there were pages and pages of blog posts about it, and one article in the San Francisco Tribune.
Taylor opened it up and started reading. According to the reporter, a Harper Branton, the café started out as a simple bakery run by a widow from Mexico, Ms. Luci Leon-Parker. Over the years, the café gained notoriety for having a sort of love charm in their sugar cookies. “One bite. Seven days. And true love will be yours.”
Taylor laughed, wondering what the hell Bennett wanted with some silly Cupid cookie.
She went on to read the rest of the story, which explained that the recipe was a family secret and that all of the cookies were baked right here in this St. Helena shop, but that they’d recently expanded distribution to ten cities in very limited quantities. People wait in line for as long as seven hours to get their mouths on one of these treats that are just as delicious for the soul as they are for the taste buds, said the article.
Bennett opened the door and hopped in, looking more pissed off than he had all morning.
“Back to the airport, sir?” the driver, a thin man in his forties, asked.
“No, actually, take me to this address.” Bennett handed the man a slip of paper.
“Very good, sir.”
The car pulled out into the street and headed east, away from town.
Taylor hated to ask, but the temptation was too much. Had Bennett gone in search of a “love” cookie and come back empty-handed? Wouldn’t any person in their right mind absolutely need to know that?
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, the shop is closed, but I got the owner’s address from one of the staff.”
“They gave you the owner’s home address? How’d you manage that?”
“I asked.”
“Are you sure it’s okay just to show up at someone’s house unannounced like this?”
“I’m Bennett Wade. Not some random stranger.”
Taylor huffed. “Your name isn’t a free pass to invade people’s privacy or go knocking on their doors to do business just because you want something and can’t wait for the store to open.” How rude!
“But isn’t it?” he said in that deep, smug tone she hated.
Taylor shook her head. “Okeydokey.” This was the perfect moment to start his educational detour, but he seemed to be sabotaging himself just fine. Any business owner in their right mind would chew Bennett out for showing up unannounced like this.
The car traveled down a long straight country road that cut between miles of grape vines. The late morning sun gave off a deliciously crisp light, just perfect for sitting outside and reading a good book or pruning vines, which was probably what her brother Rob was doing at this very moment.
“Do you like wine, Ms. Reed?”
“In my family, we don’t have a choice. My brother works up the road; he’s a viticulturist.”
“I thought you said he was a surgeon?”
“That’s Jack, the youngest of my three older brothers. Rob is the middle of the three; he’s the wine fanatic.”
“And the oldest? What does he do?” Bennett asked.
“Marcus is a semi-pro racecar driver. He wants to go pro, full-time like my father.”
“Your father drives for NASCAR?” Bennett actually sounded excited.
What was the big deal? Just a bunch of sweaty dudes driving around in a circle in really expensive cars. “He’s retired now.”
“What’s his name?”
“Nick.”
“Your father,” he said with disbelief, “is Nick Reed? The Nick Reed?”
Taylor refrained from rolling her eyes. She loathed telling people who her father was because then came the twenty questions—does he ever let you drive his car? Can I get a free ticket to the Indy? And then…
“Your mother was Patty Reed, the actress,” Bennett said.
And there’s why I hate talking about my family. Her mother had died giving birth to her. She didn’t feel guilt about it anymore, but she had for a long, long time. The part that she’d never been able to overcome, however, was how people talked about her mother as if they knew her. She didn’t even know her mother so how could they? It was weird, but it made her mad. Then there was the other irksome fact that everyone in her family was a superstar: NASCAR celebrity, actress, surgeon, NASCAR star in the making, and award-winning viticulturist. She was just…Taylor. Ordinary, if not leaning slightly toward the “underachiever” category, a fact she had been acutely aware of growing up. Her brothers and father loved her in their own way, but they didn’t hold back when it came to telling her she wasn’t trying hard