With a glance at each other, we took off down the street on our usual route around the square first.

  Saturday morning meant senior sunrise yoga on the square, put on by the senior center. You could see some interesting sights some days. Today, Rosy McNamara was leading it and had the dozen or so seniors doing a warrior pose. I couldn’t hear her from here, but I was certain she had some kind of meant-to-inspire monologue about feeeeeeling the warrior going on.

  The stores were still closed, but there were a few dog walkers and other fitness types out and about. Most of them nodded at us as we jogged past at our warmup speed. The doors of the Fly by Night were propped open, and I could see someone inside, sweeping the floor. The manager at the outdoor gear store on the corner was moving a marquee out front to advertise their kayak sale.

  I gave Jake until we looped all the way back to the hardware store before I questioned him again.

  “So the blonde? Did you get your birthday wish?”

  He shot me the side-eye, which only made me more curious.

  Our usual route continued straight down Main for several blocks past the square before we turned left and wound through residential areas, then looped around by the lake. Jake was silent even as we took that first left into a neighborhood, and it wasn’t because he was winded. Neither of us was. We did five miles a day, several days a week, and we’d barely gotten started.

  “Did she shut you down?” I asked, trying to figure out why he’d gone silent. I didn’t want details, but he’d talked so much shit about hooking up that I was sure something had gone wrong, based on his reticence now.

  It took a good thirty or forty strides for him to answer. “I had to invoke the three-strike rule.”

  “Three-strike rule? You struck out and had to try two other women before you got lucky?”

  “Dickhead. Last night, getting lucky consisted of escaping the blonde unscathed. The three-strike rule—you know, first strike against her, maybe you can deal with it. Second strike, getting iffy but if you really want some action, it still might be bearable as long as you get out fast afterward.”

  “Third strike, no way, no how?”

  “Precisely.”

  I chuckled. “What were the strikes?”

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re really gonna make me go there?”

  “Reality can’t be as crazy as the things going through my head.”

  It was a quarter mile or so before he gave in. “Well, first, Felisha—that’s her name—laughed like a horse.”

  “Come again?”

  “When she laughed, it sounded like a hysterical horse neighing.”

  “Show me,” I said, trying hard to keep a straight face.

  “I’m not going to laugh like a fucking horse. Imagine a horse neighing. Now imagine that sound coming out of a woman.”

  “So just don’t make her laugh. You’re not that funny of a guy. Should’ve been fine.”

  He shot me a look that said if he had more energy, he’d slug me.

  “You are kinda funny-looking, I guess,” I said. “What about strike two?”

  “She’s obsessed with selfies.”

  “She’s young. Aren’t they all?”

  “I was talking to her and her friend for a few minutes, and I kid you not, she must’ve taken twenty-five selfies.”

  I let that sink in. “A little excessive, but maybe she was documenting her vacation.”

  “Six of them she forced me into before I said no more.”

  My brows shot up. “Okay. That’s a red flag.”

  “All I could think was, who knows where my mug is going to show up. Would she do that when we were naked?”

  “Last thing you need is a sex tape going around.” I couldn’t help laughing some more, because leave it to Jake to pick the crazy ones.

  “Jesus.”

  “What was strike three?”

  He shuddered visibly. “Not two minutes after I sat down next to her, she referenced destiny or some shit, saying fate had likely brought me to her side.”

  I narrowed my eyes, thinking it must’ve been a joke, because who said stuff like that to someone they’d just met in a crowded bar? “Was she serious?”

  “As a heart attack. Within five minutes, she was sure the stars had led us to each other.”

  “She said that?”

  “Direct quote.”

  “Looney tunes.”

  “Oh, it got better. Before I could use the john excuse and disappear, she’d used the words soul mate and kismet.”

  I let out a howl of laughter. “Sounds like you were two breaths from living happily ever after with your fated mate.”

  “Happy birthday to me, right?”

  “So you left after that? Or did you keep looking for Ms. Birthday Wish?”

  “Neither. I gave up the hunt. I may be traumatized for life.” He swiped the sweat on his forehead with the hem of his tee. “I stayed and played darts with Dylan, Levi, and Betsy Ballantine. Which means I was there after you left with Ava.”

  Had I known that before, I might’ve gone easier on the questions from the start. There was no way he’d be cutting me any slack about this now.

  “I walked her home,” I said.

  “That must’ve been after you had your tongue down her throat in the back hall.”

  “My tongue wasn’t down her throat.” As far as I knew. Although I’d been intense. I could admit, if only to myself, Breckenridge had gotten to me. I hadn’t planned to kiss Ava. Hadn’t known what I was going to do until she walked out of the ladies’ room looking so fresh and pretty and kissable. Hell, I hadn’t planned to nearly attack her until my lips were on hers.

  “I heard differently,” Jake said.

  “You know better than to believe what you hear in this town.”

  “So you didn’t kiss her?”

  Fuck, it was hot out here already.

  “That’s what I thought,” Jake said. “Then you walked her home. Did you spend the night?”

  “I didn’t spend the night,” I snarled.

  “What are you doing getting involved with your ex?”

  “We’re not getting involved.” I sounded defensive and I knew it, but it was nobody’s damn business about Ava and me. We weren’t involved.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he said, as if he could hear my thoughts.

  “She’s only in town for a couple of weeks. Her dream job is knocking at her door, and it’s in Los Angeles.” I told him about her TV series and how she had to fly back for a meeting next week.

  “That’s pretty fucking cool,” he said.

  “It’s what she was meant to do. She was talking about writing screenplays even back when we were together.”

  He blew out something between a breath and a whistle. “I don’t know much about the TV world, but head writer sounds like a big deal.”

  “It is.” I’d googled it, the streaming company, and how to get a job as a head writer. It sounded like a snowball’s chance in hell for most people, and Ava was more than halfway to attaining it. “Like I said, her life is fully anchored to California. I’d never want to hold her back.”

  “Which brings us back to the question of what the hell are you doing?”

  “Spending time with her while she’s here. She doesn’t have a lot of friends in town.”

  “She was with Magnolia last night, and that’s after only being here a week. Seems like she’d be okay without you.”

  “What difference does it make to you if I spend time with Ava?” I asked, more than a little annoyed. We turned the corner onto the shoulder of Honeysuckle Road to do the last leg, as usual, with a lake view to our right. We had about a mile until we reached Henry’s and the intersection with Main.

  “I just don’t think it’s smart to get friendly with someone you have history with,” Jake said. “There’s too much kindling there and not just the physical kind.”

  I scowled at him, trying to make sense of his metaphors. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You used to love each other, the way I remember it,” he said. “It’s not going to take much for one or both of you to slip back into that. If she’s not staying, somebody’s going to get their heart crushed like a bug.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said automatically. Ava and I were just spending time together, reconnecting on a harmless level for another couple of weeks. Maybe less. I didn’t even know how long she planned to stay when she returned. “I like her. That’s all. Completely harmless.”

  I could feel him staring me down from the side, looking for something on my face that went against what I was saying. I blanked my expression, focused on my feet hitting the coarse pavement, even as a hint of unease buzzed in my head.

  As we neared the intersection of Honeysuckle and Main, a siren sounded and seemed to be getting closer. Sure enough, the big fire truck came down Main Street toward us. My first reaction was to glance at my restaurant and Holden’s brewery, remembering the fire in the brewery building a few months ago, before Holden opened it. There was no sign of smoke or any other problems in the two lakeshore buildings on the other side of the street, though, thank God.

  The truck backed that up when it signaled a left turn onto Honeysuckle, heading out of town. There were houses a couple miles up that way…and Ava’s inn. Ava, who’d planned to bake this morning. Ava, who’d been able to scorch a toaster pastry like nobody’s business.

  “Shit,” I said as I took off at a sprint before the truck even turned onto the road that went to the inn.

  Chapter 12

  Ava

  I’d never felt so defeated in my life.

  Or embarrassed.

  The siren on the fire truck got closer as my cheeks grew hotter—and not from fire. There was no fire, only smoke, plus an alarm system that was connected to the fire department. Of course it was connected to the fire department.

  God, please let the earth open up and suck me in right now.

  The siren stopped, and I could hear the large truck rumbling down the lane toward me and Gretchen Morris and one of her housekeeping staff, as well as every last Honeysuckle Inn guest. Because naturally the alarms had sounded throughout the inn, and naturally it was necessary to evacuate everybody from the building. Not for the first time, I was relieved there weren’t more guests staying with us at the moment, even if it would help the cash flow issue a little.

  Gretchen, who was in her mid-fifties and the head of Housekeeping, had come to work bright and early to prepare for most of the guests checking out today. She squeezed my upper arm supportively as the noisy truck pulled up. “Things like this happen all the time. It’s okay, hon.”

  I knew she meant well, and I was thankful she was there and had filled me in on the fire department connection and the evacuation policy. But it didn’t feel like things were okay right now.

  Four firefighters jumped out of the truck, and one of them asked if the owner was present. With my cheeks still burning, I went toward him.

  “There’s no fire,” I blurted out. “I burned muffins.” I pointed to the muffin pan I’d tossed on the ground in front of the porch, thinking maybe that would get the stupid alarm to shut up.

  Another one of the firefighters headed over to look at them, and the first one asked, “So there were no flames?”

  I shook my head.

  “Where did this happen?”

  “In the inn’s kitchen.”

  He called out to the other two to go in and check it out.

  I explained, “Once you’re inside, you go past the desk and—”

  “It’s okay. I’m familiar with the inn,” he said. “You’re Phyllis’s niece, right?”

  I nodded, not for the first time today thinking I was not doing Phyllis proud. At that thought, tears gushed into my eyes, and why not? I already felt like a total moron in front of the guests. I might as well cry my eyes out while I was at it.

  But if nothing else, I was stubborn, so I squeezed my eyes shut, dragged a finger under each one, trying to dry them, then said, “I turned the oven off, so everything’s okay. Not even that smoky.”

  “We still have to check it out,” the guy said. “Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Thanks,” I said on an exhale, then glanced at the guests, who were hanging out in front of the east wing. I headed toward them, summoning an apologetic inn-owner smile. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” I said for probably the fifth time since we’d herded them outside. “They said it won’t take long.”

  The Bianchi family, a young couple with twin three-year-olds, stood closer to the fire truck than all the others, one girl in her daddy’s arms, staring at the truck with wide eyes, and her sister holding her mom’s hand while hopping on one foot and talking nonstop about the rig.

  “Have you ever seen a fire truck so close?” I asked the mellow girl, and she hid her face in Mr. Bianchi’s neck kind of like I wished I could do. Except without Mr. Bianchi, of course.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ackhurst, a retired couple from Des Moines, were already dressed for the day, and he’d brought the mug of coffee he’d brewed earlier in their room. Someone had moved two chairs from the porch out to them so they could sit. Mrs. Ackhurst smiled at me. “Looks like you’re having that kind of day. At least we got some lookers as first responders.”

  “That we did,” I said with a laugh. One of the firefighters who’d remained outside had taken off his helmet, showing that he was, indeed, a looker.

  “You holding up okay?” Knox asked, walking up next to me. He’d been sitting on the curb, his laptop open, typing away as if there was no emergency going on around him. Which there wasn’t. Just the smoke and a big truck that made it look so much worse than it was.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Embarrassed. You’re working early today.”

  “Couldn’t sleep, and my characters were talking. I’m on kind of a roll, so I’m going to go sit in my car and see if I can get to the end of my chapter.”

  “Good luck.”

  As he walked off, I turned toward the last three groups, the Patels, a honeymooning couple from North Dakota, Felisha and Veronica, two besties in their thirties here for a girls’ week away, and the Kiplings, a keep-to-themselves couple in their early fifties. They all seemed involved in their own conversations, so I let them be, knowing yet another apology wouldn’t make anything better.

  I was lucky everyone was so understanding. And that there wasn’t actually a fire. This could’ve been a lot worse.

  Two of the firefighters were by the truck now, doing whatever firefighters who got called out on a fluke call did, so I guessed they didn’t have any other questions for me. Perfect. I just wanted to be left alone.

  I took a few steps away from everyone to try to breathe and calm my emotions. As I turned, I caught movement down the driveway out of the corner of my eye, and when I looked in that direction, I saw the last person I wanted to see right now, coming at me in a sprint.

  Except, in spite of telling myself all damn night I needed to avoid Cash Henry as much as possible until I left town, there was an annoying flip in my chest at the sight of him. Because what a sight he made in athletic shorts and a half-drenched-with-sweat T-shirt, his thigh muscles flexing with every long stride, his biceps glistening with perspiration…

  “Ava,” he said, barely winded. “What’s going on?” He stopped beside me, and okay, his chest was heaving a little, but it was nothing like the death I would be experiencing had I sprinted from the main road.

  “Everything’s fine.” I turned my gaze back to the firefighters and the truck and the “action.”

  “I was on my run and saw the truck turn this way. What happened?”

  My eyes fluttered closed. It was embarrassing enough to screw up and have everyone at the inn’s morning interrupted, but admitting my amateur mistake to Cash? The professional chef? Especially after he’d teased me that I couldn’t bake?

  “You were right. I should’ve gone to Sugar,” I said, resigned. “I burned the muffins.” I gestured to the pan still on the ground. “The smoke set off the alarm. The alarm’s connected to the fire department, and here we all are, just hanging out before seven on a Saturday morning. At least it’s not raining.”

  “Damn. Sorry you’re having a bad start.” He put an arm around me, squeezed me to his side, then released me. “I’d give you a better hug but I stink,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. I didn’t want him to hug me, and it had nothing to do with sweat. I didn’t want anyone to hug me. Wasn’t sure if I could handle people being nice to me at the moment. “The firefighters should be about done, and then they’ll let everyone back in.”

  He walked several long steps toward the inn, his eyes on the pan, going close enough that he’d definitely notice that not only were the muffins black but they hadn’t risen.

  When he was back at my side, he asked, “What happened? Was the cooking time wrong?”

  “I got distracted and forgot to set a timer.”

  “It’s happened to me. Maybe not to fire department level.” His smile was sympathetic instead of teasing. I tried to join him in that smile but I probably wasn’t convincing.

  “I made the mistake of checking my email while they baked,” I said. “There should be a limit on bad news emails before eight a.m. on a weekend.”

  “What kind of bad news?”

  “Let’s see… The woman I offered a front desk position took another job. The appraisal on the inn came in lower than expected, so I’ll have less to borrow against. And the roof estimate was nearly double what Halstead had guessed and I’d hoped for. For starters.”

  “That’s a hell of a Saturday morning,” Cash said.

  “Next thing I knew, smoke was coming out of the oven. I switched it off, then made the mistake of opening it.”

  “Smoke came rolling out?”

  I nodded.

  He was quiet, pensive, while I watched the two firefighters come back outside and consult with the others.

  “This is all recoverable,” Cash said, and I raised my brows, because I was ready to walk off the end of the dock and soak my head in the lake. “First I need to wash off the sweat. Mind if I use the shower in the cottage while you finish up with these guys?” He nodded to the firefighter who was approaching, the same guy I’d spoken to before.