Page 7

She shrugged off her apron and hung it on a peg by the door. “So, are you two getting kind of serious?”

My smile masked my panic. “We’re trying to be friends. A new and different approach for us.”

“I mean, I’ve guy friends, and I know you’ve had one or two, but you were going to marry Gordon at one point.”

“Yeah. But the engagement was rushed. We moved too fast.” Gordon had never considered our pace fast. The speed had been my complaint.

“He’s cute.”

I smiled as I sipped more ginger ale. “Yes, he is.”

“Better grab Gordon, Daisy. He strikes me as a keeper.”

“Yeah.” I thought about the dark-pink plus sign on the pregnancy test buried deep in my bathroom trash can. How would I explain this to him? How could I tell a guy I really loved that I was pregnant with another man’s baby? “He is.”

“When will he be back?”

“Monday.” When he’d left a couple of days ago, I’d been sorry to see him go. Now I was glad for the break. I had to find a doctor and get a blood test so by the time he returned I’d know one way or the other about the pregnancy. I tried to think good thoughts about flu and food poisoning.

“Well, if you two decide to take your relationship up a notch and tie the knot, call me. Your getting hitched is an event I’d like to see.”

I imagined us standing by the Potomac, saying our vows. “No one is getting hitched anytime soon.”

“Never know.” She gave me a quick salute. “So, are we doing the going-away party tomorrow?”

“We are. Mom and Dad shove off with the girls at noon, so let’s shoot for five. You, me, and Rachel.”

“We’ll walk to a pub and drink like we did when we were teenagers.”

I offered a thumbs-up, already knowing if I drank a drop of wine, I’d throw up. “Right.”

“See ya.”

Alone in the dusty kitchen I stared at the hole and thought about the wall that had stood guard here all my life and provided a refuge office for my grandfather, my dad, and me. And now it was gone.

The front doorbells of the bakery chimed, and I cursed Margaret for not locking the door. One fact I’d discovered about retail was that no matter the time of day or year, if the front door was unlocked, someone assumed we were open.

I pushed through the saloon doors to find an attractive man dressed in dark pleated pants, an ironed monogrammed white shirt, and expensive tasseled loafers.

I recognized him from my financial days and the five or six custom orders he’d placed with the bakery.

Chocolate espresso cake. Simon Davenport.

He was on the verge of launching a new development near the river, and the Union Street Bakery had done some catering for him in the last weeks.

Nothing large yet, but the stream of business had been steady.

And best of all, he paid on time, and his checks always cleared.

Reaching for a towel behind the counter, I wiped my hands. “Simon, what brings you to our neck of the woods today?”

He adjusted horn-rimmed glasses. “I hoped to place an order. But I see you’re closing for a couple of weeks. The party is week after next.”

My dad’s heart for business beat strong in my chest, and I couldn’t let potential income pass without at least asking. “We’re making minor renovations. What kind of party?”

“Launch of the Waterside Project. We’re inviting key investors to walk the site. Always nice to have good food on hand when you’re trying to make a sale.”

“Fat and sugar do make the world go round.” The last job we’d done for him had netted us a grand.

One thousand dollars would sure take the sting out of being closed for the next fourteen days.

“We might be able to help you. I’m always willing to work with a good customer. How many people at the party?”

“Forty.”

A good number. Not so huge, but big enough for a decent payout. “And you’d need this when?”

“Nine days.”

I ticked through a mental calendar. It was a Tuesday. “What would you like?”

“I hoped Rachel would have suggestions. She has a knack for knowing what people like.”

“Let me get her. Wait right here.”

“Great.”

I found Rachel upstairs in her apartment, standing in front of a pile of clean but unfolded children’s laundry. She stared at the pile. “Packing for the girls?”

“Attempting.” She reached for a pair of little red shorts. “They’re going to need so much, and I don’t know where to start.”

Recognizing that she obsessed over details when she worried, I kept my tone light. “They’re going to the beach. They need a bathing suit, one change of clothes, and flip-flops.”

She plucked the matching set of red pants from the pile and studied the two together. “I always rotate their outfits.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Stress deepened normally nonexistent lines on her forehead.

I was stressed about closing the bakery, and so was Rachel.

Love it or hate it, the bakery was the glue in her life.

“Don’t worry about the clothes. Keep it simple.

You know Mom. The girls will likely wear the same clothes the whole time.

Like when we were kids, she’d wash our clothes at night and have them ready for us in the morning. ”

A grim smile tugged the edge of her mouth. “We looked like urchins half the time.”

“We’re well fed, and the clothes, though they might not have matched, were clean. And we survived, like the girls will survive a less-than-perfect fashionable week.” I jabbed my thumb toward the door. “Simon is downstairs, and he wants to place an order.”

“We’re closed.”

“Not for a good client. He wants to talk to you.”

She clutched the red pants close to her chest. “Where will I bake?”

“Find out what he wants, and we’ll take it from there. We can always bake in your apartment or Mom’s kitchen.”

“That’s not right.”

“Rachel. He’s waiting. Let’s go now.” She looked up at me, her expression so glum it took me aback. “Hey, I thought you were Ms. Positive.”

“I’m out of positive vibes right now.”

I raised my hand in a mock cheer pose, hoping to coax a smile. “You can do it. Let’s go see Simon.”

Without smiling, she nodded. “I can do it.”

“I didn’t hear you?”

“I can do it.”

Pitiful. I lowered my arms, wondering how the hell I ended up with the cheerleader job. “He’s out front. He wants your ideas.”

That bit of news had her lifting her gaze. “Out front now?”

“In the front of the store as we speak.”

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. A warm blush colored her cheeks.

For a very split second I considered teasing her about her reaction.

She acted as if she liked the guy. But if I hinted about a sexual attraction, she’d retreat.

Rachel had been a near saint since Mike’s death, and the idea she might harbor an attraction for another male, in her mind, would be akin to a betrayal.

“You need to talk cookies with the man. Now. Before he thinks we ran off or died.”

“Okay. Sure.” She tossed the pants aside and followed me down the stairs.

When she pushed through the saloon doors, he nodded when he saw her and then adjusted his glasses. “Rachel. Good to see you.”

She offered a shy smile. “Simon. It’s good to see you. I hope those éclairs worked out for your last gathering.”

“They were perfect. I told your sister you seem to know what people like.” I puttered behind the counter, pretending to straighten as they talked cookies, pies, and cream puffs. After fifteen minutes, they came up with a menu of assorted cookies.

Simon, his gaze still on Rachel, said, “Daisy, you’ll work up a price.”

“I’ll have it on your desk Monday morning.”

“And the construction won’t be a problem?”

“Piece of cake.”

As I headed into the back, my phone chirped, and I glanced at the text.

Miss you!

It was from Gordon.

My fingers teetered over the keys. I missed him. My hand slid to my stomach. I prayed I’d not screwed it all up.