I'd gone on four dates with. He and I weren't super close yet, but he was definitely a white picket fence kinda guy.
She eyed the empty trays and scattered crumbs. She turned to me with a frown. "I was driving by and noticed the mob. What's going on?"
"I'm not exactly sure. Some e-mail went out about free samples. Do you know who sent it?" I asked, even though I couldn't have imagined it had come from any of us. The bakery employed three full-time people—me, Joe, and Mrs. Hendrickson—and two part-time ones, Amber and another girl who helped out on the busier nights. The only ones who would've felt they had a right to send out that e-mail was Grams or me.
Mrs. Hendrickson shook her head and widened her eyes. "No. Why would we give out free samples? Cinnamon Sugar Bakery has been here for twenty years."
I shrugged. "I don't know. I thought the same."
Now that I thought about it, it hadn't even looked like an official e-mail a business would send out. Our name and brown, pink, and ivory striped header weren't on the e-mail.
"Do you need some help?" Mrs. Hendrickson asked.
I glanced to the mess and then to Amber.
"I'd stick around," my cousin said, "but I already ditched one class to show you the e-mail."
"Go get good grades, and I'll see you later." I kissed her cheek and watched her walk out. Then I turned to Mrs. Hendrickson. "Thanks, I'd love some help."
We grabbed the empty trays and returned them to the kitchen. Then we gathered a couple of dishrags and the broom and dustpan and went back out front. As I wiped down a table, I thought of Nathan Dearborn and his odd question.
Where do you want to do this?
My initial reaction had been that it sounded sexual, but maybe that was just my slightly perverted mind. I mean, I did grow up around an ex-Playboy bunny. I giggled at my joke. Grams may have loved to show off her assets with low-cut tops, but she was far from perverted. And she still had great assets.
"Is something funny?" Mrs. Hendrickson asked. She was sweeping crumbs from beneath a table.
"No, just the weirdness of the day. Nathan Dearborn showed up."
Her brows rose. "He came here? He hasn't left his house in years." She sounded as stunned as the crowd had appeared.
"Do you know him?" I asked.
A smile lifted the creased corners of her mouth. "I did. I can't say I still do. He was a part of the community theater years ago. Every spring the town would put on a production—everything from A Streetcar Named Desire to A Chorus Line . It didn't matter if it was a musical or not."
Jared sprung to mind. One year he had a small, nonspeaking role in the town's version of Bye Bye Birdie . "I remember that. It was a long time ago. They stopped putting on performances around the time I graduated high school, right?"
"Yes. We had some great shows."
I chuckled, not expecting to hear that. I couldn't imagine Mrs. Hendrickson wearing a costume and prancing around the stage, but the more I thought of it, the more sense it made. She was a Scorpio, and Scorpio personalities were magnetic, and sometimes even hypnotic. "You were a part of it?"
She giggled, and color crept up her neck. "I didn't act or sing. Oh dear no. I know my limitations. I was a part of the backstage work. The scenery and costumes. I helped where I could, but my favorite part was the costumes."
I had no clue. Despite knowing her all my life, we weren't close. She wasn't as warm and fuzzy as Grams. I bent down to scrape up a mashed chocolate chip off the floor. "And Nathan Dearborn helped with scenery too?"
"Oh no, he was the director."
I looked up, not expecting that answer. "Seriously?"
She stared out the front windows and smiled softly. "He was remarkable." Then she glanced to me. "He was an up-and-coming movie star in Hollywood for several years."
"What? No way." Not the man with the gut and the bed hair. I stood up and sat in the chair across from her.
She nodded. "Absolutely. He went by a stage name. Lee Stevens. He had roles in several