“I wouldn’t count on it, Cookie. Your sister has her own agenda, and she’s never taken direction very well.”
Avery pulled in a sharp breath. “She didn’t . . .”
Trace laughed. “You’re right, she didn’t. She didn’t tell anyone you were postponing. She decided it was easier to cancel at the last minute than it would be to get people excited about the opening again. So that gives you about five days to bake and train before the opening.”
Avery laughed, overwhelmed with gratefulness for her family. For Trace. She leaned into him and asked again, “Will you be at my side when it opens?”
His grin returned, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll be with you as long as you want me.”
Her heart filled, and all the unease that had been jittering inside her for years, calmed.
She combed her fingers through his hair. “Then I hope you’re prepared to stay around for one hell of a long time.”
He kissed her and held her tight, whispering at her ear, “Hell yes.”
TWENTY
“And it’s time to pick another winner.” Phoebe’s voice came over the microphone, filling the café and filtering over the exterior speakers to the diners seated on the patio, where heaters kept the fall chill away for the grand opening of Wild Harts.
The customers cheered, but that didn’t stop George from playing the piano. Nor did it stop Henry Baxter from singing along with George to “Blueberry Hill” by Fats Domino—much to the customers’ amusement.
With a coffeepot in one hand and a champagne bottle in the other, Avery scanned the space, searching for flutes or mugs to refill. She was stunned by the sheer number of people stuffed into the café. The restaurant had been filled to capacity since they opened the doors at 6:00 a.m.; six hours later, both the indoor and patio space remained packed with an hour-long wait list.
A giddy flutter passed through her belly, leaving a deep sense of awe and gratitude.
“This prize,” Phoebe said, “is three free breakfasts for two here at Wild Harts.”
She called off the ticket number, and a moment of silence ensued. Then Amber, a young woman who worked at Finley’s Market—and Mark Davis’s date for this event—jumped up. “Me! That’s me!” Everyone clapped, and Avery laughed.
“Behind you.” One of the waitresses passed Avery coming out of the kitchen, her arms laden with plates. “Hot food.”
A moment later, another waitress came at her from the opposite direction. The cooks were cranking out great food; the waitresses and bussers were kicking ass and turning tables. Phoebe and Pearl acted as the emcee team for activities, announcements, and door prizes. Delaney, Ethan, and Zane roamed the café and the patio, chatting, refilling drinks, making sure everyone was happy.
Avery wandered to a table where Betty, wife of Avery’s piano tuner, Henry, sat with five other members of the Geri-Hat-Tricks bridge club.
“Refills, ladies?” Avery asked.
“Oh, yes, please.” Betty was the first to lift her champagne glass, but orange juice layered the bottom.
“Would you like me to refresh your mimosa?” Avery asked.
She gave a shrug. “Why water down the good stuff with orange juice?”
“Good point.”
After emptying another bottle, Avery thanked the women for coming and started toward the breakfast bar, where cases of champagne waited beneath the counter.
Uncorking the bottle, Avery took in all the familiar faces. At least half the artists who rented space from Phoebe at Wildly Artisan were here now or had already been in. Belle Davis had pulled through on her promise to bring her entire office staff to the opening, including Dr. Morrison and his wife. Sheriff and Mrs. Holland had been on the patio chatting for hours, along with several deputies. The Mulligans, all Delaney’s and Avery’s friends from school, the owners of Finley’s Market . . .
The whole town was here.
Except of course Austin, for which she was grateful. It was better for everyone. She understood the hurt lingering over his brother’s death. But she didn’t understand his attempts to place blame on innocent people or to bully others over to his way of thinking.
Harlan joined the older group at the piano, and George transitioned from “Blueberry Hill” into “Ain’t That a Shame.” In a corner near the piano, Willow had set up a children’s area, where kids now sat at a small table and drew or played with toys on a colorful carpet.
Movement on the stairs to the second floor, the event space as well as Avery’s apartment, drew her gaze. Trace came down the steps and into the main restaurant with the couple from out of town he’d taken off Avery’s hands half an hour ago, offering to give them a tour. He was animated, gesturing as he spoke, pointing out different aspects of the remodel, and the simple sight of him flushed her heart with joy.
Dressed in black slacks and a deep-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, Trace looked mouthwatering. He turned his head, caught her gaze, and grinned. A little over a week since the fiasco with JT, his face still bore remnants of their fight. But instead of being considered a leper as he’d expected, he’d been hailed by most as a hero for saving Avery’s business.