I watch him go, my feet suddenly feeling like they’re stuck in wet cement. In a rush to make my escape, I grab a carton of milk off the shelf…and promptly knock over a stack of yogurt cups. They tumble to the floor with a crash, and I stand there for a moment, horrified.
“Nice one,” I mutter to myself, crouching down to scoop up the mess. The yogurt cups are scatteredeverywhere. I swear, if the floor could open up and swallow me whole, I’d dive right in without hesitation.
Then I hear it.
A deep, husky laugh—Aidan’slaugh—drifts over from a few aisles away, and I freeze, my hands hovering over the mess. The sound vibrates through the air, and I realize I’ve never wanted to hear a sound more in my life.
I’m curledup on my couch later in the evening, and I’ve decided I am indeed getting a cat this week. It’ll be nice to haveanother living being in this house to help me redirect my thoughts.
Right now, the memory of Aidan’s touch lingers like an echo against my skin that I can’t shake. At first, I thought I’d imagined it, my mind spinning tales of what could be, but when it happened again, it sent my heart racing.
I want more than just fleeting moments, which is ridiculous. Completely irresponsible, especially when I come with fine print and future complications. I don’t need another man deciding I’m not worth the gamble because my body doesn’t cooperate with his five-year plan.
I exhale, pressing my fingertips to my temples.
Maybe it’s time to call Juliette. She has this uncanny ability to sort me out before I spiral into a full existential crisis.
And right now? I’m teetering awfully close to the edge.
twelve
LUCY
Winter’s finally loosening its grip as we approach the end of February, the snow retreating one stubborn patch at a time. The air still bites a little, but the glimpses of brown grass hint that spring is coming.
I’m elbow deep in pastry flour when the bell above the door jingles. Glancing up, I spot Aileen bundled in her signature tartan scarf. Her silver hair catches the morning light as she makes her way to the counter. She’s newer to town, but talking to her is like talking to someone you’ve known for ages.
“Lucy, dear,” she calls. “Got a moment for an old woman?”
“For you, Aileen? Always.” I wipe my hands on my apron and slide around the counter. “The usual?”
“Aye, but I’m not just here for your heavenly scones today. I’ve got a special request for someone with your particular talents.”
I pour her tea—Earl Grey, splash of milk, no sugar—and slide it across the counter. “I’m all ears.”
“Do you ever take custom orders? My granddaughter’sbirthday is in a couple weeks, and I’d love to have you make her cake. Your stuff is to die for.”
“I’ve made a few custom cakes over the years,” I admit, feeling a flutter of excitement at the thought. “I used to do quite a bit more baking like that before I took over running the café full time.”
The words bring back memories of late nights in my kitchen, experimenting with flavors and decorations, the satisfaction of creating something unique and beautiful. It’s been ages since I’ve had the time to really dive into a project like that.
“Is that so?” Aileen’s eyes twinkle. “Then I’ve come to the right place. Would you have time for something special? Nothing too elaborate, mind you.”
“I’d absolutely love to,” I say. “It would be nice to stretch those muscles again, honestly.”
She beams at me, reaching across the counter to squeeze my hand. “Oh, wonderful! I knew you were the right person to ask.”
“Tell me about your granddaughter,” I say, pulling out my notebook from beneath the counter. “What flavors does she like? Any hobbies or interests?”
“She’s turning five,” Aileen says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wee Isla is absolutely obsessed with fairies. Can’t get enough of them. Her father—my son—built her a little fairy house for Christmas last year. It’s quite elaborate, with miniature furniture and everything.”
My heart stops.
“Wait—did you say Isla?” I set my pen down slowly, trying to keep my voice casual even as my pulse picks up. “Dark curly hair?”
“That’s the one. I know Aidan’s brought her here a couple times.”
The pieces snap together in my mind like a puzzle finally making sense. Aileen.Reid. The grumpy, gorgeous man who’s been occupying far too much of my thoughts lately isn’t just some random single dad who wandered into my café—he’s Aileen’s son.
