Page 87 of It Should Have Been You

“I was wondering what the connection was.”

“Archer owns it.” And named it after his wife. That’s adorable. “You open that door at the back and you’re in the bar. Sometimes Archer comes through that way.” She grabs my hand. “Come on, Molly is in the kitchen. I’ll show you around on our way.” Behind the counter, she grabs an apron and hands it to me. “There’s a room in the back where you can leave your stuff.”

She pulls her phone out of her apron and checks the time. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before this place gets crowded.”

“This isn’t crowded?”

Almost every table is already full.

She laughs in a way that says, “Just you wait and see.”

When she pushes the door open and we step into the kitchen, steam rises from a pot, grease sizzles in a frying pan, and my stomach growls at me.

It smells like heaven.

She introduces me to the cooks, Marty and Joleen. She tells me they’re married and not to pay any attention when one threatens to stab the other.

I’m still not sure if she’s joking.

A door off the main kitchen leads to a smaller one. All stainless steel, large ovens and flour.

So much flour.

“If you’re looking for Molly, she’s usually in here. She does all the baking. We’re in the middle of wedding season, so you take your life in your hands coming in here. She’s been known to throw things.”

That makes me laugh. “Molly?”

“Don’t let the innocent smile fool you. She’s feisty.”

Molly is scooping batter into cupcake trays when we go in. What looks like a wedding cake is sitting on the counter waiting to be iced.

“You made it into the battlefield, huh?” Molly calls from across the room. She’s armed with a spatula, a smear of what seems to be chocolate glaze on her cheek.

Maria shoots me a sidelong glance, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “She just calls it a battlefield because she once fought a croissant and lost.”

“A very stale, very stubborn croissant,” Molly counters without missing a beat.

I wave my hands. “I’m neutral when it comes to croissants.”

Molly laughs, “Good. Get yourself an apron and go to war.”

∞∞∞

“So, what’s a city girl like you doing here?” Ace leans against the counter after settling his bill with a hefty tip.

It seems like all the ghosts of that night ten years ago are living right here in Pine Falls.

The day’s relentless stream of customers has battered my walls of reserve. The locals, eager to know the woman now living next door to Logan, are a force of nature with their prying questions.

I did learn something from what felt like a day of interviews. Logan finished renovating the house I’m living in a couple of years ago. He’s had interest from just about everybody—locals, tourists, outside buyers, but he never let anyone move in. It’s a little flattering, but also sad if I think about it too much because he felt sorry enough for me to let me move in there.

I prefer to take the flattery.

“The tourists flock here, sure,” Ace continues. “But a city slicker moving to our town? You’re either seeking a slow-paced retirement or you’re on the run.”

City-slicker?

I was anything but.

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