"You don't know what I do in my free time."
"I know you better than anyone. And I know something's been eating at you for months." Delia reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."
Lila looked at her best friend's open, worried face. Delia, who'd held her hair back during college hangovers and sat with her through three days of crying after Jason. Delia, who'd never once betrayed a confidence or let her down.
She couldn't tell her. Not about the permits. Not about her father's notes. Not about the federal agent who was currently digging into the foundations of their town.
"It's really just the centennial," she said. "I promise. Once this is over, I'll be back to normal."
Delia studied her for a long moment. Then she sighed and released her hand. "Fine. But after the centennial, we're having a real conversation. With wine. And possibly tears."
"Deal."
The bell over the door chimed. Lila glanced up automatically, and her stomach did something complicated when Ronan Cross walked in.
He was wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was damp, like he'd just showered, and he moved through the bakery with that same contained energy she'd noticed before. Aware of everything. Missing nothing.
His gaze found hers across the room. Held for a beat too long.
Then he nodded, casual as anything, and turned to the counter to order.
"Oh, my God." Delia's voice was barely above a whisper. "Did you see that? He looked right at you."
"He's being polite. Small town. People acknowledge each other."
"That was not a polite acknowledgment. That was an 'I know things about you' look."
Lila's heart stuttered. Because that's exactly what it was. He did know things about her. Things she'd told him in her office yesterday, with the door closed and her father's files spread across the desk.
"I should go," she said, reaching for her bag. "I have a meeting at eight."
"It's 7:15."
"Preparation. You know how I am."
"I know you're running away, that’s what I know." But Delia was grinning. "Go. But you're not escaping this conversation forever."
Lila stood and dropped a kiss on Delia's cheek. "I'll call you later."
She walked toward the door, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She would not look at him. She would not?—
"Ms. Bennett."
She stopped. He was standing at the counter, coffee in hand, watching her with an expression that gave nothing away.
"Mr. Cross."
"I was hoping to stop by your office later. A few follow-up questions about the parade route."
"Of course. I'll be there until five."
"I'll find you."
Something about the way he said it made her skin prickle. Not a threat. Not quite a promise. Something in between.
"I'm sure you will," she said, and pushed through the door before he could respond.
The morning passed in a blur of phone calls and emails. Vendor confirmations. Permit renewals. A heated argument with the florist about whether blue hydrangeas were an appropriate choice for the memorial dedication. (They were. Lila won.)
