She whips her head in my direction, and her eyes blink wide in surprise before her lips tip up in a smile.Oh no, I think as realization sets in,it’s Rayna McGovern. I can’t backtrack fast enough. Now that the town gossip has set her beady blue eyes on me, I know it’s only a matter of time until the entire town hears I’m home.
“Well, I never,” Rayna says, her voice aghast. “I heard a rumor that Tallulah Darling was coming home for the season. But I never believe rumors.”
Strange, because normally she’s the one spreading them.
In her sixties, Rayna is about a decade older than my mother. When I was in high school, she was always the head of the PTA. I vaguely remember Penny mentioning that she’snowtheLiberty Lady, the prestigious title awarded yearly to the leader of the group.
“Here I am,” I say with a wide smile. “And it’s Tally now. Always has been, actually.”
When she reaches out for a hug, I allow her to circle her arms around me and pull me against her chest. Like almost every woman in this town, she’s got the familiar floral scent that my best friend Rosie accidentally created years ago and now sells exclusively in the boutique at her brewery. Mrs. McGovern is wearing lavender and lime. I’ve got on the wild honeysuckle that Rosie made just for me. It’s the only perfume I’ve ever worn.
“Well, if you’re okay,” I pull back, thumbing toward my car, “I’ll get going. My mom is waiting at the house, and I don’t want her to worry if I’m late.”
Rayna frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Because you walked out into the street without looking both ways?”
“Oh, nonsense. Cars stop.” She waves her hand as if I’m crazy.
“Yes, a car stops if the driver sees you in time to slam on their brakes.”
Rayna shakes her head again. “You’ve been gone too long, Tallulah. In this town, carsstop. They don’t want to hit you.”
Rayna is right about one thing at least: I have been gone for a long time.
“Got it. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for jaywalkers,” I tell her as I head back toward my car. In any other town, there’d have been a backup of traffic behind my stopped vehicle. But in Hope Harbor, not a single car has passed.
“Say hi to Walker for me!” the woman calls as I’m shutting my door.
Walker? Who the hell is Walker?
Rayna might be getting a bit batty. Walking into streets without looking, mentioning random people I’ve never heard of.
I shake my head and press the button to start my rented Kia, and I head off, driving extra slow. Apparently a little too slow, as a few minutes later a truck behind me lets out a quick beep.
I glance in the rearview mirror to glare at the out-of-towner—people in Hope Harbor never beep their horns—only to find the road empty again.
“Well, if it isn’t Tally Darling!” a familiar voice calls.
I’m beginning to feel like a celebrity with everyone using my first and last name. It’s drastically different from my culinary life, where I wince whenever someone calls me “Darling.” The guys find my last name hysterical. Male chefs are extremely egotistical, and because I don’t have a degree, I’m never called “Chef,” even if I take on that role many a night.
Not that I even want that title. No, the title I want is simple. “Baker.”
And finally, it’s within reach. Just one more summer of dealing with egomaniacs and then it’ll be my turn.
Well, after I help my family get through this spring.
Turning, I realize the vehicle that was behind me is now pulled up beside me—in the opposite lane of traffic—and the driver is none other than Eli Davis.
I smile at the man beside me; honey-brown hair with a wave most women would kill for, chiseled cheekbones covered in more-than-day-old scruff, and blue eyes that stillhave the same charm they did back when he was in high school with Penny.
“Still driving too fast all these years later,” he says in the flirty way he says everything. Eli doesn’t know how not to flirt with you. It’s in his nature. I’m sure plenty of women have been crushed by his demeanor, not realizing that he means nothing by it. Eli doesn’t date—long-term, that is—nor does he lead anyone on. But I’m surprised to see him here because last I knew he was still living in New York City and playing in the NHL.
“I almost ran over Rayna McGovern, so I’m just being extra careful. Don’t want to take any chances.”
Eli gives me one of his slow smiles; it spreads across his face and reaches his eyes, making the blue in them twinkle. It’s impossible not to smile when Eli smiles. “Heard you were helping out your mama on the farm. Make sure you stop by The Ice Cream Barn one day this week. Your mom loves the cherry cobbler. I’ll put a tub aside for you to bring home for her.”
At the mention of cherry cobbler, my brain starts to think up recipes for desserts that I could pair with that flavor. Maybe a cherries jubilee? I’d need the sweetest cherries to simmer with some sugar, lemon juice, and vanilla. Oh, and the zest of an orange. My mouth waters as I can practically taste the tart, sugary sauce dancing on my tongue.
