“Good to meet you,” Noah said.
“We’ve all been teaching together for the past few years,” I said.
“Before she left us for this pastoral setting,” Emme added.
Noah held out a paper bag. “The bakehouse did another test run. Since you liked the last one so much, we thought you’d want to give this one a try.” His gaze dropped to the cocktail in my hand. His brows lifted. “We’ll let you get back to it.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For the bread.”
He swept a glance over the scene before him, a slight smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. “If you’re up for it, there’s a farmers market tomorrow at Travers Point Park. There’s a food truck that does bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches. Bodega style. Top notch. Best I’ve had outside of Manhattan.”
“I can promise you right now that I’ll need two of those in order to function tomorrow,” Emme said.
Noah bobbed his head. To his credit, he kept his gaze on Emme’s face and away from the cleavage testing the limits of her bikini top. “There’s a nitro coffee cart too.”
Grace snapped her fingers. “Yes, please.”
“Gennie and I will be slinging jam, cheese, and bread until noon.” He reached for my cup and took a quick sip before coughing and passing it back to me. “If you’re alive tomorrow morning, you should stop by.”
“Please, Shay,” Gennie said. “Farmers markets are really fucking boring.”
Noah’s gaze pinged between my face and the drink I held close to my chest. “Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow.” After a beat, he steered Gennie away. “Come on, captain. Set the course for the home port.”
We watched as Noah and Gennie climbed into the truck, pulled through the circular end of the drive, and then turned back onto Old Windmill Hill. At some point, Jaime freed herself from the swing and strolled toward us, one hand tucked into the pocket of her overalls, the other clutching her cup.
Her dimples bookended her grin. “You failed to mention that your neighbor-girl’s dad hand-delivers bread to you. Now that I think about it, I can’t remember you ever mentioning Daddy Bread Baker.” She glanced to Emme. “Don’t you find that funny?”
“So funny,” she replied.
“I’ll pay you money to never call him that again,” I said to them.
“It’s not money I need,” Emme said in a breathy starlet sort of way. “It’s power.”
“Ignore her. I’ll take your Daddy Bread Baker money,” Jaime said.
“He’s just my neighbor,” I said. “And he’s Gennie’s uncle, not her father. He’s her permanent guardian.”
“Let me guess,” Jaime started, “there’s no Mrs. Bread Baker in the picture.”
I shrugged, pulling on all the ignorance I could find. “I believe he’s single.” Another shrug. “And I did tell you about him. I said I bumped into an old friend from high school.”
“You one hundred percent omitted the part about that friend being a jacked-to-shit farmer man with arms like”—she made a whooshing sound—“and his whole ‘if you’re up for some naughty farmers market action, you know where to find me.’”
“That was not at all the implication,” I said.
“You heard it,” Jaime said to Emme.
“I heard it,” the coconspirator replied.
“I heard it,” Grace called.
Audrey went on snoring.
“So, he’s a friend from high school,” Jaime started, “one with the beard scruff I’d pay real money to feel on my ass—”
“Okay,” Emme interrupted. “I think what we’re trying to say is that man came here to pay you a visit and it didn’t look like the first time.”
I swung a glance between them before staring into my cup. “I am not drunk enough for this.”
