the next page in the diary. “What’s
this?”
Andi’s small, neat, typewriter-like handwriting read:
Tall, blond, foreign accent, nature lover (obvious because he gardens), rides cool
motorcycle (implies adventure), perfect for Kim.
Rachel’s signature bold block lettering added:
Three months, three girls . . . think she’ll get engaged, too?
Kim looked at the smiles on Andi’s and Rachel’s faces and sputtered, “Nathaniel and
I haven’t even had a first date.”
“But he did ask you to go on one, didn’t he?” Rachel prodded.
“We’re entering the Troll Run on Saturday,” she admitted. “I had to say yes. He helped
save my paintings.”
Rachel gave her a teasing grin. “Of course.”
Andi pulled a yellow bucket and a mop out of the corner closet. “By Saturday Creative
Cupcakes should be bouncing back toward success. But right now, we have a lot of cleaning
up to do.”
Kim stared at the new employees, who had cost them twice their salary, lined up behind
her sister, waiting for instruction. “Aren’t you going to fire them? For setting the
fire?”
“It wasn’t me who left the cupcakes in the oven too long,” Meredith protested.
“It wasn’t me either,” Eric said. “I was just the one who found them.”
“Today was their first day,” Andi told her. “We should have been watching them closer.
Now, let’s dish out some clean-up assignments. Eric, you take the mop.”
“Wait,” Eric said, glancing around at the others. “We get paid overtime for this,
right?”
F INALLY FINISHED AT the end of the day, Kim went with Andi and Rachel to visit with Rachel’s grandfather
and take him the Father’s Day cupcake he never had a chance to share with them.
“Grandpa Lewy’s girlfriend, Bernice, will also be there,” Rachel told them. “And she’s rich .”
“Would she finance a loan or buy the building so we can keep Creative Cupcakes?” Kim
asked.
Rachel smiled. “It’s worth a try.”
“Oh, I hope she says yes,” Andi said, crossing her fingers. “Jake put everything he
could into the shop to get it started and has no more. Another investor would be a
great idea.”
The assisted living senior center that Rachel’s grandfather had moved into a few weeks
earlier resided around the block, between the new community park and Sjölander’s Garden
Nursery, close enough to walk. The receptionist at the front desk had them sign in,
then directed them to the elevator, which they took up to his quarters.
Rachel knocked on the door, and when Grandpa Lewy let them in, they found Bernice
hadn’t arrived yet.
“Mom had to work today,” Rachel told him. “She says she’ll bring you to the house
tomorrow for a home-cooked meal.”
Kim watched the white-haired man sit back in his recliner, a dazed look upon his face.
Some moments he was sharper than the fine point of her paintbrush, but other moments
. . . nothing. After he’d reunited with Bernice last month after more than fifty years
apart, much of his memory had returned, making the doctors think perhaps part of his
problem was depression.
He wasn’t as forgetful as he had been. The experimental treatment Bernice was paying
for seemed to be working. For a while anyway. Kim knew Rachel dreaded seeing him get
to the point where he didn’t respond to them anymore.
“Nice place,” Andi commented, sitting on the couch opposite him.
Grandpa Lewy grunted. “I don’t like it here.”
“It’s only for a while until you get better, Grandpa,” Rachel told him. “Mom can’t
take care of you when she has to work, and there are nurses on staff here in case—”
“Babysitters,” he amended.
Kim picked up a flyer from the coffee table and read the schedule. “The center offers
a lot of fun activities.”
“Feels like prison.”
Rachel smirked. “You’ve never been to prison. And you aren’t confined here. You are
free to come and go as you please.