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She closed the car door firmly, shutting the door on her heart’s fairy-tale dreams.
“Here you go, miss.” The chauffeur set down her beat-up old stroller from the trunk, opening it for her on the sidewalk. “I’ll return to Brooklyn for you and Miss Esme shortly.”
“Thank you,” she said, proud of herself for keeping her voice steady. As she settled her baby in the stroller, two young men passed by on the sidewalk, smiling at her. She vaguely recognized them as customers from the neighborhood and tried to smile back at them, but she couldn’t manage it. Her heart was too sad. Squaring her shoulders, she looked ahead.
Foster Bros. Bakery, the sign proclaimed in neon, over the faded paint of a sign original to 1940. The bakery had been expanded in the 1970s, and the window display now showed artificial wedding cakes with old, cracked white frosting over foam foundations. With a deep breath, Tess pushed open the door, causing the bell to chime.
Inside, the tables scattered across the rose-colored tile floor were far emptier than usual. There was only one customer, a white-haired poorly dressed regular named Peg, who came in each morning and paid for her coffee with nickels and dimes, then sat invisibly in the corner for hours, drinking coffee refills and reading newspapers other customers left behind.
Uncle Ray’s head popped up over the bakery case.
“Where have you been?” he demanded as Tess came forward with the stroller. “Your aunt was so worried. We woke up this morning and had no idea where you were. Do you know how many messages we’ve left on your phone? She was about to call the police. The hospital. The morgue!”
Tess hung her head. “I’m sorry, Uncle Ray. I should have called.”
He glared at her. “You shouldn’t have stayed out all night! And with Esme, too.” He looked down at the baby with a frown. “You should be ashamed, Tess. And since you weren’t here to bake this morning, we have no pastries. Dozens of people walked out after they saw I had almost nothing to sell!”
The glass bakery case was indeed mostly empty, without Tess’s pumpkin and maple scones, or pecan rolls or cherry Danish twists. The only pastry on offer was her aunt’s morning glory super-bran honey-sweetened, carrot-and-zucchini muffin, which was a little too healthy for most.
“You could have asked Emily or Natalie. They’re amazing bakers and—”
“They needed their sleep. They have class. I can’t let them lose their only chance of college.” Not like you did, his eyes seemed to say.
Tess’s cheeks went hot. But she couldn’t blame him for being upset. This bakery had been handed down from father to son for generations. Her uncle took it seriously.
After Tess’s mother died when Tess was twelve, her aunt and uncle had brought her here to live with them. Tess had often puzzled over her uncle’s appearance. He didn’t look like bakers should look. Bakers were supposed to be fat and jolly, spreading joy to the world with cake and bread. Instead, Raymond Foster had the ascetic look of a marathon runner, spare and muscular, with a gaunt face and the downturned mouth of someone disappointed with his life. And now, because of her, he was even more disappointed.
Tess’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll go back and start baking, Uncle Ray.”
“It’s too late for pastries,” her uncle barked. “Make cookies. Maybe we can sell them at lunch and after school.”
“All right.” Biting her lip, she paused. “Last night...it’s not what you think. There was a good reason I didn’t come home. I... I saw Esme’s father.”
Her uncle’s eyes widened. “You did?”
She nodded.
Uncle Ray looked around. “So where is he?”
She swallowed. “He had to leave for London.”
“Ah.” Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Right.”
“I did see him! I did!” she said, hating the pleading sound of her own voice.
Her uncle sighed. “Then he obviously wants no part of you or Esme,” he said quietly. “It’s time to move on.”
“He did offer to—”
“Enough, Tess. These romantic fantasies have ruined your life for long enough. I won’t let them ruin our family’s business, too.”
She flinched, even knowing he was right. Stefano hadn’t wanted any part of her or Esme. He hadn’t even asked about seeing his daughter again. All he’d wanted to do was pay them off. To make them disappear. While she...
She wanted a father for her daughter. She wanted a real home. She wanted a partner she could trust, someone she could share her life with. She’d wanted them to be a family.
Forget it, she told herself harshly. Her uncle was right. Romantic fantasies had ruined her life for long enough—
The bell chimed behind her. The bakery’s door opened, and the cool September wind blew in. She heard a heavy step against the tile floor.
