Jakob shrugs. “I got done early, and my mom is handling the register. Figured I’d make sure everything was prepped for the big day.” He wraps the cord around the vacuum cleaner. I’m touched that Jakob came in early just to make sure the shop was cleaned up. It’s a considerate gesture.
“You ready for today?” Jakob asks.
“No, I’m totally panicking,” I admit. “This is such an amazing opportunity, but I feel unprepared. You know what it reminds me of? A debate tournament. This feels like a debate tournament all over again, but the stakes are higher.” I sneak a glance at Jakob. If anyone understands that feeling, it’s him. We used to be nervous together.
He stops and looks at me questioningly. “How so?”
“Oh, I guess it just feels like I have to perform at a high level, you know—like I can’t slip up or make a mistake. There’s a lot riding on this opportunity, and I don’t want to blow it. And as you may remember, pressure always makes me nervous.” I laugh uncomfortably and smooth the skirt of my spring-green-and-white-checked gingham dress. It’s a Hill House knockoff I got at Target for twenty dollars. I love it. It makes me feel pretty and feminine, which are not things I think about enough anymore. Faced with motherhood and managing a small business, my wardrobe has crept slowly into a sort of functional, utilitarian style that, when I think about it much, makes me feel about as sexy as a pair of khaki pants. I used to have a sleek capsule wardrobe, Parisian cool with blazers and trench coats and loafers and cigarette pants. That was another life—pre-baby, pre-return to my small Pacific Northwest town. I left all that behind long ago. I smooth my hair, which I curled with a flat iron this morning. I think I look cute, but I still feel nervous to be on camera.
Jakob scrutinizes me, seeing my discomfort. “You look good,” he says gruffly. “You’ll do great. And feeling anxious isn’t a bad thing. We think it is, but we’ve got it all wrong.” He stashes the vacuum away in the torn-up bathroom where it can’t be seen on camera. “It just means your body’s sympathetic nervous system is releasing adrenaline to meet a challenge. It’s a good thing, actually. It means your body’s giving you what you need to fight a bearor run for your life—or in this case be interviewed about candy by a Brit in a cardigan.” His mouth twists ironically.
“It’s a swazer,” I tell him, sticking my tongue out at his sarcastic last remark.
“That’s not a real clothing item worn by men,” Jakob counters with a half smirk. I get the feeling he’s not the biggest fan of Henry.
“I’ve never been on a TV show before,” I admit.
“It’s no big deal,” Jakob says. “Just relax and you’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?” I challenge with a touch of amusement. “Besides being a baker, a Marine, and a plumber, are you also secretly a movie star?”
“I’ve been a lot of things,” he says calmly as he packs up his toolbox. “I did a little modeling for a while for a few companies that made outerwear. I went on some photo shoots in Alaska, Canada, and Iceland. Basically I learned to fake confidence. If you look confident, you can pull off just about anything.”
So that’s his secret? Is he just going around faking confidence all the time? Somehow I don’t think he’s faking. I think he really is comfortable in his skin. “Sounds like you’ve lived quite the life since our high school days,” I observe, sipping my latte. “Alaska, Canada, Iceland. Makes mine look boring by comparison.”
He casts a wry look in my direction. “From what I’ve heard, you didn’t do too badly yourself. You studied in Europe, right? Just like you always planned.”
I clear my throat. “I studied in Switzerland and then I interned in Paris.” I cock my head, curious. “How do you know that?”
He chuckles dryly. “You remember my grandma Grethe? She wrote me letters every week I was away.” He stops and surveys the store critically. It looks tidy, no trace of the damage except forthe carpet, which is still damp and squishy, but there’s nothing we can do about that. “That woman loves a good, juicy piece of gossip. She spent pages of each letter keeping me updated about everyone in town.” He cracks a small smile. “I probably know more than anyone suspects. Who had bunion surgery, who had an affair, which city council member was caught cooking the books.”
“Wow.” I laugh. “That’s…a lot of information.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t mind it. It made me feel close to home when I was so far away.”
I study him for a moment, trying to imagine what his life has been like since high school graduation, the day I wrecked our friendship, the day I’ll regret for the rest of my life. By the next morning, he was gone. He enlisted with the Marines and never came back. Until now.
“And now here you are, home again,” I say, and there’s a question in my words.
He glances away and rubs the back of his neck. “Here I am,” he says, and there’s an edge to his reply. I can’t read his tone. Is he happy? Disappointed?
“Home for good?” I ask lightly.
“For now. Probably for good. My dad is getting older. He wants me to take over the bakery. That was always the plan.” He sounds so resigned.
“Is that what you want?”
He thinks about it. “I’ve seen the world, and now it’s time to come home. This town, these people. I can’t imagine settling down anywhere else. But being a baker for the rest of my life? That, I’m not so keen on. I like working with Walt way more. I’m happier swinging a hammer than making kringles. But I’m kind of stuck in the family business now.” He blows out a breath andthen glances at me. I get the feeling he’s not used to sharing this with anyone. “What about you? Are you happy to be back here?”
I nibble the lip of my paper coffee cup. “I never thought I’d come back,” I admit. “I loved Europe. Right before I came home I was offered a permanent position with the chocolatier I was apprenticing with. It was a life I thought I wanted, my dream to stay in Paris.”
“And then your dad got sick?” He leans back against the counter where the register is and crosses his legs, once more in command and at ease in the world. “Grandma Grethe’s letters,” he adds. “She told me you’d come home and had a kid. And then she told me about your dad’s cancer. I’m sorry.”
I look down at my cup and nod. “It was long and slow and brutal, but he fought hard to stay with us as long as he could.” I feel my throat tighten with sorrow. “I still miss him every day.”
Chapter 15
“Your dad was a good man,” Jakob says gently. I nod, closing my eyes against the familiar feeling of loss.
