The Power of Maple Pull-Aparts–a Dough-lightful Romantic Tale

I knew I was running late. They’d all be gone .

***

After my morning ski runs on the now slushy spring slopes, I pulled off my ski boots and drove straight to Mehuron’s market. As usual, inside the narrow-aisled store, I ran into three people on my way to the fresh bread section, delaying me even further. 

My snow pants swished as I walked toward the breads. As I rounded the corner, the last package of Klinger’s maple pull apart bread beckoned on the shelf. I imagined biting into the delicious soft bread, drenched with maple sugar glaze and a touch of cinnamon. The aroma when the bread was warm simultaneously invoked sugaring season and fresh pastries. I sighed with relief. I wasn’t too late after all.  

As I pushed the cart forward to claim my prize, a long, thin arm reached forward and eased the final package off the shelf.

I angled my cart for the intercept and the confrontation. “Hey, I need that.”

A pair of bright blue eyes sunken under bushy gray eyebrows questioned my outburst. His eyes scanned my outfit. “How was the skiing this morning?”

“Well, Spring Fling and Steins both have plenty of snow left and the spring moguls were forming nicely, but…hey… wait. Don’t distract me. That’s my maple pull apart.”

He shrugged, and it looked to me like his left hand tightened its grip on the packaging. He held out his right hand. “Ken. I’m new to town.”

I stared at his right hand and contemplated snatching the goods from the left and making a run for it out of the store. He smiled. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

I sighed and shook his proffered hand. “I’m Leslie. Been here for decades.”

The blue eyes took on a mischievous slant. “Nice to meet you, Leslie.” He moved his left hand forward and waggled the pull apart box. “How badly do you want this?”

That was an odd comment. I looked him up and down: jeans, boots, knit cap. He didn’t look overly dangerous. He was taller than me by a few inches, but I could always whack him with a baguette if I needed to protect myself. “What the hell are you suggesting, Ken?”

His eyes widened. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I was just trying to be funny. I should know by now that I am not a good comedian.” He handed me the box of pull aparts. “Here, take it.”

I looked at the prize, the weight of the maple sugar-laden treat heavy in my hand. “True, not funny.” I took pity on him, with my treat now secured. “Maybe you’ll learn?”

He laughed, and those blue eyes crinkled. “At 64? I don’t think I’m going to learn too many new tricks.”

“Me, either. I turn 64 next month,” I said.

“Don’t look it. I’d have guessed 56.”

I vainly stood up a little taller and smoothed my hair. Perhaps Ken was OK after all. “Thanks for the pull apart.”

Ken opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then opened it and sighed and closed it. 

“OK, Ken, spit it out,” I said.

“Would you consider getting a beer or something? As I said, I’m new. Moved up here to be closer to my daughter and the grandkids and I haven’t met too many people yet.”

I looked at my watch. “12:30 is a little early for beer for me.”

He smiled. “How about 5:30?”

Damn those blue eyes. “OK. One beer. 5:30. Big Picture Theater.” I placed the pull apart in my cart and swung away while waving a hand. My heart thumped a little harder. Calm yourself. It’s only a beer.

“See you there,” Ken’s voice floated behind me.

***

At 4:30, I was cursing myself. I had to think about what to wear and remember where I placed my lipstick. And since I didn’t think to get Ken’s number, or even his last name, I couldn’t call him to cancel. 

When was the last time I went out for a beer with someone I didn’t know? Years ago. Maybe even a decade ago when well-meaning friends set me up on blind dates. I looked at the photo of Ben and me on my dresser. Ben was my love. Thirty-one years of marriage before he went off and died on me. I picked up the photo. The top of Mont Blanc soared behind us, covered in dense white snow. We had loved skiing together all over the world. Being outdoors fueled us. The light, the smells, the taste of the fresh air. 

I placed the photo back on the bureau and looked into the mirror as I smoothed my sweater over my breasts and down my stomach. I was still in shape. The skiing helped, up to 84 days this season. I combed my gray-blond hair, spritzed some perfume, fastened my favorite gold earrings, and carefully lined my lips. A beer. What was I thinking?

In the mirror, my wary eyes stared at me. Maybe they were a little red? Was I catching a cold? My righteous inner voice chided me. The man did give you the pull apart this morning. I sighed and grabbed the car keys. 

****

I spotted Ken sitting at the Big Picture bar, chatting with the bartender, Tony. His broad back to me, his hand around his beer. 

Tony’s eyes slid over to me as I walked in and he nodded before biting back a smile and busying himself cleaning a glass. Great, by tomorrow morning, the entire Valley would know about this ‘beer’ I was having.

Ken must have noticed Tony’s glance since he swung around on the stool. His eyes lit in recognition and he gave me a quick smile. “Hello, Leslie.” He patted the stool next to him. “Bar seating, OK?”

He looked good. The denim shirt highlighted those blue eyes. 

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Beer. Remember. Just one.” I said, unreasonably chilly against his warm greeting, and put my butt on the stool next to his. 

He nodded. “Thanks for joining me.”

I nodded.

“You look good,” he said.

I nodded again.

Ken opened his mouth to say something, then picked up his glass and took a sip first. He placed the glass back on the coaster and fiddled with its placement, aligning the base and the coaster in perfectly concentric circles. “Look, Leslie, I guess I overstepped my bounds. I was just looking for a friend, maybe someone to ski with, that’s all.”

Tony pushed my beer across the counter and I took a long sip. Why was I so nervous? And so impolite? 

“I’m sorry, Ken. I think I have to relearn my manners. It’s been awhile…” 

I held out my hand. “I’m Leslie, and I thank you for giving me your pull apart this morning.” Allowing a smile to creep into my eyes, I asked, “Did you just say that you ski?”

He took my proffered hand and shook it. His was warm and strong. “I love to ski.”

And that was all we needed. The next thirty minutes flew by as we conversed in ski shorthand.

“Lately, I’ve gone wider underfoot, more like 96.”

“I love that trail at Heavenly that winds from the desert to the lake. I think it’s Ridge Run? Or maybe Skyline?”

“I still have both knees.”

“Me, too, but I had ACL surgery a few years ago.”

I wondered how good a skier he really was. 

“I was thinking of a trip to Hokkaido next year,” I said.

“You’ll love it,” he said. “Amazing scenery, and some of the lightest snow I’ve ever skied.”

“You’ve been?”

“My wife and I loved to go. Even when our girls got older, we could still get them to tag along.”

I glanced at his hand where a gold wedding band circled his finger. “You’re married? Did your wife move here, too?”

His right hand twisted the ring on his left hand. “Marjorie died a few years ago. I just couldn’t take off the ring.”

“I’m sorry.” I said quietly.

I held up my left hand. “Me neither and it’s been almost ten years.”

We sat in silence for a few moments. I wondered if my Ben and Ken would have been friends and enjoyed skiing together. Or maybe Marjorie and I would have planned a trip for all of us. 

We both took final sips of our beers. My unfocused eyes watched memories flit by. I glanced at Ken. He looked deep in his own thoughts, a sad cast to his face.

“My Ben liked a strong IPA,” I said.

He turned toward me and focused on my face. “My Marjorie was more of a Scotch and soda lady.”

We looked at each other with softened eyes. We understood.

Tony asked from his side of the bar, “Want another round to take into the movie?” 

Ken looked at his watch and then at me. “I want to see it. Any interest in joining me?”

It was my turn to crinkle my eyes. “That would make it two beers and a movie?”

Ken laughed. His deep baritone made me smile. “Is that going to cost me another pull apart?”

I smiled. “What’s the film?”

“It’s an oldie, but it’s got Robert Redford and some great skiing scenes, so not all bad.”

I slapped the bar with my hand. “No way, not Downhill Racer?”

“You’ve actually heard of it?”

“Robert Redford after all. As I recall, it’s pretty horrible, but a bit of a cult classic. I’m in.” I signaled to Tony to give us another round, and we moved into the little theater. As usual, it wasn’t very busy on a weeknight. Ken surveyed the interior, taking in the mismatched seats, the tables set up holding diners’ food, and the worn but plush couches in the back row. “Are you OK to sit there? It’s better for my back.”

I nodded, and we sat next to each other on the love seat. Not touching, but companionable, sipping our beers. The room dimmed, and the movie started. The opening shots of tall mountains covered with snow filled the screen.

I may have sniffled a few times when the love interest didn’t work out. Ken pressed his handkerchief into my hand. We laughed at some of the same parts and groaned at the particularly cheesy parts. Our shoulders bumped occasionally as we whispered about the plot and the glorious mountain shots.

The movie ended, and the lights rose in the theater. 

Ken stood first and offered a hand to help me up. I took it, again feeling the warmth and strength of his grip. It made my heart leap. We stood facing each other. 

“Thanks for my beer,” I said. “And I apologize for earlier. This was an unexpected evening.”

“For me, too, Leslie,” Ken said. “I’d like to do it again sometime soon. Maybe tomorrow night even?”

“It’s Cinco de Mayo tomorrow,” I said.

He frowned and looked confused.

“It’s the last day of the season at Sugarbush.” I said.

“And --”

“So, we will have to go skiing,” I said.

“Because it’s the last day?”

“Yes. But mostly since the off season is coming up.”

“I still don’t get it.”

I looked up into his eyes. “Ken, if we got involved in the off-season, and then ski season comes back and we aren’t ski compatible, and --”

A smile of understanding flashed across his face. “You don’t think I can keep up.”

“Well..,” I said. “A woman has to know these things.”

“Lifts open at 10AM,” he said with a lilt in his voice. “And I hope I can keep up.”

“Me, too,” I said.

Note to the reader.

There are many things in this story that are true, Klinger maple pull-aparts, for example. And, more entertainingly, the end of the story is based on a true tale of a woman challenging her new date to ski before the end of the season. That couple has now been married for over five years.