Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 8

Sadie

Jolt and I arrive at the cabin just a few minutes after eight. Despite the darkness, I notice that the cobblestone path is now free of weeds, and it looks like the front bushes have been neatly trimmed. Jack sure is a hard worker. When is he going to squeeze in some fishing?

The aroma of fried fish teases my nostrils as soon as I walk through the door. Fresh fish? I guess Jack did manage to squeeze in some fishing.

My stomach immediately rumbles, reminding me of how hungry I am. We had another big rush around six at the café, and it lasted until almost closing, so I didn’t get any other food than the quiche I had at lunch.

As I saunter into the kitchen, my feet skid to a stop and I grin at the sight. A small, contented sigh escapes. Jack has donned my grandmother’s frilly apron, and he looks like a male version of Betty Crocker. A cute male version.

Even though the apron hides his ugly brown cardigan and pressed trousers, he still looks several years older than he probably is. Those functional sturdy black shoes don’t help either. I really need to suggest he get some Nike tennis shoes or Sketchers for a more casual look and a more comfortable fit.

I suppress the teasing “honey, I’m home” comment that wants to slide from my lips, replacing it with, “It smells delicious in here. Did you catch those fish?”

He glances over his shoulder, then returns to concentrating on turning the fillets in the pan. “Wilbur and I caught them. I’ll have dinner on the table in five minutes. ”

Wilbur invited him to go fishing? A small zing of jealousy hits because Grandad’s grumpy neighbor has never invited me to go fishing, even though I’ve dropped more than a few hints when he’s at the café.

“How may I help?” I ask, washing my hands at the sink after filling Jolt’s dogfood bowl. The crunching of kibble fills the room along with the sounds of the fish sizzling in the pan.

“You can get the baked potatoes from the oven,” Jack says nodding towards the outdated harvest-gold-colored appliance from the 1960s. Between the cracked linoleum floor, the flaking Formica countertops, and the antiquated appliances, this kitchen could really use an update.

“I’ll dish up the green beans and the fish, then we can eat,” he adds as he pulls serving spoons from the drawer. He’s sure acquainted himself with the kitchen layout in a short time.

We work side by side to get the meal on the table. I also fill the water glasses and get out a tub of butter and the ketchup.

“What’s the ketchup for?” Jack asks once we’re seated across from each other.

An embarrassed laugh escapes. “I eat ketchup on pretty much everything. Please don’t be insulted, because your fish smells divine,” I say, pounding on the end of the almost empty condiment bottle. “It’s just that everything tastes better with ketchup.” The red substance eventually plops out of the bottle into a puddle onto my plate. I cut off a slice of fish and dip it in the tomato-based sauce. Smiling, I add, “Yummy!”

Jack shakes his head while I concentrate on the sides. After I load my baked potato with butter and salt, he says, “No ketchup?”

Wrinkling my nose, I say, “No! Who puts ketchup on baked potatoes?”

Arching an eyebrow, Jack says, “Silly me. Your use of the phrase ‘everything tastes better with ketchup’ threw me off. ”

I refrain from tossing a green bean at his head and ignore his teasing. We eat in companionable silence for several minutes.

“This meal is delicious. It’s so wonderful to come home to a home-cooked meal,” I say, then blush. I hope Jack doesn’t take my use of “home” too literally and think I’m hinting about the future, although I could really get used to coming home to this sweet guy every night.

Fortunately, my comment flies over his head. “Wilbur mentioned a festival in next week. I think I need some more training on the cash register before that.”

My heart sinks. Right. The festival. A week filled with crowds, commotion, and stress. You’d think that I’d be looking forward to the opportunity to turn my finances around in a single week, but I’m not, because I end up working myself to the bone.

Plus, the hoity-toity big city dwellers expect to order stuff like a triple venti half-sweet nonfatcaramel macchiato... or a grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha... or a tall nonfat latte, 2 percent, with foam...

I hardly know what all their terminology means, let alone how to create that kind of fancy drink. They look down their noses at my pedestrian coffee offerings. One time a guy even inquired as to where the nearest Starbucks is.

Plastering on a fake smile, as if I’m looking forward to the upcoming festival, I say, “Of course! Let’s get you some more training tomorrow morning. Can you get to the café around six?”

He grins. “I believe I’ll be able to pull myself out of bed by then.”

We move on past talk of the festival and my mood lightens. “Wilbur showed me all the good fishing spots. He even gave me his part of the catch so we had enough for dinner,” Jack says, eating his fifth fillet. The guy can really pack food away. How does he stay so thin?

“Wilbur’s a nice guy. He’s just a little crusty on the outside,” I say. “But I thought you and he didn’t hit it off at the café. ”

Jack shrugs. “I think the guy might be lonely. He saw me out weeding the yard and invited me to go fishing.”

I nod. Wilbur’s wife died last year, and he’s been a regular at the café every morning ever since. I get the sense he’s lonely as well. “Did you have a good time? Fishing with Wilbur?”

“I did, other than the fact he threw back my first catch. Wilbur eventually found a great fishing spot, and it was like the fish were jumping into the boat. I’ve never caught so many white bass in my life.”

“This was the whole catch?” I ask.

“Nope. I froze the other half. We can have another meal of fried fish if you want.”

My nose wrinkles. Fish isn’t my favorite meal. “How about I get back to you on that?”

Jack laughs. “Okay. That would be a lot of fish to consume before the end of the week.”

His comment reminds me that the plumber will be fixing my water heater by Friday, and I won’t be coming home to Jack and his home-cooked meals every night after that. Bummer.

“What would you like to do after dinner? I saw a monopoly game in the hallway closet,” Jack says, then rushes to tack on, “Or, if you just want alone time, we can do our own thing.”

“I’d love to play Monopoly! I haven’t played since Sam and I were kids.”

“Monopoly it is!” Jack says, standing to clear away the dishes. We quickly load the dishwasher, then Jack retrieves the game. The box is falling apart, a piece of duct tape holding one end together. Wonder whether Sam and I lost any of the game pieces or fake money over the years? That might make for an interesting game.

“I get the Scottie dog,” Jack says at the same time I say, “I get to be banker.”

We both laugh.

After beating Jack soundly in Monopoly, I head up to the loft and he disappears into his bedroom. As I suspected, the Scottie dog was missing because Sam and I used to fight over it. Jack had to compromise by playing with the shoe piece, which he dubbed as being boring. I almost pointed out that a guy who wears cardigan sweaters shouldn’t be calling anything boring . However, I don’t know him well enough yet to tease him about his clothing choices. He was a tad bit crabby over the loss, so I agreed to a rematch later in the week.

Once I hear his door click closed, I place the phone call I’ve been waiting to make.

“Sadie! Great to hear from you,” my brother says after the first ring.

“How are you ever getting by without your trusty assistant?” I tease before Sam can get another word in edgewise. Knowing how much Sam talks about Jack and all the things he does for my brother; I don’t see how Sam’s getting by without him. It’s surprising I’ve never met Jack before, but working at the café doesn’t allow me to drop everything to go visit my brother on the other side of the state. It’s Sam who always comes to visit me.

I’m met with a pregnant pause, then Sam says, “Why do you ask? Jack’s still my trusty assistant.”

Huh? That’s an odd way to answer the question. Ah. Jack must be doing the remote working thing . “So I take it that after Jack’s done at the coffee shop in the mornings, he’s working from Pinecone Pines for you?”

A nervous laugh floats over the line. “Er, right, he, um, he didn’t want you to know he’s still helping me out. The guy’s unstoppable.”

“He’s been a great help so far, that’s for sure.” We chat about Jack’s skill as a barista, his fishing trip with Wilbur, and the delicious fish dinner he prepared. Just talking about the guy makes me realize what a whiz he is at almost everything.

“Jack’s only flub was giving Wilbur a 15 percent senior discount,” I say with a chuckle.

Sam snorts. “I bet Wilbur didn’t offer up the fact that the discount should have been lower.”

“Of course not.” My bedside clock catches my eye and I realize it’s past my bedtime. “Well, it’s getting late, and I mostly called to thank you for sending Jack my way. He really is a godsend.”

“I’m glad he’s helping lighten your load, Sadie. How’s the interviews for a new barista going?”

I wince. After Jack arrived, I forgot about reviewing any applicants who’ve applied for the online job posting. Truth is, I was too busy drooling over my brother’s assistant. I chide myself and add a to-do list item for tomorrow morning to review candidates and start interviewing in earnest. “I’m sure I’ll find someone soon.”

After we hang up, I wonder whether I should mention to Jack that Sam spilled the beans about him working two jobs? Or should I just let sleeping dogs lie, as Grandad used to say. If Jack wants to burn the midnight oil for Sam, guess I can’t stop him.

Maybe Wilbur will keep Jack busy fishing every afternoon. I want the guy to feel like he got a vacation. Jack really is unstoppable, isn’t he? Hopefully Sam will give him a raise after this. At a minimum, even if I don’t talk Jack into improving his wardrobe, it looks like he could use the money to upgrade his car, which is only infinitesimally nicer than mine. And that’s saying something.