I frowned. No one liked Louise’s baking. “Scratch the sweets table.”

“Too bad Betty Frankel never had any daughters. I wonder if—”

“Just scratch the damn sweets table, Lanette! Betty and Blair are both gone, and neither of them are coming back!”

Surprised by my outburst, my cousin backed off. “Okay, okay. I’m just trying to help.”

I turned back to the engine I was working on, muttering about the constant interruptions, wishing Blair Beaufort had never crashed into my life, and refusing to let my mind wander to her on the road . . . was she okay? Was she halfway there yet? Was she still crying? Had she believed me when I told her that she hadn’t imagined I cared?

Because I did. And for the rest of my days, I’d probably remember the two weeks I spent with her as the most fun, the most happy, the most alive I’d ever felt.

After leaving the shop later than usual—I wasn’t looking forward to going home alone—I locked the door behind me and trudged slowly up the stairs to my apartment, thinking about all the times I’d followed her up the steps.

Inside, I stopped and looked around. It was big and empty and silent. Even Bisou was nowhere to be seen. I inhaled, but there was no lingering scent of something baking in the oven, no hint of Blair’s perfume or shampoo.

I walked back to my bedroom and saw that her suitcase was gone, the bed was made, and her dress no longer hung on the back of my closet door. A pang of regret stabbed me in the side.

I’d made a mistake.

I’d been wrong to send her away. Wrong and mean and stupid, and now I was going to spend all my nights alone in this bed where she’d made me feel so good.

I wanted her back.

Panicked, I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and was about to call her when a text came in from Cole, asking if I wanted to take a run with him. It reminded me of the last run we’d taken, when he’d prodded me about dating Blair long-distance, and I’d insisted that wasn’t going to happen, because I didn’t want my life to change.

I looked at my bed. At the closet door. At the phone.

If I made this call, it would change everything. I’d have to admit I’d been wrong—to everyone, not just Blair. To my mother, my sister, my friends, my co-workers, this town.

I’d have to acknowledge I’d been weak. That I wasn’t as strong as I’d bragged about being. That there was someone who had such a powerful hold over me after only two weeks that I was willing to take back all the things I’d said and upend my life to be with her.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

This was temporary, and it would pass. I’d gotten through hard times before, right? I’d lost people who’d mattered to me, people I loved. I’d hit rock bottom. I’d clawed my way out. I’d made my peace with the kind of life I’d have.

Ignoring the text for now, I took a shower and crashed into bed. It was impossible not to feel surrounded by the memory of her—I could still smell her shampoo on the pillow. Bisou wandered in and nosed around the room like she was looking for something—or someone—and then jumped up on the bed, tucking herself in along my side, sort of the way Blair used to. She meowed a few times, and I stroked her soft black and white fur.

“Sorry, Bisou. She’s gone, and you’re stuck with me.”

The cat continued to make sad little noises, but I shut my eyes and fell asleep.

Twenty

Blair

After leaving Griffin in the lobby, I’d gone directly upstairs and texted Frannie that I wouldn’t need a ride after all because my car was ready. She’d texted back right away.

Oh, that’s good news! her message read. Drive carefully and call me when you get to town.

Next I’d said goodbye to Bisou, hugging her close to me as I choked back tears. “Tu vas me manquer, ma chatounette.”

Then, with my heart in pieces, I grabbed my suitcase, folded my white dress over one arm, left Griffin’s spare key on the table, and walked out.

Sunglasses back in place, I didn’t even look in the windows of the lobby when I passed by, and I kept my head straight and my chin up as I passed the open service bays. Was he watching?

In the lot, I found my car, and opened the trunk. Inside it were jumper cables, which made my throat catch and my nose tingle. Pushing them aside, I loaded my suitcase in the trunk and carefully laid my dress on top of it. For a moment, I stood there looking at the gown, remembering how I’d thought it would bring me good luck. Hope. Opportunity. But now every time I looked at it, I’d think of Griffin, and he was now the opposite of all those things.

On impulse, I grabbed the dress from the trunk and marched over to the dumpster.

But I couldn’t bring myself to actually open the lid and toss it in.

Instead, I draped it over the top before hurrying back to my car and sliding behind the wheel. Through tears, I grabbed the keys off the passenger seat and started the engine.

I pulled out of the lot and turned right onto Main Street, although I had no idea where I was going. I drove aimlessly for several blocks, realizing I was going to have to pull over and use the GPS on my phone to get to Cloverleigh Farms.

But when I came to the stop sign at Center Avenue, I remembered that I’d never visited Mr. Frankel for tea. I had no idea whether he’d be home or not, and I didn’t have that pie I’d promised him, but I figured I’d at least try to honor my word to stop in. He’d seemed so happy when I said I would.

I turned onto the pretty, tree-lined street, admiring the colorfully painted Victorians on either side. I remembered Mr. Frankel had said his address was 910, and found it on the second block. Turning around in the driveway, I pulled up at the curb in front of his house, a beautiful Queen Anne right out of a storybook, complete with wraparound porch, bay windows, stained glass, and even a turret fit for a princess. Its roof shingles were dark red, and it was painted a deep shade of moss green with amber trim.

I took a moment to blow my nose and mop up my eyes, but in the end there wasn’t much I could do to make it less obvious I’d been crying. Hopefully, Mr. Frankel’s eyes weren’t as sharp as Lanette’s.

At the front door, I knocked three times. Less than a minute later, Mr. Frankel pulled it open. His face lit up. “Blair!” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d left town!”

“I’m on my way out,” I told him, “but I remembered I’d promised you a visit.”

“Have you come for tea?”

“I have,” I said, holding up my empty hands. “But I’m afraid I’m sans apple pie.”

“Oh, that’s all right. My housekeeper, Mrs. Moon, made some lemon cookies this morning. They’re not as good as anything you bake,” he added in a stage whisper, “but they’re better than nothing.”

I smiled. “That sounds lovely. Should I wait out here or help you with the tea?”

“I’ll get the tea and cookies. You have a seat out here on the porch.” He started to go back in the house and then smiled at me again. “I’m so glad you came by. I was about to go down to the store just to have someone to talk to.”

“I’m glad too, Mr. Frankel. I could use a friend today as well.”