-old just about to open this pace. Now, she was an accomplished businesswoman with one of the busiest shops on Main Street.
The addition of take-and-bake mixes for her most popular menu items had really launched her into the stratosphere, so much so that she’d even opened an online store and shipped her confections all over the world.
“I hope you know how proud of you I am,” I said softly.
Brie’s swallow was audible, though her responding “thank you” barely was. Then she awkwardly cleared her throat and, louder, said, “So what can I do to help?”
“First, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
During the tasting with Delia and Owen, Delia had asked me about ticket costs and what I was planning to do with the funds raised. Thanks to her and Owen both pledging to match whatever money came in, I could afford to spread the wealth.Farms for Folks had always been high on my list, an organization that paired Apple Blossom Bay residents in need with local farmers and locally grown food. As a chef, I’d always been a huge advocate for both living off the land and using locally sourced ingredients whenever possible. The task was far more difficult back in the concrete jungle of New York, but since moving to small town life, I’d really made it my mission to make up for lost time.
The second place I’d be donating was to the volunteer fire department. Those men and women provided necessary emergency services to the entire peninsula, and they were woefully underfunded.
The final item on my list had always been more of a pipe dream than anything, but Delia and Owen were helping make it a reality.
“Shoot,” she said.
“So your sister and Owen both agreed to match any funds raised for the event through ticket costs, and since the community center rental is low and the winery is donating all the wine, I’m going to have a lot left over to allocate to some organizations I feel really strongly about.”
“Farms for Folks, right?”
I nodded. “And I want some to go to the volunteer fire department.”
Brie smiled. “That’s great, Ez. They can certainly use it. But what does that have to do with me?”
“I’ve always wanted to form a scholarship fund to help kids who want to attend culinary school but could use some extra financial support. While in New York, it didn’t make sensebecause…” I trailed off, not really wanting to get into the particulars of how my money—yes, even the money I’d earned myself—had been tied up with all sorts of strings attached.
And Shannon had spent a lot of it. But that was neither here nor there.
Coming back to myself, I said, “I’d like to set up a scholarship at the Traverse City high school, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in helping me fund it.”
Brie blinked in surprise, as though she hadn’t expected that. But…who else would I ask? Of the two of us, she was the one who had grown up here. Had attended the very high school where I wanted to establish a scholarship. Had roots that went deeper into the ground beneath our feet than most people realized.
At last, she said, “I love that idea, Ez. I’m happy to help.”
I grinned, deeply pleased I’d done something right by her for once.
Brie’s smile grew to match mine but quickly flattened, the brightness in her eyes dimming slightly, like she couldn’t allow herself to express any sort of positive emotion in my presence. I hated myself for making her feel that way.
After awkwardly clearing her throat and looking away from me, she said, “Where do you want me to start?”
I directed her to first get some eggs hard boiling, then asked that she start chopping vegetables.
Working alongside her was easy, like we’d been navigating a kitchen together for years. There was no awkwardness, no stepping on toes or slamming into each other. We moved around in a well-choreographed dance. Once she’d completed the prep tasks and it was my turn to do the heavy lifting, she moved on togetting started on her dessert.
“You never told me what you were making,” I said, voice hoarse from disuse over the last few hours.
“Mini apple cobblers with homemade ice cream,” she said, not looking up from where she sliced up a handful of juicy Granny Smith apples.
“Do I get a taste?”
The words came out far more suggestive than I intended, and I dipped my head, not wanting to see her reaction. I wasn’t exactly batting a thousand where she was concerned, and I was afraid my forwardness at Birdie’s that night had done more harm than good.
Especially since it seemed like she’d been avoiding me.
