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Laughing quietly at the long-running battle between us regarding which job was harder, cooking or running the business, I craned my head to signal to Mirabella that we were ready for the bill. She was at our table in less than thirty seconds with it and a Dragonfly Diner bag with Kennedy’s sprinkles.
I reached for my wallet, but Kennedy smacked down a card before I could pull it out.
“This is my treat. You’re hiring me. I’m stoked to work with you,” she said. “I can’t wait to rockSmall Town Smorgasbord’sworld and get them to Henry’s.”
“I like the way you think,” I said. I stood and extended my hand. Kennedy gave it a sturdy shake. “I’m going to be the rude one and run home to put my whites on. I’ll see you both at Henry’s in a few.”
I made my way out of the diner, nodding at the people I knew as I went by. I could tell by the growing line to be seated that it was just after nine. That was when tourists started the daily infiltration.
Though it was mid-August and school had already started throughout the state, the rest of the month was still busy in Dragonfly Lake with couples and childless groups squeezing in an end-of-summer trip to our town. Most of the shops opened at nine or before, so people filled the rainy sidewalks as I made my way toward my loft apartment above the hardware store. I barely saw them as I wove in and out, though, my mind going a thousand miles an hour on how to win the war the Cove had just started.
Six dishes wouldn’t be a problem, but I needed to be strategic and pick the most photogenic ones, the ones I had all the ingredients for on hand, the ones that were most unique. The ones that would blow Nola Simms out of the water, and ultimately, the ones that would allure theSmall Town Smorgasbordproducers in.
As I walked past the hardware store’s front windows toward the stairs up to my place, I was lost in a debate in my head between the apple fritter cake and the stout cake as I wondered if I could get Kinsey in early to pull this off. I took out my phone to send her a message, but before I could unlock the screen, I collided smack into someone coming out of the store. Multiple bags crashed to the ground, the contents scattering across the sidewalk, as I automatically reached out to steady the petite woman I’d plowed into, grasping her elbows.
Cussing at myself for being so wrapped up I’d nearly run someone over, I said, “I’m sorry—”
Oh, holy Jesus. My heart stopped as her dark-chocolate-brown eyes met mine. Familiar eyes.
“Ava?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, and it wasn’t in a friendly way.
Then again, Ava Dean had no reason to be friendly toward me and every reason to hate me.
“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately, unsure whether I was apologizing for bulldozing her over on the sidewalk or for ending our relationship so poorly all those years ago.
She was shaking her head, as if laying eyes on her worst nightmare, backing away from me, and fuck if that didn’t make me feel like an ogre.
“I’ll help you pick this stuff up,” I said, but as I glanced around us, I realized someone else had beaten me to it.
Rosy McNamara straightened, holding out three Bergman Hardware bags stuffed with merchandise to Ava, looking between Ava and me, assessing.
“Ava Dean?” the intuitive woman in her late fifties asked. “Stars above. Are you okay, honey?”
Ava pressed her lips together as she averted her gaze from mine, and I could swear her eyes filled with tears.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked, looking her over. She wore calf-length leggings, a long white shirt with a thin gray unzipped hoodie over it, white sneakers, and a ball cap. I couldn’t see any outward sign of injury.
She continued to shake her head, quick, frantic shakes, as she backed farther away. “I’m fine. I just”—her eyes met mine for another second—“I can’t do this. Not today.”
Without taking the bags from Mrs. McNamara, she turned and scurried toward the old truck parked a few spots down.
Mrs. McNamara sent a concerned look my way, then her brows shot up. “I’ve got her. It seems obvious she doesn’t want your help.”
Swallowing, I nodded once. Even though the woman’s tone was compassionate instead of judgmental, I didn’t like how it felt to have Ava run away from me.
Before I could say more, Mrs. McNamara caught up to Ava and put an arm around her shoulders reassuringly. Since Ava let her and I needed to get my ass to work, I headed up to my apartment to get on with my day.
There was no reason a chance collision with Ava Dean after seventeen years should affect me for more than a minute, so I sure as hell didn’t know why I was still seeing those hurt brown eyes in my mind when I walked into the kitchen at Henry’s thirty minutes later.
Chapter3
Ava
I’d like to think that, on any other day of my life, I’d be able to handle seeing Cash Henry just fine.
Today, though, I was so not even in the same zip code as fine.
