“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” I said, projecting my words to the nearby trees. “’Cause this restaurant is closed.”
Something moved in the shadows, and I grinned when the bunny came into view, nose twitching as it watched from the tree line.
“Not. Going. To. Happen,” I whispered.
Across the lawn, the brown-and-white cat strolled onto my patio and took a seat. It licked its paw as its attention moved from me to the bunny and back.
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m taking over now.”
I wondered, briefly, if either animal had a name. Then smiled as the words to one of Emily’s poems whispered in my mind.I’m nobody! Who are you?
Strangely, I’d thought I’d known exactly who I was when I made plans to come to Amherst, but in my few days I’d learned things I hadn’t expected. And none of it so far had anything to do with my dreams of love. In a family of extroverts, I’d considered myself quiet and shy. But I wasn’t. I’d thought I craved solitude, but now I was positive I hated that. I’d even considered talking to the plants for company.
I couldn’t do that if they were all dead, and I couldn’t save them if they were all dismembered.
According to advice I’d found online, stringing aluminum pie plates around the perimeter would keep wildlife away without harming the plants or the animals. The movement of the plates in the breeze would frighten animals somehow, as would the reflection of sunlight as the silver discs bobbed in the wind. The job seemed relatively simple, so I was willing to give it a try.
I hammered dowel rods into the four corners of my garden, then punched holes in the pie plates and strung them with twine. After that, I crawled around the little square, securing the string to the dowel rods.
My hands and knees were sore when I finished. Dirt packed into the scrapes from my fall the day before. I dusted together my palms, then stretched upright to knock the dirt off my jeans.
Fiery hues of waning daylight reflected on the plates, and pride drew a smile over my lips.
A moment later, I tensed. The sun shouldn’t be setting already! How long had I been outside? I still needed to clean up before Davis arrived, and what had happened to the timer on my phone? I patted my pockets and looked around. But the device wasn’t anywhere to be found.
A new horror rushed into mind. “The cake!”
“Oh, no, no, no.” I gathered my remaining supplies from the grass and hustled across the lawn and patio toward the manor.
Chapter Ten
The scent of burning cake hit like a brick as I wrenched open the back door. A dark haze filled the kitchen. My phone lay silently on the counter where I’d set it while trying to carry everything outside with two full hands. A notification on the screen indicated that I’d missed my alarm twenty-seven minutes ago.
I said a few choice words as I opened the oven and fanned away plumes of smoke.
True to its name, my cake was in fact, very black.
The smoke detector went off, and my heart rate doubled. A red light flashed, and shrill beeping pierced the air.
“Shit!”
I hefted the pan with pot holders and kicked the oven door closed. I dropped the cake into the sink and turned on the water to stop the dessert from smoldering. Then I used the back door like a fan, swinging it enthusiastically to circulate the air and pull the smoke outside. When the alarm continued to screech, I grabbed the broom.
Frustration and anger mixed with a heaping helping of self-pity as I climbed onto a chair and raised the long wooden handle toward the tiny reset button on the wailing alarm.
I aimed carefully at the little target, and the alarm silenced. I pumped a fist for the victory, but the joy passed quickly. My eyes landed on the soaking-wet brickette of a cake in the sink. Partially cloaked by the room’s smoky haze.
Another failure in my quest to be like Emily.
I dropped my celebratory fist and stepped backward, ready to dispose of the fruited corpse. Then I screamed, momentarily airborne as the chair scraped over tile and clattered to the floor. In the space of that half heartbeat, my brain cued in on my predicament, and my body braced for impact. It seemed a fitting end.
Before I hit the floor, a pair of strong arms curved around my middle, saving me from becoming a heap of clumsy regret. The arms pulled me against a broad chest.
My broom bounced and slid away with a whoosh.
Davis looked down at me, sincere concern swimming in his stormy gray eyes.
I heaved several rattled breaths before I could speak, thankful for his perfect timing, and confused by how he’d seemed to manifest from the smoke. The same electric charge that had filled the air between us on the night we’d met zinged to life once more. I could’ve broken my neck, but he’d caught me. It was a meet-cute for a bestseller. A story to tell at parties for the rest of our lives.
