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Ginny woke up to the unfamiliar sounds of breakfast being made. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she checked the time and gasped when she saw it was after eight. Normally, her mornings consisted of a six o’clock run on the treadmill, followed by a hurried cup of coffee on her way to catch a cab. She was usually in the middle of her workday by now. Fumbling for her cell phone on the nightstand, Ginny checked her work email to see what she was missing.
To say her boss was understanding of her time away would be generous—and a bald-faced lie. Ginny’s boss, Lana, was no-nonsense to the core. She rarely took any time off, and the holidays meant nothing to her. Their office didn’t have a Christmas party or tree in the break room. No one received a holiday card or gift, and God help the employee who asked for the day after Christmas off. The team used to tease that Lana gave Scrooge a run for his much-loved money.
Even a global pandemic hadn’t stopped Lana’s quest for employee domination. While most large firms had staff working from home indefinitely, her boss called staff back to the office as soon as the mandates allowed. A modular working environment was created that ensured all staff were present and working like the world was not currently burning. Ginny didn’t usually mind, but thinking about it while nestled in her childhood room, it almost seemed barbaric. Work-life balance when she didn’t have a life was one thing, but now it felt all wrong.
Flinging her feet off the edge of her bed, Ginny padded down the hall to get ready for the morning. A quick hair and tooth brushing made her feel human and ready to consume a pot of coffee. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, the heavenly scent of bacon and cinnamon beckoned her. “Good morning,” she greeted her father, who shuffled around the kitchen in his pajamas.
Waving hello with his spatula, Harold turned back to the stove and flipped a pancake. “You’re right on time. Breakfast is ready.” Ginny helped herself to a mug of coffee and sat at the table, cradling the cup in her hands. She breathed in and enjoyed the moment.
If she didn’t know any better, Ginny would think it was her childhood. Her father would get up before her every day to cook a hearty breakfast before he went to work and she left for school. The time of year didn’t matter—what had mattered was spending a few minutes together before their days got away from them. The tradition continued every visit like clockwork, and right now she was grateful.
“Is there anything I can help with?” she asked, knowing he would wave her off.
Shaking his head, Harold said, “All set.” He placed a plate in front of her stacked with silver dollar pancakes and four strips of bacon. Already on the table was a plate of cinnamon bread and the remaining cookies. This spread was better suited for a Christmas morning than a weekday.
Ginny slid the plate toward the middle of the table until she realized it was her plate. “We’re not sharing?” She raised an eyebrow. Granted, they rarely shared meals, but this was so much more food than she usually ate in the morning.
Harold chuckled as he eased onto his chair. He slid a tub of butter across to her and tucked into his own meal with gusto. “Ginnybread, when have we ever shared breakfast?” He dipped a strip of bacon into a puddle of syrup and groaned with happiness. “Besides, it’s nice to make real breakfast. When it’s just me, I usually have oatmeal.”
“Something I’m sure your cardiologist prefers,” she quipped. For all her hesitation, Ginny devoured her delicious meal. After her second cup of coffee, she leaned back and patted her belly. “So, what's on our schedule today?”
Harold topped off his own mug before responding. “This morning I was going to run some errands.”
Ginny perked up. “I can do those; you’re supposed to be resting. What do you need?”
Her father slurped from his mug and shrugged. “Nothing you can help with. I wanted to go to Main Street and get your Christmas gift. With the surgery, I won’t be able to get out on my own before the holiday.”
“Dad, you don’t need to get me anything. I’m glad we’re going to be here together.” She patted his arm and smiled. “Seriously, don’t trouble yourself.”
Harold shook his head. “Well, I am going to trouble myself. It’s Christmas, and my only daughter deserves a present. If you want to come along, you could go to a different shop or even stop by the diner.”
Ginny froze, afraid to look up and meet her father’s gaze. “Why would I want to do that?” she asked, now carefully trailing her fork through the remains of her syrup. Building a time machine to attend the Valentine’s Day Massacre would be easier and less terrifying. Going to the diner—unannounced no less—seemed a fool’s errand. Hard pass.
Harold stacked his dishes and stood, a little shaky on his feet. “You would want to do that because Max was a big part of your life. C’mon, Ginnybread. I raised you to have a heart.” Her father’s remark stung, as it brought back painful memories she wasn’t prepared to revisit. Fights in the diner, ignoring each other at home—it all threatened to choke her.
Ginny sullenly gathered her dishes and walked to the sink. “I’ll do the dishes,” she muttered, not wanting to tell her father that the heart he raised her with felt broken and awkward in her own body. Seeing Max was the last thing she wanted to do, especially now, while she was busy with her father’s surgery. And very busy avoiding the past and anything connected to Max.
Hoping for a distraction, Ginny looked out the window over the sink. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed, “it’s snowing!” She watched fat flakes flutter past the window, like they were living in a snow globe. Sure, it snowed in New York, and it was beautiful. But watching the snow in the country was something else entirely. The rolling hills in the distance were blanketed in white, the trees outside the window weighed down with two inches of fluff. Norman Rockwell himself couldn’t have painted the scene better.
Her father came up behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Think of how pretty this will be on Main Street,” he surmised, squeezing her gently. “I’ll go shower. We can leave in an hour.” With that, he shuffled to the stairs.
Ginny finished the dishes in silence, occasionally looking outside to the wintery scene. It was calming, as most snowy days are. Without asking her permission, her brain brought back a memory of her and Max on a snowy day like this. He’d made his famous triple chocolate cookies, and they sat wrapped in blankets by the fire in their old house. They'd done other things in that blanket, but she wouldn’t think about that now.
“Focus, Ginny,” she scolded herself as she stacked the last dish on the drying rack. Ginny could deny that she thought about Max, but that would be a lie. There were lonely nights in the city when work ran late and she barely had time to eat takeout before falling asleep on the couch.
Those were the times she’d remember her and Max during the good years, during their time as a team. It was before they took each other, and everything they shared, for granted. The times before he became obsessed with recipe testing, redesigning the diner, and all things stainless steel. Granted, Ginny had a role in their demise. More times than she cared to admit had been filled with late-night phone calls, video conferences, and spreadsheets. Her career is what identified her, and she wouldn’t apologize. Trouble was, other identifiers went to the wayside. Wife, daughter, and friend felt like foreign monikers when she was in the zone.
Max used to make midnight enchiladas on the days they both worked late. With a late-night talk show humming in the background, the pair sat on the couch devouring cheesy, spicy enchiladas. Max always gave her an extra one—the corner piece—which is why she used to be a lot curvier. Those were the good times; the times when they were in sync—the times they made time for each other. Ginny loved those days.
Now she couldn’t reconcile the good times with how it all ended. And she definitely didn’t have time to dissect it all now. When she turned, she saw her father dressed and ready to go. The creases at his mouth belied the pain he was still in, and Ginny was thankful his surgery date was mere days away.
Hitching his thumb over his shoulder, her father said, “I’m going to check the scores on TV. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Ginny looked down at her sweats and shrugged. “I could just go like this.” She had nothing to prove to anyone in Buckeye Falls. Why bother getting dressed up for running errands?
Harold shook his head. “You haven’t seen people in a while. Don’t you want to ...” His voice trailed off as he swirled his hand in front of his face.
“Dad, I’m not sure what this means”—she mimicked his hand movements—“but I think I’m offended.”
“I’m saying that you can take your time—maybe put on a little makeup.” Before she could respond, he’d turned his back and headed toward his chair, his shoes scraping on the floor.
“I really am offended,” she shouted after him. He ignored her and turned ESPN up to supersonic levels. Ginny gave up the fight and went upstairs to get ready. Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in skinny jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and enough makeup to make her look human. She wasn’t breaking out the eyeliner today.
“Much better,” her father approved when she walked into the living room. Ginny stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “If you want to move your car, I can drive us.” Harold held up his set of keys, jingling them like he was taunting a toddler.
Ginny shook her head. “No, might as well get my money out of the rental. Plus, there are heated seats.” She grabbed her purse from the hook by the door and shrugged on her coat. “Now, watch your step. I know you’re about to have surgery, but let’s not complicate matters.”
Harold laughed but took slow steps to the car.
Once inside, Ginny blasted the heat and turned on the seat warmers. Harold laughed when his seat started warming up. “This is weird.” He chuckled. “I either love this or hate it.”
Ginny thought about the old pickup, which was still parked in the garage. Her father had driven that car for nearly two decades, but she knew teasing him about it would be fruitless. The Meyers didn’t splurge if something was working.
Ginny shrugged. “It was part of the free upgrade. Not having my own car, I thought I’d splurge.”
She took the very familiar roads toward Main Street, the center of Buckeye Falls. She kept telling herself not to worry, that the diner was at the end of the road, away from all the shops. Ginny was not going to see Max today. Yet her palms were so slick with sweat, she fumbled with the steering wheel.
When the car crested the hill and Main Street came into view, Harold pointed out his window. “They added a little parking lot over by the bank. It’s free all day, so we can snag a spot.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Buckeye Falls charges for parking now?”
“Heated seats aren’t the only things changing.” He sighed. “Mayor Snyder added parking meters last year, claiming we needed the revenue. Frankly, I can’t see how it brings in that much money, but what do I know?” Despite his casual tone, she knew her father had more opinions on town politics.
Ginny parked the car and swiveled to face her dad. “Mayor Snyder is still in office? Isn’t he your age?”
As soon as the question left her lips, Ginny regretted it. Harold puffed out his chest and waggled a finger at her. “Young lady,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “I’ll have you know that I would be working now if it wasn’t for this damned hip.”
Struggling to hold back laughter, Ginny held up her hands in defeat. “You win. I’m sorry. It was a poor choice of words.” She reached out and swatted her dad’s arm. “So, who is in charge these days? Some young go-getter?”
Harold shook his head and grimaced. “You’ll never believe it. It’s Anthony, old man Snyder’s son.”
Ginny scoffed; she couldn’t help herself. “You’re kidding! That jack wagon is running the town? How did that happen?” She turned the car off and tossed her keys in her purse.
“No one else wanted the job, simple as that.” Harold took his time getting out of the car. Ginny still wasn’t sure it was a good idea for him to go out, but it was too late to argue.
“So, where to?” Ginny asked, looping her arm through his and ushering him to the sidewalk. Fortunately the new mayor had one thing on lock with this town; the sidewalks were salted and free of snow. “There’s the boutique over there, and what about that place that Millie Wilson used to own?”
“Frick and Frack? Yep, it’s still open. Just down by the park.” He pointed to their left, and Ginny smiled. “I used to love her homemade jewelry when I was a teenager.”
Harold smiled at the memory. “I remember. It was the only thing you asked for during high school.”
Ginny thought about the bright beads and glittery necklaces she used to wear. Compared to her simple pearl earrings and silver chain, Frick and Frack’s jewelry was darn near gaudy. Harold led the way down Main Street, pointing out what stores were new and which ones were renovated. Ginny recognized most of the faces they saw along the way, and almost everyone stopped to say hello and welcome her home.
Home. True, Buckeye Falls was her hometown, but Ginny wasn’t sure she’d call it home anymore. “Where to next?” she asked as Harold steered her back to the street. They stopped in front of the tiny corner market, a favorite place for locals to get their groceries. In preparation for the holidays, the doors were weighed down with pine branches and red bows, giving a comforting Christmas vibe.
Instinctively, Ginny thought of Max. He’d run to the market countless times for ingredients over the years. They’d gone together so many times, simple routine errands she’d long forgotten, yet now seemed so important. They laughed over the size of the cabbages he needed for soup, or argued over how many types of cheese Ginny really needed for her grilled cheese sandwiches.
A smile tugged at Ginny’s lips now as she stared at the familiar building. The last time she and Max had been inside, she’d leaned on him by the ice cream cooler. After a long week at work, they both agreed that sugar was needed, so they’d tumbled outside in their pajamas to get a pint of cookies and cream. Ginny still felt the warmth of Max’s arm slung over her shoulder, the tickle of his breath on her neck when he’d lean down to kiss her.
Despite the cold nip in the air, Ginny suddenly felt parched and hot. She loosened her scarf from her neck and shook her head. It was best not to go down Memory Lane, especially in public with her father. She gave the market a parting glance and prepared to steer her father toward the boutiques when the door to the market opened.
A man stepped outside, clad in worn hiking boots and a bulky down coat. The red and black of a flannel shirt peaked out from behind the coat’s collar. He held the door with his elbow for an older woman pushing a shopping cart. She thanked the man, and when he replied, Ginny’s blood ran cold. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Blinking, Ginny begged her eyes to see someone else standing before her. It was as if her memories willed themselves back to life. Beside her, Harold perked up and lifted his free hand. “Max, over here.” Max turned around, and Ginny felt the air leave her lungs. This was no trick of her mind. It was the real deal. Well, hell ...
Time had been good to Max; there was no denying it. His dark hair was longer now, curling at the base of his neck. A few flecks of gray threatened to take over his temples, but he managed to look mature rather than haggard. Instead of the clean-shaven face she remembered, his chiseled jawline was now peppered with a few days of stubble. Suddenly, Ginny understood all the fuss with lumbersexuals.
Max’s brown eyes darkened when he saw her, but his steps didn’t falter. “Harold, good to see you.” He moved one of his shopping bags to his other arm and shook her father’s hand. When he turned to her, Ginny felt her breath hitch as he reached out his hand for a shake. Really? They were in the hand-shaking phase of their relationship?
Ginny reached out and took his hand, a shot of awareness coursing through her body as his fingers wrapped around hers. “Max,” she said his name in greeting, hoping her tone was light, carefree.
“Gin.” Max swallowed and squeezed her hand before letting it go. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied her. She was glad she had listened to her father about makeup. Bumping into her ex-husband with bedhead and sans mascara would have been mortifying.
Harold theatrically slapped his forehead. “You know what, I forgot that we’re out of coffee beans. You kids catch up while I go inside and grab some.” Miraculously, Harold didn’t look like he needed a hip replacement. He practically sprinted into the store, leaving them alone on the sidewalk. Ginny half expected a cloud of cartoon smoke to come off his loafers.
Ginny was helpless for a moment, staring at Max like a fool. Perhaps she’d fallen into an alternate universe when she left the turnpike? Maybe her rental car was a time machine where she felt pulled to a man who bruised her heart? A man whose heart was certainly broken by her.
Either oblivious or uncaring of her current slack-jawed state, Max surprised her by stepping closer and giving her a genuine smile. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “It’s really good to see you.”
In that moment, staring into his warm gaze, Ginny couldn’t disagree. She felt comfortable being so close to Max, so close to the worn paths of their past. This didn’t feel like a foreign place; it felt like home.
*
Max’s admission seemed to shock Ginny into utter silence. She stood there, staring at him, her mouth slightly open. He took the moment to shamelessly check her out, taking in her new darker hair color and thinner cheeks. Back when they were married, Ginny had curves. That’s what happens when you’re married to a chef: you get to try new recipes and savor the leftovers. Judging from her tired expression, he had a feeling she wasn’t savoring much these days. It broke his heart.
Standing on the sidewalk staring at each other seemed foolish, so Max tried another tactic. “How are you?” he asked, shifting one of the grocery bags to his hip. CeCe had sent him out for extra herbs, fruit, and baking chocolate, and he always supported the local stores over the bigger chain grocers. Now he regretted not bringing his own canvas bags.
Ginny finally composed herself and said, “Fine. You?”
Max couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. “Wow, all those years together and I get a two-word greeting.” His laughter seemed to shake Ginny from her trance because she cracked a tiny smile. Max would give anything to see her smile on a regular basis.
“All things considered, I’m doing well. Nervous about Dad’s surgery but can’t complain otherwise. How are you? How’s the diner?” One of Ginny’s nervous ticks when they were together had been fidgeting with her fingers, either pulling on zippers or yanking on the edges of her sleeves. Max glanced down to see that some things never change. She was practically unraveling the scarf around her neck.
“I can’t complain either. Got a good team, and business has been good.” Max wanted to tell her everything, just like when they were together. He wanted to curl up on the sofa with a bottle of wine and Ginny wrapped in his arms. He wanted to tell her about the mayor and all the politics that were changing their hometown. He wanted to introduce her to CeCe and Evan, to have her be a part of his life. Right now he’d almost settle for one of their arguments or misunderstandings—anything to prove she was still in his life.
Instead Max settled for the chance to see her again, even if only for a moment on a busy sidewalk. He could tell by the number of people slowing their pace that they were becoming a spectacle. It’s not every day a divorced couple bumped into each other. Distracted, Max’s grip loosened on one of the paper bags, and it tipped over. Suddenly five oranges made their escape, cascading to the ground with comical thumps onto the sidewalk.
Ginny yelped and jogged after two that chose to bounce toward traffic, while Max slid to his left and kicked two back onto the grass. The fifth orange bounced all the way back to the market’s entrance, where a clerk pushed a row of shopping carts. The first cart’s wheels rolled over the fruit, making a sad squishing sound as it was pulverized into the concrete.
Ginny stepped up to Max and dropped the two rogue citruses into his shopping bag. She leaned so close he could smell her vanilla perfume. “Well, that was certainly entertaining.” She laughed. Her breath puffed into a cloud in front of her face, and her eyes danced with good cheer. She looked like his Ginny, like his wife.
“Th-th-” He hesitated, closing his eyes and willing his tongue to work. His pulse pounded in his ears, and Max cursed his blasted tongue for choosing this moment to fumble. “Thank you,” he said, watching her eyes soften.
Ginny didn’t look at him with pity, only with understanding. She knew his stutter loved to show up when he was nervous. “You’re welcome.” She stood there, looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t read. Max wanted to toss the bags on the ground and pull her close to him. Pretend, if even for a minute, that they were together and he had the right to hold her again. His gaze faltered and landed on her lips—lips he was intimately acquainted with.
“There you kids are,” Harold exclaimed, coming out of the market empty-handed. Since he was watching the pair, he missed the pile of orange mush and nearly slipped on his heel. The very last thing Max needed was to put Harold in the hospital a week early.
Ginny didn’t miss a beat, gesturing to her father’s empty hands. “Out of coffee?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harold looked confused, then recovered and shrugged. “Yeah, only decaf. Can you believe it?” He turned to Max and winked.
Before he could think of what he was saying, Max offered, “You can come with me to the diner. We always have a pot of coffee at the ready. I was getting ready to start lunch. CeCe is making her death-by-chocolate mousse cake today, so you won’t want to miss it.”
Harold opened his mouth, but Ginny was quicker. “We really need to finish our shopping, but thanks for the invitation.” The shutters were closed, and her expression was cold. This was post-divorce Ginny; this was the woman who walked away.
Max let out a sigh. “You’re welcome anytime. You don’t have to avoid—” But the argument died on his tongue.
Ginny shoved her hands in her pockets and looked to her father. “We should probably keep moving—it’s not good for you to be on your feet this long.” Pointing with her gloved hand, Ginny chuckled, albeit a little forced. “Especially with fruit salad all over Main Street.”
Harold stepped closer to Max and patted his back. “Will we see you tomorrow night for dinner? I was going to try that chicken soup recipe you gave me.”
Max almost blurted out his response, but he turned to watch Ginny’s features. Her brow was furrowed in concern, though she didn’t jump to say no either.
“If it’s not an inconvenience, I’d love to.” He met Ginny’s gaze, hoping to see a hint of his wife in her eyes. She seemed so distant, and he damn near cried right here on Main Street.
“Of course it’s not an inconvenience. You are family, and I’d like to see you before the surgery. Try to save some of that cake for dessert.” Harold patted his belly and chuckled, the stocking cap on his head bobbing at the movement. If his hair was whiter, he could have been Saint Nick.
All Max got from Ginny was a mumbled farewell as she turned and walked away. Harold followed behind at a slower shuffle, and Max felt like the wind was knocked from his sails. How on earth had he let her go? And how could he possibly get her back?
Max’s musing was interrupted by his cell phone chirping in his pocket. It was CeCe’s ringtone, which meant he needed to get the ingredients to her before she had a fit. Hiking his bags higher, Max turned and trudged back to the diner.
“There you are!” CeCe groused when he kicked open the back door. “My butter is melted, and I was about to send out a search party.” She greedily took one of the bags and dug until she found the bars of bittersweet chocolate. She walked to the cutting board, unwrapped the chocolate, then chopped it into chunks. “So, did you get lost or something?” CeCe gave Max side-eye while she finished decimating the chocolate.
Placing the remaining oranges on the counter, Max washed the fresh parsley in the prep sink. Careful to keep his tone neutral, he replied, “Sorry, bumped into some people and couldn’t get away.” If Ginny hadn’t run away, he would still be there, staring and stuttering like a fool. Seeing her, mere feet away, had set his nerves on fire. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he hated that she didn’t want to see him.
Bless Harold for trying, but Max knew he wouldn’t go to their home for dinner. Ginny left for a reason, and he had to respect her wishes to keep his distance. Although it did not mean he had to like it.
CeCe poured the melted butter into the chocolate, and suddenly the kitchen smelled like Wonka’s factory. “That smells amazing.” Evan groaned when he entered the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re making enough for us.”
Max smiled as the young man hung up his coat and shook a dusting of snow from his head. His blond hair stayed mused, giving him an aw-shucks quality. “Did it start snowing again?” Max craned his neck toward the tiny window by the exit and saw fat flakes falling.
Evan snuck a chocolate chunk when CeCe wasn’t looking and washed his hands at the neighboring sink. “Yeah, just as I drove through town.” Drying his hands, he turned to look at his boss. “Who was that pretty girl you were talking to?”
Max’s hands froze over the colander. “Uh, when?” he asked. He felt his cheeks flush and wished he were by the stove to blame it on the heat.
CeCe smelled blood in the water and joined them. “So, there’s a girl, huh? Who is she? Is she the reason I almost burned my butter?” She crossed her arms and waited for an answer. Max knew it was foolish to try to ignore his staff’s questions, but he paused to collect his words.
“It’s Ginny. She and Harold were out shopping. I saw them at the market.” Evan, not knowing who Ginny was, seemed unsurprised. However, CeCe practically radiated with excitement.
“You saw her? What did she look like? Was she happy to see you? What did she say? What did you say?” Her hazel eyes had grown to the size of saucepans as she peppered Max with questions. “Why didn’t you say something when you came in?” She swatted his arm with a tea towel. “I have so many questions.”
Max laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “I can see that.”
Evan’s blue gaze darted back and forth between the pair, trying to catch up. “Who’s Ginny?”
CeCe didn’t break eye contact with Max when she answered. “Max’s ex-wife.”
Evan nearly fell over. “You have an ex-wife?” he asked Max, a comical puzzled expression plastered on Evan’s face. “How did I miss that?”
Max turned off the water with a sigh and left the herbs to drain. He wouldn’t get any work done for a while now. Turning to Evan, Max said, “Yes, Ginny and I were married for a while. She lives in New York City.”
“Why?” Evan asked, earning him a slap on the back of the head from CeCe. “Ouch! What was that for?” Rubbing the back of his head, Evan looked like a wounded puppy. His hair was officially a disaster zone.
CeCe rolled her eyes. “Kid, I love you, but you need to read the room. You don’t ask someone why they got divorced; it’s rude.” To his credit, Evan looked embarrassed as he muttered an apology.
“Thanks, CeCe.” Max appreciated her coming to his defense, but his celebration was short-lived.
“Although, I’ve wondered about that myself. Haven’t seen a lot of women coming in here. Shouldn’t you be, you know ...” She wiggled her fingers and raised an eyebrow.
Max mimicked the gesture. “And what does that mean?”
Always helpful, Evan chimed in, “I think she means you’re not getting any.” This time Evan expected the head slap and braced himself. CeCe didn’t hesitate before thwacking him with her tea towel.
“We’ll talk about human interaction later,” she warned.
Evan rubbed his head and took a step back from both of them. At least he was learning. “What I meant was,” he continued, keeping his eyes on CeCe’s hands. “Max is a cool guy, and I’m surprised there aren’t a lot of chicks here.” He shrugged, as if being a cool guy was all the help Max needed finding a date.
CeCe shrugged. “The kid’s got a point. You still carrying a torch for Ginny? And more importantly, how did she look?”
“Hot,” Evan said, now cowering from CeCe.
Max raised his arms to block her from Evan and sighed. “I’d like to make it through the year without a workman’s comp injury claim.”
CeCe relented, tucking the towel back into her apron strings.
Max couldn’t argue that Ginny looked terrific. Her hair was shorter and a slightly different color, but she was still Ginny. Beneath the polish and shine of city living, there was a small-town girl who loved his hot chocolate at Christmas time and used to beg for mac and cheese on Fridays when they would watch movies. Not for the first time, Max wondered who was cooking for her and taking care of her. Don’t go there now ...
Even before he went to culinary school, Max loved to cook. His first gift to Ginny had been on their third date when he baked her a peach pie and brought it to Harold’s house. She had seemed so touched that anyone would cook for her, and it started his fascination, and sometimes obsession, with cooking and trying new ways to make her smile. Over the years, he had learned cookies were her guilty pleasure, and she always preferred cheese and carbs to fruits and vegetables. Seeing her now, it didn’t look like she was indulging like she used to, but that wasn’t any of his business.
The sound of the oven timer brought him back to the present. Evan looked at the clock. “Oh, wow, it’s almost time to open.” He dashed to the wall for his apron and order pad and went to the dining room to finish opening the space.
CeCe pulled the first of her mousse cakes from the oven and seemed pleased with the result. “Can you save one of those for me, please? I promised one to Harold.”
CeCe nodded but gave him a look that she knew something was up. “I’ll save one, if you tell me what these oranges did to deserve this much abuse.” She picked up a bruised fruit and frowned. “If these were the best the market had, I’d hate to see the worst.”
“Long story.” Max sighed as he put on an apron and got ready to cook.
Max promised himself not to interfere with Ginny if he wasn’t invited, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring a little chocolate comfort to Harold before his surgery. Turning toward the stove, Max finished getting everything ready for the lunch rush. Ginny or no Ginny, he had a job to do. He could address the battling emotions later, because like it or not, Ginny still held a lot of real estate in his heart.