Bob hummed, his attention already back on his paperwork. “Do you have Marv’s number?”
“I think so.” Charlie paused. “Why?”
“If you go out tonight and need a cab. Cheaper to call him than going through the app.”
“Because Marv is…”
“The Uber driver in town, too.”
“Of course. Right.” Charlie nodded. “Well, thank you!” Then he turned and followed his friend out the door.
Outside, Will stopped on the sidewalk, taking a sip of his coffee as he watched the tall trees that lined Main Street sway lazily in the breeze. Just yesterday he had been in a three-hour-long board meeting, picking apart a prospective company’s earnings report. But now, as the comforting smell of the salty ocean air enveloped him, it felt like he was in a different world. Despite how it had changed over the years, the Hamptons had a way of anchoring his emotions, calming any ruminating thoughts, like nothing else ever could.
The coffee helped, too.
Charlie stopped beside him and let out a satisfied sigh. “See, this is what I was talking about! Small town, nice people. I know we’re here for Vivienne, but I think this might be exactly what I needed.”
Will stole a glance over his shoulder. Through the front window, the bakery looked empty, with only the top of Bob’s head visible behind the counter. No redhead in sight.
He turned away and took another sip of his coffee, enjoying the first moment of peace he’d had all day. “Me, too.”
CHAPTER 3
At exactly 11:04 a.m., the ethereal sound of Stevie Nicks singing “Dreams” through the bakery’s ancient speakers was interrupted by the distinctive voice of Mrs. Joanne Bennet.
“BOB!”
Lizzy winced, leaning back from the massive glob of sourdough she was shaping into loaves to peer through the kitchen doorway to the front room. The morning rush had abated hours ago. To be fair, it wasn’t much of a rush. With the exception of that pretentious guy who hated palm trees, it had just been their regulars who ordered the same thing every Saturday morning. Now the front of Bennet Bakery was empty except for the woman maneuvering her way inside.
“Why do I have to do everything myself!?” Mrs. Bennet cried, struggling to fit through the front door with her pink tote bag on one arm and a life-sized pair of disembodied mannequin legs wearing iridescent zebra-print leggings under the other.
Lizzy turned to peer into the small office near the bakery’s back door. “I think that’s for you.”
Mr. Bennet looked up from the bank statements on his desk toglare over the rim of his reading glasses at his daughter. Crumbs of a past donut dusted his mustache, accentuating his frown. Whether the look was due to the bakery’s negligible profit margin or the arrival of his wife was unclear.
He stared at Lizzy. She stared back. And then, in unison, they each raised a single fist.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” they recited in unison.
Mr. Bennet threw scissors.
Lizzy threw paper.
Mr. Bennet barely cracked a smile as he turned back to his paperwork.
“We need to go back to flipping a coin,” Lizzy mumbled as she wiped her hands on her apron and started toward the front room.
When Lizzy reached the doorway, Mrs. Bennet was just navigating around the glass countertop and heading toward her, a blur in bedazzled purple athleisure wear as she dropped her pink bag in a nearby chair. It missed, falling to the floor with a thud.
“Is he back there?” she demanded, stopping in front of her daughter.
Lizzy crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Dad? No, he took a job at this paper company in Scranton. Good benefits.”
Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes and pushed herself and her mannequin legs past her, through the kitchen, and into the back office.
“Why was my leggings display still sitting at home this morning when I told you—Bob Bennet, are you eating a donut?” her mother shrieked, the door slamming shut behind her.
For a moment, Lizzy debated whether she should go rescue her father, but then Lydia’s voice cut through the air.
