strong. So captivating that she stared impolitely for a long moment before she finally managed a finger wave. “You too.”
He lifted his hand to his hat and smiled.
* * *
Vanessa took a picture, then watched until the horses and wagon turned at the next road.
She forwarded the photo to Anna.
Vanessa: This was my first sighting in Fraser Hills.
Anna: Now, that’s what I call a welcome.
Until that moment she’d been so captivated by the horses that she hadn’t even noticed the sweet aroma that hung in the air. It smelled like warm bread, and sugar and spices. Her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn’t eaten yet today. Not that fruitcake was on her list of favorites.
The Porter’s building seemed to occupy the whole block—much bigger than she’d expected even after seeing the plans.
Playful green-and-white-striped awnings softened the dark red brick exterior around the retail-store windows to either side of the entrance. The Porter’s logo—a black silhouette of a horse-drawn carriage riding past snow-topped Fraser firs—shone from the old glass inserts. A deep red ribbon scrolled around PORTER’S in green script. Very classy, actually, if a little outdated. Although a horse-drawn carriage did just drive by.
Vanessa’s cheeks stung from the crisp air. She briskly climbed the stairs and grasped the shiny brass door handle. A whoosh of warm air washed over her like a hug, as a set of gleaming brass bells on a leather strap jangled against the heavy door.
“Welcome to Porter’s.” A young lady wearing a black-and-white-striped vest bearing the Porter’s logo waved from a long wooden counter. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”
“Thank you.”
The space was warm and inviting. Nice wide aisles of shelving, not the metal kind, but furniture-quality, tastefully decorated for the holidays. The old building was clean and spacious.
The heavenly smell was even stronger in here. She walked through the retail space, enjoying the anonymity that wouldn’t last long once people knew she’d arrived from AGC headquarters.
“Welcome to Porter’s.” An older woman also wearing a striped vest, with BETTIE on her name tag, approached Vanessa with a platter. “Samples are always free. Take one.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Or two, I’ll never tell.”
“No, thank you.” Vanessa turned and started for the next aisle, but the woman caught her attention again.
“‘No, thank you’?” Bettie eyed Vanessa. “You’ve never had our fruitcake, have you?”
Vanessa turned back to face the woman. “Well, no.” She waved a hand. “I’m not really a fan of fruitcake.”
“Ours isn’t like any other. Trust me. You’ll like ours. Just try it.” Bettie pushed the platter closer to her. She had to be every bit of seventy, and she was so cheery it was hard to say no.
Bettie’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Umm. Okay, but only a small piece.” She took one of the little paper wrappers and braced herself as she placed the piece of cake in her mouth just to be polite. Please don’t let me gag.
She pasted a smile on her face, prepared to give it a good show at the very least. As she chewed, the flavors tickled her taste buds. The texture was light and silky. With her hand still at her lips, she slowly made eye contact with Bettie.
“You want another bite, don’t you?” Bettie beamed.
“This can’t be fruitcake.”
“This is Porter’s fruitcake.”
“Wow. That is really good.”
“You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know. I wouldn’t take a job offering samples of just any old thing. I’m not that good of a liar.” She stepped closer and tucked three more pieces of fruitcake into the top of Vanessa’s purse. “For later,” she said in a hushed voice followed by a wink. “You’ll thank me the next time you see me.” She squeezed Vanessa’s forearm and then swept over to the other side of the store where a couple had just walked inside to offer them a free sample too.
Vanessa licked her lips. Anna was not going to believe this.
Fruitcake in all sorts of containers and sizes was for sale ready-to-ship, but there was a whole counter, more like a bakery, where you could pick out exactly what you wanted in an assortment box.
There were fruitcake cookies, fruitcake pops with sticks, fruitcake muffins in plain or bran and gluten-free too. Even a rack of do-it-yourself kits, and books on how to preserve your fruitcake. A book she didn’t plan to read, because no matter how absolutely delicious that cake tasted, she’d never understood the appeal of fruitcake preserved for one year, much less several.
On the other