“Life is messy. No getting around that.” He took another bite of his food.
“Thanks for listening. I don’t talk about that time in my life very much.” Robin took a huge bite of potatoes.
“That’s what friends are for.”
Right. Friends. Tell that to his traitorous heart. Because right now, all he wanted to do was walk around the table and take her in his arms. Whisper in her ear that he would always be a safe place for her to land.
So much for keeping his heart at a distance.
ten
Robin wished for a moment that she could throw a little tantrum this morning. She stood in the kitchen of the bakery looking at her dead oven—the one that just a few hours ago had been happily pumping out heat and baking bread to a crackling perfection. Now it was cold and dead, like her dreams for this stint in Deep Haven being easy.
After dropping Sammy off at his house last night following their shopping trip and supper in Duluth, she’d come back to the bakery and prepped dough for its overnight proof. She’d been forced to buy a new brand of yeast at the store as her favorite wasn’t available, and she’d prayed it would be okay.
When she got to the bakery by four this morning, the bread dough had risen beautifully. The sight of the doming loaves was…perfection. The yeast she’d bought must have been as fresh as they’d advertised on the packaging.
Sweet relief.
Maybe she would recover from her lapse after all. Now she just needed to pass the health inspection scheduled for later that day. She rotated the breads through the baking process, carefully monitoring each bake. After the loaves finished baking, she put them on a rack to cool, listening to them sing and crackle in their signature music.
In celebration, she’d mixed a batch of her grandma’s cinnamon coffee cake. Once she’d poured the batter into the pan, she’d swung open the oven.
Which was stone cold.
Now she held herself back from giving it a kick. Who could she call to fix the dumb thing? She knew next to nothing about oven mechanics.
She checked her watch. It was ten a.m. in Cocoa Beach. Even though she didn’t want to admit she needed help, she’d have to call her grandparents. She flipped through the book of instructions they’d left for her and spotted a note about the oven. But just then the bell on the front door chimed. She closed the book and went to the front.
With any luck, it would be Sammy, showing up to help her bake as he’d promised. He might even know how to fix the oven.
Hope died a swift death.
A short man, who looked to be about forty, dressed in a suit and tie with an honest-to-goodness trench coat, stood in the dining room. He held a clipboard and was making notes. Must be the health inspector.
Great. Perfect timing.
He walked over to her. “Hi, I’m Dave Stewart.” He stuck his hand out and she shook it, his chilly fingers giving her a shiver. Health inspector confirmed.
“Welcome to the Fox Bakery.”
“I’ve actually been here before.” His dour expression did not give her any confidence. At least the work Sammy had done in the kitchen was finished. Maybe he wouldn’t ask if the oven was functioning. She resisted crossing her fingers behind her back.
“Of course you have.” Maybe a dose of charm would help. “You must know my grandparents, Jim and Elaine.”
“Yes.”
Okay, maybe not.
“I’ve been in Paris for the past few years, so I’m not sure how an American health inspection works. What would you like me to show you?”
“Just stay out of my way, and I’ll ask you questions as I have them.”
Hoo boy. Alrighty, then.
She stood back and motioned broadly to the kitchen. “My space is your space.”
He jerked a nod and jotted more notes on his clipboard.
