“Oh, I made those. I can always get you some extra if they are.”

She turned around, her mouth falling open. “You made those? They’re beautiful! And absolutely delicious! I tasted one when we visited the first time—no joke, they were one of the things that sold me on having the wedding here.”

Blushing, I smiled. “I’m so glad.”

“You’re really talented. Are you a pastry chef? What on earth are you doing at the reception desk?”

I shook my head. “I’m not a pastry chef. But I was taught by one who worked here years ago—Jean-Gaspard. He was kind enough to tolerate my constant presence and endless questions in the kitchen, and I memorized everything he said.”

She laughed. “Well, it paid off. Do you sell in stores?”

“No. Just here.”

“You need to be in business!”

“Maybe someday,” I said, tucking the needle back into the kit.

“What are you waiting for?” she cried, tossing her hands up.

“I don’t know. A lightning bolt?” I suggested, laughing self-consciously. In truth, I’d imagined it a thousand times—just a tiny little storefront with a couple glass cases lined with rows of beautifully-colored macarons. But would it succeed? What if it was too specialized? What if tourists up here just wanted fudge and ice cream? What if I failed and lost tons of money? It’s not like I had any experience or know-how when it came to business—I was just a girl who loved to bake.

“Listen, I don’t have a business card on me right now, but when I get back from Hawaii, I’m going to send one over to you. I’m in commercial real estate, and sometimes I invest in local businesses as well—especially those started by female entrepreneurs. If you ever want to talk about this some more, you let me know. It’ll be my way to show my appreciation for your saving me from eternal embarrassment at my wedding.”

“Okay,” I said, although it didn’t seem too realistic. “Thanks.”

She gave me one last grin and disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone in Mack’s office.

I packed up the sewing kit and replaced it in the top drawer along with his scissors. I knew I should get back out to the reception desk, but I couldn’t resist taking a moment to sit in his chair. Lowering myself into the worn leather, I placed my arms on the rests, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply.

His ass sits here every day. It’s like my ass is touching his.

“Frannie? What are you doing?”

My eyes flew open and I saw my sister Chloe staring at me from the doorway.

I jumped up. “Nothing,” I said quickly, coming out from behind the desk. “I was just looking for something,”

“In Mack’s office?”

“Yes.” After flipping the light switch off, I edged by her into the hall, shutting the door behind us. “The bride broke a strap on her dress, and Mack has a sewing kit in his desk. I fixed it.”

“Yeah, I just saw her rush by.” Chloe glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, have you seen Dad? Is he around tonight?”

“He was earlier. He’s not in the restaurant?” I began walking back up toward reception.

“No. Maybe he went to bed already. He’s been so tired lately. I’m worried about him.”

“Same,” I admitted, pulling open the door at the end of the hall and letting Chloe go through first. “He should slow down a little.”

“I agree. I wish he’d let me …” She sighed. “But he never will.”

“Let you what?”

“Never mind. It’s nothing. I’m heading out.”

“Okay. Night.” As I watched her head out the front door, I tried not to feel disappointed she hadn’t confided in me. But it was nothing new—although Chloe was the closest to me in age, only five years older, we had never been particularly tight.

Part of me thought maybe it was because of all the attention I’d gotten as a child due to the problem with my heart. She’d been the baby until I’d come along needing all kinds of attention and care, including three open-heart surgeries before age ten. Maybe she’d gotten ignored.

Or maybe it was the age difference. She was always growing out of things just as I was growing into them—Barbies, friendship bracelets, boy bands. Our interests never seemed to align, and she was off to college before I even hit high school.

I often wished things were different between Chloe and me—between all my siblings and me, actually. The Sawyer sisters, people called us.

There was Sylvia, the oldest, who lived with her husband and two children in a big, beautiful home near Santa Barbara. I’d never visited, but Sylvia posted lots of pictures on her social media accounts with hashtags like #blessed and #mylife and #grateful. All my sisters were pretty, but I’d always thought Sylvia was the most striking. Her husband Brett, an investment banker, was attractive and successful, their children were adorable and smart, and they seemed to have the perfect life. Which was why it was always a little strange to me that Sylvia never seemed to be smiling in any photographs she was in.

April was thirty-five and had her own condo in downtown Traverse City, not too far from Cloverleigh. She’d moved to New York City after college and worked there for seven years. After that, she’d come home and taken over event planning here, single-handedly turning Cloverleigh Farms into the destination for luxury weddings in a rustic setting. Her eye for design and her ability to anticipate trends and adapt to them was incredible. She was a romantic like me—and she lived for weddings—so it was sort of odd to me that she wasn’t married, but whenever our mother hinted around, April always just shrugged and said she hadn’t met the right person yet.

Our middle sister, Meg, was thirty-three and lived in Washington, D.C. She’d always been wildly passionate and outspoken about her causes, from preventing animal cruelty to women’s rights to fighting poverty. After graduating from law school, she’d taken a job working for the ACLU but now worked on staff for a U.S. Senator. She was so busy she didn’t get home much. I thought she still lived with her boyfriend, a high-powered government something-or-other, but I wasn’t sure.

Chloe, who lived in Traverse City, handled all the marketing and PR for Cloverleigh and helped manage the wine tasting rooms. She was ambitious and smart and creative, always coming up with new ideas, and she worked her ass off. It never seemed to me that my mom and dad recognized all the work she put in on a daily basis. I sometimes wondered if it was because Chloe had been a really difficult teenager—defiant and headstrong, an unapologetic rule breaker who loved pushing boundaries and sometimes forgot to think before speaking. The total opposite of me. Even as an adult, she often butted heads with our parents, and never seemed to back down. I often wished I was more like her.

I often wished I were more like any of them. I envied Sylvia’s happy marriage and family, April’s confidence and creative instincts, Meg’s fiery passion, Chloe’s outspokenness … they all seemed fearless to me. Sometimes I felt I was a Sawyer sister in name only. After all, I was the only one who’d never left the nest, not even for college.

It’s not that I hadn’t wanted to go away to school like my sisters had, but my parents, especially my mother, had encouraged me to attend classes locally so I could live at home. “That way, you’ll be close to doctors you’re familiar with,” she told me. “And you’ll be more comfortable and less stressed. I know you feel like you’d be fine, but why take the risk?”