her purse and jacket and marched out.
“Steph, I didn’t mean—”
Her one-fingered salute shut him up.
Aaron stood on the bakery steps as she threw herself into her mini SUV and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up icy gravel in her wake. The cold air seeped through his clothes and into his skin, slowly freezing his blood.
Crap. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
STEPHANIE CLENCHED HER JAW, sick to her stomach, heart pounding. As she drove away from Georgette’s, she felt as if someone were digging spadefuls of hurt and bile straight out of her gut.
Twenty minutes later she pulled over, realizing she’d been driving aimlessly, blinded by her need to escape. What was it her old babysitter used to say? Running away won’t solve your problems, Stephanie.
It was too soon to regret, she told herself. This wasn’t her fault. Walking out was the only way to show Aaron she needed to be taken seriously. She wouldn’t stand to be mocked and bellied...belittled.
That, at least, was what she’d tell herself until reality sank in.
She sat in the SUV, hands loose in her lap, the emergency blinkers on. She picked up her cell phone. Calling Maya was out of the question. After the pep talk they’d had, Steph didn’t want to disappoint her. She didn’t want to head back to her apartment yet, either. Stewing at her place alone would only bring the grief home quicker once she acknowledged she was out of a job.
There was only one place she could think of to go. She dialed, and after a brief conversation, turned her SUV back onto the road.
It was half an hour before she arrived. Mom and Dad lived in one of the big houses on the shores of Silver Lake. They had a great view of the water, and they owned a private strip of beach, which was why all the parties back in high school had been at the Stephenses’.
Though it was anything but, today the house looked low and small and sad against the gray-and-white world. The lawn was covered in thin patches of melting snow. Steph pulled into the long, paved driveway and parked in the four-car garage. Her mother met her in the interior doorway, beaming.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” Helen opened her arms in welcome. Steph leaned in for a brief hug, smelling cloves and Chanel No. 5 in her mother’s hair. “I’ve got so much to do, and I could really use your help before your father’s party.”
Steph didn’t reply. She hadn’t mentioned it over the phone, but she had a feeling Mom already had heard about her falling-out with Aaron. Gossip was a professional sport in Everville, and Helen was one of its MVPs. “I’ve got a headache coming on,” Steph said, not in the mood to be interrogated. Sometimes faking it was Steph’s only way to ensure her mother left her alone. “Would you mind...?”
“Of course, baby. Go right up to your room. Lucena’s already put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in your bathroom. Get some rest and I’ll check on you later to see if you want dinner.” She ushered her up the stairs.
Steph shut the bedroom door, and the cold, massive space closed around her. She waited three heartbeats to feel better, to feel safe, to feel that everything was going to be all right.
All she felt, though, was a leaden sense of failure.
* * *
“I’M SCREWED.” ACTUALLY, screwed wasn’t the word he was thinking of, but he was trying to shield Kira’s delicate ears from saltier language. He didn’t want to drive off his only other employee.
“Can’t Georgette come and bake tomorrow’s orders?” she asked hopefully.
Aaron gulped his black coffee and stared at the long list of standing orders. He hadn’t realized how many local businesses they supplied with pastries and desserts. They’d lose a lot of cash if they had to cancel. “My grandmother’s still recovering. I don’t want to trouble her.” He scanned what was left behind the counter. “Pack up what you can from the display case to fill these orders.” He handed her the list. “We’ll make what we have to once we see what we have on hand.”
“What about stock for tomorrow?”
“I’ll deal with it. I don’t suppose you can come in for the rest of the week?”
She bit her lip. “I have classes...”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, then. Come when you can, but don’t you dare skip school.” He paused. “Wait...it’s barely noon. Why aren’t you in school now?”
“I only go part-time.”
He began to ask her why, but decided it wasn’t his business. There were lots of reasons a young person might have for not going to school full-time, and right now having Kira here was a blessing.
He went back to the office and hesitantly picked up the phone. How was he going to explain this to Gran? She’d be furious, and then she’d insist on coming to fill the orders.
He put down the handset. No. He wasn’t going to tell her. Not until he’d found a replacement. The doctor had said it was vital that Gran rest and keep her blood pressure down.
He took a deep breath to calm his own hammering heart. He’d spent his youth in the bakery working alongside Gran, though she hadn’t let him in on her secrets. But he knew where everything was in the kitchen—at least he thought he did. All he needed were the recipes.
Which were in the safe at home. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. Georgette would know right away that something was wrong if he showed up at the house now. He would have to get the binder of recipes tonight after Gran had gone to bed. Well, no problem. He had his smartphone and a great data plan. He’d get some recipes off the internet and make those. They wouldn’t be Gran’s, but they’d be close enough, he was sure. A chocolate chip cookie was a chocolate chip cookie.
He glanced at his watch. If he started now, he could make a few batches. He rolled up his sleeves and headed to the kitchen. He could do this. Stephanie Stephens had, after all. How hard could it possibly be?
* * *
THE SATURDAY OF her father’s birthday party, Steph was tasked with serving punch and cake, even though Helen had hired wait staff for the day. Steph suspected her mom had put her behind the big crystal punch bowl by the window to make sure she was seen by all the guests, including those who knew some eligible bachelors.
She smiled wanly as Helen, dressed in a salmon-colored two-piece suit, picked up a glass of punch. “I still don’t see why you couldn’t have made Georgette’s coconut cake,” she murmured. “It’s for your father, after all. You know he loves her coconut cake.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t make Georgette’s desserts for anyone unless they pay for them.”
“If this was about money, I would’ve paid you.” Helen sniffed.
“And if you’d wanted the cake, you should’ve ordered it from the bakery before I quit. It’s her recipe, and I don’t work for Georgette anymore, so I can’t use it.” She didn’t know why her mother argued with her about this all the time. Helen knew very well Steph had signed a nondisclosure agreement that kept her from sharing her employer’s recipes. In one of her more melodramatic moods, Helen had once claimed her own daughter wouldn’t give her Georgette’s recipes to save her life. To her mother’s everlasting shock, Steph had agreed.
Leaving their argument dangling, Helen trotted away to greet some guests. Steph stifled a yawn. She’d woken up before the crack of dawn, still attuned to her baking schedule. She’d never slept much, but now that her internal clock was thrown off she had a hard time coping.
Truthfully, she worried about what was happening at Georgette’s. She’d stormed out before she’d gotten