Author: Kristan Higgins

“That’s disgusting,” Gianni says. “Here, have a cookie. Want Poppy to buy you a cookie?”

Nicky looks at the pumpkin cookies spread out on our table. “Do I have to?”

“No, baby, you don’t,” I say with a sigh.

“Hi, guys,” Parker says, joining us. “Anyone have anything good to eat yet?”

“Not yet,” Marie says. “How about you?”

Parker’s cheeks stain with pink. “Um…not really.”

“You’ve been to Starbucks, haven’t you?” I ask.

“Busted,” she murmurs. “But only for that hot chocolate.”

“Isn’t it to die for?” Rose exclaims. “Marie, have you tried it yet?”

Indeed, a dozen people mingle in front of the Starbucks tent, despite the fact that the Taste of Mackerly doesn’t officially start until four, ten minutes from now. Ash, who used to boycott the chain store as a sign of solidarity, is waiting in line as well. Ouch.

Just then Ethan walks past Starbucks’ tent, a large box in his arms. He stops to say hi to Ash, and I watch as her face turns red. Ethan grins at something she says, and Ash smiles back, glowing. Ethan moves on, then pauses before crossing the street—Stuffie the Clam is making a practice run lap before his immolation. Ethan calls something to the driver of the pickup—Ed Langley of Ed’s Egg Farm, just before the bridge—then crosses the street. He pauses in front of his parked car to say something to Roxanne the surly waitress, and she laughs and pats his shoulder before crossing the street toward the green. Only Ethan could get a smile from Roxanne.

He’s so nice to everyone. That’s not news to me, but it feels awfully good to see in action just the same. I hope he’ll come by soon, so we can smooth out anything that needs smoothing. I miss him. I’ll tell him that.

I pull my gaze off Ethan, then freeze. Doral-Anne glares at me from ten yards away, Kate on one side, Leo on the other, the usual poison shooting from her eyes. Her daughter tugs her hand, and Doral-Anne looks down, puts her hand on Kate’s head and says something, her face softening into a smile. Well, well. A moment of maternal tenderness from the lady with the snake tattoo.

A bit flustered by the jealousy that’s reared its ugly head, I busy myself trying to arrange the cookies on our pretty table so they don’t look quite so hideous, but it’s no good. They’re just so…graceless. So tacky. If I ever had control of the bakery, I’d ban these for life.

“Can we have a bunch of these?” asks a boy of about twelve.

I look over my shoulder to see who he’s talking to—no one there—then back at the lad. “Are you talking to me, sweetie?”

“Yes. Could we have some cookies?”

“Really?” I ask, then give my head a little shake. “I mean, sure. Of course you can. How many?”

“Maybe ten?” he says.

“Wow,” I say. “You bet.” I bag ten cookies and hand them to the kid, who pays, thanks me and dashes off.

Iris gives me an arch look. “Guess they’re not as bad as you thought, are they?” she says, tutting.

“Can I have some, too?” another boy asks.

“Sure!” I tell him, then glance at Iris, who’s preening like a cat over a dead mouse. “Sorry, Iris. I underestimated their appeal.”

“Yes, you did,” she agrees.

“Lucy, we’re going to look around a little,” Rose cheeps. “If you don’t mind, of course. Want anything?”

Which means they’re off to visit their friends, probably get a hot chocolate from Starbucks. “I’m fine,” I say. “Take your time, enjoy yourselves.”

“See you around,” says Gianni, still holding Nick. “Parker, all right if we take the little guy with us?”

“Of course,” Parker says. “Bye, Nicky. Give Mommy a kiss.”

He obliges, then blows one to me. “Here’s yours, Aunt Wucy!”

“Charmer,” I call, pretending to catch his kiss. I blow one back, and he catches it dramatically, then presses it against his cheek, grinning.

“That boy is the image of his father.” I smile.

“Makes you want one, doesn’t it?” Parker asks. “A little Ethan?”

My smile drops a notch. “Mmm,” I say. Clearly the cookies need rearranging. Or the Hi-C needs, er, checking.

“What? Things aren’t going well?”

“His parents caught us on the couch the other night,” I mutter, my face burning.

“Oh, crap!” Parker crows with undisguised glee. “Were you doing it?”

“Close.”

She throws her head back, a melodic peal of laughter filling the air. “What did you do?”

“Covered up,” I say. “Quickly.”

“Holy shit,” Parker sighs happily. “How awful.” Then she notices my expression. “Everything else good, though? I thought you guys were doing okay.”

“Yeah, well. It’s fine. We have things to work out,” I say.

“Hello, ladies” comes a voice.

My face floods with heat. “Matt! Hi! How are you? Wow! Nice to see you. I didn’t know you were coming!” I’m babbling, I realize, but the shock of seeing him affects me, and Grinelda’s words come back to me in a rush. Check the toast. Check the bread. Check the bread man? “Matt, this is my friend, Parker Welles. Parker, Matt DeSalvo.”

“Great meeting you,” he says, shaking her hand so hard she winces. Jimmy had a crushing handshake, too.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she answers, cutting her eyes to me. “How do you know Lucy here?”

“He’s from NatureMade,” I explain hastily. “The bread man.”

“Oh, sure,” Parker says, giving Matt an assessing look. I wait for him to notice her—she’s rather incredibly beautiful, after all, but he just smiles and turns his eyes to me.

“How’s the decision-making process coming along?” he asks. “Any more questions about our offer?”

“Uh…I…I don’t think so,” I stammer. His presence really flusters me…so much like Jimmy, but not quite there. Sort of like how coffeecake made with nonfat sour cream lacks the richness of the real thing. How Coldplay doesn’t quite measure up to U2. Matt is rather like…Jimmy Lite.

“You know what?” Parker says. “I think I’ll catch up with my son. Nice meeting you, Matt. I’ll catch up with you later, Luce.”

“Nice meeting you, too,” Matt says as she leaves.

“She’s my friend,” I say rather stupidly.

“I see,” he replies. He really does have nice eyes. Not as nice as Jimmy’s, but pretty nice nonetheless.

“Um, about the offer, uh, I don’t have any questions. You answered them the other night.” Stop babbling, Lucy. “I’m just taking my time. Making sure it’s the right thing for me.”

“As you should,” Matt agrees. “Well, if there’s anything I can do, just say the word. I do need a decision by November First, though. I think I mentioned that.”

“Yes. You did,” I say. He smells good. “And honestly, I can’t think of a reason to say no. It’s a great offer, and I’ll give you a definite answer next week, how’s that?”

“That would be fantastic. We think your bread is the best, and that’s what NatureMade wants. The best.” He gives me a little wink, and a little buzz attraction wriggles in my stomach.

“Flatterer,” I say, unable to suppress a grin.

“So tell me about this Taste of Mackerly,” Matt says. “I’m probably hallucinating, but I think I saw a giant clam a few minutes ago.”

“Show that clam some respect,” I return. “We’re going to burn him later. These are his final hours.”

“I see.” He grins. “Anything else I should know?”

It’s easy to talk to him—he seems so…level. So uncomplicated, really, since there’s no sticky past or mishmash of feelings here. I point out Lenny’s as the place for stuffed clams as well as my in-laws’ booth for Italian, and he promises to check both out.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Rose coos from behind me. All three Black Widows hold Starbucks cups.

“Well, if it isn’t the toast man,” Iris says, giving me a wink that contorts her entire face. “And how are we all getting along today?”

“What a beautiful coat,” my mother murmurs, reaching out to touch the sleeve of Matt’s suede bomber jacket. “I always liked a man who knew how to dress.”

The Black Widows seem to have forgotten that I’m actually dating Ethan these days. My stomach starts to ache.

Matt accepts a cookie from Iris, who gives me yet another arch look.

“Careful with those,” I murmur to him. “The government is thinking of using them in Afghanistan.”

“Some boys were playing street hockey with them earlier,” he says, his voice low, and I burst into laughter. Poor Iris! Matt smiles down at me. He’s a hair shorter than Jimmy—well, maybe more than a hair. Taller than Ethan, though. Not that I’m comparing them.

“Lucy, that string of lights isn’t working,” Rose says, pointing to the ceiling of our little tent. She’s right—the cord’s come unplugged from the other string.

“I’ll get it,” Iris says, but the thought of my seventy-six-year-old aunt standing on a chair is not a happy one.

“No, no, I’ve got it, Iris. No problem.” I wrestle the folding chair out of her strong hands and stand it beneath the strand of lights. The ground is soft from last night’s rain, and the chair isn’t exactly stable.

“Let me help,” Matt says. He offers his hand, and I take it, standing warily on the chair. It wobbles, and Matt reaches up and puts his hands around my waist.

“Thanks,” I say, a little breathlessly. His hands are big. And warm.

The light is replugged. Matt helps me down, and I find that it’s a little hard to look at his face. Somewhere on the other side of the park, a police car gives a short blip.

“Nice to have a man around to help,” Rose sighs dreamily.

“Thank you,” I say again, glancing up at Matt.

“My pleasure,” Matt says. His voice is low and intimate.

My face flushes. I glance across the street, and guilt floods my heart.

Ethan is watching me, standing stock-still on the curb as people mill around behind him, getting ready for Stuffie’s triumphant circumnavigation of the park.

He looks like the last kid picked for a team. Forlorn, trying not to show it, and something cracks in my heart. He doesn’t look away, and neither do I. The police car blips again.

“Holy Mary” comes a voice behind me. Marie. “Oh, God. Oh, God, I have to sit.”

Without turning around, I know what’s happening. Marie and Gianni have returned and spotted Matt, and the resemblance to Jimmy has hit them hard. I glance back—yep, Gianni’s helping Marie to a bench, my mother flutters around them like a brightly colored bird, Iris’s hand is on Matt’s arm, explaining who the Mirabellis are. Matt glances at me, an apologetic half smile on his face, looking more like Jimmy than ever.

“Lucy, get some water,” Rose says, turning to me. “Your mother-in-law’s had a shock.”

I don’t move. The police siren chirps again, closer now. Turning back, I see that Ethan’s not there. “Ethan!” I shout. “Ethan!” There he is, a few yards up the sidewalk. Tommy Malloy stops him to say something, and Ethan nods. “Ethan!” I call again.

He hears me…the setting sun illuminates his face as he turns toward me. He’s waiting, and I know I need to say the right thing.