The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(63)

“Too expensive for real people to shop at, but yes,” my mother says.

He gives a half nod. “Well, yes, organic food is more expensive,” he acknowledges. “We like to think that our customers understand the value of good health—” Mom snorts, and I give her a reprimanding nudge. Matt laughs. “Okay, I’ll save the sales pitch. I’m here because we think Bunny’s bread is the best in the area, and we’d like to be the sole distributor in Rhode Island.”

My mouth drops open. “Wow,” I murmur.

Matt gives me a nutshell idea of the details—NatureMade would sell four types of Bunny’s bread in its baked goods department. We could still supply bread to the restaurants we use now, as long as it didn’t interfere with NatureMade’s quota. If the bread sold well, they’d ask for more varieties, then discuss the possibility of distributing Bunny’s bread in the Connecticut and Massachusetts stores as well.

Matt smiles as he talks, a good salesman. His voice is low and confident, and he holds eye contact well. God, he reminds me of Jimmy! Not just how he looks, but the whole take-charge attitude. He has a plan, it’s a good one, and he knows it.

“What about selling it here?” Mom asks suspiciously. “We’re not going to stop selling here, of course.”

“Well, we would ask that you’d limit the number of loaves and types available here,” he said. “And of course, we’d do an ad campaign in all the Rhode Island newspapers and some radio commercials, too, announcing that we carry Bunny’s bread. I imagine you’d see a bump in customer traffic, thanks to the publicity.” Mom huffs but doesn’t contradict him.

He fishes a card out of his breast pocket and places it on the table. “I know you’ll have a lot to talk about,” he says. “Can I call you in a few days?”

“Sure,” I say. “That would be great.”

He shakes Mom’s hand first, winning points for good manners, then mine, holding on a bit too long. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he says, a half smile on his mouth. My stomach flips, not unpleasantly.

“It’s not your fault,” I answer. I may be blushing.

“Great to meet you both,” Matt says. “And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love a few of those cheese danishes for the road.”

“I’ll get them,” Mom grumbles, getting up from the table.

Bemused, I sit at the table, my tea cooling next to me, toying with Matt’s card. Statewide bread distribution would be a huge shot in the arm for Bunny’s. Huge.

But it’s not really the bread I’m thinking of.

“I didn’t like him,” Mom announces, bursting through the swinging doors a minute later.

“Why?” I ask.

“Too slick,” she says, brushing a speck of imaginary lint from her lapel. “Did you see that suit? Armani, I’m thinking.”

“You’re the one dressed like Michelle Obama, Mom,” I point out. She doesn’t answer. “He really looked like Jimmy, didn’t he?” I add.

“Oh, not so much.”

“Mom. He looked like Jimmy’s brother.”

“So?”

“So nothing, not really. He just did.” I’m quiet for a minute. “It was kind of…comforting…seeing a face so much like Jimmy’s. That’s all.”

My mother’s eyes fill with tears. She bends and gives me a rare hug. “He did. He looked just like Jimmy.” She sits down and dabs her eyes.

“Was there anyone who ever reminded you of Daddy?” I ask.

She stares over my shoulder, lost in memories. “You know that actor?”

“Which one, Mom?”

“The good-looking one? With brown eyes?”

“George Clooney?” I suggest. My father had lovely brown eyes, something I like to think I inherited.

“Is that him? The crinkly eyes?”

I nod. Only Mom wouldn’t know George Clooney.

“Sometimes I rent movies that he’s in, just to…well.” Mom blushes a little at the confession.

I smile and squeeze her hand, then take a sip of my lukewarm tea. “So what do you think about the offer?”

Mom hesitates, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Mostly up to you, since you’re in charge of bread.”

“I only own ten percent of the bakery,” I remind her.

She stares out the window. “Lucy?”

“Yes?”

Mom sighs, then adjusts her wedding ring…she’s never stopped wearing it. “I know I’m not the best mother in the world,” she offers, still not looking at me.

“Oh, Mom, I wouldn’t say that,” I say.

She gives me a smile, then looks back down. “The thing is, when you lose someone like we have…it’s like part of your heart is cut out. And you always worry about how much more you can afford to lose. It can make a person sort of…stunted.”

I don’t say anything. She has, of course, just voiced my deepest fear. The pebble swells.

“I just…I just don’t want you to be disappointed, honey. Maybe you can find someone…you’re younger than I was, and without kids, maybe you’ll have an easier time of it. But don’t be surprised if it doesn’t work the way you picture it.” She sighs gustily. “Well. Good talk. Let me know what you decide about the bread.”