Summer was still musing the question the next day when Poppy and her new friend Mackenzie came by to help her decorate the bakery.

“And by ‘help,’ we really mean eat our way through the entire menu,” Mackenzie greeted her with a wide grin. Summer liked her immediately. She had wild, curly hair and a bright orange sundress, and even came bearing a bakery-warming gift: a stack of cute ceramic bowls glazed in bright azure blue and forest green.

“Thank you!” Summer gasped when she saw them.

“Isn’t she talented?” Poppy said. “She makes them all herself.”

“Stop, I’ll blush,” Mackenzie protested. “No, wait, don’t stop. Keep lavishing me with praise as long as you like.”

Summer laughed. “These are beautiful. I almost want to put them on the shelves instead of using them. What if someone breaks one?”

“Then you’ll just have to order some more.” Mackenzie grinned. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with this place,” she added, looking around. “It’s exactly what Sweetbriar needs.”

“Let’s hope the permit guy agrees. He’s coming by tomorrow for the final inspection.” Summer set down the bowls by the windows, which now sparkled in the sun. “Then I’ll just need paying customers.”

“Don’t worry about that part,” Mackenzie reassured her. “News here travels fast. I’ll get Franny to put something in the town blog, and you’ll have people lined up on opening day.”

“Ooh, I know a reporter for the local newspaper,” Poppy spoke up. “Eliza something . . . She interviewed me for the literary festival, I still have her number. I could see if she wants to do a story about the opening.”

“That would be great.”

Summer brought out a tray of fresh-baked cookies and tea, and they set about unpacking her boxes of old baking tchotchkes and artfully arranging her cookbook collection on the shelves. She’d picked out a few mismatched bistro tables from an antique store down the Cape, and with the assortment of old chairs and the airy white sheer curtains, it was beginning to look like a real little café.

“When we’re finished here, we should get a drink at the pub,” Mackenzie suggested. “You can meet Riley, I think you’ll hit it off.”

“Too late,” Poppy said, before Summer could answer. “She’s already got her eye on something tall, dark, and British.”

“Really?” Mackenzie brightened. “Grayson?”

“Poppy!” Summer protested. “Whatever happened to being discreet?”

“Sorry. But Mac’s lived here her whole life,” she added quickly. “Maybe she can help. Figure what his deal is.”

“He does play it pretty close to his chest,” Mackenzie agreed, looking thoughtful. “Most of the time, he stays out of the way at the bookshop, or at his farm. A man of mystery, if you like that kind of thing.”

She did.

“Any girlfriends?” Summer asked, wondering if he was really as monastic as he claimed.

Mackenzie shook her head. “Nothing serious—enough for us to know about in town, at least. But I have seen him with dates a couple of times, up in Providence or out of the way. So, at least we know which way the wind blows.”

“Oh, we already know that.” Poppy gave a mischievous little smile, and Mackenzie raised her eyebrows.

“Really? This sounds like we need more cake.”

Summer laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she warned her, heading to the kitchen. “It was the shortest kiss in recorded history.”

She checked the timer, then opened the oven door and pulled out the rack of coffee cakes she had baking—each with a different proportion of cinnamon swirl baked into the crumb.

“I think I just died and went to calorie heaven.” Mackenzie appeared and groaned at the spread. “One cake would have been enough!”

“It’s the only way to test a recipe,” Summer explained. “You have to compare the flavors side by side, otherwise you’ll never remember.”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of science. Sorry, Poppy,” Mackenzie added, leaning in to sniff the rich aroma. “But you’ve been replaced as my new favorite Sweetbriar resident.”

“So fickle.” Poppy laughed. “But I understand. I’ll take the second-place spot if it means having this girl around.” She hugged Summer, and Summer squeezed back, glad to be there. It still felt like a vacation to her: setting up the bakery, spending time with her friends, and testing out all her recipes. Although she knew that once the bakery opened its doors it would be a whole different picture, she was still savoring every sun-filled moment.

“I like this one,” Mackenzie declared through a mouthful of cake. “No, wait, let me try the other one again.”

They dug in, eating straight from the tins without even a pause to let the cake cool. “So what are we going to do about Grayson?” Poppy asked, after they’d demolished half the spread.

“We?” Summer echoed, amused.

Mackenzie chuckled. “You’ll learn soon enough that any romance here is everyone’s business.”

“I don’t know . . .” Summer paused, thinking about the afternoon they’d shared by the pond. “When he lets his guard down, there’s a real connection, but then suddenly, he can’t get away from me soon enough.”

“Didn’t Coop try the same thing with you?” Mackenzie asked Poppy.

“He did?” Summer was surprised. “But he’s crazy about you.”

“Now,” Poppy replied, taking a sip of tea. “But it took a while to show him that falling in love wasn’t the end of the world.”

“Never mind love,” Summer joked. “I’d settle for a wild fling. Or even ten minutes of hot make-out action.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Remember when you were sixteen and it felt like kissing someone was the greatest thing in the world, never mind all the other stuff?”

“I don’t know.” Mackenzie cracked a smile. “I’m kind of a fan of the other stuff.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Summer asked.

Mackenzie snorted with laughter. “Nope. I’m the Spinster of Sweetbriar. It’s official, they made me a sash and everything.”

Summer laughed. “Please. You have a few years until you’re in spinster territory.”

“You’re right.” Mackenzie grinned. “I’m still more of a ‘maiden aunt.’ ”

They laughed. “So how did you convince Cooper to take a chance on love?” Summer asked. She’d heard the story in bits and pieces, but she’d been so busy with work—and Poppy with her book deadline—that there were still gaps in the story.

Poppy gave a smile. “I seduced him.”

“That’s right!” Summer exclaimed, remembering. “You took my advice, for once.”

“And mine,” Mackenzie added. “I sent her off to woo him with a bottle of wine and her best blue bra.”

“How do you know what color bra I was wearing?” Poppy demanded.

“Like I said, news travels fast in this town.” Mackenzie winked.

Seduction . . . Summer considered it. In her experience, few men protested if you arrived on their doorstep and started taking off your clothes, but that wasn’t exactly the path to a meaningful connection, and despite her jokes, she didn’t want to force Grayson into anything he didn’t want.

She just wanted him to want her enough to do something about it.

“Why don’t you come into town tonight?” Mackenzie suggested. “They’re screening a movie in the park, and there’ll be food, music, the whole shebang to kick off summer. I’m sure Grayson will make an appearance. And if you bring a couple of trays of cake, it could be a good way to drum up business,” she added.

“That’s a great idea.” Summer mentally scanned through her recipes. “What do you think about hand pies, and maybe a lemonade spritzer?”

“I think you’re going to need a full-time taste-tester.” Mackenzie grinned. “I volunteer as tribute!”

The girls left around three, and Summer spent the rest of the afternoon putting the finishing touches to the main bakery room. She polished the display case—waiting for all her sweet treats—and ventured into the garden, picking armfuls of fresh thyme and rosemary to sit on each table in tiny glass jars, perfuming the room with a sweet, herby scent. In the kitchen, she already had her equipment unpacked: the massive stand mixer in pride of place in one corner, and her new island the perfect size to roll out a vast sheet of dough for morning rolls, or the dozens of hand pies she set about baking for the town event that night.

It was a peaceful afternoon, with the windows open and the summer breeze dancing light on her shoulders as she worked. Summer thought she would have missed the noise of New York. After all, she’d spent ten years with traffic horns hooting and garbage trucks clattering, but measuring out her ingredients in the bowls and simmering the thick, fruity jam on the stove, she almost wanted to dance.

She was finally home.

And all it had taken was one wrong turn . . .

She thought back to what Grayson had said the other day, about unexpected paths. Part of Summer was still scared that she’d been too impulsive: leaping into this Blackberry Lane Bakery idea like it was a life raft that could rescue her from the stress and rejection of the restaurant world. But looking around the room now, she could hardly contain her joy. This was hers, all her own. And it was better than she could ever have dreamed.

Now it was up to her to make it last.

Summer turned back to her baking with a new energy. If she was launching a charm offensive on the people of Sweetbriar tonight, she needed to go in guns blazing. Or rather, Pop-Tarts blazing. Her hand pies were a twist on the classic breakfast snack: shaped into small rectangles, filled with delicious flavor combinations, and topped with an addictive cinnamon-sugar crumble. They were a perfect movie snack, and soon, Summer had filled half a dozen tins with them: blueberry and lemon verbena, fresh peach and ginger, and even a sinful Nutella flavor with tart cherry glaze. She packed everything up and barely had time to jump in the shower and pull on her favorite jeans and a white peasant top before it was time to go.

She drove the winding road back into town and found a crowd already assembling on the green patch of the town square. They had a screen set up, and people were spreading blankets on the grass and settling in, getting snacks from vendors, and chatting in the warm dusk light. Summer was unloading her treats when Mackenzie called her over to a group.

“This is Debra and Franny and Bert,” she said, pointing out the older townspeople. “And this is the great Summer Bloom.”

“The baker!” one of the women greeted her.

“That’s right. Here, try a pie.” Summer offered her the tin, and just like that, the ice was broken. She’d learned a long time ago that everyone was a friend when you came bearing pastries, so in no time at all, she’d met almost everyone in town—and made them promise to come visit the bakery for the soft opening next week. “It’s the unofficial dry run,” she explained. “A chance to work out all the kinks.”

“This sounds like my kind of conversation.” They were joined by a man with a scruffy, surfer look. He gave Summer a charming smile from under his ragged blond hair. “I’m Riley.”

“Ah, I get it now,” she said.

Riley arched a brow. “My reputation precedes me. Don’t worry,” he added, leaning closer. “It’s all true.”

Summer laughed. “Pleasure to meet you.” She could see now why Poppy had wanted them to meet. He was handsome, with an easy-going air about him, and any other time maybe she would have been charmed, but Summer was already searching the crowd for Grayson’s dark frame. “Have a Pop-Tart.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Riley took a treat, then paused. “Wait, is this your way of getting us all hooked? The first hit is always free.”

Summer giggled. “Busted. Don’t worry, I open next week,” she added, handing over a flyer. “You won’t have to go long before your next sugar fix.”

“Sneaky. I like you already.” Riley wolfed his pie down in two bites. “Tell me you’re looking for a meaningless, no-strings relationship, and I’m all yours.”

She snorted with laughter. “Where’s the romance? The wooing?” she teased.

“Eh, romance is overrated. I’ve heard from at least three people tonight how there’s a new eligible young lady in town,” Riley confided, “so I figured I wouldn’t beat around the bush.”

“No beating necessary.” Summer smiled. “I’m always happy to meet a new friend.”

“Emphasis on friend.” Riley nodded. “Say no more.”

Summer felt a prickle across the back of her neck. When she looked around, she found Grayson watching them from across the park. It was dark out now, but in the string of lights, she could see he was dressed in another plaid button-down with jeans, sleeves rolled up and his dark hair curling over the collar.

He was delicious.

She shivered, feeling that pull of desire tug in her belly. Riley turned, following her stare. “Huh,” he said, sounding interested.

“No ‘huh,’ ” Summer said quickly.

Riley smirked. “A day late and a dollar short, isn’t that always the way? I’ll leave you to it. Unless you want a little jealousy,” he added. “It turns out I’m great for that. Just ask Poppy.”

“No thanks,” Summer said, a little thrown. Riley had clocked the situation quicker than she’d expected—or maybe her feelings were written all over her face. “It’s a generous offer, but I don’t like games.”

“Then we definitely wouldn’t work. Shame.” Riley grinned. “I could use a woman like you in my kitchen.”

Summer laughed again and elbowed him good-naturedly. “And with lines like that, you wonder why you’re single.”

“Oh, no.” He grinned. “I know exactly why I’m single. Haven’t met a woman yet who could handle me.”

“Or bake,” Summer added.

“Exactly.” Riley leaned in to take another Pop-Tart, resting his arm casually around her shoulders as he selected his next treat. It wasn’t until Grayson suddenly materialized beside them that Summer realized what he was doing.

So much for no games.

Riley gave her a wink. “Grayson, my man. How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

Was it just Summer, or did Grayson seem a little tense? His dark eyes moved back and forth between her and Riley, even as he sipped from a bottle of lemonade.

“I was just telling Summer I’ll be first in line when her bakery opens.” Riley kept his arm around her shoulder. “In fact, you can just find me worshipping at her feet from now on. Have you tasted her yet?”

Grayson blinked.

“Her pastries. Here, take mine.” Riley passed him a pastry, then squeezed Summer. “I’ll leave you to it. Save me a seat.” He sauntered off, already waving to another woman.

Summer had to give him points for style.

“So, you’re making friends.” Grayson’s tone was guarded. Summer turned back.

“Oh, yes. Everyone’s so nice here. And trusting. Back in New York, you’d just assume the person handing out free food is trying to poison you.” She smiled and Grayson’s tense expression softened a little.

“Or they’d throw it straight in the rubbish bin.”

“And hurl abuse at me on the street,” Summer agreed.

“Well, if you set out to win hearts and minds, you’re going about it the right way,” Grayson told her. “I’ve had four people ask when the big opening is.”

Right then, the only heart and mind she cared about winning was standing just two feet away, but Summer forced herself to stay casual. “That’s great,” she said. “Do you guys have events like this often?”

“Every damn week ’til Labor Day,” Grayson sighed.

Summer giggled. “How’s that monastery looking now?”

He caught her gaze. “Better every minute.”

Summer’s stomach twisted again. But before she could say anything, the band sounded a kind of fanfare, and people began to take their seats for the movie. “That’s our cue,” she said, not looking away.

“Seems like it.” Grayson didn’t move.

Summer stared at him, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. He was looking at her with that dark intensity again, like they were the only two people in the world. She felt a sparkle of anticipation, the feeling she always got right before she did something reckless and impulsive.

She should go find Poppy and Cooper and take her seat for the movie. Let Grayson go be inscrutable and controlled if he wanted; read the signs, and take a hint.

But where would the fun be in that?

She’d been hiding away in her kitchens for too long. It was time to live.

“Come with me,” she said suddenly, taking his hand. She pulled him after her, quickly heading out of the square.

“Where are we going?” Grayson asked, but he didn’t let go of her hand.

“You’ll see.”

“Summer . . .”

She turned down the dark street, leading him around the corner and out of sight of the crowd. Summer turned back to him, her pulse racing at double-quick time now. They were in the shadows, all alone. “Just relax.”

“That’s what my dentist says,” Grayson said wryly. “It never turns out well for me—”

Before he could say another word, she went up on her tip-toes and pressed her lips against his. It was a clumsy attempt, and he stiffened in shock, but then Summer wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for the slow, long kiss she’d been waiting for.

There.

His body was hard and solid against hers, his mouth warm, tasting like sugar and whiskey and him, rich and tempting and sending her head spinning in an instant.

God, this was what she’d been needing: the glorious spark of desire that burst to life and flooded through her bloodstream, setting her whole body alive. Summer kissed him deeper, and then suddenly his hands were on her waist, and she was backed up against the wall, his body pressing against every inch of her.

Yes. More. Please.

Grayson eased her lips open and stroked his tongue into her mouth, and Summer let out a breathy moan of satisfaction. She arched up against him, running her hands over the broad planes of his shoulders as his lips wreaked pure havoc on her senses. From zero to hot-as-hell in five seconds flat—this was what she’d been waiting for, ever since that first, too-brief touch of his lips to hers.

Because boy, this man knew how to kiss.

Grayson’s body pinned her to the wall, hard and hot against her as his tongue teased deeper. She’d wanted to shatter his control, but she was the one coming undone instead: holding on for dear life as her legs went weak and her body molded to him, already needing more.

Then he pulled away. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered, searching her face in the dark.

Summer fought to find a witty comeback, some glib, sarcastic reply, but her head was still spinning from the feel of his body, and god, he was too close to think straight. She reached for him again, but there was a burst of applause from across the square, the first chords of the movie striking up, and Grayson blinked.

He stepped away. “I . . .” He cleared his throat.

“Let me guess,” Summer said, her heart sinking again. “This was another unfortunate mistake.”

“No,” he said, his gaze hot on her. “It wasn’t a mistake—and that’s the problem.”

He shook his head, and then turned and walked away, leaving her body humming and restless for just one more touch.

Summer let out a breath of frustration. Something told her she wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.