Okay, so fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money. And yes, it was enough to pay off the loan she’d taken for the Annex, more or less. But was it enough to make her work side by side with Mark, for hours on end, for the next two and a half weeks?
No. You couldn’t put a price on that kind of temptation. Or destruction. She’d rather work with that inflated head Frank Piccolino, barking out orders at the pass, red-faced and puffy in his starched apron, than team up with Mark. The thought had occurred to her… but then she might end up competing against Mark, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she could beat him. Mark was talented. Too talented to be whisking pancake batter seven days a week. Sharon had taken over the diner out of necessity, not passion. Anna never could understand why her son clung to Hastings instead of doing all the things he’d set out to do.
Was Mark really entering the contest with Frank Piccolino? Anna frowned. It didn’t matter. Not in the least. She wasn’t going to enter—with or against Mark was beside the point. She had a restaurant to rebuild, staff to worry about, and a loan hanging over her head. As much as the prize money could solve her problems, it would create a dozen more if she sacrificed her current problems for a fictional one.
Anna blew a loose strand of hair from her forehead and finished scooping dough onto a cookie sheet. The egg timer on the counter rang, letting her know it was time to remove the lemon and blueberry tea cake. Anna grabbed a potholder from the butcher block that centered her island, managing to knock the canister of flour to the floor in the process. Fine white powder dusted the hardwood, and Anna resisted the urge to burst into tears right then and there. The entire kitchen looked like it had exploded. Her limited counter space was covered in mixing bowls and sugar canisters, and the small kitchen table was lined with the cooling racks. She’d run out of space and had to set a few on chairs, and now, in her rush to get the tea cake from the oven before her effort was wasted, she tripped on a chair leg, sending a dozen double chocolate chunk cookies scattering across the floor.
Anna flung open the oven. Sure enough, the surface of the bread was tinged and dark. Overbaked.
She set the pan on the stovetop, beside the stacks of other baking pans that weren’t filling her small sink, and contemplated it. She could glaze the top, but it wouldn’t matter. She’d messed up; she’d have to redo it. If there was one thing she’d decided early into running Fireside, it was that presenting the highest quality food every day was the best way to stay successful.
She couldn’t let herself down. Or her customers.
Or her family.
The doorbell rang and Anna jumped. She checked her watch—Shoot. She’d told Kara to stop by at eight and it was already five after. She was running late, and she still had to clean up, load the car, and stop by the Annex before they met with Sharon.
“Sorry,” she said, flinging open the door. “I lost track of time.” Any suspicions she had that she looked as frazzled as she felt were confirmed by her friend’s expression.
“Don’t worry about it.” Kara hesitantly entered the front hall. “Do you need any help?”
Anna mentally went through her to-do list. “Would you mind popping the oatmeal cookies into the oven and setting the timer for twelve minutes? I need to take a quick shower.”
She noticed Kara’s eyes widen as she stared past her into the kitchen.
“Never mind the mess,” Anna said quickly. “I’ll take care of it all later.”
A pristine kitchen was top priority at Fireside, and she could only imagine what the current condition of her counters and floors said about her state of mind. She flinched as she stood back and followed her friend’s gaze to the open canisters of sugar, the half-peeled sticks of butter, and the carton of eggs filled with empty shells. The flour bag was still resting on its side. At least ten baking sheets were stuck in the sink or set on top of sticky mixing bowls. It was a mess. A complete disaster. Just like her life.
“You know I would have been happy to come over and help you with all this,” Kara said. She walked into the kitchen and popped the cookies into the oven. After setting the timer, she pulled a broom and dustpan from the closet and began sweeping the flour.
Anna paused in the doorway, not sure how to reply. “With everything that’s happened, it didn’t seem fair. You work for Fireside. All this is for the Annex.”
Kara stopped sweeping. “Anna. You’re my friend. That’s what friends do. It’s not about me being your employee.”
Anna gave a small smile. “Thanks, Kara.”
She ducked into the bathroom, feeling guilty. Usually a hot shower made everything feel a little brighter, but as she came back into the kitchen in a fresh T-shirt and a cotton skirt, she felt just as grim. Even the sight of the much improved kitchen did little to perk her up. If anything, it made matters worse.
Kara was her friend, but she was also her employee. And she couldn’t pay her a dime. How could she break that news to her? She’d paid everyone through the month, but she couldn’t do anything to keep them on beyond that, much as she wished she could.
“I feel bad that we haven’t talked much this week,” Anna said as they finished loading the last of the bags into the car. She slipped into her seat and fastened her seat belt.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve been busy, and my mom and Aunt Sharon have kept me in the loop.”
“No wonder you weren’t surprised that I was using my own kitchen instead of the diner.”
Kara looked at her strangely. “Is Mark really that bad?”
Anna grew quiet. “I know he’s your cousin.” For that reason, friend or not, Kara had never been told about their relationship. For all anyone knew, she and Mark just didn’t click like the other folks in town did. “It’s just… I don’t know. Just college stuff.” Not exactly a lie…
“That’s not what I think.”
They’d arrived in town quickly, and she pulled into a spot in front of Main Street Books. “Oh no?” she asked lightly.
Beside her, Kara grinned. “Nope. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think there’s a bigger underlying reason for why you and Mark don’t get along anymore.”
Anna switched off the ignition and jumped out of the car. She began grabbing the shopping bags full of boxed pastries and muffins and met Kara on the sidewalk. The shield of her sunglasses prevented her friend from seeing the panic in her eyes. If Kara knew, then Rosemary would know, and Luke would know, and Grace… and then Mark would know how much he hurt her. And she couldn’t have that. Ever.
“I think that you and Mark are too alike for your own good.” Kara’s blue eyes danced as she folded her arms across her chest.
“Oh.” Anna felt her shoulders drop with relief. “Ha. Maybe.” She popped the trunk and retrieved the last of the bags.
“You’re both stubborn to a fault.” Catching her stare, Kara said, “Sorry, Anna. I love you both, but it’s true. And you’re both running restaurants on Main Street.”
“You think it’s some competition thing?” Oh, if she only knew.
“Could be.” Kara shrugged. “I just think you’d probably be best of friends if you gave each other a chance.”
Anna’s lips thinned. Kara’s perception was painfully accurate, but then, who better to notice such a thing than someone so close to both of them? For two years he’d been her best friend, until he had to go and blow it.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll give it some thought.”
Kara gathered up a few more bags and closed the door with her hip. “Was it always this way? In culinary school?”
Anna sighed. She tried not to speak about that time period in her life, and she’d mastered the skill of turning the conversation whenever it was mentioned. It saddened her, knowing how much her father had encouraged her to go, how proud he had been of her success there, to know that she, like him, was following his passion. Now, she couldn’t even think of those four years without feeling a twinge of sickness.
“Oh, you know. It was a big school. Mark was a year ahead of me…” Anna frowned. Kara hadn’t brought any of this up in years. Why start now?
“Look. There he is now!” Kara waved over Anna’s shoulder, grinning broadly.
Anna whipped her head around reflexively, her mouth firming at the sight of Mark strolling lazily toward them. God help her if he didn’t look better than usual. His dark brown hair was tousled and, from the looks of it, hadn’t met a brush that morning. A white T-shirt skimmed his khakis at the waist, hugging every inch of that chiseled torso.
She quickly turned back and began fumbling for the handles of the bags, hoping to dart into the haven of Main Street Books without an exchange.
Too late. Mark stopped beside them, and from the way his Birkenstock-covered feet were planted at her side, he didn’t show any signs of going on his way. She slid her eye to him, hating the way her traitorous pulse skipped at the sight of that grin, which was positively wicked. His brown eyes tore through hers, forcing her to blink.
“Lovely morning today,” Mark said evenly, his eyes never straying from hers. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and jutted his chin to the bags of baked goods. “I can see you’ve been busy, Anna.”
Anna stifled a sigh. She really wasn’t in the mood for Mark’s banter this morning, even if the boyish gleam in his eyes made her heart roll over.
“Very,” she said. “And I have lots more to do, so if you don’t mind…” She started to walk away but he stopped her.
“Don’t leave on my account.” His grin never faltered, and Anna felt her eyes narrow.
“You may find this hard to believe, Mark, but not everything I do is because of you.”
He gave a shrug. “So you’re just baking scones all night for fun instead of using my kitchen for a couple hours?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
Kara, whose brow had begun to twitch as she followed the conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, offered, “Mark, have you seen your mother? We’re supposed to meet her at Fireside but we’re running a bit late.”
Mark slid his eyes to Anna and cocked a brow. “Running late? Since when are you—Ah. All those early mornings, I suppose.” He grinned a little wider.
Kara cleared her throat. “If you see your mom can you let her know we’ll be right over?”
Mark held Anna’s gaze for another beat and then slowly pulled his attention to his cousin. “Sure. I’ll swing by the café on my way back to Hastings. Stop by after your meeting if you want to go over—”
“Oh.” Kara seemed to stiffen. “I’m meeting my mom at the studio after the meeting, so… I’ll call you.”
Anna frowned in suspicion as a pink flush crept up Kara’s cheeks. Kara grabbed the bags from Anna’s hand and, with a murmured excuse Anna couldn’t make out, dashed to the door of Main Street Books and slipped inside, leaving Anna to turn helplessly back to the one man she couldn’t seem to get away from these days.
He shouldn’t be standing here like this, staring at her, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away either. A sudden sadness shadowed her blue eyes, a wariness that he’d so often detected over the years, when he dared to steal a glance at her.
He shouldn’t have teased her. He should have just come along, said hello, offered to help carry the bags. But that would have been too… serious. Too real. Too risky.
It was easier to keep her at arm’s length, even if sometimes all he wanted to do was reach out and take her by the hand, pull her close, and kiss that frown off her pretty mouth.
“I didn’t mean to rile you up,” Mark said, giving her a half smile.
The space between her brows pinched. “It’s fine.” She reached down to grab the handles of the two remaining bags. “I should really get inside.”
Mark pulled his hands from his pockets and leaned forward. “Let me.”
“Mark.” Her voice was urgent, and he knew this was about much more than some bakery bags. His gut tightened when he saw the pain in her expression. “Please. I know you offered to help me, and I appreciate it, but I think we can both agree that it’s best for us to keep our distance.”
“Is that really what you want?” He held her eyes, looking for an answer he wasn’t sure he should be hoping to hear. They should keep their distance; that’s what he always told himself. Now he wasn’t so sure. He’d let her go once before, and he’d regretted it every damn day since.
“I think it’s best,” Anna said after a measured silence.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Mark.” Her tone was impatient, but her eyes had gone flat.
He stepped back, holding a hand in the air, suddenly feeling the need to run, to put not just emotional, but physical distance between them, and this need… this all-consuming need he felt to do just the opposite.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re busy, and I still have to track down Frank.” He waited a beat, hoping for a reaction, but all he met was that distant frown. “I’ll let you go.”
Let you go. Wasn’t that what he did best? She’d been his friend—the closest he’d ever had other than Luke—and he’d shut her off, let her down, turned her away without another glance back. Every time his mind wandered back to her, he forced it away, taking company with whatever girl wanted attention, women who could never worm their way into his heart, who could never reach him, or touch him. Or hurt him.
He waited until she had disappeared behind the red door of Main Street Books before hurrying the eight blocks back to Hastings. The crowd was thin, but it would pick up again around lunch hour, and for once Mark wished there was a line outside, babies wailing, and frazzled waitresses bumping into each other. Chaos would take his mind off Anna. It would drown out the voices in his head that kept pulling him back to her, even now, after all these years. It wouldn’t, however, solve his problem about the competition. What if Anna didn’t come around? Did she really hate him enough to lose out on the possibility of fifty thousand dollars, now, when she needed it most? He’d called her bluff, and she wasn’t biting. And there was no way in hell he was going to partner with Frank Piccolino, no matter how sweet that cash would be.
He stopped right there. Maybe Anna felt just as firm in her stance against him.
“Well, there you are!” His mother’s smile pulled him out of his darkening mood and he snapped back to the present, grateful for the distraction.
“Hi there!” He smiled warmly, and leaned in to give her a hug. Even now, when she’d been in remission for more than five years, he still clung a little tighter, held on a little longer, just in case. “I just ran into Kara,” he said, consciously avoiding all thoughts of Anna as he stepped around the counter. “She asked me to tell you she’s running a few minutes late.”
“I’m glad to hear it, actually. I was hoping to share a cup of coffee with you before the meeting.” Sharon settled her bill on the table, but Mark quickly handed the money back to her.
“You know you don’t need to pay for anything here. You own it, after all.”
“Yes, but you’re the one working here now; it only seems fair.” Sharon shrugged and glanced around the room. “The place looks great, Mark.”
“Eh.” Mark tried to muster up some enthusiasm and failed. He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, then took a long swig. Hastings didn’t look any different today than yesterday, or last year, but he wasn’t going to argue. His mother loved this place for some reason. She saw it as a beacon, and for her, perhaps it was. The pay had been steady when she’d needed it, and looking back she had to have been lonely. Locals gathered in the diner, making friendly conversation—people cared, but they didn’t get close. For a while, that suited Mark fine. Now…
He rubbed the back of his neck. He was starting to sweat. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about getting close. Now was the time to be thinking of pulling back. If he ever wanted that restaurant, that was.
“Sometimes I miss working here,” Sharon mused. Catching his eye, she gave a shy smile and waved her hand through the air. “What am I saying? There’s no one better to run it than you.”
Mark nodded and finished his coffee. That’s what he told himself, what he tried to believe. When his mother was diagnosed with cancer his senior year of high school, he vowed to stay by her side, do whatever it took to help out. He’d driven her to all her doctor’s appointments in Forest Ridge and ordered her to take time off. Working at the diner made sense. He’d practically grown up here, and food was… Well, try as he might to deny it, food was in his blood. By the time he’d arrived at culinary school at age twenty, he’d seen his time at Hastings as nothing but good training. He hadn’t expected to return to this place any more than he’d expected the cancer to come back.
But then, when was he ever able to count on anything turning out the way he’d hoped?