Tomorrow, he’d check in with Finn. Maybe Chase. Get back to work before the quiet got too loud. Tonight, he just wanted to unpack, shower off the road dust, and let the Florida night settle around him.
It was a soft reminder that he was still standing. Still breathing. Still here.
CHAPTER 3
The farmers’market buzzed with activity when Mia arrived early Saturday morning. Vendors were unloading tables, snapping open tents and arranging merchandise for sale. The air was rich with scents of grilled sausage from Sal’s Breakfast Burrito, maple-glazed bacon, cinnamon and a dozen other temptations drifting from the food trucks lined up along the curb.
Mia looked at her watch. Damn. She had less than an hour to set up. The van wouldn’t start this morning. She wasted a lot of time searching for jumper cables, then driving her car to the barn and coaxing the stubborn engine to life. Another thing to put on her to-do list—buy a new battery. At least she hoped it was only the battery. Her shoulders tightened at the thought of another unexpected expense.
She quickly pulled into the parking lot. Haywood Lake shimmered in the background. The sun rose low over the water. A soft breeze turned the ripples into molten gold. It was a peaceful backdrop to the bustling market, and she paused for a moment to enjoy it.
She lifted two trays of maple-pecan tarts and lemon cream trifles from the back, inhaling the buttery sweetness rising fromthe still-warm pastries, and waved to Isabelle Zander and Felicia Montgomery from Two Fishes Soap Works, who were hauling in boxes of handmade soaps. Lavender and eucalyptus drifted in the breeze, competing with sugar and butter.
They’d become friends after Mia catered for an event with Tessa Donnelly, event planner extraordinaire. Tessa’s words, not mine,Mia thought with a grin, although she couldn’t disagree. Tessa was very talented, so the title fit.
That one connection opened doors to others. Women whose husband or fiancé worked for the Brotherhood Alliance, a private security firm made up of ex-military men. All hunks, every one of them. Not that she hadn’t noticed. She had eyes.
Especially one of them.
But she had too much on her plate to think about a hunk right now. Or even in the foreseeable future. She had a business to grow and a father to take care of, and both demanded more energy than she had most days.
Then she remembered Felicia’s fiancé, Colt Zander, Isabelle’s brother and also a member of the Brotherhood. He owned a garage in town. Perfect. She could finally get the van checked without feeling like she was getting ripped off just for being a woman.
Sarah Haskins, her assistant, was already setting up the table. What a lucky find she’d been. Sarah was going to culinary school, full of enthusiasm and energy, and had convinced Mia to hire her part-time. She looked up with a bright smile, her long brown braid swinging against her Plated Perfection apron.
“You’re here!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Rough start,” Mia said, sliding a tray onto the table. “I’ll grab the rest from the van while you finish setting up.”
She waved to Will Blake, who was unloading baskets of produce still damp from the morning dew. Will owned Sweet Water Organics Farm and supplied most of her freshingredients. His table was a riot of color with baskets of plump, red, late-season tomatoes, glossy eggplants, sweet onions, the last of the zucchini and yellow squash and bunches of basil that perfumed the morning air.
It didn’t take long to bring over the additional trays. Together they arranged the display with sweets on one end and warm savory bites wrapped in parchment on the other, steam still rising from the hand pies.
“What’d you bring today?” asked Sarah.
“Oh, mini bacon cheddar scones, flaky hand pies filled with caramelized onion and brie, and a new variation of my tomato-herb galette. Tomatoes courtesy of Will,” she said, waving to him.
A couple of booths down, Dana Cole of Live Oak Catering was setting up. Her display gleamed like a magazine spread: gold-edged business cards, spotless white platters stacked with perfect puff pastry bites, and a tall arrangement of cream roses as the centerpiece. Everything about it screamed polished. And expensive. Untouchable if you didn’t know better.
“Morning, Dana,” Mia called out.
Dana looked over from her table of pastries and appetizers, her glossy ponytail swinging as she hesitated, then she lifted a hand in a polite wave. “I didn’t know Plated Perfection did markets.”
“It’s great exposure,” Mia replied.
“Ah, yes,” Dana said, slyly looking over Mia’s offerings. “It’s a good opportunity to find bigger catering jobs.”
Mia smiled. “We manage.”
“Of course.” Dana started to turn. “Well, good luck.”
“I don’t think she likes you,” whispered Sarah.
“She doesn’t dislike me,” Mia said softly and shook her head. Dana Cole just never liked being second in anything.
They’d gone to the same high school, back when she was Dana Weston, the name tied to one of the old lakefront families. She’d switched to Cole after college and kept it after the divorce, which always struck Mia as interesting.
Their lives hadn’t overlapped much in school. Dana’s family owned half the town’s lakefront and enjoyed summer camp and hanging out with the popular girls. Mia’s father owned the local hardware store, where she worked after school, sweeping floors and counting bolts. Then, in senior year, Jason Rivers asked Mia to go to a dance. The same Jason that Dana had dated until about a month before. Mia never knew what happened between them and didn’t care. But small towns and small minds had long memories.
