She could hear Bonnie in her mind, wryly telling her to be careful about getting too excited over the food, because she was going to feel proportionately sad when the plate was empty.

  She tried to tell imaginary Bonnie that experiencing an intensity of flavors in what she ate was completely different from experiencing intensity and passion in love. One was a pleasant diversion, while the other was really scary.

  Bonnie told her she was full of shit.

  Or maybe she said that to herself. She wasn’t sure. She carried on far more conversations in her head than made her comfortable, but it was the only way she had to ease the pain she felt in Bonnie’s absence. Knowing she was solely responsible for them being apart did not help, especially since the Bonnie in her mind took any opportunity to remind her of it.

  Yes, she was definitely losing it, she decided as she took another piece of bread.

  She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned, spotting a fluffy gray cat with a white face and paws on the far side of the shed. “Oh, you have a cat,” she said, feeling a rush of sadness. No, she reprimanded herself sternly. Nostalgia. That was all it was. She hadn’t been around any cats since the adoption event…

  And whose fault is that? Annoying Imaginary Bonnie asked.

  Ben looked over at the cat. “Yes, we have about five of them. Bo—” Daisy made a kind of cross between a squeak and a grunt, and he abruptly truncated her name. “Sorry, I mean a friend of ours brought them here.”

  “Yes, that was much better,” Daisy said with a laugh. “Sorry, Taryn. I suppose we shouldn’t coddle you. Bonnie told us some of what happened between you—no details, but enough to let us know that things didn’t work out for the two of you. Anyway, before I interrupted Ben, he was saying that she and some other volunteers often trap feral cats, get them neutered and spayed, then rehome them as barn cats if they can’t be safely returned to their colonies. Two of ours have gotten reasonably friendly with us, and the others just want to be left alone. We feed them and give them a safe, warm place to live, and they keep our barns free of mice and rats.”

  Naturally, Bonnie found time in her hectic week to search out more cats to save. Taryn felt an undeniable rush of pride for her. “She’s amazing,” she said softly. “Is she…is she doing okay?”

  “Tell us more about this wedding you’re planning,” Daisy said gently.

  Taryn nodded, accepting the boundary Daisy had just placed around her friendship with Bonnie even though she wanted to press for more information. Was Daisy refusing to answer because Bonnie was miserable without her, or because she had moved on and was deliriously happy with someone else? Or was she simply telling Taryn to mind her own business because she had given up the right to ask about Bonnie? None of them were appealing options. She wanted Bonnie to be happy in a neutral, not-dating-anyone-else sort of way.

  She startled a little as she realized that was what she had wanted for Sasha and Ninja Cat, too. For them to be reasonably okay and not attached to anyone but her—and not too attached to her because she had her own life to live. Well, that wasn’t a flattering bout of self-reflection.

  Ben and Daisy were watching her patiently, apparently giving her time to get herself together and talk about her reason for coming here. Or her somewhat contrived reason for coming here, when the truth was she had wanted to be close to anything and anyone that reminded her of Bonnie but wasn’t actually Bonnie herself.

  Yikes. These internal monologues were getting overly harsh. And far too accurate for comfort.

  “They’re a couple in their fifties,” she said, finally moving on to the topic at hand. She watched the gray cat make his slow way around the perimeter of the building as she spoke. “They came to me because they have both been married before and didn’t want to go the same traditional route, but they don’t have a clear picture of what they do want. When I interviewed them, though, they kept using phrases like fresh start and how their love grew after they had been friends for a long time. When clients need me to help them focus their theming, I’ll often ask about favorite colors, and they both mentioned spring green. I just had a mental picture of them standing in a field between rows of new growth, saying their vows while the world is coming back to life around them. I know it sounds corny, but I think they’d love to get married in a place like this, when there are baby animals everywhere and everything is turning green.”

  She looked at Ben and Daisy, who were now holding hands as they listened to her. Ben wiped a hand briefly across his eyes.

  “That doesn’t sound corny at all,” he said. “It sounds absolutely beautiful. I can think of several fields that would work, depending on the exact date, of course.”

  “And we’ll have the barn available, in case it rains,” Daisy added. “They can have chicks and goat kids in their wedding photos, too. You know, renting the place out for weddings might be something we should look into doing regularly, especially if they’re scheduled for slower seasons on the farm.”

  Taryn smiled as she watched them start bouncing ideas off each other. Every word she had said about the interview with the couple had been true, but she could have taken this proposal to any number of local farms. She had come here to feel closer to Bonnie in an oblique way. In fact, she knew of a few farms that already did regular weddings and anniversary or birthday parties, but she had only been able to picture her clients at this one. She gave Ben and Daisy the names of the others, though, so they could check out their websites and get more ideas.

  How very different this was from her first discussions with Bonnie, when she fought like a killer bee against using her café for anything that risked publicity and exposure of her past. Most people wouldn’t think that being open to advertising a business was a sign of bravery, but Taryn knew better. She understood how much Bonnie had needed to overcome to get to a place where she was willing to accept her past mistakes and allow both financial success and love into her life. Taryn wasn’t sure she had strength enough to take the same leap and let passion into her own.

  Imaginary Bonnie called her a coward and disappeared.

  * * *

  Later, Taryn sat at her desk and typed out some of the ideas she, Daisy, and Ben had thought of during their visit.

  She had a good sense for couples after doing this for so many years, and she had no doubt her new clients were going to love every ounce of this proposal. She was excited by the prospect, too. It was another of those ceremonies that would benefit from its setting, organically enriching the vows that were spoken, just like the homey café and the cats would add emphasis to the love and family Lex and Marty were creating together.

  She felt a twist in her stomach at the thought of their wedding since she wasn’t sure she’d be able to go to the café without breaking down. She might have to send Angie in her place.

  She heard a tap on her door and looked up as Angie herself came in and handed her a large paper to-go cup. Taryn thanked her before taking a sniff. Chamomile tea. Or maybe Catmomile. Chameowmile? Yes, that was better. She smiled and took a sip as Angie settled into the chair opposite her.

  “Are you ready to talk about it yet?” Angie asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean, but I doubt it.”

  “I mean, talk about what happened between you and your Bonnie.”

  Taryn sighed. All the Chameowmile in the world couldn’t make her relaxed now. “She’s not my Bonnie, and I thought I told you I’d put you on probation if you mentioned her name again.”

  Angie waved her hand dismissively. “Sorry, but I’ve got four probations going at the moment, so I really can’t juggle another one.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. We weren’t even dating, not really. A couple of business dinners, one kiss.” Taryn shrugged, as if the one kiss hadn’t sent her into such a tailspin she’d had to run away. Yes, like a coward. “We decided mutually that we are better off keeping our relationship as a professional one. It was the mature decision to make.”

  “By mutually, do you mean that you decided this?”

  “Maybe,” Taryn admitted.

  “And how exactly is your life better without her in it? Because from where I sit”—Angie gestured toward the reception area—“I think you’re looking awfully mopey for someone who’s experienced a suddenly improved quality of life.”

  “Better in the long run is what I meant,” Taryn said weakly. Yes, her life felt worse now, but she’d eventually get over the pain and go back to whatever she had been before Bonnie, wouldn’t she? She’d get back to being steady and unruffled by life. A little lonely, maybe, which would only be harder to take now because the memory of Bonnie wasn’t going away.

  Lonely without knowing exactly what she was lonely for had been easy to bear, but now she knew. She had tried to protect herself from being hurt in a relationship, but all she had done was take away everything hopeful and fun and wonderful she’d had with Bonnie and replace it with sadness without her. At least her misery was steady and predictable, just like she’d wanted.

  Angie watched her in silence, then softly asked, “And what about this Sasha?”

  Taryn sighed. “I told you, she’s a cat. Not a woman.”

  “I remember. But seems like she might be a relationship you can handle, since you don’t seem prepared to cope with a human one.”

  “I could cope if I wanted to,” Taryn protested, but her mind had wandered somewhere else, to a place where it went every night when she went home.

  She pictured going back to her house after work and walking inside to be greeted by Sasha’s husky purrs and freely given love, love that Taryn didn’t need to plead for or earn by being perfect. It was just there, ready to be shared. Bonnie had offered the same thing, without expecting Taryn to be anything but herself, and she had rejected it. She knew what rejection felt like, and she hated that she had inflicted that on Bonnie.

  Yes, Sasha would fill some of the void Taryn had intentionally tried to create, but she wasn’t enough. Taryn wanted Ninja Cat, too. And most of all, she wanted Bonnie.

  “Oh, honey, you’re making this far too difficult when it should be the simplest thing in the world.” Angie came around the desk and handed Taryn a tissue. She stared at it blankly for a moment before realizing she was crying. “You want a cat, go sign the adoption papers. You want Bonnie back, go tell her so. In all my time here, I’ve never seen you be anything but confident and determined. You don’t let fear rule you at work, so why are you letting it take charge of your love life?”

  Angie returned to her chair and sat down with a thump.

  “Honestly. You finally found a woman who seems willing to put up with you, so for God’s sake, don’t let her get away.”

  “Hey,” Taryn said. “I’m charming. Any woman would be glad to have me.”

  Angie nearly doubled over in laughter at Taryn’s comment. She sighed and wiped her eyes with the damp tissue. Imaginary Bonnie and Angie would probably get along very well. Taryn was getting a bit sick of both of them.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bonnie rolled out her dough and trimmed it into neat discs, placing each one into a pie pan and crimping the edges. She repeated the process until all the pans were done, then sprinkled chopped broccoli and ham into the bottoms of them. Finally, she poured a whipped mixture of eggs, cream, and herbs nearly to the rim and covered the whole mess with shredded Gruyère.

  Not one single step should have brought Taryn to mind, but Bonnie hadn’t stopped thinking about her during the entire process. Okay, admittedly she hadn’t really stopped thinking about her since the first time they met, but it had been worse this morning. All because they had eaten quiche together one time for dinner at Bonnie’s. Now, she had to either stop making them completely, which would upset her customers since this was a favorite lunch special, or just accept that she was going to have Taryn in her thoughts more intensely than usual for a couple of hours every week.

  Bonnie gently slid the quiches into the ovens one at a time, careful not to spill any of the egg mixture. She set her timer and looked around for her next task. Cookies, yes. She gathered the ingredients, picking white chocolate and macadamia nuts as the flavor of the day, and got to work.

  While still obsessing over Taryn.

  She had come out of her funk after about two weeks, returning to some semblance of being a functioning human being. She no longer repeated instructions to Jerome and Isa numerous times, and she hadn’t put any of her clothing in the bakery case for days now.

  Progress.

  Internally, she felt about the same—no less lonely or hurt—but she assumed she was seeming more normal to everyone around her. If she wasn’t, she was sure they would have sat her down for another intrusive chat session, and Nancy would have tried to smuggle in another cat.

  It was for the best that Bonnie learned how to act perfectly fine because she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be anything approaching that for a long time.

  She made a huge batch of cookie dough in her industrial-sized mixer, then folded in the nuts and white chocolate by hand. She scooped the dough onto baking sheets, observed the entire time by Kip, from his usual perch on the far counter. She either needed to bring a bed in here for him or get firmer about enforcing the no cats in the kitchen rule. He was just such good company, she hated the thought of shooing him out to the main room every time she baked.

  She ran through the checklist she had written on the whiteboard before pulling ingredients for a salad made with spring greens fresh from Ben and Daisy’s farm out of the fridge. She tossed it with some dressing and portioned it out into small bowls, before making a few dozen individual fruit and yogurt parfaits. She had just put the last of them on a tray to bring out to the counter when Isa came through the door.

  “I’ll take those,” she said, sounding unusually subdued. “There’s someone who wants to fill out an adoption form out there. I thought maybe you should handle this one.”

  “Sure,” Bonnie said, washing her hands and drying them on some paper towels. “Listen for the timer, though, will you? The quiches only have another fifteen minutes or so to cook.”

  She held the door open for Isa to come through with the parfaits, then turned toward the register. Luckily Isa had already made it through the door because Bonnie might have unintentionally slammed it on her when she saw Taryn standing near her old table. Bonnie knew she should have had that whole damned area demolished.

  She might have stood frozen in place for the rest of the day if Isa hadn’t given her a hard shove, knocking her off balance and making her take a step forward. She took a deep breath and continued walking.

  “Hi, Bonnie,” Taryn said quietly when she reached her. She had seemed so polished and elegant the first time Bonnie had seen her. Now she was no less beautiful, no less tidily put together, but she looked raw, somehow. Bonnie wondered briefly if Taryn was aching as much as she was. She shook herself mentally. No, she wasn’t. Otherwise she would have come back before now.

  “What do you want, Taryn?” she asked. They had exchanged several terse emails about the wedding plans, and Bonnie saw no reason why they shouldn’t continue to use that convenient, distant form of communication.

  Taryn paused as if struggling to find the right words to use. “I want to adopt a cat,” she said, her sentences rushing out of her now. “Two cats. Sasha and Ninja Cat. Salmon. I’ve been studying how to take care of them, by reading books and things, not just by watching cute cat videos on YouTube. I have a vet, and here’s the receipt for all the stuff I bought them.”

  She faltered to a stop, and even though Bonnie wanted to yell at her or tell her to get out and adopt a cat from Nancy if she really wanted one, the earnest expression on her face broke through Bonnie’s hurt and anger. Taryn looked as desperate as she had in that small room at Finding Furever, but there was something else there, too. Hope. Determination.

  “Oh, Taryn,” she started, not quite sure what to say now that they were so close together. She had imagined having a conversation with her, but this wasn’t the one she had planned.

  Taryn watched Bonnie with her brows pulled together, then her expression shifted and she looked about to cry. “Oh, they’re already gone, aren’t they. I waited too long, and now—”

  “No. No, they’re still here,” Bonnie reassured her. She reached out and put her hand on Taryn’s arm, guiding her toward a chair. “Sit down, okay? Talk to me about what’s going on.”

  They sat at the table, and Taryn set down the receipt she had brought from the pet store. Bonnie picked it up and scanned through the items.

  “Exactly how many cats are you trying to adopt?” she asked. “You seem to have bought enough things for at least a dozen.”

  “I think just the two to start,” Taryn said with a sniff. “Maybe I’ll work my way up from there.”

  She gave a small laugh, and Bonnie felt an answering smile on her own face. “You’re really serious about this?”

  Taryn nodded. “More than anything.”

  Bonnie shrugged. “Wait here, then, and I’ll get the adoption form. I have to warn you, though, the interview isn’t easy to pass.”

  She went into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, giving herself a moment to regain her composure. This seemed unreal. Maybe she was back to her foggy state and just hallucinating the whole encounter. Maybe she was dreaming and would wake up and—

  “Why are you hiding in here?” Isa hissed at her, coming into the kitchen. “Get back out there and give her a piece of your mind. Let her know she had no right to hurt you the way she did, and she’s not welcome in here anymore. Or kiss her and win her back.” She paused and tapped her fingers on the counter. “Either way, you probably should let her adopt the cats first. She seems nice, and I believe she really wants them.”