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After all, there was no point in getting mad. It was his own fault he hadn’t spent more time fine-tuning Sparky’s engine before setting out on this latest adventure. He’d been in too much of a hurry to get out of town and get going. He’d told Maureen McCormick, who’d become a mother figure to him, that it was because he was excited to get on the road, but it hadn’t been the whole story.
The truth was, Cedar Springs, the town he was once so sure he’d make his forever home in when he’d arrived there only a few short years ago, no longer felt that way. It wasn’t something he could pinpoint exactly. He still loved the people there, and he’d made a lot of good friends, including the McCormick family. It wasn’t even uncomfortable anymore to be around Chelsea McCormick, the youngest of the family, and the woman he’d been briefly, although intensely, in love with for a bit. She’d made her choice, and it wasn’t him. At the time it had stung, but Scott was long over it, especially when he saw Chelsea and Lucas together. They were a perfect fit.
Besides his love life, things were going great for Scott. He owned a successful sandwich shop that had branched out into catering, and business was thriving. There was no logical reason for Scott to dump a bunch of money into an old rusty bus, hire a general manager for his shop, and hit the road. But logic didn’t have anything to do with it, as far as Scott was concerned. Deep down in his gut, it felt like something he just had to do.
Although, now that he’d broken down only a few hours after setting off, he may have to reconsider listening to his gut.
“Well,” he said to himself as he unbuckled his seat belt, pulled the keys from the ignition, and jumped out onto the street. “Might as well see what we’re dealing with.”
Scott yanked on the hood and pulled it open, only to be hit in the face with a cloud of steam and smoke. “Shit.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” a voice next to him said. “I’d say you’re dealing with more of a ‘holy shit’ or even stronger, situation.”
Scott turned to see a man about his age next to him, his arms crossed over his chest, examining the smoking engine along with him.
“Brody.” The man extended his hand. “And you are—”
“Screwed,” Scott responded with a chuckle. “Scott Harding.” They shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Scott,” Brody said. “Sorry about your truck but it’s nothing that Jace can’t fix. He owns the shop in town. He can handle pretty much everything. I’ll get you his number.”
The tension in his shoulders released a little. “Thanks,” Scott said. “I’d really appreciate that.” For the first time, he glanced around. It was the third weekend in September and all of the little towns in the mountains, including Glacier Falls, had started to slow down in between tourist seasons, but there was still a fair amount of people milling around.
“A food truck, is it?” Brody walked around to the side of the truck. “Meat pies?”
Scott nodded with a grin. “I own a sandwich shop in Cedar Springs, but recently I’ve branched out in handheld meat pies. Mostly beef and turkey, but I’m willing to try new things. Anyway, they were a hit, and it seemed like a good time to go on a little road trip.”
He didn’t know why he was telling this stranger so many details, but he seemed like a good guy, and it never hurt to have a friend.
“They sound great,” Brody said. “I’m actually the owner and head chef of Birchwood.” He waved down the street. “Besides the pub, we don’t have anything like this in town,” he continued. “And it looks like you’ll be staying, at least for a little bit. I’ll be sure to spread the word about…” He took in the name of the truck again. “Scotty’s Pies,” he read aloud. “Should I call you Scotty?”
“Scott will do, thanks.”
“I like the sparkles.” Brody chuckled. “Interesting touch.”
It was an interesting touch. One he’d added as a whim. The little stars orsparkleshe’d randomly painted around the lettering were subtle, but he knew the meaning and every time he looked at the food truck, he thought of that special day—and her. Not that he needed the truck to remind him.
It was a day he’d replayed many times in his head. And if he allowed himself to be honest about it, that woman and her nickname for him may have played a bigger role in his recent restlessness. It also wasn’t a complete coincidence that Scott had set the town of Glacier Falls as a stop on his little road trip.
“Hey,” he said to Brody as he pulled up the number for the repair man on his phone. “I know this is probably a long shot, but do you happen to know a Georgia? She runs the bakery in town and—”
“Sweetie Pies.” Brody grinned. “I know Georgia.” He gestured with his head for Scott to follow him to the back of the truck, where he pointed to the shop in front of him. “Looks like the two of you have cornered the market on pies.” Brody laughed, but Scott froze.
He’d broken down in front of her store?It was beyond a coincidence. It was a sign.
It had to be.
* * *
GEORGIA
Georgia Murphy knew she shouldn’t have disappeared into the small office at the back of the bakery. Not when she’d just put a fresh batch of their famous honey buns in the oven. Again. She’d forgotten about the first batch, and they were now in the trash bin…exactly where the charred nuggets belonged.
But the second batch—theywould be perfect. Or as perfect as Georgia could manage. If the last six months of running her grandmother’s bakery, Sweetie Pies, alone had taught her anything, it was that her talents in the kitchen didn’t come anywhere near those of Grammie.
Still, she shouldn’t have succumbed to the call of the paperwork and the supply order that she was already late in making. Sheshouldhave waited in the kitchen. The buns were too important.
But unlike the first time, she’d set a timer on her phone, determined to master the art of multi-tasking so she could get into bed before midnight at least once this week.
