Kylie went walking into the bakery with her mom, the yeast and sugar smell almost overwhelmingly powerful, but in the most pleasant way possible. If she could drown in delicious smells, she’d die a happy death here in the Muffin Man.

She looked around, spotting a few signs of the recent remodeling after the fire Adam had told her about. There were some ladders and paint cans scattered about, and a big plastic tarp that separated the back from the front. Kylie didn’t personally know the owner, Gage – he’d moved back to Long Valley to take over his grandparents’ bakery after she’d already left for college – but she’d heard all of the comments down at the vet clinic. He was rumored to be Long Valley’s most eligible bachelor, and after the amount of drooling that the man inspired, Kylie was curious to see if he lived up to the hype.

Her mom called out a greeting to some of the other ladies in the Knit Wits group, and then made her way over to the grouped tables to chat with them. A little overwhelmed at the idea of meeting such a big group, Kylie wandered instead up to the front counter to inspect a handwritten sign, informing customers that until further notice, only coffee, tea, and muffins would be served at the Muffin Man, while the bakery was under renovation.

Kylie was impressed that they were even partially open, and wondered if Gage had been forced to do it to try to keep the bills paid while the remodeling work was being done. Based on what Adam had told her, the fire had been fairly significant.

Just then, a muscle-bound guy who looked like he could swing a fifty-pound bag of flour up over his shoulder without breaking a sweat, came pushing through the plastic curtain, carrying a tray with an array of muffins on it. He saw her standing there and smiled, revealing a row of white, straight teeth.

“Hi, you must be Carol’s daughter,” he said in way of greeting, shifting the tray to the other hand so he could push his glasses up his nose. With his square jaw and brilliant blue eyes, he looked like he could grace the cover of a romance novel.

Kylie laughed. “Is the family resemblance that strong?” she asked dryly. Gage shrugged.

“Carol mentioned that you’d come back to town, and honestly, there aren’t many people who attend the Knit Wits who are under the age of 90,” he winked, “so it wasn’t a hard deduction to make.” He held the tray out to her. “Want one?”

“Oh sure!” she said delightedly, dithering over her choices before finally picking out a lemon poppyseed concoction. She followed him over to the gathered tables, watching him as he passed the muffins out with ease to all of the older ladies, charming them with his smile and his laugh.

Well, it was plenty obvious to see why every woman in town under the age of 102 was in love with him.

Everyone, that is, except for her. She could tell why there was an attraction there for other people, but he just didn’t do much for her. He needed to be taller, leaner, replace the flour dusted across his jeans with straw and shit instead, change his eye color from deep blue to whiskey brown, and…

Well, then you’d have Adam Whitaker, of course.

Kylie tried not to groan out loud. She really was a hopeless case.

As Gage disappeared into the back, carrying a now-empty tray, Carol began introducing Kylie to everyone in the group. She remembered some of the ladies from functions around town when she was back in high school, but honestly, they weren’t exactly in her age range. Her guess that she’d be the youngest person in the group by a half-dozen decades or so, wasn’t too far off.

“Oh, and today we have Tiffany and Ezzy with us again,” her mom said, gesturing towards two gals who weren’t as young as Kylie, but certainly weren’t as old as even her mom.

“Good to meet you,” the Tiffany chick said, putting her hand out to shake, but it was a limp-wristed shake with lifeless fingers, the kind of handshake that Kylie just hated. She always felt like she was gripping a dead fish.

Not exactly appealing.

Her mom pulled out a chair for Kylie next to Ezzy, who flashed a quick smile at Kylie but said nothing, and then began pulling out needles and yarn for them to work with. Kylie snagged two knitting needles and a ball of fluffy, purple yarn. It’d been ages since she’d tried to wrestle yarn into submission, but she was surprisingly excited about giving it another attempt. Maybe it was that nesting instinct that the internet had told her would start kicking in, but she wanted to make a warm, soft blanket – nothing complicated, just cozy and inviting.

The chatter about gardens and the weather – the wind had finally died down – and who was sleeping with who swirled around Kylie but she only half-listened as she struggled to get her needles to cooperate. She’d thought that knitting would be like riding a bike and it’d all just start coming back to her, but either her analogy was wrong or she was slow on the uptake, because she couldn’t seem to cast on more than a few loops before she found herself stuck.

She leaned over to her mom to ask for help but before she could say anything, the conversation died down and Tiffany turned to Kylie. She cleared her throat loudly and asked, “So, you’ve moved back to Sawyer, huh?”

Kylie straightened up, putting her yarn and needles on her lap for the moment. She could ask her mom for help just as soon as this conversation was over. Since Tiffany had waited until there was a lull in the conversation and had cleared her throat before talking, every eye in the group was now trained on Kylie.

She gulped.

“Yeah,” she said lightly, trying to pretend as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I worked full-time while going to school part-time so I could stay away from student loan debt as much as possible, so it took me four years to get a two-year degree.” She laughed a little. No big deal. None of this was a big deal. Not a big deal at all. “Now that my generals are out of the way, I’m trying to decide what I want to do with my life, so I came back home for a bit. Once I decide which degree I want, I’ll be heading back out again.”

Tiffany just stared at her for a moment, one eyebrow arched, and then looked pointedly down to Kylie’s stomach, as subtle as a wrecking ball. Even before her mouth opened, Kylie felt a rush of dread wash over her, cold and clammy.

“Interesting,” Tiffany said cattily, in that tone of voice that said that she didn’t believe Kylie, not one bit. “You see, I’d been hearing around town that you’re prego. Are you sure that isn’t why you came running back to Mommy? And, I see no engagement ring, either.”

The outburst of sound – gasps of horror and outrage – swirled around Kylie. She was dumbfounded. What the hell? What is wrong with this…this bitch?

Ezzy snickered behind her hand at the look on Kylie’s face.

Make that two bitches.

“I really don’t know what business it is of yours,” Kylie retorted, her ears red and her cheeks red and the anger boiling like molten lava inside of her.

Tiffany shrugged, studying her fake fingernails nonchalantly. Kylie noticed that the ball of yarn in her lap hadn’t been touched yet. Tiffany hadn’t even tried to pretend that she was there to knit anything.

“I was just curious, is all,” Tiffany said innocently. “I mean, if you got pregnant without a guy willing to make it right by marrying you, well now, that’s between you and God, isn’t it? It does make me wonder if he isn’t married already, though…”

She trailed off significantly, arching one eyebrow, waiting for Kylie’s defense.

Kylie felt like she’d been thrown into a pit of vipers. This was the Knit Wits group? It was supposed to be a group of sweet old ladies who gossiped about who did the best job dyeing and covering up grays, not…not this.

“I’m not feeling well,” Kylie announced, standing up, struggling to hold back her tears. She was not going to cry in front of this woman. Never. “Mom, I’d like to go home now.”

She marched towards the front door, her needles and yarn clasped in her hands, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. Nothing at all.

It really was too bad that she was such an awful actress.

Behind her, the sound of chatter and uncomfortable laughter swelled up again. She didn’t know and didn’t care who was laughing. She was never going to see any of these women again. She was going to move to Mississippi and dye her hair black and adopt a southern accent and pretend her name was Susan Blackeye. She hated this town and this state and especially people named Tiffany and Ezzy.

She threw herself into the passenger seat of her mom’s Prius, finally giving into the desire to cry her eyes out. She was crying so hard, she was hiccuping when her mother made it to the car, starting it and driving until they pulled into the empty parking lot of the library behind a small row of bushes. She turned off the car, and then pulled Kylie up against her side, holding her as Kylie let out a jagged breath, then howled with anger and hurt again.

She didn’t know and didn’t care how much time passed before she finally calmed down enough to pull out of her mom’s arms. “Why?” she whimpered. “Why would Tiffany do that? I hardly even know her.”

That, more than anything, was the most hurtful part of all. If she’d been in a Hatfield-McCoy feud with the woman all through school, well, it’d make sense, at least. But Tiffany had graduated years before Kylie. She’d probably been in elementary school when Tiffany had been a senior.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” she whispered.

Her mom hugged her hard. “I’ve never particularly liked Tiffany,” she said regretfully. “I was a little worried when her and Ezzy started showing up to the Knit Wits meetings a couple of months ago, but she never did anything wrong, per se, so I just bit my tongue. She never seemed all that interested in knitting or crafts in general, though, but real damn interested in the gossiping part. She probably just had a hunch that you were pregnant and asked tonight, wanting to get a rise out of you, hoping to get a reaction. So I’m going to say that the secret is out, darlin’, ‘cause no one back in that bakery was fooled in the slightest. Have I mentioned lately that maybe you shouldn’t consider a Broadway career among your many options?”

Kylie pulled back, a hysterical laugh spilling out of her. “Not Broadway, huh?” she said, scrubbing at her eyes. “And I so thought I had a chance…”

And then she grew serious. “I knew it’d come out at some point, of course – you can’t hide a baby forever – but I guess I just didn’t think that people would be rude enough to ask me about it to my face. I knew there’d be gossip behind my back, but there’s a difference between that and right here in front of me. And how did she know that Norman was married?!”

That was the bad part. That was the part that was going to cause her the most trouble, for damn sure.

Her mom pulled her against her soft side, cradling Kylie against her body. “Small towns can be vicious,” she said softly, running her fingers through Kylie’s hair as she talked. “Last I heard, Tiffany had been chasing the new county extension agent but apparently he fell in love with the younger McLain daughter instead. Maybe Tiffany turned her sights on Adam, and thought that you were her competition. She’s the kind of person who’d look at the world that way. Which, by the way, is there anything between you and your hunky boss?”

Kylie pulled back with a startled laugh. “Of course not,” she protested automatically.

Her mom just stared at her.

Kylie stared back…and then blinked first.

Dammit.

“Maybe,” she allowed.

“Maybe, as in…?”

“As in we’ve kissed. But just once. He hasn’t kissed me since. Maybe I’m not a good kisser.” She gave her mom a pained smile. Her mom rolled her eyes.

“Knowing Adam, it’s probably more that he feels like he can’t take advantage of an employee, and especially not one who’s so much younger than him.”

“Okay, yeah. Probably,” Kylie allowed. That did make a bit more sense.

“How much older is he than you?” her mom asked, settling back into the driver’s seat and turning on the car. Being a hybrid, the start-up process hardly made a noise.

“Like, fifteen years? Maybe? I’m just guessing. I haven’t actually asked him.”

“That’s quite a difference when you’re only in your 20s, but when you hit your 40s, it won’t be much of a difference at all.” Her mom paused for a moment and then added, “But, since you’re in your 20s right now, I’m not sure how much of a comfort that is to you.”

Kylie let out a hollow laugh. “Well, I’m not sure if it matters either way, honestly. He’s not going to want a girl who’s pregnant with a bastard child.”

No one did.