Holiday In the Hamptons (From Manhattan with Love 5)

He held her gaze. “I know how you love to cook and be part of the community, Harriet.”

And because sooner or later she was going to have to admit who she really was.

He’d rather it was sooner.

* * *

FLISS SLAMMED AROUND the kitchen, sweating. The table and the floor were dusted with flour, and the first batch of cookies lay in a charred heap on a plate. The second batch was piled next to them. Not burned, but flat and greasy. She planned to bury the evidence later, after her next attempt. She should probably put the hospital on alert before anyone actually consumed one. By baking, she was risking mass casualties.

Damn Seth. Damn Seth and his community spirit.

It would serve him right if she fed the lot to him and let him deal with the consequences.

Next to her, Charlie whined.

“Are you kidding me?” She glanced down at the dog. “Trust me, you do not want to eat this. Take one bite and you’ll end up at the vet clinic, and I won’t be taking you, so I suggest you keep your jaws clamped shut.”

Cross with herself, frustrated, she washed the bowl and started again.

Why had he volunteered her to do this?

Because he believed she was Harriet.

And whose fault was that?

Hers.

Never, under any circumstances, would she pretend to be Harriet ever again. She wasn’t Harriet, and she never would be.

She checked the recipe again, trying to work out where she’d gone wrong the first time.

She could do this. She was smart. Capable. She should be able to make a batch of damn cookies without poisoning anyone or setting the house on fire.

“Do you need help?” Her grandmother spoke from the doorway, and Fliss gave a start of guilt. Given that there was no hiding the evidence of her incompetence, she had little choice but to brazen it out.

“You’re supposed to be resting with your feet up.” It was the reason she’d chosen this moment to bake. “What woke you?”

“I’m not sure. It could have been the clattering and muttering, or it could have been the smell of burning.”

“Seth volunteered me to make cookies for the charity bake off.” Fliss felt herself flush. Deceiving Seth was one thing, but deceiving her grandmother was something different entirely. “Sorry about the noise. And the mess. I’m not feeling myself today.”

“You haven’t been yourself since you arrived here,” her grandmother said mildly. “You’ve been Harriet. Which, I understand, must be something of a challenge given that you’re Fliss.”

“You know?” Fliss stared at her, embarrassed. “How long have you known?”

“That you’re Fliss? From the beginning, of course.”

She felt a spasm of guilt. The spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered into the bowl. “How did you know? Because I can’t cook?”

“I knew from the moment I saw you in the hospital parking lot.”

“Was it the red car? I should have picked something more sensible.”

“It wasn’t the car.” Her grandmother leaned down and brushed specks of flour from Charlie’s fur. “You’re my granddaughter. You think I don’t know my own granddaughter?”

Fliss felt like a fool. “But if you knew, why didn’t you say something?”

“I assumed you had a good reason for pretending to be your sister.” She settled herself down in the chair. “And I’m assuming that good reason is tall, dark and too handsome for his own good.”