It’s kind of depressing how little I have to pack. I thought I’d be invigorated by gathering all of my adult life out of my childhood bedroom to haul back to New York, but instead I’m standing here looking at this suitcase that isn’t even stuffed full. Looking at the midnight-blue dress I wore on my first real “date” with Drew. I make a face, shove the last pair of jeans in over it, and yank the flap closed.

I should just be glad Mom had to work this morning. Otherwise she’d be hovering like she did all weekend, saying things like, “If there’s anything you want to talk about . . .” and “There’s nothing wrong with following your heart.” She’s obviously nudging me to spill what happened with Drew, why he’s vanished from my life and conversations in the last several days. Too bad for her that topic is currently number one on my list of Things I Am Never Discussing With My Parents.

“I am following my heart,” I told her last night. “I’ve been dreaming about working in a bakery in New York since I was a teenager.”

“Your own bakery,” she said. “Wasn’t that more the point than what city it was in?”

“Well, I got there once, I could get there again.”

And at least I’ll be living in my own space like a functional adult again.

As I’m lugging the suitcase to join the other by the stairs, my ringtone sounds. Ruby’s name pops up on my phone’s screen. Huh. The payment for the Alice Astley gig went through last week without a hitch, and the episode aired a couple nights ago, but maybe there are some final details that need wrapping up.

“Hey, Ruby, how’s it going?”

“Good, good,” she says in her usual briskly chipper voice. “How about you? Enjoy your moment in the spotlight?”

I remember seeing the fawning comments popping up on the fan forums I might have stalked a little bit, and I manage a smile. Can you BELIEVE those cakes? OMG, I am dying. Definitely the best and most hilarious goodies ever.

“It was definitely fun,” I say. It would have been more fun if I’d had someone to watch the show with other than my parents, but McKenna was back in New York that night and Lulu who knows where, and Drew . . .

Nope, not going there.

“Very good. So what would you say to doing something that could go even bigger?”

I hesitate, leaning against the bannister in the hall. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it just so happens that Lust Meets Love—you know them, that big, ah, ‘adult’ toys company?—is opening their next store in Philly later this month. And one of their bigwigs saw your cakes on TV, called their people up, and they passed him on to me. LML wants you to cater their launch party, the dirtier the cakes the better. It’ll be a huge deal, they always fly a bunch of celebrities in and all that, tons of media attention. They’re even talking about setting up some sort of deal where people can order your treats through their website afterward.”

My heart leaps, but I shut that impulse down. “It sounds amazing,” I say. “It really does. But I’m supposed to be starting full-time at a patisserie back in New York tomorrow. For a very demanding boss. There’s no way I’d be able to squeeze in something that big.”

“Are you sure?” Ruby says. “Why don’t you at least take a little time to think about it? The buzz around you since that episode aired has been amazing. This is a great chance to be your own boss, and rock at it.”

“Yeah,” I say, my throat tightening. Her words echo my mother’s too closely. Doesn’t anyone remember that I did the whole setting-up-my-own-shop thing just a few months ago? Look at how that crashed and burned. Like, apparently, everything I try to get into these days.

“I’ll let you know if I think I can make it work,” I add, even though I know the chances of that are almost nil.

“You’re doing something unique, and you’re doing it well,” Ruby says, trying to convince me. “There’s always going to be—”

A knock carries up the stairs from the front door.

“Sorry,” I say to Ruby. “Someone’s at the door. We’ll chat later.”

I heft my suitcases, since they need to get downstairs anyway. “Coming!” I holler.

It’s McKenna standing outside the door. “Oh, good, you’re still here,” she says, sounding oddly out of breath. She tucks her hair behind her ears and gives me a weird smile.

I raise my eyebrows. “Yup, I’m taking the three o’clock train, so I’ve got a little time left. What’s up?”

“I just thought we should do a goodbye lunch. Since, you know, you’re moving. It’s on me. I know a great place downtown.”

“McKenna, you live in New York too,” I point out. “We can see each other whenever once I’m there.”

“So?” She sets her hands on her hips. “Are you really turning down free food?”

“Okay. But let’s keep things chill. I’m not really in a celebrating mood. And you have to promise not to mention Drew.”

“Not a problem.” She gives me a mock salute. “We’ll have the chillest, most non-celebratory lunch this city has ever seen.”

I can’t help cracking a smile at that. “Lead the way.”

McKenna ushers me into her car—a BMW, very slick. She drums on the steering wheel in time with a Top 40 radio station as we cruise toward downtown. I’m starting to relax when she turns down an all-too-familiar street.

“Wait—the restaurant is down here?” Drew’s building is up ahead.

McKenna looks like she’s struggling to maintain a neutral expression. “We’re just taking a quick detour.”

My pulse skips. “Mac! No. We’re not doing this. I’m not going to—”

It’s too late. She’s already pulled up outside Drew’s building. My entire body goes rigid.

“You want to see this,” McKenna says. “He knows we’re coming.”

“Then why didn’t he just talk to me?”

She throws up her hands. “Because my brother is a diva who enjoys dramatic reveals? Blame him, not me. But let’s go, so you can do that.”

I shake my head. “No. No way. Not happening. I’ve had enough embarrassment for at least a decade.”

“I don’t think his plan is to embarrass you,” McKenna says. When I don’t move, she sighs and opens her door. She strides around the car and yanks open mine before I have the presence of mind to lock it.

“Come on. If all you want to do is tell him off and then leave, that’s up to you, but you’ve got to at least go in there.”

“McKenna,” I grumble. She holds out her hand. I can tell she doesn’t have any intention of budging until I comply. McKenna is a lot of things, but stubborn more than just about anything else.

With a grimace, I wave her hand aside and clamber out. My heart thumps as I walk up to the main door.

“Not that one.” McKenna tugs me by the elbow to the paper-covered glass door for the first-floor retail space. She ignores my quizzical look. “In here.”

“What? What the heck is going on, Mac?”

“Just go! I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

She opens the door for me and gives me a gentle shove when I hesitate. I almost stumble coming into the vacant storefront. Which . . . actually isn’t so vacant.

Marble countertops in pale peach line the walls around a couple of display islands. Tiered glass cases are already mounted here and there. A checkout counter stands at the far end of the room, cash register at the ready. It’s super-cute, just like my old bakery, and I can’t help feeling a pang of jealousy for whatever tenant he finally found for this place.

“Hey.”

I turn. Drew is standing in the middle of the tiled floor, looking just as irresistible as always. My heart aches to look at him. He’s got his hands slung in his jeans pockets all casual, but there’s a flicker in his eyes when he smiles at me. He’s nervous too. Okay.

“Hey,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

Drew watches me expectantly. I’m not sure what reaction he’s waiting for. I don’t know what to say at all after the way we left things. Wasn’t it his idea that I come here? Or maybe it was all McKenna after all—her not-so-secret romantic side hoping to engineer a last-minute reunion.

“So, you finally found a tenant?” I motion to the counters.

“I really hope so,” he says. “I . . . Here, why don’t you come around back with me. I think you’ll get the picture then.”

The picture of what? But I’m here now, and I’m starting to feel like I can breathe in his presence again. So when he gestures for me to follow, I do. We step through a door behind the checkout counter into a brilliantly lit . . . kitchen.

My eyes widen. A wave of awe and envy rushes over me—awe at the glorious setup in front of me, and envy of whoever’s going to get to use it.

“Wow.” I run my fingers over the polished prep surfaces, the stainless steel door of the massive fridge, and pause. “Is that— A Farine oven set? They’re the best ones out there.”

“I know,” Drew says. A hint of amusement has crept into his voice. “You mentioned how much you wished we had one at least five times when we were baking at the hotel.”

The comment doesn’t quite penetrate my state of wonder. I peer at shelves neatly stacked with sturdy mixing bowls and measuring cups, a dim pantry with shelves begging for supplies, top-of-the-line warming racks and cooling racks . . . My throat is choking up.

“It’s beautiful,” I say. “Whoever landed this place is going to have a ball working here.”

“You like it, then?”

“Like it?” A laugh sputters out of me. I don’t even know if Suzanne Agnelli has a kitchen quite this tricked out. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Good. It’s yours.”

My head whips around. I stare at him. “What?”

He smiles crookedly back at me. “I set this up for you. I mean, you can customize it however you want, swap things out, add whatever you need—I tried to go by things you’ve said and asking around a bit, but obviously I’m no expert—but I . . . The space is yours. If you want it. Open a new bakery, run events out of it—whatever you want.”

His gaze is intent on me. My mouth has gone dry. I manage to swallow. “You— Why would you do all this? Because if you’re feeling guilty about leaving, don’t.”

“Maggie, you’re the best thing to come into my life in a long time,” Drew says. “I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

My heart is thumping again, but there’s a joyful rhythm to it now. Still, I have to ask. “But . . . what about the band reunion?”

He sighs. “That was stupid. You were right. I got caught up in the idea for a hot second, but it wouldn’t have been anything except trying to recapture a life I don’t even want anymore. The other guys might go ahead and make a go of it , but I told them it’s definitely without me.”

He pauses, and takes a step closer. “Everything I want is here. At least, it would be. If you stayed.”

I stare at him, his words finally sinking in. I can’t believe it. He did all this for me?

Tricked out a bakery space, handed up my dream on a platter, all to win a second chance?

“I know you’ve got that great job lined up in New York,” Drew continues. “And if you’d rather go for that, I get it. We’ll do long-distance, I’ll come visit all the time. Maybe even move to a studio space in the city. But if you want to make a go of it right here . . .”

He gives me a crooked grin, full of hope, and damn, it melts my heart.

“I love you, Maggie Hayes. Tell me you’ll stick around and make ‘right now’ last at least a little longer?”

I gulp. “Yes!” I blurt. “Fuck yes.”

Drew laughs, and then he’s pulling me into his arms. His kiss is every bit as intoxicating as it’s ever been. Maybe even more, because I know how much it matters to him. His fingers slip into my hair, and mine curl into the soft fabric of his shirt. The heat of his body washes over me. I want to sink right into it, but something makes me pull back.

“I can’t just take all of this,” I say sternly. “You have to charge me rent. I’ll pay my own way.” The check from the Alice Astley gig should cover me. And then there’s that job Ruby called me about . . .

“I figured,” Drew grins. “You’re no charity case. Although I might give you a small girlfriend discount.”

“I guess that would be acceptable.” My gaze darts through the spectacular kitchen again. Oh my God. Is this really happening?

Yes, yes, it is.

I hook my arms around his neck and pull him into another kiss. Our lips meld together for so long, so urgently, that when I draw back, I’m breathless. “I love you too,” I blurt. “More than chocolate.”

Drew’s face breaks into the widest grin I’ve ever seen. “That’s a lot.”

I grin. “I know.”

He kisses me again, even harder. His hands slide up my body, and my skin sparks at the contact. I press into him instinctively. A growl rumbles from his throat.

“I know you’ve got business to take care of,” he mutters into my hair. “But I would really, really love to break this kitchen in properly first.”

I trace my fingers down his chest to the buckle of his jeans. “Well, then, let’s get cooking.”