“Honey! I didn’t know you were back!” Bertha’s kind eyes gleam as a grin breaks out on her soft, wrinkled face. She walks around the counter at an impressive speed for someone her age and size, wiping her butter-covered hands on her floral apron.

“I just got into town last night.” I return Bertha’s grin as she drowns me in a big, warm hug.

“Oh, if you’d told me you were coming to Ashbourne, I would’ve baked a special batch, just for you.” She tightens her hug, smushing me against her ample chest.

“Anything you bake is special, Bertha,” I say honestly. “Everyone knows you’re the best baker in town.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you try and flatter me.” Bertha lets me go and waves a dismissive hand. “I was already about to give you some freebies anyway.”

“Honestly, Bertha, I’m not twelve anymore. I can afford to pay for your cupcakes now.”

“Of course, you can. Your parents are so proud of your job in the big city. They’re always telling everybody how well you’re doing.” Bertha walks back behind the counter. “But the main reason my son opened this business for me was because he found out it was my life-long dream to have a shop of my own. I just want to feed everyone and make their day better. So, Sophia, honey, you’ll only be helping me fulfill my dream by taking my cupcakes for free.”

“Oh, okay. Just this once, though.” I give Bertha a smile.

“Okay. Just this once.” Bertha winks at me, making me wonder if she’ll really take my money on my next visit. She grabs a box and a pair of stainless-steel tongs, ready to grip some cupcakes. Pointing at the colorful rows of cupcakes inside the refrigerated glass display cabinet, she says, “Take your pick.”

Bertha’s so cheerful nobody would’ve guessed that she’d lost her daughter in a brutal murder a few years ago. Luckily, she then found her long-lost son, who’s now determined to make up for the years they were apart.

As I take a closer look at the selection, Bertha continues to ask me about my life. It’s nice that she’s interested in how I’m doing, but to be honest, the reason I’m back here is to escape what life has become over there, so I’m not really in the mood to talk about it.

“You’re still working at the Holt Bank?” Bertha asks.

“No,” I answer.

“Oh, where do you work now?”

“Nowhere. I’m taking a sabbatical.” I give Bertha a polite smile.

“Oh, you quit? Your parents didn’t say anything about that.” Bertha knots her eyebrows in concern. “If you need a new job, I can ask my son, Caine. He’s always working on some new project. He may need a smart girl like you on his team.”

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,” I say quickly. “I need a break from . . . everything.”

“Of course. Your parents go on and on about how ambitious and hard-working you are, but you’re not a robot. Everyone needs a little break from time to time.” Bertha gives me a sympathetic smile. “Whenever you’re ready, though, I can ask around in case there’s a vacancy that’s just right for you.”

“Thank you, Bertha. I appreciate it.”

Although Bertha is just a small-town baker, her offer is nothing to sneeze at.

Her son, Caine Foster, is a big shot who runs multiple big companies in various industries. Bertha has also gotten married recently to Caine’s dad, an old flame, and the man used to practically run the city, before he finally retired.

“Unless . . .” Bertha’s lips curl up as she stares at me.

“Unless what?” I ask, raising my gaze from the pretty little cupcakes.

“Unless you want to move back here permanently and start a family. It could be good for you.”

I laugh wryly. “Well, Bertha, it could be good for me. But I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

I stop myself from telling her the story of how the man I thought I was going to marry finally left me when he found out the truth about me.

There’s something about Bertha that makes people confide in her, and I’m no exception, but I don’t want to talk right now. Not about that. I’ve already beaten that dead horse to a pulp with my girlfriends.

Like I said, I’m here to forget about my troubles.

“Well, we could fix that . . .” Bertha lets her voice trail off as she gives me a cryptic smile.

I follow her gaze to the sidewalk just outside the store window. In pastel pink and blue, the name of the store, “Bertha’s Cupcakes,” is written backward as seen from inside.

And, beyond the glass, is . . . him.

Or . . . I think that’s him.

Those determined eyes. That messy pile of dark hair on his head. He definitely looks familiar.

He’s different, but the same. Somehow, when he shows up in my dreams, he doesn’t look like that.

The dream version of him doesn’t have that shadowy scruff lining his sharp jaw or the deep lines carved across his forehead.

I stand frozen, watching him move in slow motion as if time itself has stopped.

Yes, he appears different. He looks older, obviously. But, what strikes me most of all is . . . he looks good. Damn good. Like, better than Bertha’s beautiful cupcakes. Good enough to eat.

Then, the bell rings, jarring me back to reality.

Before I can think, I crouch down so I’m hidden behind Bertha’s counter.

Through the glass cabinet, she gives me a confused frown. Then, like the kind, understanding angel that she is, Bertha turns her attention to him and tries to distract him.

“Elijah,” she says, “how’s your day been?”

“Okay. Can’t complain,” he answers in a voice deeper than I remember. He still sounds gruff, and his mannerisms are just as harsh although his words are friendly. “Your cupcakes look just as beautiful as you do today, Bertha. As usual.”

“You mean round and full of sugar?” Bertha laughs as she swings open a wooden partition behind her wide back, letting me get behind the counter before Eli sees me. She adds, “Don’t tease an old woman, Elijah. I know I’m old and grey now. Save your breath for someone your own age.”

Eli laughs. Oh, the sound of that laughter. It enters my ears and reverberates all the way to my heart.

I’ve heard it in my sleep so many times before, but my imagination can’t compare to the real thing. We used to make each other laugh all the time—that is, until he broke my heart, just like all the other men in my life have.

A clang fills the air as my foot accidentally kicks the side of a metal trash can.

“Sorry,” I blurt out.

I cover my mouth with both hands right away, but it’s too late. He heard me.

“It’s okay, dear.” Bertha doesn’t miss a beat. Turning to Eli, she says, “She’s new.”

“Oh, you finally hired someone?” Eli asks casually. He peers over the counter, so I look down to hide my face. He says to Bertha, “I told you, you were biting off more than you could chew when you decided to handle this shop on your own, considering how popular your cupcakes are.”

“Don’t you get smug with me, Elijah.” Bertha waves a finger in Eli’s face. “She’s just a temp. My husband spends so much time in the city, taking care of his business, that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without this shop.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s just as bad as you. He’s supposed to be retired, but he still works all the time.”

“That’s what makes us so perfect for each other,” Bertha says sweetly, sounding genuinely delighted. “Now, pick your cupcakes.”

“Just get me the usual.”

The conversation dies down as Bertha prepares Eli’s order. It shouldn’t take much longer now until he walks out of the door and I can finally leave.

“No wonder she’s just a temp,” Eli says, presumably about me, making my heart pound in my chest. “You can’t keep an employee happy if you make them stay on their knees all day long.”

Bertha says something back to Eli, but I don’t even pay attention.

Even though what Eli said was perfectly innocuous, heat spreads across my face, all the way to my ears. He didn’t have any problems making me stay on my knees all those years ago.

I remember the way he stood in front of me, his crotch inches from my face. He used to pat my head and make me look up to meet his hungry gaze before he opened his fly and pulled out his . . .

Blood rushes in my ears, and out of embarrassment, I pull a piece of cloth to cover my face. I’m worried it’s getting so red even Bertha will grow suspicious.

As far as I know, nobody in town was aware of what we were doing when we were alone together in our secret hiding place, and I’d like to keep it that way.

I hear a loud crash, and I instinctively raise my hands to shield myself. But again, it’s too late. I feel things falling on me and tumbling down all around me.

When I open my eyes, there are round pieces of plastic as well as a length of metal on the tiled floor.

Also, golden-brown and dark-brown pieces of cake lie on the ceramic tiles, flattened. Colorful icing sugar and tiny pieces of fruit are scattered on top.

“Oh, honey, are you okay?” Bertha asks, her voice full of worry.

Oh God, I can’t not say something now. I can feel both Bertha and Eli staring at me, waiting for a reaction.

“Uh . . . I’m okay,” I squeak.

“You should go clean yourself in the bathroom,” she says.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll clean up this mess first.” In a panic, I grab a piece of checkered rag from a low shelf. It drags out a pile of baking pans and they make a loud, metallic noise as they, too, drop to the floor.

“Don’t be silly,” Bertha says, holding my arm and pulling me up. “The restroom is over there.”

I hang my head down as I stand up, covered in sugar and cake crumbs. I avoid eye contact, but from the corner of my eye, I can see Eli squinting at me.

Crap.

“Sophia?” he asks.

Slowly, with my heart racing, I lift my gaze. “Oh, hi, Eli.” I give him a small wave and an even smaller smile. “I didn’t see you there.”

Oh God. That was the stupidest thing I could’ve said. I heard his whole conversation with Bertha. Obviously, I knew he was there.

Damn it. There goes my plan to waltz back into town as a sophisticated woman to show Eli what he’s missing.

Before Eli can say anything else, I ask Bertha, “Where was the restroom again?”

“It’s over there, honey.” Bertha points at a door at the back of the shop and rubs my arm soothingly. To Eli, she explains, “Sophia’s visiting her family, and she offered to help me out while she’s in town.”

Eli doesn’t say anything in response.

But, I can feel his gaze following me as I make my way to the restroom, shrouded in shame. His stare burns hot into my back, reminding me of the way things used to be between us, the way things can never be again.

As I slip into the restroom and close the door behind me, I inspect my reflection in the mirror.

I look ridiculous. Undignified. Brown and yellow crumbs stick to my hair, which clumps together because of the blue, purple, and pink cream on me.

Yeah. There’s no way for me to recover from this. Eli must think I’m weird.

As I clean myself by the sink, I hear the murmur of conversation from outside, but I can’t make out a word.

It’s probably for the best. No doubt they’re talking about what a ridiculous spectacle I made of myself.

Ugh. What a perfectly crappy way to start the new year. So much for hoping my luck would turn.