“Canada,” he answered. “It’s just across the lake.”
“I figured. Are you a decent driver? How’s your safety record on this thing?”
Jack planted both feet, balancing the bike between his long legs. Gus felt the heat even more. Why did the company owner and general enigma have to be so attractive?
“See this scar?” he asked, pointing at a small white line on his chin. “That was from my first bike accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-five. I’ve gotten more careful since then.”
“I see,” she said. “I’m considering your risky offer.”
“Last Chance.”
“I’m thinking.”
“No, I mean, I assume you’re headed for your Last Chance bakery. You might as well get on and save your energy for opening day. I’m hoping for fifteen thousand people. At least.”
At the thought of baking fifteen thousand cookies, Gus surrendered and swung her leg over the seat in back. She would need all her energy if his prediction came true. From the backseat, her view was all broad shoulders and tailored suit. Why didn’t he get heatstroke in those suits?
“I can’t see anything from back here,” she said.
“Don’t need to. You can’t steer, either.”
Before she could protest, the bike started rolling. Gus gripped the handlebar and pedaled, trying to accustom herself to being totally at someone else’s mercy. She focused on the shops, restaurants and trees whizzing by. She attempted to summon carefree childhood memories of racing on a bike, the wind in her hair. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to steer that bike like kids wanted to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.
Especially when Jack careened much too close to a tree. And when he skirted the edge of a curb in front of the HoneyBee kiddie coaster. He nearly crashed into an oncoming bike, but swept to the side at the last second and gave Gus only a brief glimpse of the near disaster.
The man was a maniac on a bike.
“I want off,” she said.
“Trust me. I could do this with my eyes closed.”
“I think you are.”
He finally stopped in front of her Western-themed bakery sandwiched between the shooting gallery and the train tracks. She stepped off the bike, straightened her apron and admired her new sign as she tried to regain her equilibrium. The sign was like the one at the Midway Bakery, but Aunt Augusta’s Last Chance Bakery was spelled out in neon ropes and the cookie wore a cowboy hat.
“Nice,” Jack commented. “You’re breathing new life into these bakeries.”
He planted his feet again. Gus thought for a moment he’d put down the kickstand and invite himself in. Instead he sat and looked at her as if he were at a loss. He must have a million things to do with only days until the season started. Just like she did.
“Work to do,” she said, unable to restrain a smile.
He nodded. “Want me to pick you up later? It gets pretty lonely on this bike by myself.”
“I think I’ll take the train,” she said, sounding much more flirtatious than she wanted to.
“Too dangerous. We’re training new engineers before the season starts.”
Gus laughed and then sobered quickly, thinking of how late she’d be here tonight and how she’d have to struggle all summer to make a profit. She’d be baking and decorating faster than the spinning rides in Kiddieland.
Gus couldn’t invite any kind of a friendship with Jack Hamilton—too many people depended on her commitment and hard work. And her current loyalty was to the other vendors. Even after only a few weeks, they were starting to feel like family.
“You’re a busy man, I hear. Too busy to be bothered with lease vendors like me.”
The smile creasing his face and lighting his eyes flashed out like a switched-off bulb. Gus felt a stab of guilt at her bitter words. But they were the truth.
She walked away and shoved through the swinging saloon-style doors into her bakery.
JACK’S GUT WAS doing somersaults as he did a walk-through of Starlight Point on the afternoon before opening day. If he’d had to sign anything right now, he wouldn’t have been able to hold the pen steady. The nervous tension was like a vibrating drum in his chest, its rhythms spiking upward through his neck and shoulders.
He had done this final walk-through with his father every year of his life. He barely remembered the early years, but he had seen pictures—him riding in a red wagon behind his father as he pointed out all the changes and new rides constructed over the winter. He noticed everything—even as a child—any new sign, a different paint color on the trim of a building, a cart parked in a new location. And the rides, of course he noticed those. He was still a ride junkie after all these years.
But he was all grown up. His mother hauled Betty around in that red wagon now.
“Want company?” Evie asked, her voice and her hand on his arm equally soft. His youngest sister had always been a quiet force in an energetic house. June had tended toward fiery competition mixed with fierce love and loyalty. Evie was more like their mother. Quietly determined, strong underneath.
“I’d love your company,” Jack said. “But...”
“Don’t worry.” Evie grinned, pointing at her running shoes. “I’ll keep up.”
“Good thing. Or you’re going in the wagon.”
They walked briskly, both of them blessed with the long Hamilton legs. From the front entrance to the farthest Western-themed train station at the tip of the peninsula, it was just shy of one and a half miles. Starlight Point was a deep peninsula jutting into the lake, covered with rides, food, noise and people. A long beach on the lakeside and a curved marina on the bay side made sure the fun didn’t end where the water began.
“Are we going through the hotel, too, floor by floor and hall by hall?” Evie asked.
“That’s your favorite part. When you were little and got to come along, you used to make up stories about all the famous people you imagined staying in the rooms and walking the hallways.”
“In pretty dresses and fancy dinner clothes.”
Jack grimaced. “If you must.”
“Just don’t hide then jump out and scare me. I hate that.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “I haven’t done that since...”
“Last year.”
“Has it been that long? I’ve got some catching up to do. People will think I’ve lost my reckless charm.”
Evie was silent a moment as they passed through a park entrance toward the beach. They clunked through the turnstile and paused to watch the water as they leaned on the ornate iron beach railing.
Jack turned and found his little sister staring at him. “What?” he asked.
“I was thinking how much you look like Dad.”
“Not sure that’s a compliment. Do I look that old?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet anyway. Maybe after a few months in charge of this place.”
Jack laughed and draped a long arm over Evie’s shoulders. She was only twenty-one, and the six years between them made him feel protective of her, made him wonder how and when he was going to