Stephanie Stephens. He couldn’t believe she was still in Everville. She hadn’t changed a bit, outwardly—she still had that perfect brass-blond hair that she kept tied in a high ponytail and that fantastic cheerleader’s figure with curves and muscles in all the right places.
He shook himself. He wasn’t that kid anymore, lusting after a football player’s trophy girlfriend. Never again would he humiliate himself over Stephanie Stephens.
He silently listed all the reasons they weren’t right for each other and never had been. Sure, he’d fantasized about tutoring her, about how lending her his notes might actually lead to something more meaningful. And he’d lent her pens whenever she hadn’t had one, which was frequently. How many pens had she borrowed and never returned?
Twenty-three.
Yes, he’d counted. Nearly a whole box of his favorite roller balls that he’d never asked she return. Except that one time. He’d learned his lesson then not to trust anything with her—not even a pen.
And here she was, working at his grandmother’s bakery, losing who knew how many pens’ worth of income a day.
He refocused on the contractor’s words as the man gave him estimated completion dates. The guy’s rates were reasonable and he was friendly enough, but Aaron was interviewing one more contractor that afternoon. This was going to be his business, after all, and he had to get the best rates wherever he could. He was nothing if not thorough.
The part-timer, Kira, a lean high schooler with short dark hair and thick-framed glasses, was busy serving a customer while Steph blabbed away with a woman holding a baby. Two other people waited patiently behind them.
Aaron scowled. Did the woman have any sense? She should be working, not chatting with her friends.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said to the contractor, then marched over to Steph. The woman she was chatting to handed her the baby, and Aaron was taken aback a moment as she bounced the drooling, babbling bundle of joy and cooed at her.
“Um, Steph?”
“Oh, hey, Aaron.” Her demeanor was a touch cooler than it had been with her friend. She nodded. “Isabel, this is Aaron Caruthers, Georgette’s grandson. He’s come back to...take care of things.”
“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. “How’s Georgette doing?”
“Better, thanks for asking.” He didn’t want to be rude, but customers were still waiting. He turned to Steph. “Would you mind looking after those folks there, Steph?”
She stared at him, her cheeks tinting darker and darker. The baby patted her hair as if reminding her to breathe. She handed the squirming child back to Isabel. “Excuse me.”
“I’d better get going.” The mother paused. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to distract Stephanie.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, feeling bad now for interrupting. Isabel was a customer, too, after all. But time was money...
He glanced at Steph. She moved slowly, as if she were picking flowers in a field rather than filling orders. If that was her usual pace, he could imagine how much business the bakery lost on a daily basis. And now, Steph was chatting up the next person in line and—
Was she giving out free cookies?
Aaron didn’t have time to ask, though, because the contractor had come up and was telling him he had to leave on his next call. Aaron thanked him and saw him out the door, but not before Steph ducked out lickety-split from behind the counter and handed him a coffee and a brown bag. Why couldn’t she move that fast to serve paying customers? Aaron thought irritably.
“Fresh doughnut and coffee for you,” she told the man happily. “No one leaves Georgette’s empty-handed.”
The contractor’s face brightened “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Of course you can.” She pushed the treats at him. “It’s cold out there. You need to keep warm, and this is just the thing to do it.”
The man chuckled. “I hope I get this job if this is the daily take-home.” He shook Aaron’s hand. “Give me a call. We can play with some numbers if we have to.”
He left. Aaron turned to tell Steph to stop handing out freebies, but her look froze his tongue. “Excuse me, I have customers.”
He might have snapped back at her, but that would’ve been unprofessional. Still, Georgette’s wouldn’t survive if this was how business was conducted every day. Who knew how much Stephanie was costing his grandmother? He wasn’t about to throw any accusations around, though. Not without evidence. After all, he was nothing if not thorough.
* * *
SWEAT DRIPPED OFF the tip of Steph’s nose as she polished the countertops and fumed.
Aaron had always been a stick-in-the-mud, but now he’d become a grade-A prick. Embarrassing her in front of Isabel. Really! Where did he get off telling her what to do? He didn’t own Georgette’s. He wasn’t her boss. He’d only arrived yesterday.
“I’m done here,” Kira said, removing her apron. “Is it okay if I take off? I have a lot of homework.”
“Sure thing.” She put on a smile for Kira’s benefit. The timid but eager girl didn’t need to be exposed to her bad mood. “Thanks. You did great today.”
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Kira moved closer and glanced at the closed office door where Aaron counted the till. “Is Aaron taking over for Georgette?”
Steph sucked in her lower lip. “I don’t know.” I hope not. “He’s got plans to open a bookstore where the dining room is. I’m not sure how that’ll work with the bakery attached.”
Kira wrinkled her nose. “If they do renos it’s going to make a huge mess. How’re you gonna bake?”
Steph hadn’t thought of that, but Kira was right. They’d lose all kinds of business while Aaron worked on his precious bookshop, and Georgette’s couldn’t afford that. They were barely breaking even as it was.
She had no choice. She had to talk to Georgette. Aaron would ruin the business with these plans of his, and it was up to Stephanie to stop him.
“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, exactly?” Georgette peered up at Aaron over her plate of spaghetti.
“I just want to know if you’ve ever noticed any discrepancies at the register.” There was no way to broach the topic lightly. He was concerned by what he’d seen today. The till had been short nearly fifty dollars, and the ledgers for the past two months showed a steady decline in revenue. How was Gran keeping up with the bills?
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, cutting her noodles with her spoon. Aaron had noticed she had a little difficulty chewing—he’d have to ask the doctor about that at her next appointment.
“So you’re always short at the till?” he prodded.
“Short, over, both. It all works out in the end.” She shrugged. “I assume it’s simply my old eyes counting wrong.”
“Does Steph ever count the till?”
“Occasionally. She certainly would’ve while I’ve been away.”
From what he’d seen, the same pattern had emerged, with tills under and over by some amount at closing time, but made up for the next day. The receipts roughly matched the takings by week’s end, though, so at least they weren’t dealing with sticky fingers...he hoped.
It wasn’t as if Stephanie needed the money—her family was filthy stinking rich. If she was stealing, it had to be for