It’s the middle of the week and I’m still flying high from the concert when I get a text from Dr. Bryan Moser. I’d call him a friend, but that’s a loose classification at best. Bryan’s a tough person to categorize in my life. He’s sinfully handsome with a runner’s build that would attract most women. Too bad that he’s often ordering torturous tests on me for me to like him as anything more than a friend.

How does lunch tomorrow sound?

I respond back. That’s tight for me to get to Baltimore. Phil scheduled me for cakes all week. Can we talk on the phone?

He types back. I’m in your neck of the woods. Where do you suggest?

How much time do you have? I rapidly reply. Rarely is Bryan in my neck of the woods unless he’s speaking at a hospital.

Little bubbles float as he types his next message. If you can meet after 1, I’ll have the entire afternoon.

Then why don’t you come to Collyer? Anything you’re in the mood for? I wait for his response.

A hug. After that, I couldn’t care less. We need to talk.

That doesn’t sound good. Okay. How about we meet at my house? Then we’re assured of the privacy we need.

Sounds perfect. Text me the address. See you after 1 tomorrow.

Quickly pulling up my calendar, I add in a reminder that I need to leave the office at 12:45 p.m. so I’m not late. Ugh. With the extra cakes Phil scheduled, I’m going to have to be in super early and stay majorly late to fit this in.

I let out a sigh. Not the first time I’ve pulled a late night.

I also send a quick note to everyone that I’ll be taking an extended lunch to meet with an old friend. Looking at the cake I’m decorating in front of me, I wonder how late Genoa is open in Ridgefield. Seriously, we’re addicted to that little Italian deli. As much as my siblings wish it were closer, I am glad Genoa is a hike from our office. I know if it was any closer, I’d be a little fluffier, like when I graduated college, instead of the curvy figure I’ve fought for and have now.

I have specific rules about working out. The main one is that I refuse to run unless things are chasing me. And hell, I might club my sisters before I caved to that level. Fortunately, Ali, who plans all of our workouts, knows better than to suggest running as a part of mine. I might have to put in more workouts each week, but at least I enjoy them. I can stop and talk to people and not drip in sweat.

While shaking my hips to Sam Hunt as I decorate a tray of cupcakes, I snicker in remembrance of the time Ali was avoiding Keene and couldn’t go shopping because she had sweat through her clothes. I would never be caught in such a compromising position. Glistening, yes—I’m a baker. I work in a kitchen all day, so of course I sweat. But all-out dripping with perspiration? No. I refuse. It’s why I demanded we put in a ton of money when we renovated the mansion to have true restaurant-grade AC in the kitchen. After forcing my siblings to work with me for a day—a single day with the AC turned off—they relented. Wimps.

My mind drifts, wondering what Bryan has to tell me. It’s not unusual for him to be in the area, but it is odd he’s taking the time to come see me. I know he’s asked to consult on cases at Yale-New Haven and Sloane Kettering.

I’m lost in thought when Caleb pokes his head through the kitchen door. Looking longingly at the cupcakes on the stainless-steel worktable, he asks, “Are those for lunch or for a client?”

I grin. “What answer are you looking for?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” he says ruefully, walking into the kitchen. “Those, like everything else you bake, look delicious.”

“Then I’m sorry to tell you, they’re for Ali’s birthday dinner tonight. I had leftover batter from a cake I made yesterday, so instead of a full cake, y’all are getting cupcakes. I pulled some of the rejects aside for the crew lunch though. I just need to frost them.” I wave my hand to the less than perfect cupcakes behind me.

Caleb groans. I can’t help but smile at his roundabout flattery.

“Keene is coming home early so he can spend time with Ali. I forgot it was her birthday.” Caleb looks sheepish, and I flat out laugh. “Thank God, Cass handles gift buying. The look she gave me when I had to admit I hadn’t checked the family calendar was embarrassing to say the least, Cori. I mean, we’ve been married for a little over two years. You’d think I’d know better.”

I reach over to the reject cupcake pile. Quickly frosting one, I hand it to him. “Here, you need this. You never, never admit to Cass that you didn’t check the family calendar, Caleb. Didn’t Phil teach you that in family orientation?” I snicker.

“I offered to pick up the kids from day care today to make up for it. That, and get everyone Genoa for lunch,” he volunteers as he munches through what is easily 600 calories of processed sugar. “Actually, that’s what I came down for. What do you want to eat?” he mumbles around another bite.

“I brought a salad,” I tell him dismissively. “But could I ask you to pick up a few things for me? I have a friend coming up from Baltimore for lunch tomorrow. I was trying to figure out how I could get down there to get us some stuff.” I wave my arm to indicate the cupcakes I still have to decorate for our family dinner.

“Not a problem. Just write it down so I can call it all in.”

Caleb is a fantastic brother-in-law. Maybe I should tell him that Cass is making a fuss about him forgetting Ali’s birthday because she figures their make-up sex will be phenomenal tonight? Nah.

As I reach for the pad I keep by the phone, a wave of nausea and dizziness flows through my body. I fling my arms out, desperate to reach for anything. The sturdy counter, the immovable stainless-steel work table, Caleb—anything is better than nailing my head on the floor.

“Jesus, Corinna. What the hell?” Caleb drops the rest of his cupcake on the floor as he reaches me. I clutch onto the counter for dear life.

“You’ll be picking that up,” I manage to get out, pointing to the cupcake on the floor.

Caleb mutters, “Shut up, Corinna. What’s going on?”

I open my mouth to tell him that this could be something more. I really do. And then I see the masses of cupcakes that haven’t been decorated for Ali’s birthday dinner tonight at the farm. My courage ebbs away, along with my dizziness. Shrugging out of Caleb’s arms, I say, “I didn’t eat breakfast, Caleb. That’s all. I got a bit light-headed.” I’m not lying. I honestly didn’t eat because I wasn’t hungry. I had a few other things on my mind.

I always do.

Scowling at me, he stomps over to the massive walk-in refrigerator and comes out holding a bottle of orange juice. Slamming it down onto the counter near where I’m standing, he orders,

“Drink.” He emphasizes his demand by pointing at the bottle.

I turn away without acknowledging him. Caleb snags my shoulder and pulls me around. “Don’t make me force you, Corinna. I have kids.” His growling at me comes from a place of fear. Concern is etched all over his handsome face.

I reach up and cup his cheek. “Two things. One, I’d like to use a glass. And two, could you get me the bottle without the rum infused in it?” I face the label toward him so he can read where I wrote For tropical rum cake. Do not drink!

The edges of Caleb’s cheeks turn ruddy. “Oh. Well, shit.”

I can’t help my smile, even as I’m fighting off my internal terror. Of all the men in the world my hyperorganized sister Cassidy could trip over her prized Louboutins for, I may never have chosen this dark, tough man in front of me. That is, until I saw his heart pouring out of his eyes every time he looked at her. More than two years together, and two beautiful children, you can see Cass is still the sun Caleb’s world revolves around.

Keene and Ali are more magnetic. From the moment they met, you couldn’t be near them and not feel their pull. Once they stopped pushing away from each other, they’d been inseparable. Their history is so long, it’s hard to imagine they’ve only been together officially a little over a year, with a little girl who Ali swears acts just like me.

Since Phil is still madly in love with Jason and has been since the day they met, I just want to live long enough to see my other two sisters blissfully in love before I leave this world and find my place on the other side.

Pulled from my thoughts, I see the glass of orange juice slide in front of me. “I opened a new bottle. Now, drink it all,” Caleb demands.

I laugh out loud at the mason jar Caleb managed to unearth from my cabinet. “Caleb, that’s about a thousand calories of juice. There’s no way I’m finishing this.” Picking up the glass, I take a refreshing sip of the tart sweetness.

“Corinna…”

“Caleb, I’m fine. Really. I promise I’ll drink some.” I pull the jar back and assess its size. “About a third of this. Then I’ll have a salad for lunch. I’ll be good to go.” I give him a smile I hope will convince him. “Besides, you have to call in the Genoa order soon, or it’s the doghouse for you with Cass.”

He narrows his dark brown eyes at me. “If I ran upstairs and told her the reason I didn’t get Italian was that her sister almost passed out, I’d be out of that doghouse in the half a heartbeat it would take for her to get to this kitchen. And you know it.”

Unfortunately, I do. I bite my lower lip and drop my head. A sure sign of my anxiousness to those who know me well.

Caleb lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Cori.” He brushes his lips against my head where my secrets hide. I gnash my teeth harder to fight back the tears, desperate to burst out at his care and concern. “Even with the interns you’ve been hiring, I know you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress. I’m just worried about you.”

And there. Right there is the reason I can’t tell them. It’s why I have to carry this burden alone. The way I’ve lived my life since the night my life changed. Again.

Wrapping my arms around my brother-in-law, I hug him fiercely. “Okay. What you’re telling me is, you have absolutely no problem getting my Genoa order?” I drawl, trying to lighten the mood.

Caleb pulls away and searches my face before shaking his head at me and smiling.

Joining him, I tuck the memory of his care and concern for me inside my heart where it will live forever.

Even if my brain won’t.