CHAPTER 1
Zoe grabbed her purseoff the shelf and slid her feet into her ugly but comfortable Sketchers. “Let’s go, Lori!”
Laurel snatched up her backpack, checked her reflection in the hall mirror, and tidied up her pristine ponytail. Laurel’s posing reminded Zoe so much of her sister Courtney at that age that Zoe’s heart twisted just a little.
But since she didn’t have time for sentimentality, Zoe bustled her niece down the stairs. Together, they rushed out of the house, passing the door that led to Ethan and Hannah’s apartment.
Zoe wrinkled her nose at the odor of bacon and the sound of the Beatles floating through the window.
“Meat eaters,” Laurel said in the same tone she’d use to say dog poop.
Zoe didn’t comment, but placed her hand on Laurel’s small, bony shoulder and guided her to the Bonny Baker van standing in the driveway behind Ethan’s old Thunderbird convertible.
The van still carried the scents of yesterday’s deliveries—yeasty loaves of bread, cinnamon cookies, and pies. Zoe placed her purse in the center console where she always kept it, slid on her sunglasses, and snapped into her seatbelt. Once she was sure Laurel’s seatbelt was also secure, Zoe checked the rearview mirror and spotted Ethan and Hannah climbing into the T-bird.
Their open car doors blocked the driveway. Zoe blew a breath out of her nose and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Zoe lived her life according to what she called her cookbook rules—everything at the proper moment, in the proper order, and baked at the proper temperature. Not only had Laurel interrupted her morning routine by sleeping over, but Ethan raised her temperature. He had this power over her and she didn’t like it.
Laurel lowered her window and waved. “Hi, Hannah! Hi, Ethan!”
Secretly, Zoe hated that Laurel called Ethan by his first name. She didn’t think adults and children should be on a first-name basis, but since Ethan insisted, there was little she could do. She tried not to flinch every time Hannah addressed her as Zoe.
Hannah, a smaller, female version of her dad with thick auburn hair, large eyes, and full red lips, returned Laurel’s wave and smile.
Zoe tamped down her impatience and stuck her head out the window. “Good morning! Would Hannah like to ride to school with us today?”
“You’re going to Canterbury?” A wrinkle appeared between Ethan’s brows.
“Ancestor Day,” Zoe told him.
Ethan barked out a laugh and climbed into his car. “You don’t look old enough to be a grandparent,” he said through the open window.
Zoe bristled. “I’m not, but I can talk about our ancestors.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you there.”
She was trying to be nice—andpunctual. “There’s no need for us both to go.”
Ethan’s back straightened. “I work there, you know.”
“Oh! I didn’t know. When did that happen?” Not that she had time for this conversation. If he worked there, neither of them had time.
“At the beginning of the school year.”
A dangerously handsome man, he was probably driving all of the Canterbury girls—and a few of the teachers—mad and man-hungry. That could happen at an all-girls school. Zoe knew this, because she’d attended Canterbury herself.
“What are you teaching?”
“Art.”
“Oh, of course.”
Ethan’s convertible roared to life and he gave her a dismissive smile. “I’ll see you there,” he repeated.
Zoe mentally ticked off her daily agenda as she followed Ethan down the driveway. She’d been up since 4:00 a.m. making bread, cookies, and pies. Her assistant, Claire, was now manning the bakery, but Zoe needed to return in time for the lunch rush.
At the stop sign leading to Main, Ethan surprised her by turning right while she and Laurel took a left on Elm Street.
This seemed symbolic of their relationship.
