Maddie marched past him and sat the box of baked goods down on his kitchen table. “How are you feeling? You looked pretty rough yesterday at Sunday dinner.”
He hadn’t felt like going out, but he ran the risk of his mother coming to visit if he didn’t go. Blake picked him up, then brought him home the minute the meal was done. “I hurt. I take pills. I stop hurting. I sleep. It’s a vicious cycle. But you’re in luck, I haven’t taken a pill recently, so I should be fairly lucid.”
Maddie nodded, turning to search through his cabinets. “Have you eaten today?”
“Yes.” It was three in the afternoon. He would’ve starved long before now if he hadn’t managed to call Pizza Palace for delivery. “I had pizza.”
“Ugh,” Maddie groaned. “You know, I used to like that place until I moved into that house across the street. Now, I can’t stand it. Every time I go outside, it’s all I smell.”
Grant watched her take two plates down from the cupboard and carry them over to the table. The white box was sealed shut with the Rosewood Bakery sticker he was used to seeing on treats around town. “Is the bakery open again?”
“Not officially,” she said. “For now, Robin has asked me to keep up with existing orders. I had a wedding cake to do over the weekend, but the shop is closed.” She popped the seal and lifted the lid, exposing the glazed Bundt cake inside.
“What kind is that?” he asked.
“It’s an orange pound cake.” Maddie used a knife to cut two slices of cake and place them on the plates. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”
Grant tried not to frown as he sat down at the table. That was his favorite, but he couldn’t believe she knew that. His older sister was never, ever this nice to him. He knew that he’d hurt himself in a pretty serious and spectacular way, but Maddie wasn’t the most nurturing person he’d ever met. “Milk, please,” he said, remembering that Pepper wanted him drinking it.
Maddie poured him a glass and got herself a bottle of water out of the fridge. She handed him a fork and sat down beside him. She watched expectantly as Grant took a bite. It was excellent—a mix of creamy butter cake, sweet icing, and
tart orange flavor.
“It’s great,” he said with a smile.
Maddie stopped holding her breath and smiled back at him. “Oh, good. I changed the recipe up a little and I was hoping it turned out.”
“So you’re not just being nice, you needed a guinea pig?”
Maddie’s brow drew down in a frown. “Of course not. I knew you liked this recipe, though, so I thought you would be the best judge of the changes. I’m hoping . . .” She hesitated. “I’m hoping to buy the bakery.”
Grant swallowed a second bite and quickly chased it with milk. “Really?”
She nodded. “Robin wants a fortune for it, of course. Daddy is in negotiations with her, though, so I’m hopeful. If it goes through, I’m going to owe the man until the end of time. But . . .” she said with a hopeful expression lighting her face, “I’ll own my own bakery. That’s what I always wanted.”
That was true. Grant remembered the Christmas Maddie got an Easy-Bake Oven. She made him eat her creations, which at first were quite dreadful. Soon, she retired the pink oven and clung to Cookie’s leg until she taught Maddie to bake for real. By junior high, Maddie had an array of desserts in her repertoire and none of them tasted like feet the way the first few had.
“I’m sure it will go through. You’re a great pastry chef. The stuff you make is better than anything I’d ever eaten in Estelle’s shop before you came. Hell, it’s better than most of the things I’ve eaten, period.”
Maddie beamed, tasting her own cake and nodding thoughtfully. “This could use a little more orange zest, but you’re right, it’s great.”
They sat quietly for a moment eating their cake. There was an awkwardness between them as they ate. Although they were close in age, Grant and Maddie had never been close. Even then, she could fill the silence with her endless prattle about herself and whatever nuggets of gossip she’d collected. Today, she sat anxiously twirling her fork in relative quiet.
“Listen,” Maddie said at last, “I didn’t just come over to bring you cake.”
Grant figured as much. “Okay.”
“I came . . . to apologize.”
He sat back in his chair, stunned. Maddie had never apologized for anything as far as he knew. At least, not without their father making her do it. “Pardon me?”
“I know sometimes I can be . . . harsh and a little judgmental.”
“A little?” he choked.
Maddie frowned. “Are you going to let me do this or are you going to get all your digs in first?”
“Go ahead.”