“Is there a catch?” I ask shrewdly.
“Well now, you got me,” Walt confesses with a sheepish grin. “I guess I’ve got one condition…no, make that two conditions, before I’ll loan you the money to get you back on your feet.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting. “Keep talking.”
“You gotta keep selling your daddy’s fudge. Even if it’s just a shelf or two and a few flavors. That’s my condition. Fudge sells well, and the price point brings in a wider group of folks than people who shop for fancy chocolates. It’s good business. This way, there’s something for everyone in this shop. And it honors your mama and daddy and carries on the spirit of their shop.”
I consider the idea. He has a good point. Artisan chocolates are a whole lot more expensive than fudge. It’s not a bad idea to offer a product at a lower price point, and fudge is a popular item. Plus, Walt is right, it feels like a good way to honor and remember my dad, selling the fudge I make from his original recipe, carrying on the tradition and business he spent his life building. I think about making a few batches of fudge a week and find the idea oddly appealing.
“Okay.” I nod. “Agreed. We’ll keep selling fudge, but just afew flavors. One shelf of fudge.” As soon as I say them, the words just feel right. I guess there is still fudge in my future after all. “What’s the second condition?”
“I guess you might call it my interest rate on the loan,” Walt says with a mischievous grin.
I narrow my eyes at him. “And what would that be?”
“A pound of fudge a week. Of the flavor of my choice.”
“You’re going to develop diabetes if you eat a pound of fudge a week for ten years,” I tell him sternly, though inside I’m feeling a flutter of excitement at the possibilities this unexpected new offer opens up. We can upgrade the shop to the county’s specifications, and I can afford those beautiful but pricey glass-and-wood display cases we ordered and the quality equipment I need to do my best work. It feels like a miracle.
“You let me worry about my own pancreas,” Walt grumbles. “A man has to have some vices left or his life becomes too virtuous to be any fun.”
I grin at the old codger. “I don’t think you’re in any danger of that,” I tell him. Then I stick out my hand. “Walt, I believe we have a deal.”
* * *
“Jakob!” Gus squealsand runs in the front door of the shop straight toward the tall figure standing in the middle of the room. After picking Gus up from school, we stopped to collect Mom, who is meeting us here after her book club in the back of Dot’s store. She’s developing quite the social life all of a sudden. It warms my heart to see her so happy.
As a bonus for picking up Mom, I get to admire the new light fixtures, which are finally all installed.
“Hey, man!” Jakob chuckles as Gus wraps his entire little body around Jakob’s leg and holds on tight. “How’s the universe treating you?”
Gus peers up at Jakob with a serious expression. “I think I’m going to stick to doing stuff on earth for now,” he says confidentially. “There’s always time for space later, but right now I think you might need my help. Do you?”
Jakob lifts his head, meeting my eyes over Gus’s tousled hair. “Always, little man,” he says. For a moment he doesn’t look away.
I move closer to them, trying to play it cool, although my heart is melting seeing my son so happy and excited. He feels he has a purpose, and I sense his newfound confidence. “Thanks for the Danish,” I say quietly to Jakob when Gus goes to grab a screwdriver.
“No problem,” Jakob says, brushing off the gratitude, but I see his eyes slide toward me as Walt comes in the front door talking to Mom. Is Walt in the book club now too? It wouldn’t surprise me. Mr. Butters is trotting along behind them sporting a snazzy zebra-striped collar but nothing else.
“So then they find her body in a septic tank, but the crazy thing is…no footprints…so the question is, who did it?” Walt is saying.
“Ahem.” I tilt my head significantly toward Gus, and Walt gets the hint and stops midsentence. Mom sees Gus and goes in for a hug, asking him about his day as he scratches Mr. Butters under the chin and tells her about playing Home Depot at recess.
“What do you think of how it’s turned out?” Jakob asks, gesturing around the shop. I look around carefully. The space has been transformed. It’s light, bright, airy, and appealing. Other than the display cases, which should arrive soon, it looks exactly like my vision.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him sincerely.
He looks satisfied.
“Did Walt tell you about his loan offer to me?” I ask.
Jakob nods. “See, soft-boiled at his center,” he murmurs, so low I have to lean closer to hear. I inhale him. The yeast of bread dough and a little sawdust. It’s magic.
“Something…unexpected happened this week,” Jakob says, keeping his eyes trained on me while he coils an extension cord. I try to ignore how the coiling makes his biceps flex. “Walt asked me to help him with another project across town when we’re done with this one, a pretty big renovation project on a building he owns. He wants me to work as many hours as I can. When I mentioned it to my mom, she suggested we think about hiring another baker at least part-time so I could do more with Walt.” He’s looking at me steadily. “She said she talked to you and that you gave her the idea.”
“I didn’t tell her what to do,” I hasten to clarify. “I just told her she should ask you if you’re happy at the bakery.” I shift guiltily, hoping he’s not annoyed I meddled.
He is still looking at me like he’s trying to decipher a code. “Thank you,” he says finally. “We talked, finally. I thought they might feel abandoned, but it turns out one of my cousins really loves baking. She’s coming by the shop next week for a trial run to see if she might be a good fit. If she works out, it will free me up to do a lot more of this.” He nods toward his toolbox.
