Harold yawned at him from the chair. His head turned, and his eye met Lila’s. For the briefest of moments, Lila thought the furry rascal had done what he did on purpose. Her eyes narrowed at the furry menace. Harold blinked at her again, infinitely pleased with himself, and began to wash one paw with great care, as if his work for the afternoon was now done.
Lila shook her head as her mind started to spin, and the reality of what Tom had just asked her set in.
Lila was going on a dinner date with her boss!
TOM
Tom released Lila slowly. His hands lingered at her waist for the briefest second longer than they needed to. Then they fell away, and Lila straightened up. Tom turned his head.
Harold was sitting in the chair by the window. Tail wrapped around his paws. Eyes half-closed. The expression on the cat’s face was unmistakably smug.
“Harold, what in the world?” Tom growled at him.
Harold flicked his tail and went back to grooming his front paw.
Just then, before Tom could apologize for his ill-mannered feline who had rudely used Lila’s back as a springboard, the bell above the door chimed.
Mr. Coleman from down the road came in for his usual two-seeded rolls and a small loaf of rye. Tom turned to greet him, and what had just happened caught up with him all at once. Heat rose in his neck. A strange, suffocating feeling bubbled under his ribs. The full and terrible realization of what he had just done made his breath hitch in his throat.
He had asked Lila on a date.
He had dressed it up in cupcake recipes and a binder of her ideas for the bakery, but beneath it all, he had still just asked her on a date. He had also held her in his arms for a moment that had been too long to be accidental and too short to be enough. And he had stood there afterward and arranged the whole thing as if it were a normal day at the bakery. Tom pulled himself together as Mr. Coleman approached the counter. Lila greeted the older man warmly and reached for the rye. Tom stepped back and let her serve, his mind moving in three directions at once.
Eleanor’s photograph above the front sink. Five years a widower. The wedding ring was still on his right hand because he had moved it across instead of taking it off. The small one-bedroom apartment above the bakery that he had carved out because he could not bear the bigness of Heart House without his late wife.
What in the world had he just done?
Mr. Coleman left with his bread. Lila turned back to Tom with her warm, easy smile, the one that had been undoing him quietly for six months without him having the courage to admit it, and Tom felt suffocated all over again.
“Lila,” Tom began.
“Yes?” Lila prompted.
“I just remembered. I told Linda I’d go over to the hotel this afternoon. She needs help to go through some of George’s affairs.” He cleared his throat. “Are you all right here on your own for an hour or two?”
“Of course, Tom,” Lila replied without missing a beat. “Go. The afternoon will be quiet until the school crowd arrives. I have it covered.”
“Are you sure?” Tom fought to stop himself from turning on his heel and sprinting out the door.Get a grip on yourself, Tom.
“I’m sure.” Lila nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
She gave him that warm, easy smile again, and Tom felt the guilt of not being honest with her settle a little deeper into his chest. He hadn’t lied, exactly. Linda had asked him to come over when he could to talk through what he had been quietly helping George with. He had simply made it sound a great deal more urgent than it actually was.
“All right,” Tom said. “I’ll be back to help close up for the night.”
“Take your time.” Lila turned as another customer walked in.
Tom took the opening, grabbed his keys from the counter, and turned to leave. His eyes caught Harold’s on the way past the window chair.
Harold stared back at him.
The cat’s gaze was steady and unimpressed. Tom could feel it on his back as he pushed open the front door of the bakery. He shook his head once at himself. He was now imagining that his cat was glaring at him for lying. He needed air.
Tom climbed into his truck and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel.
He drove to Hearts Hotel without remembering most of the drive.
The streets of Sweet Blossom Bay slipped past the windscreen in a soft gold afternoon haze. Tom passed Maggie’s boutique with its pale pink awning. He passed the Sweet Blossom Bay Marina & Historical Society at the end of the row. He turned onto Bay View Drive and let himself slow down just enough to take in the long curve of palms that lined the road.
