Summer spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning, but she barely made a dent in the wreckage. The floor was waterlogged, the back wall was burned through to the studs, and as for her heart . . .

A sponge and a bucket wouldn’t clean up the mess she’d made.

“Put the mop down.”

It was getting dark out when she looked up to find Mackenzie in the doorway. She was dressed in a bright red top with a determined expression on her face. “Poppy’s outside. We’re taking you out,” she announced. “Tacos and tequila, and plenty of it.”

Summer swallowed. “I don’t know . . .”

“No arguments.” Mackenzie took her arm and steered her to the door. “If anyone needs a drink in this town, it’s you. I already told Riley to get the good stuff out of storage.”

“But I’m a mess,” Summer protested, as she was hustled out front. She had frosting stains down her front and wet patches on her dress.

“We’ll live.” Mackenzie gave her a sympathetic smile. “Come on, which sounds better: moping here, up to your elbows in bleach, or spending the evening with your witty, hilarious friends?”

“And Jose and Jack,” Poppy called, waiting by the car.

Summer hesitated. “You guys . . . I really don’t know if I’m up to it. What if everyone’s talking about what a mess I made today?”

“Then we’ll just have to give them something better to gossip about,” Mackenzie declared. “I promise, once they’ve seen me doing a bad Coyote Ugly on the bar, nobody will even remember your little fire alarm debacle.”

“You’d really do that?” Summer felt a glimmer of a smile.

“For you? Of course, babe.” Mackenzie grinned back. “What are friends for?”

Luckily, no dirty dancing was necessary: when they arrived at the pub, nobody even looked in Summer’s direction. She collapsed onto a stool and let Poppy and Mac order up a round of tequila. Riley poured one out for all of them, then pushed an extra one over to Summer.

“Is that a pity shot?” she asked.

“Heard you had an . . . eventful opening,” he said, with a sympathetic smile.

Summer knocked back the first shot. “That’s an understatement. Remind me to get a new sign made: no children or animals allowed.”

Riley refilled for her. “Amen to that. Any time you need a bouncer on the door to keep out the undesirables, you just let me know.” He gave her a wink and moved off to serve another customer.

Poppy raised her shot glass. “To the Blackberry Lane Bakery. And all its future success,” she said, over Summer’s protest. “Because it will be one, no matter what happened today.”

“Shit happens,” Mackenzie agreed. “What are you going to do?”

“Give up and never show my face again?” Summer suggested, only half-joking.

Poppy gave her a look. “That’s not you. Come on, who made me keep sending out my first book, even after I got all those rejection letters? You told me that you should never quit on your dream.”

“Because you’re a great writer!”

“And you’re a fabulous chef.” Poppy smiled. “Look, I know this hurts, and it can’t be easy, with Grayson . . .”

Mackenzie’s head swiveled around. “Wait, what? What happened with Grayson? Oh no,” she groaned, before Summer could answer. “Did he mess everything up? Honestly. Men!”

Summer had to laugh at her exasperation, even though it still hurt to think about it. “He . . . doesn’t seem to have room for me in his life,” she said carefully. “And I can’t be the one waiting around for scraps, you know? I won’t be that girl.”

“I’m sorry.” Mackenzie gave her arm a squeeze. “But hey, there’s always room in my Sweetbriar Spinster club. We meet every other Tuesday, for wine and Golden Girls reruns.”

“Count me in.” Summer managed a smile. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“I want to join!” Poppy protested.

Mackenzie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You’ll go home tonight to a hot man ready to rock your world. Leave us something, at least.”

Poppy grinned. “OK. I’ll keep Cooper, all the same.”

Riley came to deliver a plate of tacos, and Summer began to relax. She was glad she’d come out this evening. It was definitely better that trying to get frosting out of the floorboards, and she’d take any distraction she could get. Memories of Grayson were nudging at the edge of her mind. Like the way he’d looked at her just a few hours ago, that mix of regret and apology that made her wonder if she was being too hard on him. After all, he’d come back.

Should she have given him another chance? What if she’d pushed him away too soon and ruined any chance there may have been to make things right?

“Don’t.” Poppy’s soft warning cut through her thoughts. “I know that look. It’s your pining look.”

“I’m not pining. I’m . . . missing him.” Summer swallowed. “Why am I even feeling this way?” she asked, despairing. “I’ve known him barely a month.”

“I knew Cooper was the one after two weeks,” Poppy said, taking a bite of food. “When he fixed up that beach hut for me to use as a writing cabin . . .”

“Grayson took me to a farm stand,” Summer said sadly. “He knew I’d want to find local produce, to use in my recipes.”

“Bastard,” Mackenzie joked.

Summer swallowed back a rush of emotion. Grayson wasn’t part of her restaurant world; he didn’t know a crostata from a clafoutis before she showed him, but still, somehow, he understood what was important to her.

But she shouldn’t forget how frustrating it was, feeling shut out of his life. She would have worn herself out, trying to break down those walls. And then what? He still resented her for disturbing his precious life in the slow lane, and all his structure and routine. That was no way to be together.

She knocked back the rest of her tequila and looked around. “Didn’t you say something about karaoke in this place?” She needed a distraction, and fast.

“Not tonight,” Mackenzie replied. “Sorry. But I do have the entire Sandra Bullock movie collection back at my place.”

“What are we waiting for?” Summer hopped down. She couldn’t stay here, on edge, just wondering if Grayson was about to walk through the door. “There’s a copy of Miss Congeniality with my name on it.”

“Armed and fabulous,” Poppy teased, finishing her drink. “OK, let’s do this.”

Summer reached for her purse, but Riley waved it away. “On the house, just for tonight,” he said.

She winced again. “It really is a pity party over here, huh?”

He grinned. “Hey, if you want to pay—”

“No, we’re good. I’ll take that pity all the way to the bank.” Summer managed to smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She followed Mackenzie and Poppy to the door. The car was just across the street, but as they were heading over, Summer paused. She thought she saw someone down the street, a glimpse of a familiar figure in the dark.

Her chest clenched. Grayson?

“What’s up?” Mackenzie asked.

“Nothing . . .” Summer looked again, but there was nobody there. Just her imagination playing tricks on her, she realized with a heavy heart—showing her visions of something that could never be hers.

She turned away. “Sandy’s waiting for us. Let’s go!”

Grayson hung back, watching Summer leave the pub with her friends. They piled into Poppy’s car and drove away, their laughter echoing across the square. The sound made his chest ache, but he pushed the emotion aside. Seems she was doing just fine without him—while he was skulking in the shadows to avoid her, like some kind of coward.

Not a coward, he told himself firmly. He just didn’t need another scene with her tonight. She’d made it clear he’d already screwed things up beyond repair, and that look of disappointment in her eyes was enough to last him a lifetime.

He should never have left her, but now there was no taking it back.

He waited until they were gone, then stepped inside, heading straight for the bar—and something to help him with forgetting.

“You just missed her.” Riley pulled down a pint glass and poured him some ale.

“Yup,” Grayson said noncommittally.

“Oh, so we’re doing the whole ‘I don’t need a woman in my life, they’re more trouble than they’re worth’ routine? Gotcha.” He slid the glass over with a knowing smile that made Grayson’s temper itch.

“It’s not a routine, and they are.” He scowled at his beer like it was the problem.

Riley smirked. “Are you sure about that? Because I’ve tried that woman’s pastries, and I’ve got to say, there’s a whole lot of trouble I’d take for another taste.”

Grayson’s jaw clenched. Riley had a reputation, and for good reason. The thought of him tasting anything of Summer’s made his blood boil.

“Relax,” Riley sighed, as if reading his mind. “I’m not going to pretend to be into her just to make you jealous. Although it is kind of fun, watching you squirm.”

“I don’t squirm,” Grayson snapped.

“No, you’re right,” Riley mused. “You brood. Look at you, you’re almost as bad as her.”

Grayson looked up sharply. “What do you mean? What about Summer? Is she OK?”

Riley gave him a look. “What do you think? I had to break out my best tequila, and even then, her heart wasn’t in it. If she packs up and takes those Pop-Tarts back to New York, you’ll have the whole town to answer to,” he added.

Grayson paused. Summer, back in New York? His heart clenched. “She didn’t say she was leaving, did she?”

Riley shrugged. “She had a tough break today. Apparently, the bakery’s close to ruined. And you didn’t help matters, either. Come on, man,” he said, looking impatient. “Camping?”

Guilt prickled down the back of his spine. “It’s tradition,” he argued weakly. “And anyway, I came back.”

“To do what?” Riley challenged. “Because I don’t see you winning her back by moping into your pint all night long.”

“What do you know about it, anyway?” Grayson shot back, annoyed. “You don’t even care enough to screw things up with anyone, you just lean behind that bar waiting for life to come to you.”

“Which it does.” Riley pressed his lips together in the thin line. “Don’t worry about me, I’m doing just fine.”

“Well, so am I.”

Riley didn’t even dignify that with an answer, he just gave Grayson a look. “It’s taken you thirty-five years to find a woman like that. Are you really going to risk waiting on another? Chances are, you’ll be in the ground before then.”

Another Summer? Grayson already knew he didn’t have a chance. There was nobody like her, not in the whole damn world.

“Are you trying to give me a pep talk?” he scowled. “Because yours needs some work, mate.”

Riley shrugged. “The truth isn’t always pretty, my friend. But that’s what I’m here for. That, and helping out the lovely ladies who just walked in.” He was already flashing a smile at the group of coeds heading for the bar. “You think they’re in the mood to try some local muscle?”

He headed over, leaving Grayson to shake his head. Riley was the furthest thing from local muscle. He’d shown up in town a couple of years ago, from someplace on the West Coast. Someplace successful, if the antique Rolex on his wrist and that sailing boat of his were any indication, but Riley never said anything about it, and Grayson wasn’t one to ask. If he wanted to hide out behind a bar, pouring pints and flirting with tourists, that was his business.

Just like Summer was Grayson’s.

Or not, anymore.

He drained his glass and got down from his stool. It would take all the alcohol in the world to make him forget her, and even then, she’d probably slip into his dreams again, with that tempting smile and the fire in her eyes that made a man forget himself . . .

Grayson stopped. No, she was right. He shouldn’t think about her like that. She wasn’t some siren, sent to lead him astray. She’d been upfront and honest with him from the start. He was the one who couldn’t get his head on straight, so caught up in his past mistakes, he kept her at arm’s length just to keep some pretense of self-control.

And for what?

He pushed her away, and now she was gone. He was alone, free to make his life exactly the way he wanted: no interruptions, no disturbances.

No Summer.

Grayson left the pub, but instead of heading home, he found himself detouring to the bakery instead. A part of him was still hoping she would be there, but the lights were all out, and the place was dark and still.

He paused by the door. The place had been a mess earlier that afternoon, and if she was still planning on her grand opening Monday morning, there was a lot of work ahead.

He tried the handle; it was unlocked. Inside, he flipped the lights on and found everything exactly as damp and disarrayed as he’d seen it last. Tables overturned, plates broken on the floor, and were those . . . strawberry-jam handprints all over the counter? In the kitchen, it was even worse: burn marks fighting with waterlogged drywall and a sink full of mixing bowls.

Damn. He knew how much Summer loved this place—and her spotless kitchen. When he’d rushed here that afternoon, he’d been so busy feeling guilty about letting her down, he hadn’t even begun to think about the rest of it: her dream, right here. But now looking around, he saw that whatever happened between wasn’t even the worst part of Summer’s day. She’d spent a lifetime working towards this moment, and from what he’d heard on the Sweetbriar grapevine, it had been a disaster from the moment she’d opened the doors.

She didn’t deserve this.

She deserved everything. The bakery, her success. She’d looked so hopeless, sitting there in the corner. No spark in her eyes, or reckless, breathless energy anymore.

Like she’d finally given up.

But there was no way he was letting her go back to New York in failure when they could still make this dream her reality. She’d earned it, and even if she never wanted to speak to him again, he would do whatever it took to make this right for her.

Anything.

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.