Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 14

Sadie

Just minutes ago, I thought my business was ruined, but Jack saw a way to save the day! When the oven broke, I was devastated and not thinking straight. All I needed was encouragement and a little push to ask for help.

I called Francine and she didn’t even hesitate when I asked to borrow the bistro’s oven. Next, I sent a quick text to Sam and my brother readily agreed to loan me the money (he offered to give me the money, but I’m determined to pay him back). Thank goodness Sam sent Jack my way, otherwise I’d be sitting here crying rather than mixing muffin batter.

“I think we’ll just make muffins for tomorrow, even though it’s scone day,” I say. “We can offer a few more varieties. The pumpkin ones were very popular. How about we make blueberry, pumpkin, and chocolate chip?”

Jack laughs. “Your regulars are going to be disappointed about the scones. Especially Wilbur.”

I shrug; I’m over trying to please everyone all the time. The regulars should be thankful the café is even staying open. Snapping my fingers, I say, “Let’s offer a special price if someone purchases two muffins. Two for the price of one, or something like that. The regulars feed off getting a bargain.” I smirk at my own pun.

Squeezing my shoulder, Jack grins and says, “Excellent suggestion!” His face morphs to a more serious expression. “I should run the pricing through my spreadsheet to make sure you’ll be making a profit. ”

I roll my eyes. Jack the businessman just can’t help himself. “What if we offered two deals. Two for the price of one. Or three for the price of, say, two point five? Build some additional profit in that way.”

He drops his mixing spoon like it singed his fingers, then jogs over to his laptop sitting on the end of the counter. “I’ll run the numbers!” He bends over to counter height, fingers flying over the keys as he concentrates on the screen. The guy is so smart, why hasn’t Sam seen this potential sooner? It’s a waste of Jack’s skills to have him scheduling meetings and purchasing office supplies.

While I continue to stir the blueberry muffin batter, Jack does his profit calculations. “How much do chocolate chips cost?” he asks after a few seconds. I provide an approximate price, he nods, and continues to focus on the screen. After a few moments, Jack scribbles down something on a stickie and snaps his laptop shut.

“Here,” he says, handing me the slip of paper. “These deals will make a profit. By enticing the customer to purchase more muffins, you’ll turn a profit after you sell this many.” He points to the numbers.

“We can sell that many in the first hour!” I say excitedly.

Jack grins at me, looking so handsome and suave like his Tom Clancy namesake, my heart summersaults in my chest.

Tall . . . check.

Dark . . . check.

Handsome . . . check.

This real-life Jack Ryan has captured my heart. When am I going to get up the nerve to tell him?

After mixing up the blueberry muffin batter, we load everything into Jack’s car and head to the bistro.

“We need to stop by the café and grab the rest of the ingredients we need for the pumpkin muffins, plus enough muffin tins to bake these in,” I remind him as he speeds down the road. I’m sure he’s breaking the speed limit, but the Pinecone Pines police force is usually playing poker at the station rather than patrolling the roads this time of night.

“How about the chocolate chip muffins? Are you still planning on making those?” Jack asks, his eyes on the road.

“Right! I’ll make sure to grab the chips,” I say. While Jack had brought enough ingredients to make a batch or two of blueberry muffins at the cabin, he wasn’t expecting to have to make café-sized orders there. The café’s pantry is stocked with everything we need, including the chocolate chips.

The car tires squeal as Jack pulls into the back lot and we both hop out. I pull my keys from my pocket as we jog to the back door. Something catches my attention and I skid to a stop.

“Someone is hiding behind the dumpster,” I whisper to Jack.

He squints, then runs towards the bulky receptacle and yells, “Come out with your hands up!”

If I wasn’t scared for Jack’s life and mine, I’d laugh at how much he sounds like a cop on TV.

Seconds later, three people emerge that I recognize immediately. The woman has her hands up, while the kids hover behind her.

“Jack! It’s okay. That’s Judith, Michael, and Ella.”

He glances uncertainly between me and the trio as I come down the steps to meet them.

“Judith, why are you hiding behind the dumpster?” I ask.

She scuffs the toe of her worn-out sneaker on the asphalt, refusing to make eye contact. A pang of sadness hits me square in my heart. They look like such a ragtag group. The kids are both wearing what are obviously secondhand coats, which don’t fit either of their small frames. Judith has a blanket pulled around her skinny shoulders but nothing else to ward off the cold.

Jack throws me a concerned look, then nods towards the back door. Motioning towards the bakery, I say, “Come on inside.” My concern for the little family quickly overrides all worries about my broken oven and baking muffins.

The mom and two kids trail behind me without saying a word. I unlock the door and turn on the lights. “How about a bedtime snack?” I suggest trying to break the awkwardness filling the room.

“I’m hungry,” Michael says, his mom promptly trying to shush him.

“We’re fine, Sadie,” Judith says in a rusty voice.

“You know, I’ve got some leftover oatmeal raisin cookies. How about a couple cookies and some milk?” I ask but don’t wait for an answer as I scurry around the kitchen preparing a quick snack.

Jack retrieves the muffin tins and ingredients we need, his actions reminding me of our original mission. How wonderful it is to work as a team.

After my visitors are munching on the cookies, I say, “How about you spend the night in the break room? I’m sorry it’s so cramped—”

“That would be a godsend,” Judith says, cutting off my apology. Her lips tremble and she looks at me with watery eyes. “We got evicted from our apartment and I didn’t know where else to go,” she says quietly. Tears start streaming down her face, and a stab of emotion hits me square in the heart. How could someone evict a family that’s down on their luck?

I walk over and kneel in front of her. “Judith, I wish you would have told me sooner. I’d be happy to help you find somewhere else to stay. But we’ll fix that tomorrow. Tonight, you camp out in the break room!” I say crisply, trying to make it sound like an adventure.

I’d give her my upstairs apartment except that it’s torn apart, plumbing pieces strewn everywhere (my plumber isn’t exactly tidy), and there’s no running water. Plus, my ancient twin size bed is barely big enough for me.

She nods meekly, obviously not having any other choice. “Thank you,” she whispers .

“I’ve got a blanket and a sleeping bag in the trunk,” Jack says as he heads out the door. Of course he does! Jack is always prepared.

Within minutes, Jack and I have the sweet family settled into the break room. We shove the little table into the corner, making space on the floor for their sleeping pallets. I turn up the heat, and it starts to feel warm and cozy despite the spartan furnishings.

“Jack and I need to head out. We’re baking muffins at the bistro,” I explain.

Judith tilts her head, giving me a puzzled look. “Why aren’t you baking them here?”

“That’s a story for another time,” I say with a shrug. “Jack and I’ll be here around six tomorrow to open. Until then, sweet dreams.”

The kids grin and wave, accepting the situation as a fun adventure. Michael looks positively giddy at getting to sleep in the sleeping bag.

On the way to his vehicle, Jack puts his arm around my shoulder and tugs me into his side. “You’re so special,” he says.

My heart flips. Does he realize how special he is?

“I hope I can find them somewhere warm and safe to stay. Without a proper bathroom, they can’t stay in the break room indefinitely,” I mumble into his substantial chest.

Wow! Those cardigans really hide his muscles.

Concentrating back on my visitors and not Jack’s muscles, I add, “The employee restroom has a tiny sink and a toilet, certainly not optimum for long-term overnight guests.”

He squeezes me tighter. “We’ll find proper lodging for them tomorrow. But tonight, we bake!”

His words spur my feet into action as we continue towards his car. “Let’s go!” I say with a laugh.