Allan glanced at Ben and didn’t miss the pleased smile on his brother’s face before he once again schooled his lips into his normal stony expression. “I’m not nearly as good as Charles. And definitely not as good as you.”
She blushed, an endearing trait Allan loved about her. “It’s not hard to learn. There’s some crazy complex stuff out there with sugar sculptures and things like that, but I stick to what I’m good at.”
“Did I hear Grover say something about Halloween cookies?”
Allan asked.
“Yeah.” She brightened. “Hey, that’s an idea. If you guys don’t mind?” she added.
“What?” Allan asked.
“Well, I’m doing a few hundred cookies for the trick-or-treaters.
Baking and bagging them is easy. It’s the decorating that’s a pain. It’s just four designs, a ghost, a pumpkin, a black cat, and a tombstone. If 96 Tymber Dalton
you guys wanted to help frost the cookies, that would be a huge help.
It’s easy, just time consuming.”
Allan jumped to volunteer both of them. “We’d be happy to help you out. Wouldn’t we, Ken?”
“Sure,” he said, sending Allan a look. “Be happy to.”
Later, once they were back in their apartment, Ben turned on him.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?”
“Volunteering me to help?”
“Why? Don’t you want to help?”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is your point?”
Ben struggled for a reply and finally waved him off before heading for his room. “Never mind.” He didn’t like how he felt around Libbie, how his heart raced to see her, how the sound of her laughter made his body feel a little lighter.
How her smile brightened his soul.
They were dangerous things to feel because he didn’t want to fall for her. He knew it would be way too easy to fall for her.
And the last thing he wanted to do was bring any additional misery to her life when she already had so much to deal with on her plate.
“No,” Allan said, following him to the doorway of his room. “You have something on your mind, say it.”
“I said never mind.”
“There’s nothing wrong with helping her out.”
“I didn’t say there was.”
“Then why are your panties in a twist?”
He took a deep breath and turned to face Allan. “I don’t want to lead her on. I don’t want her to come to rely on us so much that it It’s a Sweet Life 97
hurts her when we leave.”
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Allan eventually shrugged. “Fair enough,” he softly said before going to his own room and shutting the door behind him.
Ben collapsed on his bed. He didn’t want to admit what he knew he already felt. That I’m worried it’s going to hurt me a hell of a lot more when we leave than it will hurt Libbie.
98 Tymber
Dalton
Chapter Ten
Four days before Halloween, while Libbie struggled with the pain, fatigue, and fibro fog accompanying another cool front that had gripped the region, Mandaline came into the shop for her daily order.
“So, it’s almost the big day. What are you dressing up as for the trick-or-treaters?” she asked Libbie.
Libbie let out a little snort. “A baker.”
Mandaline’s eyes widened. “What?” She emphatically shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. You have to do something different.”
“It is different. I’m willing to bet I’m the only person dressed up as a baker.”
Mandaline rounded the counter and stuck her head through the door. “Grover, do you mind if I borrow Libbie for a few?”
“Naw, take her. We’ve been trying to get her to rest today and she won’t sit down for a minute.”
Mandaline grabbed her wrist and led her from behind the counter.
She handed the check to Jenny. “Here, you take this, I’ll take her.”
“Mandaline, what are you doing?” Libbie protested. “I need to work.”
As one, Grover, Ruth, Jenny, and Charles all yelled, “Go!”
Mandaline’s triumphant grin lit the store. “There. You’ve been given your marching orders.” She released her friend, grabbed her boxes, and said, “Come on. Follow me. This won’t take long.”
After throwing a glare back at her traitorous staff, Libbie followed her out the door and across the street. Glad for the sweater she’d pulled on earlier, she pulled the front closed and crossed her arms in front of her. According to the weather reports it was supposed to It’s a Sweet Life 99
warm up for Halloween, something she felt thankful for.
In Florida, weather this time of year could fluctuate wildly. It could be humid and in the nineties one day, and a cold front could drop the temps into the low thirties the next. The fluctuation in the barometric pressure, temperature, and humidity played an evil role in her pain levels. And she had no control over the weather.
“Where are we going? And what do you have up your sleeve?”
Mandaline didn’t look back. “We’re going to dress you up for Halloween and I won’t take no for an answer. You’re about my size. I have a whole storage tub full of costumes.”
When Mandaline inherited Many Blessings, the business as well as the building, she’d moved from her run-down rented mobile home into the apartment over the shop, where Julie had lived. Libbie had donated pastries and desserts for the wake for Julie, whom she’d considered a good friend. Julie had even been the one to suggest the name of her bakery. Since Julie’s death, Libbie had been over to Mandaline’s a few times for both dinners and after-hours social gatherings.
Other than occasional dinners with Grover and Jenny, it was the sum of her social life, before Charles and Ken moved in.
Sachi, Mandaline’s friend and employee, was working behind the counter when they entered the shop. Mandaline set the boxes on the counter. “We’ll be right back.”
“What’s up?”
Mandaline hooked a thumb Libbie’s way. “Can you believe she wasn’t going to dress up for the Halloween thing?”
“Hey,” Libbie grumbled. “I was going to be a baker.”
Sachi let out a laugh. “Just go with it, hon. You know darn well that when Mandaline sets her mind on something, there’s no changing it. Don’t worry, she’ll do right by you.”
Mandaline led Libbie through the back and to a narrow set of stairs leading to her apartment. The funky, welcoming décor ranged from an antique secretary cabinet to a ’50s mod chair, a ’70s couch, 100 Tymber Dalton
an Ikea television and bookshelf unit, and a shaggy green ’80s area rug. Her small kitchen table was a linoleum and aluminum throwback to the early ’60s, with four mismatched chairs from at least four different decades. Most of the furniture had belonged to Julie.
Mandaline had once confided to Libbie that she didn’t have the heart to change it yet, if ever. Except for the secretary cabinet, the rest of her furniture had been secondhand or crappy discount pressboard stuff she’d sold or donated when she moved in.
They continued to the bedroom, where in one corner she had large blue plastic storage tubs stacked nearly to the ceiling.
“Excuse the mess,” she said. “All three of us are crammed in here while they finish the house renovation. I’ll miss the twenty-foot commute in the mornings, but I’ll be glad to have a whole house to ramble around in with the guys.”
After consulting with the handwritten duct tape labels, she went for the second from the top without collapsing the entire stack. “Here we go.”