The Sweetest Match: Applebottom Matchmaker Society Read online

  The Sweetest Match

  Applebottom Matchmaker Society

  Abby Tyler

  Contents

  Meeting Minutes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Gertrude & Maude’s Chocolate Refrigerator Pie

  About Abby Tyler

  Summary

  When the owner of a tea shop discovers her shy, quiet cake decorator is leaving secret love messages in the frosting, the town solves the puzzle of who she is pining for and invents a celebration event with the sole goal of bringing the couple together.

  Copyright © 2019 by Abby Tyler. All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  * * *

  AbbyTyler

  PO Box 160116

  Austin, TX 78716

  www.abbytyler.com

  * * *

  Ebook ISBN: 9781938150845

  Paperback ISBN: 9781938150838

  * * *

  Edition 1.0

  Meeting Minutes

  APPLEBOTTOM TOWN SQUARE PROPRIETORS

  Gertrude Vogel, secretary

  Mainly because nobody else will do it.

  * * *

  Today we met at the Applebottom Pie Shoppe, owned by yours truly.

  We barely even got our coffee poured when Betty Johnson, owner of Tea for Two, which doesn’t serve a single menu item that will power an old woman for more than five minutes, insisted we hear her first.

  Her face was as pink as her jogging suit, which annoyingly matched the bows on her dog, which she takes everywhere, health violation or not. With her white hair all fluffed out around her widow’s peak, she looked like the ghost of a valentine cookie. Except she could stand to eat a few. If she would put away a few slices of my brownie-bottom pie, we might could get some weight on her.

  Nobody trusts a skinny cook.

  Maude Lewis, co-owner of Applebottom Pie Shoppe, must have been thinking the same thing, as she got up and took a chocolate refrigerator pie from the cooler. She sliced it up for everybody and our Mayor T-bone (nobody knows his real name, and we’re too scared to ask) about drooled on the tablecloth.

  I took the largest piece and passed it to Betty, who tried to turn it down. But at least four hands shoved it closer to her, so she took a dainty bite like she was Scarlett O’Hara about to be laced into a corset.

  Our civic duty done, we started getting chatty until Betty reminded us she had a pressing matter. She hired Sandy Miller a couple months back to decorate her cakes since her eyes weren’t so good.

  Even though we’d just served the finest pie you can get in the Missouri Tri-Lakes area, she brought out a container full of her fancy little petit fours.

  It’s not enough food for a bird, if you ask me, tiny little cakes barely an inch across. There’s probably not enough calories in one of those tiny cakes to keep a roach alive.

  Maude nudged me to pay attention. Betty was droning on about how intricate all the floral work was on the cakes. I was about to pop her fancy schmancy rose bud right in my mouth when Maude slapped my hand! Right in front of everybody!

  Betty said I was missing the point and lined up all the cakes in a row. And that’s when I saw it. Clear as a bell, the loopty loops turned into letters, which became a word.

  Handsome.

  I asked Betty who those cakes were for, and she said nobody special. Then she showed us pictures on her phone of an oblong torte with maybe one day hidden among the frosted leaves.

  Another little round cake, if you skipped every other loop, read regret.

  I said that girl probably did have a lot to regret, and Delilah told me to shut my nasty trap. Betty and Maude and the whole lot of them stared me down, so I did shut up, scrawling these here notes like I had nothing better to do.

  Topher Smith-Cole of Applebottom Blossoms said it was romantic, and we should figure out who this handsome man was.

  T-bone said Betty should watch the girl’s eyes, as that would give her away if the man was still around.

  Betty said Sandy never came out from the back, and everybody started talking at once, saying to make her come out and this was important and finally Betty said she’d have her do some work out front. That way she could watch her eyes, like T-bone suggested.

  We agreed that we’d figure it out and come up with a good way to get them together. There was nothing like a good match of two locals to make a small town proud.

  We ate our pie and the petit fours, too.

  Meeting adjourned.

  Chapter 1

  When Andrew McCallister walked in the door of Tea for Two, Sandy knew something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

  She got so startled by the unexpected arrival of her longtime crush that she fumbled her brush and accidentally stabbed the side of the wedding cake she was decorating.

  She pulled the end out, frowning at the wound in the perfectly smooth frosting.

  Why was Andrew here? She’d worked here for two months with no sign of him.

  But the sly look on her boss’s face told her the answer.

  Betty knew. She’d seen the secret notes in the frosting and figured it out.

  Oh, Sandy wished she hadn’t done it.

  Sandy kept her eyes cast down to the cake in front of her as Andrew approached the counter. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t dare.

  What was she thinking, taking such a risk? First a few loops on a series of petit fours that spelled out the word handsome.

  Then the words if only and unrequited hidden in the swirls of a wedding cake. It was going to Branson! No one there knew a thing.

  But then there was regret entwined in the vines of Josefina’s retirement cake. Surely nobody could have spotted them. They were half-covered in fondant flowers!

  Still, he was here, and Betty looked like the cat who ate the canary.

  That couldn’t be good.

  Her skin prickled as if Betty had cranked the heat. But of course she wouldn’t have. School had just started, and the weather was still quite warm. In fact, Sandy could feel the gentle waft of cool air on the back of her neck.

  Regardless, her body was on fire.

  Betty got up gingerly from her stool behind the counter, a speed to be expected from a seventy-year-old woman who’d been sitting too long, even as spry as Betty was in general.

  “Andrew McCallister,” she crooned, and the tone of her voice set Sandy on edge all over again. Betty only talked like that to her poodle Clementine.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Johnson,” Andrew said.

  Man, his voice was low and deep. The rumble in it made her belly quiver. Sandy hadn’t heard him speak in months, not since he’d said a few words at the Applebottom High School graduation.

  Thank goodness for the three tiers of the cake. She folded herself up as tightly as she could, squeezing her arms against her sides. She pretended to be incredibly focused on the tender petals of the peonies cascading down the back.

  “Why, Andrew, you’re a grown man,” Betty said, her voice still high and squeaky, as if she were talking to a baby. “You can call me Betty.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes. This was too much. Betty never acted like this. What was her game? Would she show Andrew one of Sandy’s secret tea cake messages?

  Andrew spoke again. “With all due respect, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to call you Betty. My mama taught me different.”

  “Such a good boy,” Betty said, and Sandy stifled a groan. This was ridiculous.

  Both Sandy and Andrew were in their thirties. Three years apart, in fact. They’d gone to high school together. Sandy had a terrible crush on him until her head got turned by the most foolish mistake she’d ever made in her life.

  She felt a little faint. This could not be happening. Applebottom, Missouri, was way too small for something as juicy as this to go unnoticed. Probably the whole town was talking about the silly little words Sandy Miller had snuck into the frosting since she’d taken the job decorating cakes at Betty’s tea shop.

  She could hear their voices.

  Poor little Sandy, all those years alone in that shack in the woods.

  Sandy Miller is back just to cause a new scandal in Applebottom.

  Now that her son is gone off to college, Sandy must not have anything to do but pine over old love affairs.

  Each voice had a face. And though she had spent the last eighteen years trying to silence the harshness of the words that had driven her to live in isolation while she raised her son, they were definitely coming back now.

  Oh, t
hat frosting. Why had she done it? Things had been going so well.

  “Did you bring me that travel guide I asked for?” Betty asked.

  Sandy peeked out from behind the cake.

  Andrew set a large book on the glass counter. “I did. You planning to go to Spain?”

  Sandy almost choked on the laugh that tried to come out. Betty despised airplanes. She’d told Sandy more than once that she’d fly high when she was headed straight for the Lord and not a moment before.

  Betty must’ve heard something, though, because her sharp little eyes darted to the corner.

  Suddenly, Betty’s motivation to have Sandy decorate the cakes at a little table in the main shop instead of in the back became suspect. Betty had said it was because Sandy’s work was so popular that she wanted people to have the chance to watch it being created. Now Sandy wondered if this was her way of figuring out who the secret frosting notes were about.

  She wanted to smack her own head.

  Now it made sense. All the single men in Applebottom parading through the tea shop over the last few days. Each one having some strange little errand they were running for Betty.

  Her boss was narrowing down the options.

  She’d definitely seen the hidden words.

  Betty tucked the book behind the counter. “I’ll get this right back to you. What can I get for you, my dear?” Her eyes shifted to Sandy again.

  Bingo. This was her plan. Sandy flashed back through all the other people who had walked in. Obviously, she hadn’t shown enough interest in them, because Betty had kept them coming. All she had to do was keep her composure while Andrew was in the tea shop, and Betty would move on, none the wiser.

  She took a deep breath, picked up her piping bag, and created a new cascade of pink petals to cover the hole where she’d stabbed the cake.

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup of your special Applebottom tea blend,” Andrew said.

  “Of course,” Betty said, taking a mug off the rack.

  “I should probably get it to go,” Andrew said. “I’m getting my hair cut down at the barber shop.”

  “Nonsense,” Betty said. “You’re going to sit right here and chat with me while you drink your tea. Arnold can wait.”

  Andrew laughed a little. “I’ll let him know you said so.”

  “I’ll ring him myself to let him know you are detained.” Betty filled a mug with hot water from the machine and turned to drop in a tea ball with her special blend.

  While they were occupied, Sandy leaned the opposite way so that she could get a better look at Andrew.

  He wore a sports coat, even on a Saturday. He always dressed well, now as in high school. She’d always admired his wardrobe. He was more formal than other boys, and seemed more mature. That’s what had intrigued her as a teen.

  If only she had stayed true to those feelings then. But if she hadn’t strayed, she wouldn’t have Caden, and he was the joy of her life.

  No, she couldn’t wish for anything to be different. Not from her past. But this Andrew was here and now. He was single. He’d been Caden’s history teacher for two of his high school years, though Sandy had taken pains to avoid being around him. Embarrassment, mostly. Or maybe she wanted to hold on to the old feelings without the risk of them getting ruined by reality.

  Sandy had nurtured her crush on him, not having anyone else to feel something about, isolated in a small house on the outskirts of town with only a baby and her disapproving mother for company.

  Those had been hard years.

  But her mother was five years gone, and now, with Caden off to college, Sandy had ventured back to town. She had to. She needed a job and was relieved that Betty took one look at her paintings and agreed that she would make a splendid cake decorator.

  And she had. Wedding cake orders were coming from as far as St. Louis now.

  If only she hadn’t started putting the messages in the frosting.

  “Here you go,” Betty said, handing the steaming mug to Andrew.

  Sandy caught the mischievous gleam in Betty’s eye as Betty turned her way. Oh, no, she was going to bring him over here.

  Sandy set down the piping bag and picked up a brush. She didn’t want to do anything critical while Andrew was so close. Her hands were already shaking.

  “Did you know Sandy was decorating cakes for me now?” Betty asked.

  Now that she heard the question, Sandy recalled the same line being said to many of the single male members of Applebottom in the last week.

  This was a plot. How was she going to keep her cool with Andrew walking straight toward her?

  She focused on her task with tunnel vision. Don’t look up. Better to seem rude than to give the secret away.

  She darkened the edges of all the pink petals, making them more realistic. She tried to slow her breath and calm her trembling. Everything was fine. She could appear normal.

  “I didn’t see her back there,” Andrew said. “I heard that she was working for you, though.”

  He had?

  She risked a peek and found Andrew’s kind blue eyes on her.

  Her heart dissolved. All the emotions she’d held inside her chest for so many years rose up, magnified by his actual presence.

  How different her life might’ve been. What might she have painted, lit from inside like she was right now?

  “Hello, Sandy,” Andrew said. “It’s been a while.”

  “It has,” she said, her cheeks heating up at the sound of her own voice, which warbled like a choir boy hitting puberty.

  Betty’s eyes flickered. She’d noticed.

  Keep calm. Stay cool.

  “The cake is lovely,” Andrew said. “Do you do all this by hand?”

  “I do,” Sandy said, a hot bolt flashing through her that she’d just said marriage vows right in front of Andrew. A whole host of visions popped up, him in a suit and her in a white dress. Caden as the best man.

  No. Stop. Focus.

  Betty’s eyes missed nothing. A small smile crept on her lips.

  Sandy loved her boss. But right now, she really needed her to walk away.

  Although it was quite possibly already too late.

  “Why, before Sandy came along, I was lucky to sell one wedding cake a month,” Betty said. “Now we’re doing, what, Sandy? Five a week?”

  Sandy nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. She dipped her brush back in the diluted pink gel.

  “Such attention to detail,” Betty went on. “Did you know that a picture of one of Sandy’s cakes was in the Branson newspaper society column? She was the talk of the city.”

  Sandy painted petals with the laser focus of cataract surgery. She couldn’t give anything else away.

  “Sandy was always an amazing artist,” Andrew said. “I remember seeing her paintings in the school exhibits back in the day.”

  Sandy almost lost her grip on the brush. Really? He remembered her paintings?

  She couldn’t help but look up again. His eyes were still on her. He was so handsome, his dark hair falling over his brow, his strong jaw, his tall, lean build. She might be more attracted to him now than in high school.

  She’d been a sophomore to his senior and shy as a wallflower. Andrew had been popular enough, but not athletic or bold. He’d been in the National Honor Society, a Student Council type. Well-dressed, well-spoken, kind.

  Perhaps she’d been too young for him. Regardless, they’d never had a chance. Sandy’s disaster had taken her well away from Andrew and high school. She never graduated or even got her GED. Pointless out in the woods with a baby on her hip and a town talking trash about her.

  Shame coursed through her. She shouldn’t even be looking at Andrew McCallister. He had three degrees. He’d been working his way up to becoming a professor when he’d returned to Applebottom. His father had died, and his mother was pretty poorly for a long time. She was fine now, but Andrew took a teaching position at the high school and stayed on. Sandy had known all this, even as isolated as she was out in the woods. Her mother still went into town and came back with the latest gossip.