Free If Fried Chicken Could Fly by Paige Shelton Page B

kitchen area was so large that as we worked at the opposite end we could almost forget there was a mess in the near vicinity.
    Cooking or baking with Jake was an unforgettable experience. He loved scents associated with foods and spices. He’d sniff the air around him as he stirred or blended or mixed and make comments like “Divine” or “Sublime” or “Weak” or “So not right.” We pulled out many spoons when he was helping because he believed religiously in taste testing. Gram wouldn’t let him double dip, and when she once caught him putting his finger into some cookie batter, I thought her head might pop off her neck. She scolded him and then told him that he was required to use spoons, one per dip, and then he’d have to clean them up. Since that moment, he had done as he was instructed.
    He was quieter than normal today as I replayed the events of the previous evening. He listened intently, and we both forgot the history lesson about Jerome Cowbender he’d promised to share.
    As I spoke, I became increasingly worried. Everett was dead, and if Gram had lied about seeing him earlier in the day, she might have known he was married. I thought back to Everett’s wife and her certain accusation. The zip of optimism I’d felt earlier was unzipping and diminishing quickly.
    Jake saw my concern, and as we put a batch of cupcakes into the oven he changed the subject with the same hope I’d had in the cemetery—to add some relief or levity to the situation.
    “You want to hear about my date last night?” he said as he leaned against a butcher block table and wiped his hands on a towel.
    “You had a date? Of course I want the details.”
    “My date was the new kindergarten teacher, Sarah O’Neill.”
    “I think I know who she is and she’s very pretty.”
    “Very. She’s also very quiet and perhaps a bit reserved for my boisterousness.”
    “Perhaps you could use some ‘reserved.’ ”
    Jake waved away the thinly veiled insult. “We’ll see. We did have fun, but it most definitely wasn’t lurve at first sight.”
    “Love at first sight is a bunch of hooey, Gram would say.”
    “This from the person who hasn’t given another man a fair chance since the second she laid eyes on Cliff Sebastian.” Jake put his fingers over his mouth. “I’m sorry. That was not fair and probably mean considering he’s back in town.” His apology was sincere.
    “That’s okay. You’re probably right.” I adjusted my ponytail.
    “No. No, I’m not. I have no idea what made me say that. Forgive?” He fake-punched me in the arm.
    “Yeah,” I said. “I suppose.”
    “Good. I really am sorry. I don’t know anything, by the way, if you wanted to ask. I haven’t met his family. I just heard he was back yesterday. That’s the real reason I stopped by—today and yesterday, to make sure you’re okay. Miz didn’t tell you?”
    “I’m fine. Thanks. No, she didn’t say a word.”
    Something made some sort of musical bell sound. “Oop, that’s me.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hello.Uh-huh. Sure. Okay, on my way.” He disconnected. “Gotta go, love. The tourist office is being slammed with large-group tour calls. They need some help answering the phones. You okay without me?”
    “Got it covered,” I said.
    Jake stood on his tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “Sorry for all the drama. Call me—I’ll check in with you later today.”
    I nodded and watched him hurry out of the kitchen. He loved Broken Rope, and he thrived in the summer when he could don his uniform and pretend to be someone else. His association with the Historical Society had been one of the best things to happen to the town. And he had turned his volunteer role into something much larger. Not only was he the poetry-reciting fake sheriff, but he’d also tackled the enormous task of organizing the town’s messy piles of historical archives. His hard work and loyalty didn’t stop there, though. If the commission