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  He warmed up the cappuccino maker, but his eye was on me. “Touchy subject?"

  "No,” I snapped, but then took a breath. “Of course not. It's just you and Lyla went on about him all day yesterday and since he's not exactly my favorite person, if we could just drop the subject..."

  Armand surrendered. “Okay. Consider it dropped."

  "Thank you.” I took a breath, determined to get on with my day. Without any more reminders of Kevin. “You taking those sandwiches over to the KC hall this morning?"

  "Leaving right now.” He gathered the packages while I went into the dining room to make my morning rounds.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Adler,” I said, refreshing her coffee. “Nice to see you in this morning. We missed you this last week. Were you on vacation?"

  "No, dear,” the gnarled old twig of a woman said. “I had that awful flu that's going around! I was—well, you know, dear, how the flu can affect us old people."

  "And us not-so-old people.” Bringing Mrs. Adler her prune Danish had almost done me in.

  "Oh, Maggie, dear, did I tell you my granddaughter is getting married in the spring?"

  "How wonderful! Congratulations!” Eat that prune Danish, old woman. Get it out of my sight before I hurl!

  "I'm going to give her your number. You do cater weddings, don't you, Maggie, dear?"

  "I certainly do, Mrs. Adler. Thanks for the referral, I really appreciate it.” And I wasn't just being polite, even if she wouldn't get that damned Danish out of my sight.

  "Anything I can do to help.” She flashed me a smile that could melt dry ice. Good God, sometimes I wished she was my grandmother.

  Just as I thought I was about to lose my breakfast—and yesterday's dinner and possibly lunch—Lyla staggered in the door looking like Bedhead Barbie after a frat party.

  "Attacked by wolves?” I asked as she pushed passed me on her way to the coffee maker.

  She shook her head. “A two-year-old."

  "Same thing."

  "Coffee, coffee,” she muttered. “Where's Armand's special brew?"

  I pointed to the back with my thumb. “I hid in the butler's pantry. Didn't feel like poisoning any of the regulars."

  "Face it, Maggie, some mornings you just need a mug of nuclear waste to get the blood pumping.” She looked at me, focusing for the first time. “God, you look awful."

  "Thanks, I love you too.” I retreated behind the counter where I could hide from the sight of all the pastries, if not the smell.

  "Before I forget, when I dropped Jack off at your mom's this morning—"

  "My mother is watching your son? Why would you do that to the child?"

  She shook her head. “My mom's got a manicure appointment and Dad has to drive her so she doesn't mess up her nails. Totally useless grandparents, if you ask me."

  "Totally,” I agreed.

  "And your mom said since she doesn't have any grandchildren of her own..."

  "Yeah, yeah. I don't need you starting in on me, too."

  Lyla chuckled. “Anyway, your mom was cleaning out the basement. She sent over a box of stuff she said you might want. It's out in my trunk, so remind me later. Just some knickknacks, old perfume bottles. Your old diary."

  "My diary?” I winced. “What do you bet she's read it?"

  "I wouldn't bet against it. And I'm supposed to remind you about dinner tomorrow night."

  "Like I could forget.” But it was time to move on to other subjects I'd rather forget. “So you got a good look at the books yesterday afternoon?"

  "Yeah.” She took a sip of her coffee, looking less than thrilled.

  "What's the verdict? Should we be panhandling out front?"

  I knew the answer was bad, because before she even answered, Lyla made a career out of pulling a cruller out of the display case. “Okay, there's good news and there's bad news."

  "Always good to start the day with a tired cliché.” So much for my New Year's resolution to stop being sarcastic. She squinted at me in obvious displeasure. It was her own fault, though. She taught me everything I know.

  "Remember what I said about the coffee shop yesterday? I was right. Opening for breakfast and lunch doubled our revenue last month."

  "Too bad it cut my sleep in half.” I tried not to sound bitter.

  I failed.

  Lyla looked vaguely apologetic. As if. “I wish I could help more. But with Jack..."

  "Forget it.” That line of conversation was getting old. I bagged up Mr. Pereti's order to go. “Life throws you curve balls, and I've got a business to run. I do what I have to do to get this thing off the ground."

  "Nice martyr routine. Now I know for sure you're related to your mother."

  It was my turn to squint at her. “So are you going to hit me with the bad news eventually, or are you just going to stand there and eat up the profits?"

  She stopped, the cruller halfway to her mouth. “Nice mood."

  "Other shoe. Drop it."

  Lyla took a deep breath, letting it out between clenched teeth. “Yes, the coffee shop is bringing in money, but it might be too late."

  If I hadn't already been nauseous, I think my stomach would have heaved. “What do you mean, too late?"

  "We're doing okay,” she said in a hasty retreat. “But the insurance and taxes ... I'm not sure we have enough to cover it all."

  I refilled the coffee carafe, my head splitting. “How much?"

  "Ten thousand."

  "That's not so bad..."

  "Each."

  I turned on her in disbelief. “No! That can't possibly be right!"

  "Well, not exactly ten thousand each."

  I let out the breath I'd been holding. “Good. Then how much?"

  Lyla fidgeted, pulling at her pastry. “The total is nineteen thousand, two hundred."

  "Holy Mother of God,” I whispered.

  "You can say that again. I'd say it, but since I'm Jewish...” She kept babbling, but being completely panicked, I didn't really notice. “It could be worse,” she said, even though I was concentrating on trying not to puke on the bagels. “Maybe I'm overreacting. After all, you have that big bar mitzvah coming up next weekend, right?"

  "Yeah, but that ain't twenty freaking grand!"

  Lyla came over and put her hand on my shoulder. “Remember, we just need to hang in there until we get word-of-mouth advertising. Then we've got it made in the shade.” She'd said that a million times since we'd opened Let's Dish.

  It failed to get less annoying.

  "Yes, I know. But we don't have time, unless we can convince the county to hold off on property taxes until we can pull a profit."

  "So let's assume the worst,” she said. “Let's say we have to close down. It's not the end of the world, Maggie. We can always start again."

  Abject terror did nothing for my stomachache. “Start again? I did start again. This is my last chance at a real life, Lyla, since I screwed up the first attempt!"

  "You didn't screw that up.” She grabbed my shoulder a little harder. “Ted screwed that up."

  "Ted was just following his heart.” Too bad he stomped on mine in the process.

  Armand picked that moment to come in with a load of bread flour. “Help me unload?"

  Lyla glanced at me and stepped forward. “I'll do it. Mags, you take a break, talk with Mrs. Adler. Maybe that will make you feel a little better."

  Yeah. And so would a straight shot of cyanide.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  September 3

  Dear Diary,

  I met the man of my dreams today. He's perfect in every way. He's handsome, tall, and pre-med! He's going to be a doctor! And he has the prettiest blue eyes! I think I'm in love.

  The first time I ever saw Ted Taylor, Lyla and I were walking to our very first college class, eager to learn everything about abnormal psychology. Or at least everything about the guys in our psych class.

  "Do you think there'll be any upperclassmen?” I a
sked.

  Lyla rolled her eyes at me. She was eons more sophisticated than I was, with long, flowing blonde curls and that “come hither” gaze. I tried to mimic it, but ended up looking like I had a sty. “Upperclassmen? In Psych 101? Only if they're complete idiots."

  "As long as they're male, I don't care!"

  Lyla glanced at me, looking scared. “Your mother can't have realized that sending you to St. Theresa's Girls’ School would turn you into a complete horn dog. Good Lord, you need to get laid."

  I secretly agreed with her, but the tapes of my mother's voice played in my head far too often to say it out loud. Who's going to buy the cow when the milk is free? and The farmer will never buy a horse that's been ridden! were her two favorites.

  I was eighteen before I realized she wasn't actually talking about farm animals.

  "Listen,” she said, “I'm going to set you up with one of Jimmy's buddies."

  "I don't want to be set up. I want it to happen naturally."

  "Honey, there ain't nothing natural about men and women getting together. Sometimes it needs a little push.” We entered the classroom building and she spotted someone. “Hello,” she said. “There's the victim in question."

  "Very funny.” I followed her gaze. BAM! I thought it was love at first sight, but later learned it was just my libido kicking in after twelve years of Catholic school. My heart pounded, my breathing slowed to a crawl, and I got lightheaded just staring at this six-foot-two dark Adonis. Well, as much as a twenty-one year-old can look like Adonis while still resembling Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.

  Ted was everything I thought I wanted. Only problem is, when you're eighteen, all you want is a good-looking guy who fawns over you. And Ted was older and more worldly than I—which didn't take much—and, in my opinion, the perfect man.

  I set my trap as well as my inexperience would allow, and managed to snare him. But after three months of Friday night dates, lunches and dinners in the dining hall, the yutz had yet to kiss me. Three months and not a move. Now Lyla might have been right that I'd become a horn dog, but I thought I was being pretty damned patient.

  In late November, a group of us decided to hit a movie the night before Thanksgiving break. I can't remember what was playing, I was too busy wondering if Ted was ever going to take my hand or wrap his arm around my shoulders to pay attention to what was happening on the screen. I had a whole routine worked out, too. I'd slide my hand near his, accidentally bumping it on occasion. Not exactly subtle, but he still wasn't getting it. Then the miracle happened.

  "What do you say we head off alone?” he asked as we walked out of the theater. “Or do you really want to go for pie with everybody else?"

  Hello! Pie? I've been throwing myself at you for weeks and you want to know if I want pie? “No, I don't want pie.” I put on a sweet smile that was meant to say “take me, you stud".

  He smiled down at me, his blue eyes focusing on mine with what I hoped was heat. “Good."

  I could barely breathe all the way back to campus. The radio played a sexy tune, but any tune would have seemed sexy to me at that moment.

  When we got back to the dorm, he shot me a shy grin. “Want to go for a walk?"

  It was a little too chilly to be walking, but I had my libido to keep me warm. “Yeah. That sounds great."

  As we walked, he inched closer to me until eventually our hands were bumping and brushing one another in some sort of erotic dance. “You know,” he said, his voice cracking in the most adorable way, “I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together."

  "Me, too."

  "And I think I'm really going to miss you over break."

  "Me, too!” Oh Lord, was I still breathing? Panting may have been a more accurate description. So much for my early childhood ambitions to be a nun. I was pretty certain I didn't have the constitution for celibacy.

  Ted was silent for a long time, and my mind scrambled to find something to end the awkward lull. But jumping him didn't seem appropriate. Finally, he saved me from myself. “For a while I thought you were too young for me, being a freshman and all."

  "Yeah.” As you can tell, I had a great gift for gab at the time.

  "But now I'm really glad I met you.” My heart stopped beating. Really, I think it totally stopped for a full three beats as he took my hand, turned to me and bent down. “In fact,” he said, his voice breaking again, “I think I might ... well, maybe, ya know ... I ... uh, love you."

  "Me, too!” Oh Lord, sometimes I'd just love to hop into the WayBack Machine and smack myself silly for what I did next.

  When Ted bent down to kiss me, I blurted, “My mom will be so happy I finally found somebody to marry."

  Oy!

  * * * *

  I had made up my mind. I wasn't going to worry about money, and that was that. So I started Monday morning with a smile on my face. Whatever bug I'd had seemed to have run its course, and I felt great. Armand was marinating chicken for the Elks, Lyla was working at home, and I was running the front and taking phone orders. Which left me plenty of time to walk down amnesia lane by sneaking peeks at my old diary.

  "Here you go, Mr. Rogers.” I handed over a bag and a cup of cappuccino. “Hope your wife feels better soon."

  "She will, Maggie.” His grin hid under his white mustache. “These bagels will help. Only thing she's been able to keep down. Darned flu is bad this year, isn't it?"

  "Yeah.” Seems I'd been lucky, because whatever was going around was wiping out half the town.

  The bell above the door rang and I turned to greet the new customer. My bright and shiny smile faded to a dark and gloomy frown when Kevin strolled through my front door for the second time in three days.

  "Morning, Maggie. You look really nice today. Like you're all lit up."

  "Bite me. I thought I told you not to come back."

  "Have I ever listened before?"

  I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. “What is it now, Kevin? I haven't made any tarts today, and I'm already out of pesto rolls."

  "Hey, those were great, by the way. Can I have the recipe?"

  I stared at him. “You want the ... Are you kidding me?"

  He winked. “Maybe. Not that they weren't good, because they were fantastic, but I don't think you'd be inclined to share your secrets with the competition."

  "We'll see how much competition you are. Somehow I'm not worried."

  "Think this town is big enough for the two of us?” Kevin asked.

  "The town, maybe. This room? Not so much. What do you want?” I felt a monster of a headache coming on.

  "Some croissants, please.” He pointed to the case. “Half a dozen will do. No, better make it an even dozen. We're having a staff training today."

  "Staff training?” This guy was a lunatic. “You know, there are grocery stores that have bakeries."

  "Not like your stuff, Maggie."

  With a sigh, I went for the rolls. At least until he got his own kitchen up and running, he was throwing some money my way. I could have lived without seeing him all decked out in expensive leather shoes, snug-fitting jeans, and that bomber jacket, though. If I hadn't hated his guts, I might notice how broad it made his shoulders look. I'd always been a sucker for strong shoulders. Just not Kevin's.

  "Anything else?” I asked.

  "How much would some information cost me?"

  My eyes narrowed. “What sort of information?"

  "Just who you use for suppliers in the area.” That damned innocent look crept onto his face again. “Who has the good stuff, who I need to look out for, that kind of thing."

  He had to be joking. Even Kevin Best wasn't tacky enough to come into my shop, tell me he was starting up his own place, and then ask me to spill my bag of tricks. “Are you high? What makes you think I'd tell you who I use?"

  A cheesy grin spread across his features. “My amazing charm, incomparable powers of persuasion, and good will toward your fellow man?"

  I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Lis
ten, I know it's been a long time, but in case you don't remember, let me review. I have no good will, especially not for you. Anyway, bumbling through all the bad fish shops in town will be character building. I think you could use a little work in that area."

  "So there are bad fish shops in town?” He either completely missed the point or, more likely, was just trying to get under my skin.

  I decided not to bite. The sooner I ended this encounter, the better. I rang up his croissants and read off the total. “So can I assume this is the last time you'll darken my doorstep?” I handed him his change before he could refuse it.

  "I wouldn't count on it.” The grin hadn't wavered. “But, unfortunately, I'll be pretty busy for the rest of the week. The kitchen equipment arrives this afternoon and we want to open on Saturday."

  "Good. Then you can make your own croissants.” And choke on them.

  "I dunno.” He headed for the door with a casual, arrogant sort of gait. “The scenery here is far too pleasant to be gone for too long.” He turned, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction. “Until next time, ma'am."

  I watched his back as he walked past my front windows, wondering just how one would go about changing their address.

  * * * *

  "Margaret, honey, you're late! A girl should be on time out of respect for her parents, you know. You really must try harder."

  And thus started my typical Monday night. Dinner with the folks. Yippee. And the Packers on Monday Night Football. In other words, welcome to my personal version of Dante's Fifth Circle.

  "I had a late order, Mom. The Paulsen wedding had thirty more RSVPs than they thought."

  Mom bent over a massive, steaming pot of God-only-knows-what. “Well, that was their fault, then. A girl has a responsibility to her family to be home for dinner. Oh, stand up straight, Margaret. You're much too short to slouch."

  "Yes, Mother.” What is it about being in your parents’ house that takes you right back to fifth grade?

  She came over, ran her hands through my hair and smiled. “Oh, honey. Honestly, you should wear a little makeup. You'll never find a husband looking all red and splotchy like that."

  Beating my mother to a pulp wouldn't make me feel any better, I reminded myself and mentally counted to ten. “Mom, first off, I'm red and splotchy because I just came from work. Try baking all day and not looking red and splotchy."