Page 2

The station is tiny. No one’s here to help with my bags, so I schlep them one at a time to the curb and spot a dusty red pickup with a guy in his early twenties leaning against the hood. He pushes off and strolls toward me with an easy wave.

“Hey, I’m Steve,” he greets, eyeing my bags. “You must be Lila.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“I’m pretty much your only option out here. Good thing you called when you did. Lots of folks are arriving today. Passion Pines is getting famous.” He points to my suitcases. “Is that it?”

“This is everything.”

I keep a tight grip on my hard case as Steve loads my bags into the bed of the truck. He opens the passenger door for me, starts to round the front, then turns back.

I pause with my hand on the door. “Did we forget something?”

His eyes narrow just a fraction in recognition. “Wait a second … you’re the baker from Chicago, right? The one with the big dessert-table thing that went viral last summer? I think my girlfriend follows you on Instagram.”

Shit. My stomach drops as the heat rushes to my face in the freezing air. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Of course it followed me. Even here, in a town so small it barely has a traffic light, someone knows. I blink hard, press my lips together, and stare at the pine tree just past his shoulder, the way I used to change focus after I failed an exam in college.

Steve’s expression softens. “Ah, hell. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it weird. People talk, that’s all. You still want the ride?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and force my voice to work. “Yes. Please. Knotty Pines Motel first, then I need you to wait and take me up to the Grizzly Grind after I check in.”

“No problem.”

I settle into his cracked leather seats and Steve pulls away from the station.

He takes the long way through town, pointing out the post office, the Misty Mountain Mercantile, and the police department where holiday lights drip from every window even though Thanksgiving is still a week away.

I nod and try to look grateful. The scandal followed me here, whether I like it or not. But I still have to walk into the kitchen I reserved with Clara, with my head held high.

Checking into the Knotty Pines Motel doesn’t take long. Then I’m back in the truck with Steve, climbing again, for miles, higher this time, until the Grizzly Grind Bakery & Coffee Shop sign comes into view.

The truck turns into a small gravel lot in front of a charming building with wide windows decorated with harvest leaves in deep reds, oranges, and golds, interspersed with tiny pumpkins. A little thrill curls up my spine. Pumpkin-pie season is the best time of the year.

Steve helps me out one last time, and even from the parking lot I can smell cinnamon, pumpkin, baked apples, and fresh coffee all tangled together in the cold air.

I thank him, give an extra tip, and watch the red truck disappear before I square my shoulders and push open the door.

Chapter two

Warmth and noise wrap around me instantly. Every table is filled. The place is packed with people chatting, laughing, and working on their laptops.

In the lounge I glimpse oversized velvet armchairs and a coffee table stacked with paperbacks.

The air is pure spice, butter, and Pie Palooza buzz. I cut through the space to the front counter where a woman with silver-streaked hair looks up from a list that’s as long as her arm. She’s wearing a flour-dusted apron and seems to be running the show. This has to be Clara. I step forward with my purse slung over my shoulder and set my baking treasures on the counter.

“Hi. I’m Lila Harlow. Do you happen to be Clara Stone? I emailed about renting workspace for the Pie Palooza.”

Her face lights up as she wipes her hands on a towel and comes around the counter. “Lila! Of course. I’ve been hoping you’d still come. We’ve got more entries this year than ever.”

I look at the key she offers but hesitate. “Thank you so much, especially since I’m technically your competition.”

Clara laughs softly, making the corners of her blue eyes crinkle. “Oh, honey, I took the grand prize last year, so I’m sitting this one out. Happy to cheer from the sidelines and keep the coffee flowing. You’ll just need to share the back station with one other contestant who’s also renting space. She’s local, nice enough. I’m sure you two will figure it out.” She presses the spare key into my palm. “It’s yours until the contest. Welcome to Grizzly Grind. Make yourself at home.”

Relief hits so hard my knees feel shaky. “Thank you. Really. You have no idea what this means.”

Clara gives my arm a gentle squeeze, then turns back to the growing line of customers. I move to a quiet corner in the lounge and carefully set my case on the velvet chair beside me. I dig out my phone and text Maya:

Got the workspace. Clara is an angel. Assassin’s kit fit in the plane’s overhead and survived the trip. I’m really doing this.