by Olivia Miles
“And I have the perfect one,” Rosemary declared. Without even looking in Mark’s direction, she swung out an arm and grabbed him by the wrist, just before he was out of reach. “You can use the diner’s kitchen until you’ve rebuilt the café. Mark won’t mind.”
Mark and Anna exchanged frozen looks. He stared at Anna, his jaw set, and willed her to speak first. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his aunt’s satisfied smile.
“I…” Anna blinked rapidly and then shifted her gaze to Rosemary. “I don’t know what to say.”
Rosemary leaned forward and patted Anna’s arm. “Of course you don’t. You’re in shock!” Glancing pointedly at Mark, she continued, “You’ll work in Mark’s kitchen, and that way you can still keep the bookstore café open. It’s a perfect solution.”
Anna looked unconvinced, but Grace was thanking Rosemary profusely, and Jane looked nearly weak with relief. “It is one less thing to worry about,” Anna murmured, and Mark felt his pulse race. She wouldn’t—not Anna—in his kitchen? After all this time? Alarm bells went off in his head, and they had nothing to do with the flashing blue and red lights that reflected off every shop window.
Rosemary reached down and took one of Anna’s hands in her own. “Then it’s settled,” she said, her voice clear and authoritative, and the flash in her eyes told Mark there was no room for argument.
Like he dared to think there ever was. Even if his aunt were one to back down, he’d have to be the bastard of the century to turn his back on the community now. He’d have to be like his father. And he’d vowed a long time ago not to go down that path.
CHAPTER
3
As if the day wasn’t already bad enough, someone had the brilliant idea to take stock of the events at Hastings. Rosemary, Anna realized, hooking an accusatory glance in her direction. Rosemary was full of suggestions today.
The fire had been extinguished more than half an hour earlier, but the trucks still remained, blocking the intersection as heavily booted workers climbed through the rubble, inspecting the scene for a source, shouting out muffled orders she couldn’t make out from this distance. Anna kept her back firmly to the Fireside Café. Every time she caught a glimpse of its smashed windows she felt almost sick, and poor Kara’s face went pale in alarm. She couldn’t afford to indulge her mounting emotions. She had a sixty-thousand-dollar loan hanging over her head from that bookstore expansion, and without the income from the café, there was no way to meet the monthly payments.
It had seemed like such a great investment back in December, when Grace had approached her with the plan to save their father’s dusty old bookstore before its lease expired. Her heart had literally sped up as Grace detailed her vision for renting out the neighboring vacant storefront and tearing down the wall, adding an adjacent café where patrons could linger over books and sip coffee. It was exactly what had been missing from Main Street Books all along, and with the foot traffic she was getting at Fireside, it seemed like the time to branch out had never been better.
My, how wrong she had been. Not much more than a month into opening the Annex, and her primary source of income was gone.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Mark instructed, as the group narrowed down to a single file line and fed into the diner. Anna caught the pity in his soft brown eyes and shifted her gaze in the opposite direction.
It was far too late for him to start giving her any consideration.
This was her first time in Hastings since Mark had taken it over from his mother after he’d graduated culinary school seven years ago, and she surveyed the establishment with impassive interest. Usually she avoided this stretch of Main Street, and even on the few times she drove past the diner, she kept her eyes fixed to the road in front of her, telling herself that she was being a responsible driver—there were kids around, after all—and forcing herself to resist the temptation to sneak a peek into Mark’s haven. It would be just her luck that the moment she dared to drift her attention through the windows, Mark would somehow look up and see her car crawling by, and she certainly couldn’t have that.
Anna sunk herself into the nearest chair and rested her chin in her hand. Beneath her elbow there was a distinctive feeling of grease on the Formica surface. She slid a plate of congealed eggs to the opposite end of the table, her depression growing.
Mark was working the room, quickly piling plates on his forearm and tucking in chairs with the other. He was alert and in control, and it didn’t escape Anna that this was precisely what she always found so appealing about him, what had made her fall for him in the first place. She never could resist that take-charge demeanor. Or that grin.
God help her, what was she going on about? The man was a cad. A shameless, ruthless playboy. He’d more or less admitted it to her face all those years ago, even if his actions had spoken volumes long before he’d had the decency to be direct and cut things off. They’d only been romantically involved for four bliss-filled months, but their connection had been two years in the making. He’d been her friend, her closest friend, and friends, at the very least, weren’t supposed to dump you. Yet he had. One day, it was like the light switched off, and he was gone. He stopped calling, started making up excuses not to get together, and then, only then, did he finally sit her down and set her straight. I can’t give you what you’re looking for. We’re not looking for the same things.
Damn right they weren’t! It only took a week after their breakup for him to take up with another girl. Mark was looking for a flavor of the week, and she was… Well, she wasn’t looking for anyone anymore. The only person you could depend on in life was yourself. When you were in control of your own path, no one could come along and take it out from under you.
At least that’s what she had thought until today.
“Mark!” Rosemary settled herself into a chair next to Kara and wrinkled her nose as she pinched a dirty napkin between her thumb and index finger. “Bring these poor girls some coffee. And how about a slice of that fresh lemon meringue pie while you’re at it?”
Anna slunk deeper into her chair and skirted her eyes to Mark, whose jaw remained set, his brow pulled tight. He hesitated, seeming to look to her for confirmation, and then gave a tight grin. “Lemon meringue all around.”
“Oh, none for me,” Rosemary corrected. “Dancer’s figure and all.” She leaned back and patted her flat stomach.
Jane quietly set down the fork she had just eagerly unfolded from a napkin at the next table. Anna knew that Jane wasn’t entirely comfortable slipping into tights and leotards every day to teach her ballet lessons, even if she was probably prettier than ever before. Motherhood brought out a glow in Jane. A sense of purpose. It was because of her daughter, Sophie, that Jane had overcome the struggle of the past year. First losing their father. Then the end of her marriage.
Now this, Anna couldn’t help but think. Just when they were all getting on their feet again, excited over the grand reopening of their father’s bookstore, everything had to fall apart.
She motioned Jane over to her table, her motivation being purely selfish in that moment. If Jane took the spot that meant Mark couldn’t.
Not that he would, of course. Mark avoided her as much as she avoided him. She saw the way his eyes shifted from hers if they happened to pass each other on the sidewalk, the way he had mastered the art of talking to everyone at a party but her. It was a silent agreement that suited them both fine. Even if it did sting.
Sometimes, when she saw him across the crowded bar on a weekend night, or darted away from his line of vision at the grocery store and then raced to the checkout, often forgoing half the items on her list that hadn’t yet made it to her cart, she felt as if it was all in her head, as if they had never known each other at all. Never laughed. Never kissed.
Never created a child together.
Already the dark thoughts she’d tried to keep at bay were stirring inside her, bringing her back to times when she’d felt just as hopeless as she did now—just
as alone and lacking a sense of purpose. If she allowed herself to give in to it, she wasn’t sure she would ever recover; the only way she’d managed was to keep busy, to move forward, and to work until she was so tired she dropped into bed at night.
“Sam said they managed to control the structural damage,” Mark was saying as he delivered the slices of pie.
“Thank God for that,” came Rosemary’s reply.
“The kitchen was the most affected, but the water damage from the sprinklers will probably take a toll,” Anna said, cringing.
“I feel so responsible,” Kara cut in. “I was manning the bakery counter. I didn’t even know what was happening in the kitchen until it was too late…”
“It’s not your fault,” Anna told her. “It’s no one’s fault.” Still, a part of her wondered if she could have prevented it had she not been lingering at the bookstore, thinking about Mark.
Through her blurred vision a ceramic mug appeared before her, steaming with hot coffee. Anna blinked quickly—she’d come too far to unravel now. Emotions didn’t suit her, and they served no purpose either. Crying over what was done was pointless. It couldn’t bring back what was lost, no matter how much she wished it could.
Straightening her back, she reached for a creamer from the little bowl in the center of the table, added a sprinkle of sugar from the canister, and tapped the teaspoon on the edge of the mug before setting it down on a napkin. She could feel Mark’s eyes boring through her as she brought it to her lips. Not half bad, she considered, and her expression must have shown it.
She glanced up to find Mark smirking. He folded his muscular forearms across his chest and turned on his heel, his stance a bit straighter than it had been just a moment ago as evidenced by the broad shoulders stretching against the tight green T-shirt. Anna rolled her eyes to the ceiling and sucked in a breath. So help her, she would not let him get the better of her. She would not react to him—she had made that promise to herself years ago.
Mark was nothing to her. Nothing. Even if he had once been everything.
She slid her plate to Jane and said, “Here. I’m not hungry.” The truth was she was famished. She hadn’t eaten since she’d made a grilled cheese and heirloom tomato sandwich at six o’clock last night and chased it with a double espresso before the dinner rush. About six months ago, they’d expanded the menu at Fireside to accommodate dinner on the weekends, and it had been a wild success. The opening night, she’d been forced to turn people away, and within weeks they were taking reservations. The demand had been enough for her to take the risk and agree to the loan for the renovation of the bookstore. Kara joined the café as the assistant manager, taking over weekend shifts and helping with the extended Friday night dinner hours. She had a desire to learn, and Anna had envisioned putting her in charge of the dessert station, maybe even adding a sous chef, and then increasing their hours to five nights a week, with Mondays and Tuesdays off. Instead… she’d be lucky to have a restaurant at all now.
Her stomach growled, whether from anxiety or hunger, she wasn’t sure. She eyed the strange little cat-shaped clock with the wagging tail perched on the top of the cash register and realized it was already ten past three. She had no food in her house since she normally ate at the café, but there was no way she was eating that pie. No matter how delectable it looked.
If experience taught her anything, it was probably equally delicious, too. Mark had always been a rising star in culinary school, and his dishes were inventive. She’d imagined him running some chic and trendy restaurant.
And she’d imagined herself at his side.
Catching herself, she shook her head clear, banishing all images of Mark’s former self. She swept her gaze quickly over the room, hoping not to look overtly interested in what she saw. Red vinyl booths edged the far wall, and tables for four were clustered in a haphazard pattern. It looked no different than she remembered it from when she was a kid. She knew it was their family place now, that Mark had stepped in when his mom was first diagnosed with cancer, and again after his graduation from culinary school when she relapsed. Still, Sharon had been well for years, and she couldn’t help thinking that Mark could do a heck of a lot better than this.
“How long do you think it will take the insurance adjuster to assess the damage?” Grace asked, her brow pinched with worry.
Everyone began to talk at once, but all Anna could make out was the beat of her heart, pounding in her ears. That loan.
They had agreed that Grace would run Main Street Books, and Anna would oversee the Annex by supplying food and covering a few shifts, until things picked up and she could become a silent partner. While Grace had sunk her savings into leasing both storefronts for a year, Anna had been the one with enough security to garner the loan from the bank to oversee the expansion and renovation. In time, Anna was certain that their father’s new and improved shop would turn a profit, but it would take a while to cover their costs, and until that happened, she was relying on income from Fireside to meet the monthly payment. Grace knew this, of course. What she didn’t know was how little savings Anna had. She’d sunk most of her earnings into bettering her businesses—adding new equipment or a new piece of furniture and, as of late, adding new staff. She had plans to grow Fireside, build it into something that would meet demand, and that didn’t come free.
Everything had been going so well, chugging along in line with her plan.
Something inside her panged when she thought of the last time her plans had been yanked out from under her, without warning, without a cushion to catch her fall. Reality was hard. Shame on her for getting too comfortable.
Mark held out a glass of water in an emerald-tinted plastic tumbler. “Drink this.” His voice was gruff and commanding, and, though she hated to admit it, she appreciated the fact that someone was taking over, telling her what to do, because right then she didn’t have a clue.
She took it from him and brought it to her lips. “Thanks,” she managed, catching the sincerity in her tone. From the softened expression in his eyes, he’d caught it, too.
With a quick nod of the head he turned away and began piling more dirty dishes onto a tray. Anna took another sip from the cup, wishing it was a magical potion, or even a glass of Scotch, instead of tap water.
Sam Logan appeared in the doorway. “The team will be on site for the next few hours. We’re taping off the premises and we ask that you don’t enter until we’ve cleared it for safety.” He paused, lowering his head slightly before turning to her. “We’ll have a full report to you and Sharon Hastings once we’ve confirmed the source.”
The sheriff’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and without a word he connected the call. Anna watched him walk away, feeling a weight of unease settle over her chest. From two tables over, she caught Rosemary watching her sharply.
“Nice young man, that sheriff,” she observed. “Handsome, too.”
Oh, for crying out loud! Anna balled the napkin in her hand, rubbing it between her fingers until the thin material pulled apart.
She frowned out the window, and her breath caught when she looked over to see Mark watching her carefully, a lock of wavy brown hair spilling over his forehead, his eyes dark as midnight, unwavering in their hold. She held his gaze, waiting to see a hint of a smile, a whisper of the person she had once known and cared for, but any connection they had once shared was gone. He was a stranger now, and maybe she had wanted it that way, willed it that way, even.
But damn it if he wasn’t a handsome stranger.
Who was she kidding? Sam—or anyone else in this town for that matter—had nothing compared to Mark. No one did.
CHAPTER
4
Anna accepted a glass of wine from the bartender and took a long, cool sip. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” she said to her sisters, who were scrutinizing her every move with watchful expressions.
“Feeling sorry for yourself at home won’t do you any good,” Grace said.
&
nbsp; Jane nodded her agreement. “It’s better to distract yourself.”
Anna took another gulp of wine. Jane had her there.
“Order another,” Grace suggested, motioning to Anna’s half-empty glass. “Drinks are on me tonight.” She waited until Anna had finished her first glass of Chardonnay and a second was being poured before leaning forward and lowering her voice. “I wanted to talk to you about the loan for Main Street Books.”
“Don’t worry,” Anna said with more conviction than she felt. “The loan will be covered. I have some savings.” Some was the appropriate way of describing the state of her bank account. She had about enough to cover one payment on that loan—two if she stretched. Sharon Hastings had been optimistic when they’d spoken on the phone, saying that Fireside could reopen within three months. Anna wanted to believe her landlord, but that still left her two months to worry about.
“You know if we need any help, Luke will pitch in—”
Anna shook her head firmly. Taking financial help from Luke was not an option. Fireside was hers. She’d dreamed it, created it, built it. All on her own, without Mark. Without anyone.
She’d spent nearly six years since returning to Briar Creek showing Mark how much better her life was without him in it. She’d be damned if she let him see that she couldn’t succeed on her own after all.
“Grace, it’s fine.” Anna took a long sip of her wine, happy that it was chilled. It was always too warm in the pub, but she suspected tonight her body was reacting to the waves of panic that hit her at every turn.
Grace looked unconvinced. “If you’re sure…”
“Of course, I’m sure,” she said quickly, though she’d never been further from it.
Grace flagged the bartender and ordered another drink for herself. “That was clever of Rosemary to think of sharing the diner’s kitchen.”
Clever, yes. Anna could think of another word for it, too. She’d been caught off guard, in a state of shock, at her lowest, and her mind was buzzing. She couldn’t have formed a clear thought if she’d tried, and she wasn’t quick enough to think of an excuse on the spot. Not with Mark’s deep-set gaze locked on hers, not when every nerve in her body tingled with the awareness of his proximity.