I’d made up my mind that even if the worst case happened and I had to go to court over the cottage and the building, I would get through it. If I lost—and that was the worst-case scenario—I could keep my bakery going in a new storefront. My creativity and talent weren’t dependenton either of those things. It had made things easier in some ways, but it wouldn’t defeat me if it were taken away. My customer base was loyal. I’d be okay.
East was also in my life now. He’d help me, which scared the ever-living crap out of me. I wasn’t sure why any part of the relationship was freaking me out. He was great. More than great. He’d been amazing in every way, but I knew there was something holding him back from making a final commitment. East had one foot out of Wildwood Meadows, and I had both of my feet in. That made me worried. I’d promised myself that I would never be with a man who made my dreams second to his.
We’d finished our last book. The T-Rex skeleton Mia strung with fairy lights had been returned to her parents’ garage, and I’d packed away the dino-themed cookie cutters. Now the displays glowed with something softer. I’d swapped everything out to a more whimsical theme with roses tucked into teacups and old postcards pinned to cork boards, with their edges curling. There were even book stacks tied with ribbon. I was completely over the moon with how cute it looked.
February’s book wasThe Rose Codeby Kate Quinn, and every corner of Chapter & Crumb whispered it if you looked closely enough. Today’s espresso was titled Enigma Espresso, and a fresh batch of scones cooled on the counter while I fussed with the postcard display for the tenth time. Each card was a replica of a World War II photo or cryptic message. I’d tucked them at odd angles among the shelves so regulars could “find” them over the next week. The fun wasin the hunt. I was always trying to switch it up with our books so we had something for everyone’s reading taste.
Mia slid a tray of brownies into the case, then leaned her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. “So. Still humming in the mornings.”
I groaned. “Not this again.” I refused to take the bait Mia was throwing down. Sure, East had woken me up with his head between my thighs and then made love to me slowly and lazily, but I wasn’t complaining.
“Can’t help it,” she smirked. “The farmhouse has done wonders for your mood. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You practically floated in here today.”
“I did not float.”
“You floated. You might as well wear a sign that sayssomeone made me breakfast in bed.”
Heat climbed up my neck. “I am not discussing this with you while you’re holding a spatula. He didn’t make me breakfast in bed.” That wasn’t a lie. Maggie and I had actually made breakfast downstairs together, which had been nice.
“Oh, come on.” She wagged the spatula like a wand. “You’re staying with the Holts. Easton is there every night. Don’t tell me you aren’t?—”
“Mia!”
She cackled, triumphant, then ducked back behind the counter. “What? I’m just saying, the man looks at you like you’re the last cinnamon roll on the tray, and you look back like you’re deciding whether to lick the frosting first.”
I grabbed the towel at my side and tossed it at her. “You’re incorrigible.”
The farmhouse had become a strange limbo. By day, East rebuilt the ruined and burnt parts of my cottage with a speed that outpaced the insurance company’s slow progress. By night, we circled each other in Maggie’s kitchen, brushing hands when passing plates and stealing glances across the table. And sometimes, when Maggie was asleep and the house was quiet, we collided like we had in the bakery before collapsing into a restless sleep in the tiny double bed in the guest room.
The bell above the door jingled, snapping me back.
Wade strode in, damp from the drizzle, his expression tight. He gave a small, steady nod—his presence should have comforted me, but only reminded me why he was probably there. Briggs had gone back home to Washington just a few days ago, but had promised to be back. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s knowledge that Sage was bummed out about him leaving.
Mia caught the shift instantly. “I’ll just … check the scones in the oven,” she said, vanishing to the back.
Wade didn’t waste time. “We’ve been digging,” he said. “Got something I need to talk to you about.”
My hands smoothed my apron, steadying myself before I asked, “What did you find?” None of it could be good based on the look on his face.
“Inheritance records. Property filings. It’s not just Derek hanging around the edges of this.”
My stomach knotted. “Meaning?”
Wade gave me a sympathetic look. “Meaning someonefiled to see the chain of title on your grandmother’s house. Two weeks before the fire. And the name on it…”
“My father.” The shop blurred around me, roses and scones and postcards falling away. All I could hear was the blood thundering in my ears. It was loud enough that I almost didn’t hear Wade’s reply.
37
Lila
Wade’s news had been tough, and Mia had taken one look at my face and tried to send me packing—all my cheerful plans for decorating the shop immediately seemed lackluster. I’d been so happy tying ribbons and leaving little clues. Now I was hardcore in a depressive funk and perseverating about all the bad things that had been happening. I’d been trying really hard to either put it out of my mind or reframe it in a positive light, but I was coming up dry.
I’d like just to get it over with. The unknown of it all. It was something I’ve been haunted by since I was a little girl. All the questions I wanted to ask him and all the ‘whys.’ If only he would come out of whatever hole he was hiding in. If only he would just say he was sorry, maybe I could move on.
The thought that maybe my own father had a part in setting fire to my little blue cottage made me want to vomit. Was it even mine? It was still standing, but it felt like something that belonged to another version of me.
It had taken hours before I could even leave the shop. Mia had hovered, wordless, her face pale before she’d finally told me to get lost. She’d told me to call Sage or East to drive me back to the farmhouse, but I’d waved her off. I needed air and quiet. I needed a place that still felt like mine, even if it was broken.
