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“Hi, Samantha. It’s Cam,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as peevish as she felt. “I thought we had agreed that you would be here at nine this morning.”

“I’m so sorry,” Samantha said, sounding like she was suppressing a moan. “I’m in the hospital… appendix… I’m waiting for surgery now.”

Cam felt an immediate flood of sympathy. She had been ready to chew the woman out, but it seemed she was facing a real medical emergency. She’d heard appendicitis was more painful than childbirth. Ouch.

“I meant to call, but I woke up feeling so bad I had to call an ambulance,” Sam said, her voice wavering, before drawing in a raspy breath.

“Listen,” Cam said, “don’t you worry about it for a minute. You just focus on getting better. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about the fete. I’ll figure something else out.”

They said goodbye, and Cam stepped back into the kitchen to collect her coat.

“You look like you just got a kick in the nuts,” Francine said, looking concerned.

“It’s nothing,” Cam said, putting on a brave face. She was inwardly panicking, but there was no point in hysterics. Just like she had told Samantha, she would make do. Or cater the whole damned fete by herself. “I’m fine. Ready for lunch?”

They made their way on foot over to Birdie’s, where Cam popped the ratatouille into the oven to warm up and grabbed a crusty loaf of bread.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she said to Francine, who was busy admiring Birdie’s collection of antique teacups. Cam went upstairs to see if Avery or Izzy was around. Birdie, she knew, volunteered at the local charity shop on Mondays. She paused in front of Izzy’s door, where she heard a flute-like tune playing inside and smelled what she thought was palo santo sticks burning. Good, she thought, Izzy was communing with her soul. As long as she didn’t burn down the house. She continued upstairs to the attic, where she found her cousin in bed.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Cam said, poking her cousin’s slim hip through the coverlet.

“I’m awake,” Avery’s muffled voice came from underneath it.

“Are you still jet-lagged?” Cam asked with concern. “Francine’s here, and I’m warming up lunch for us. Izzy seems to be content hanging out in her room. Want to come down and join?”

“No, thanks,” her cousin responded. “I’m just tired. I’ll eat later.”

Cam paused. She could swear she heard a catch in Avery’s voice. Had she been crying? Cam had been so caught up in her own worries that she realized she hadn’t been very attentive to her cousin. The night of her disastrous date with Ian, she had spilled everything to her cousin’s sympathetic ear. Since she had arrived in Silver Cove, Avery had generally seemed like her usual bubbly, confident self. Hadn’t she? She had said everything was fine with her work and the guy she had left back in Budapest had been a nothingburger. But was something more going on with her Summer Sister?

“Okay,” Cam said softly, sensing that now was not the time to press her. Avery kept the blanket over her head. Cam vowed to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with her cousin—another entry on the to-do list. Maybe Birdie knew.

“Take it easy, and I’ll see you later,” Cam said.

Downstairs, she put the bread in the oven to warm, too.

“OMG, it smells delicious!” Francine said. “I might have to give up eating boxed mac and cheese if you turn my tastes all fancy.”

Cam smiled, despite the worry tugging at her from all directions.

A power tool whined, and Francine hopped up to the window to peer out. “That’s Ian McCabe, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, have you met him?” Cam asked. She hadn’t yet shared all the gory details of whatever had happened between her and the carpenter to Francine—which, whatever it was, was definitely over. The friendship between the two women was still new, and Cam was hardly used to spilling her guts. Or having much guts to spill, at least of the romantic ilk, she thought ruefully.

“No, but I’ve seen him around. And every single woman—and possibly even a few decidedly non-single women—in this town has her eye on him. Oh, not me!” Francine laughed as she continued to observe him. “No, I’m perfectly content with my nerdy, sweet-lovin’ man. I’m just doing my due diligence as a proper Silver Cove citizen, particularly as a Main Street shopkeeper. Fluency in gossip is practically a requirement for residency around here, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” Cam couldn’t help but chuckle.

“And is that his daughter out there?” Francine asked. “Does she work with him?”

“Not usually,” Cam answered. She wasn’t about to engage in the town’s favorite pastime by telling Francine about what had happened to Paige and why Ian had brought her along with him to work. That wasn’t anyone’s business but Paige’s and her father’s. She joined Francine at the window and watched as the teen held up a board for her father to hammer into. She looked miserable. Cam suddenly had an idea.

“Hang on. I think I might have found my helper for the fete,” she told Francine. Paige might not be an expert cook, but she was able-bodied and, most importantly, apparently available for the week. Cam would just have to discuss the idea with Ian first. The prospect of facing him, though, admittedly made her feel wobbly. But she had to do it at some point anyway. For now, she turned her attention to the oven.

“Lunch is served,” Cam said, pulling out the hot pan, the smell of garlic and rich spices filling the kitchen. “Bon appétit!”

She and Francine wolfed down their food, slathering the bread with butter and pinches of flaky salt.

“I think I could get used to eating vegetables every now and then if they tasted like this,” Francine said.