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“Hey, man. I didn’t earn any of this. I inherited the Renegades from my former coach who passed away last year. This plane is just part of the package. And there are three other guys who have a stake in it, too. Right now, they’re silent partners, but one day, I hope they’ll decide to do this with me.”
“What could they possibly be doing that they wouldn’t want to own a hockey team and live like this?”
“Well, one’s coaching the team, and the other’s our newest forward.” Anxiety gripped his chest—he had to get Ross—but then, he forced himself to let it go.I’m working on it. “But I’m sure when they retire, they’ll step in.”
And maybe then, he’d be able to let go of the guilt. It would mean they’d all moved on and that they were in good places.
That his friends forgave him.
“Anyhow, what were you saving all that money for?” he asked. “What was the objective?”
“When I was ten, the goal was to open my own bakery. That was why I ran the lemonade stand.”
“Are you talking about franchising Renzo’s? Opening one in New York?”
“No.” She flashed him a bittersweet smile. “I was just a kid wanting to do things differently. When we were little, my brothers and I would make sand pies. Of course, they would throw them at each other, but for me, it was about decorating them with flowers and seashells. It was art. And I got this idea in my head that I could do that, make pretty pastries for the family bakery. But my parents were like, ‘Hun, nobody around here wants fancy stuff. That’s not our clientele.’”
A picture was forming, and it sucked. Here was this bright, sunshiny woman, who had to dim her light to be part of the family business.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Renzo’s. I love our history. But it’s veered away from the original concept.”
“Which was?”
“You don’t know the story?”
“Just that you deliver turnovers to the people docked in the harbor.”
“Oh, it’s so much more than that. You want to hear it?”
“We’ve got two more hours till we land.” He shifted back in his seat, stretching out his legs. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d enjoyed a woman’s company like this. “Give it to me.”
“Okay, so, it all began eighty years ago when my great-great-grandfather came to America.”
Jaime loved the pride shining in her eyes. He felt the same way about the history of the Dupree Ranch.
“In Naples, he was a bread baker, so when he moved to New York City, he got a job in a hotel restaurant. Well, he fell madly in love with one of the guests and followed her to Duff Island. He wound up opening a bakery to sell his bread, but once they started having kids, he needed to earn more money. He added croissants and turnovers, but it still wasn’t growing the way he needed it to so, to get the word out, he started taking his products down to the harbor. And to get everyone’s attention, he’d sing.”
“What kind of songs?” he asked.
“Italian opera.” Her features were suffused with happiness. “But his customers were out there on the water, so he figured he’d better get himself a boat and go tothem. And it became a hit. People would dock in South Harbor just to hear the singing baker shout, ‘Mangiamo!’”
“Hey, no one woke me up with opera when I visited.”
“That’s because no one in our family’s done it since Lorenzo passed away in the nineteen-fifties. We still take the boat out and sell pastries and sandwiches, but no one sings anymore.”
“You obviously do.”
“Oh, I don’t deliver. I’m in the kitchen baking.”
“That’s a shame.”
“What is?”
“You should be out there singing and showing the world your smile.”
“Oh, stop.” But her eyes held wonder, as if she wasn’t convinced of his sincerity.
Trust me. I mean it.
