“I learned that Anabelle is hot for a tourist,” I said.

  “Which one?”

  “I think it’s one of the men that were in here earlier. Mutt and Jeff. The ones that didn’t buy any cheese.”

  “The bad-skin guy?”

  “No, the other one who appeared to have lost all the weight. They’re brothers.”

  Jacky snapped her head up and gazed at me, her eyes tense and alert.

  I was about to ask what was wrong when Hugo approached the counter.

  “Charlotte, how did the Brie ice cream turn out?” he said. With his rich baritone voice, I could imagine him addressing an audience, and I wondered if he had done some kind of acting or orating prior to settling in Providence. Perhaps he had been a magician. With his muscular body, I could see him trying to escape from a water torture cell.

  “Great, delicious,” I said. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to give you this.” I fetched a copy of the Brie blueberry ice cream recipe that I had tucked beside the register and handed it to Hugo. “You should offer it on your menu.”

  “Am I allowed to make it before the big day?” He winked.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “In that case, let me buy five pounds of Brie.”

  As he paid for his purchase, Rebecca whispered, “Back to Anabelle. Tell me about the tourist she’s interested in.”

  At the mention of the tourist again, I searched for Jacky. She had turned the stroller around and was heading toward the exit. Anxiety swept through me. Why had she reacted so strongly when I had mentioned the tourists before, and why wasn’t she sticking around to fill me in?

  CHAPTER

  Later that night, I stood at the sink in my grandparents’ kitchen washing pots and pans, my mouth watering even though I had finished a big meal. The lingering aromas would make the most dedicated dieter hungry. Remnants of the feast of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and the most delectable string beans known to man, brined in salt and drenched in butter, sat on the counter. Clair, who had to follow a strict celiac diet, had consumed the entire gluten-free Yorkshire pudding popover I had made for her.

  Jordan snuggled behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist. “I need some fresh air. Care to join me?” He breathed a sigh on the back of my neck. “It’s beautiful out. The temperature is unseasonably warm. The sky is a dusky, romantic orange.”

  I swiveled to meet him, my chest brushing his ever so slightly. “I’m a little busy.”

  He assessed the stacks of dishes. “I’ll help.” He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a dish towel, and began drying what I washed. Each time his shoulder, his hip, or his arm touched mine, I hungered with desire.

  “Jacky was in the shop with Hugo Hunter today,” I said, doing my best to push aside sexy thoughts and keep the conversation lighthearted. “How long have they been going out?”

  “Are you hoping for a little town gossip, sweetheart?” he joked.

  “Gossip? Me?”

  “Yes, you.” Jordan flicked the tail of the towel at my legs.

  I laughed. “She hasn’t mentioned word one about their relationship at our girls’ night out.” Once a week, a bunch of girlfriends and I got together for a yoga class or a self-defense class or dinner.

  “They’ve been dating for two or three weeks,” Jordan said.

  “That long?”

  “Some people can keep secrets.” Jordan had moved to Providence a few years back, and until last year, his reason for moving had been a mystery to me, but once the puzzle was solved to my satisfaction, he proposed and our romance soared.

  “No, no, no.” Grandmère, carrying wine and water glasses, waltzed into the kitchen, followed by my friend Delilah, owner of the local diner, former Broadway dancer, and current director of Hamlet.

  “But we need them.” Delilah spanked the back of her hand against the palm of her other hand.

  “Gaslights are not in keeping with the times,” Grandmère countered.

  “Then torches.” Delilah swooped her curly hair over her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. “If we don’t have lights, people will bump into each other.” After her rousing success with the play she had written for Providence Playhouse a season ago, Delilah was granted the opportunity to direct again. My grandmother claimed she hired Delilah because she, Grandmère, was losing her touch as a director, but I knew better. She wanted to foster Delilah’s talent. Delilah had dreamed up the brilliant idea of making Hamlet an open-air production in the Village Square.

  “Fine,” Grandmère conceded. “How are the costumes coming along?”

  Pépère pushed through the swinging door. “Mon amie, please. It is Matthew and Meredith’s night. No more discussion about the play.”

  Since Delilah had arrived at the house, Grandmère and she had talked nonstop about the production.

  Grandmère tsked. “It will be their night a week from Sunday. The play is imminent.”

  Pépère huffed. “You should not have scheduled Hamlet for this time.”

  “I could not change the calendar, Étienne. You know that.” Grandmère patted my grandfather’s cheek and gave him a not to worry look. “It is only two nights. It will not infringe on their festivities.”

  “Bah,” he said.

  “Bah, yourself.” Unwilling to argue longer, Grandmère turned her gaze to me. “Chérie, will you put up a pot of coffee?” My grandmother was a whiz when it came to cooking, but she couldn’t brew a decent cup of java no matter how many times we went over the proportions.

  “Hey, Charlotte.” Delilah’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I saw Jacky walking with Hugo Hunter today. What’s up with that?”

  I glanced at Jordan, who shrugged No comment. At times he could be so cagey that it drove me insane.

  “No, no, no,” my grandmother said. “No gossip.” She prodded Delilah out of the kitchen. “We will need wigs.”

  “Impénitente,” Pépère muttered as he followed them out.

  I couldn’t disagree. My grandmother was incorrigible.

  Before the swinging door closed, Rebecca hurried in. “How can I help?”

  No matter what the occasion, Rebecca was invited. My grandparents hadn’t adopted her, but they might as well have. She basked in their affection.

  “Take the desserts to the table,” I said. Before washing the dishes, I had set a tray of delectables on the counter. Though our family often had gatherings for no reason at all, tonight we had come together to do yet one more tasting for the wedding.

  “Jordan, have you tried the ice cream?” Rebecca asked. “Tout de suite.” She kissed her fingertips.

  “You mean, très doux,” I said. “Tout de suite means ‘right away.’”

  “Are you sure? I heard someone on NCIS say tout de suite.” When not working, Rebecca was a mystery reruns junkie, on television or on the Internet. She loved the problem-solving aspect.

  I grinned. “Whoever said it was making a joke.”

  “Harrumph.”

  “The tartlets look fabulous,” Jordan said. “Rebecca, did you have a hand in those?”

  I could have kissed him full-on. He had a way of making a woman feel ultra-special.

  “I did,” she said, her French mistake all but forgotten. “I suggested a dash of almond flavoring.”

  In addition to a cake, Meredith and Matthew wanted an assortment of finger-food-type desserts. Rebecca and I had spent a good two hours putting the treats together. Mini pumpkin cheesecakes, mascarpone fruit tarts, and the pièce de résistance, Brie blueberry ice cream tucked into a white chocolate candy shell.

  All chatter in the dining room stopped as Rebecca, Jordan, and I entered with the goodies, and a chorus of “Ooh,” followed. A few months ago, Grandmère had redecorated the dining room, removing the flocked paper and painting the walls a luscious pearl color. The effect had made the space bright and conducive to conversation.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” Meredith said, looking cheery in a peach-colored sundress and a matching grosgrain ribbon that she had laced through her hair.

  Matthew sat beside her, his hand wrapped around hers. “Bravo.”

  “Let’s taste them first.” I had experimented with the recipes for a few of the items. Though I liked the flavors, I wasn’t certain everyone would, the twins in particular. “All are gluten-free,” I said to Clair.

  “Even the tarts?” she asked. She was our sweet-tooth girl. Amy preferred salty foods.

  “You bet.” Although I hadn’t come upon a gluten-free sourdough bread recipe that would rival real sourdough, most other things I could make. Pie dough was one of the easiest. If made with sweet rice flour and xanthan gum, the dough was pliable and cooked up crisp. Sometimes I left out the gum and added an extra egg white. Weather conditions made a big difference in the texture.

  “Are you sure?” Clair said.

  “Absolutely.” I served up individual plates, each set with a trio of the confections, and said, “Dig in.”

  Matthew leaned over as I took my seat beside him. “I heard about my ex-wife’s outburst at Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe. I’m shocked she hasn’t made a surprise appearance tonight.”

  I smirked. “She wouldn’t dare. No matter how bad she is, she still wants Grandmère’s approval. An out-of-sorts mayor can make things difficult for a small business owner.”

  Grandmère, who was positioned at the head of the table, sat taller. “Did I hear my name mentioned?” Octavia said I had the memory of an elephant; my grandmother had elephant ears.

  “No,” I said, putting an end to that discussion. Talking about Sylvie would not enhance the evening’s festivities. “Enjoy.”

  “Étienne, eat.” Grandmère fluttered her hand at my grandfather. He hadn’t taken a bite of the desserts, and he adored ice cream. He visited the Igloo Ice Cream Parlor at least once a week. He was the one who had talked me into collaborating with Hugo on a recipe.

  “Forgive me, mon amie, but I am not hungry.” Pépère rose from his chair. He teetered.

  I reached out to steady him. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  A man of staunch character, he did not suffer people fussing over him. He waved me off. “I am fine, chérie. I worked too long in the garage. It is the heat.” For fun, my grandfather built birdhouses. Many of his creations adorned his yard as well as mine. “Or perhaps it is all this talk about the food. My waistline”—he patted his bulging stomach—“is not getting smaller, no matter how hard I try.”

  “You know what it takes,” Grandmère said.

  “Oui, mon amie. Less food and an extra dose of exercise.” Pépère rolled his eyes at her, though I spotted the gleam in them. My grandmother and he were the most adorable couple I knew. They loved each other unconditionally. I hoped that Jordan and I, after forty years, would be as devoted.

  As my grandfather squeezed my grandmother’s hand, a shriek cut the air. It wasn’t the cat. Matthew and the twins had taken Rags and Rocket home before we sat down to dinner. I shot a look at Jordan. His sister, Jacky, lived next door.

  Jordan leaped to his feet and bolted from the room.

  I hurried after him but pivoted at the door and pointed at the twins. “You stay here.”

  “Aww,” they chimed.

  “Matthew, Meredith.”

  “On it,” they said as a team.

  With my heart doing a jig, I tore out the kitchen and down the driveway.

  Jordan passed through a hole in the boxwood hedge that created a border between properties. Jacky raced to him. She cradled Cecily in her left arm. Using her right, she painted a story.

  I sidled through the hedge and joined them.

  Thick hair flopping, Hugo sprinted to us carrying a flashlight in his hand. He stopped, out of breath, a foot behind Jacky. “No one’s lurking in the bushes,” he said.

  “You’re sure?” Jordan asked.

  “I’m not crazy. I saw someone.” Jacky’s breath was jagged, her eyes pinpoints of fear. “I think…I’m not sure…I think it was him.”

  “Him, who?” Hugo asked.

  Jacky’s gaze flew from Jordan to me and back to her brother.

  Jordan said, “Hugo, this is a private family matter.”

  Hugo straightened his shoulders. “Whatever the secret is, I should know it, too. I’m in love with Jacky.”

  “You’re what?” Jacky gaped.

  Hugo squeezed her shoulder and let his hand rest there. “You heard me.”

  He certainly was impulsive. Could he know that he was in love in three weeks’ time? Yes, I reminded myself. I had fallen hard for Jordan in less time than that. Perhaps a minute. And yet something about Hugo made me wary. I recalled what Rebecca had said in the shop. He was a man of mystery. Like Houdini. Disappearing from town and reappearing whenever it suited him. Had he moved to Providence with some ulterior motive? He had arrived not long after Jacky had moved here. Had her husband sent Hugo to track down Jacky and keep an eye on her? I pushed that notion away, having once before thought Jacky was being stalked and the guy turned out to be nothing more than a man hired to work at the honeybee farm.

  I scanned the shadows at Jacky’s house. Was someone waiting for an opportunity to strike when all of us weren’t hovering about? I didn’t spot a hint of movement.

  “Don’t worry,” Hugo said. “I can see in your eyes that you love me, too. You don’t have to say the words back to me. I’m a patient man.”

  Why did his words sound rehearsed?

  “I repeat,” Hugo pressed, “him who?”

  “My husband,” Jacky said.

  “You’re married?”

  “I was…I am…It’s too hard to explain.”

  The notion that Jacky’s husband might be skulking about made my heart pound. The man had a gun. He had never used it on Jacky, but he had threatened her with it.

  “Okay,” Hugo said. “You’ll tell me at another time. Right now, breathe and tell us what you think you saw.” Hugo inhaled and swirled his hand in front of his chest, directing Jacky to do the same. He gazed at her with his mesmerizing cobalt eyes, and she obeyed. How could she resist? I was working hard to keep myself in check.

  “I thought I was seeing things earlier in the day,” Jacky said. “I went out for a walk, pushing Cecily in the stroller. There were two men hanging outside the bookshop. They were arguing. One of them reminded me of Giacomo—my husband—but he had lost so much weight.”

  I flinched. Could she be referring to one of the tourists that had come into the shop earlier? The one Rebecca had said had a wattle? The one Anabelle had called hunky?

  “I didn’t want to stare. I made a U-turn. They didn’t see me,” Jacky went on. “But then I was in Fromagerie Bessette, and I overheard you, Charlotte, talking about a guy with bad skin, and I knew you meant Vinnie.”

  “Giacomo’s jerk of a brother,” Jordan explained.

  As if Giacomo, a wife abuser, wasn’t jerk enough. If only I had put two and two together, I could have alerted Jacky. I glanced again at the perimeter of her house. I didn’t see any movement. No flash of metal.

  Jacky gripped Jordan’s hand. “My nightmare is coming true, Jordan. He’s found me. I’ve got to get out of town. He’ll take Cecily.”

  “Wait a sec,” Hugo said. “You told me Cecily’s father’s name was William.”

  “It is. Was. It’s a long story. See, I was leaving Giacomo. William was my lover. He died in a car accident. A drunk driver hit him. He…that’s not what’s important,” Jacky cried. “Giacomo will think she’s his, don’t you see?”

  “Because you’re still married.”

  “In name only.” Jacky turned to Jordan. “What will I do?”

  Jordan’s jaw ticked with tension. “I’ll stay with you.”

  “No, I will,” Hugo said, his voice commanding. “I’m trained in combat.”

  CHAPTER

  When Jacky grew calm and almost giddy with relief that her estranged husband was nowhere in the vicinity, she told Jordan to leave her in Hugo’s care. Not one to hover, Jordan agreed. We finished cleaning up after the meal at my grandparents’ house, and a short while later, headed to Jordan’s farm.

  To shake off tension, we decided to take a walk. The air felt warmer than usual for October. A harvest moon cast a shimmering golden glow on the hills. As we strolled along the road, our hands entwined, a breath of breeze caressed our faces, and I worked hard to make my mind relax. So much was going on in my life, with the wedding and the twins moving out. Jacky’s distress had magnified everything for me.

  I broke the silence. “What do you think about Jacky dating Hugo?”

  “Nothing to think.”

  “What about the fact that he was trained in combat? Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “No. It probably means he served in the army.” Jordan turned to me. “I don’t want to talk about Jacky anymore tonight. Or Hugo. Or anybody else. I just want to talk about us.” He gazed at me with those bedroom eyes. “I want you to move in with me.”

  I gulped. I wasn’t a prude. I had stayed the night with him and intended to stay again tonight, but move in? “Before we get married?”

  He offered a lopsided grin. “Ohio is advanced enough to see that we’re committed, heart and soul. We’ll get that legal certificate when you finally pick a wedding date.” He ran a knuckle along my jawline. “C’mon, say yes.”

  “What will I do with my house?”

  “We’ll put it on the market. There are lots of people, like Hugo, moving into town. Your grandmother’s Come to Providence for the Good Life campaign is working. Sales are on the rise.”

  I loved my little Victorian house. I had put sweat and tears into it. I adored the latticework, the veranda, the quaint rose garden, and the antique but updated kitchen. I supposed I could keep it and rent it out, but did I want to be a landlord? “What about the twins? It’s their home, too.”

  Jordan chuckled. “Darling, you shouldn’t be worried about the girls. They’ve got a new life ahead of them.”

  “What will I do with Rocket and Rags?”