That evening I went into the hospital chapel and knelt. I didn’t demand a miracle. I asked God for the strength to cherish whatever time we had left. But I was frightened of losing her so soon after finding her.
When I came back, Eleanor studied my face. “You’ve been crying.”
“A little.”
“Good! I was worried I’d lost my charm!”
Arranging a hospital wedding in three days took effort. I contacted the county clerk, completed the license paperwork, and worked with the hospital staff to plan a small ceremony. My friend Pastor Arthur agreed to officiate. I wore my usual church suit because I didn’t own another decent one.
I bought two plain wedding bands at a flea market. Eleanor’s had a pink heart. When she saw it she laughed so hard that Joan came to check on her.
“Walter! A flea-market wedding ring?”
“It was the nicest one I could find!”
She held up her hand. “It’s perfect, and my favorite ring in the world! If anyone asks, tell them it’s a rare Italian design.”
“Is it?”
“No, you fool! But nobody needs to know!”
Three days after her proposal, we married in her hospital room. Dennis stood beside her while Arthur led the ceremony. When Arthur asked whether I took Eleanor as my wife, she interrupted. “Make him promise to wash the dishes too!”
Everyone laughed. When the pastor asked her the same question, she looked at me. “I do, Walter.”
Those words meant more than I can explain.
For a few precious days I was her husband. We prayed together, held hands, and remembered our teenage years. Five days after the wedding, Eleanor died. I was holding her hand, her pink-hearted ring still on her finger. My heart was broken, but I was grateful I’d found her again.
After the funeral, Dennis approached me outside the church. That’s when he gave me the envelope.
The first line read: “Walter, congratulations! You’re now the owner of the business I spent thirty years building. Please sit down before you embarrass yourself.”
I don’t know how she knew, but I nearly collapsed.
“What business?” I whispered.
Dennis guided me onto a bench. “Keep reading.”
I read aloud. “You’re now the proud owner of my bakery. And before you panic, the muffins are already trained.”
I stared at him. “Your mother owned that bakery?”
He nodded. It was one of the busiest in our county. I’d eaten there dozens of times! People lined up every Saturday for its cinnamon rolls.
“She never told me!”
“Mom said she wanted you to marry her, not her cinnamon rolls.”
I laughed, then read on. “Hank helped me start the bakery. Dennis has his own career, and Denise, our manager, knows the business better than anyone. I’ve arranged everything with my son. He’ll explain the details.”
I shook my head. “Why would she leave me a bakery?”
Dennis pointed to the bottom of the letter, where one last instruction waited. “Walter, there’s something waiting for you at the bakery. Ask Denise about the toast.”
I frowned. “The toast?”
Dennis burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re going to love this.”
Two days later I visited the bakery. Denise greeted me at the door. “So you’re Walter.”
“That’s me.”
She studied my face, then suddenly laughed. “Eleanor wasn’t exaggerating about your ears.”
I sighed. “Wonderful. My reputation arrived before I did.”
She led me behind the counter. Customers ordered coffee while employees carried trays of pastries. Then she pointed at the menu, and I froze.
Halfway down, in large letters: WALTER’S TERRIBLE TOAST.
“What on earth?”
Denise grinned. “It’s one of our bestsellers.”
Beneath the name was a description. Sweet cinnamon toast inspired by the only boy who could burn bread and still convince Ellie to kiss him.
My face grew hot. “She named a pastry after me?”
“Years ago.”
Denise handed me a piece. I tasted it. It was delicious.
“Eleanor invented this?”
“Yes. She said the original was considerably less edible.”
I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. Then Denise showed me a framed photo behind the counter: Eleanor and me at seventeen. Beneath it, my first love had written: Some people are worth waiting for. Others should stay away from the stove.
I stood there smiling. Even after more than four decades apart, she’d remembered my terrible cooking.
Unfortunately, owning a bakery wasn’t as simple as receiving free cinnamon rolls. I knew nothing about running a business. My first meeting with Dennis and Denise covered payroll, suppliers, equipment maintenance, and tax paperwork.
I stared at the documents. “Would it help if I prayed over these?”
Dennis grinned. “Only if your prayers include bookkeeping.”
