Trace walked the couple to the door and shook hands before they left. Avery longed to get him alone to show him just how much she appreciated all his support. Then sleep twelve hours. She was exhausted.
Avery wandered back into the seating area where Willow came up beside her. “Mother alert, two o’clock.”
She glanced toward the front door where MaryAnn Holmes stood, looking around. She let out a breath of resignation. The day after the incident with JT, Willow had come by the café to check on Avery. She’d also come to tell Avery that she wanted her job as manager back, and that she’d given her mother an ultimatum: get over her resistance to Willow taking the job, or Willow was moving out. But Avery had reservations about how willing MaryAnn would be to honor their agreement.
“Don’t worry,” Willow said. “I was extremely clear with her. If she says one wrong thing, you tell me. Becky’s got a bed ready for me at her house.”
Avery smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine. How is everything else going?”
“Fan-freaking-tastic,” Willow told her. Then she added, “We’re out of pastries.”
Avery’s smile dropped. “We can’t be. There were mountains—”
“Gone. Every last one.”
“But we baked twenty hours a day for days—”
“Not even a crumb left,” Willow said matter-of-factly, “and we have dozens of orders for more.”
Avery’s breath whooshed out in shock.
Trace came up to them and slid his big, warm hand up the back of her dress, slipped it under her hair, and caressed the nape of her neck. And, Lord, that felt good.
“Add one to my name,” he told Willow, then shot a sly grin at Avery. “I just got another kitchen remodel bid.”
Willow broke into a smile. “You’re gaining on her.”
The amount of work she and Trace had been offered since they’d opened the doors that morning had become a running competition, with Willow keeping tallies on potential jobs stemming from the day. She’d been booking parties, catering gigs, and wedding cake design appointments for Avery all morning. Trace had a bevy of construction jobs lined up, everything from laying concrete to complete home renovations.
“Are you sure you don’t want to lift the cap on your Thanksgiving pie orders?” Willow asked playfully. “I have a very lo
ng list of people hoping you’ll cave under the pressure.”
Trace laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Good thing we added that extra oven.”
“Holy shit.” Avery pressed a hand to her hot cheek and looked to Willow. “God, I hope you’re ready to start baking.”
“I like the sound of that.” MaryAnn approached, her demeanor substantially friendlier today. “She is amazing in the kitchen.”
“And I can’t wait to get her in there.” Avery offered her hand to MaryAnn. “We’re okay?”
MaryAnn’s gaze darted to Willow, then back to Avery. “We’re good.”
Relief eased Avery’s shoulders, and a smile spread across her face. “Would you like me to find you a seat—”
“I’ll just grab a chair with my book club.”
“Great. I’ll send a server right over.” Avery stopped one of the waitresses and directed her to MaryAnn.
The portable phone rang in Willow’s hand, and she moved away from the group to answer.
Suddenly, between the swamped restaurant and the buzz of activity, Avery and Trace were alone, in that intimate cocoon they seemed to be able to find anywhere.
Looking into her eyes, he slipped his arms around her waist. His lips tilted in a slow, soft smile. “Hi.”
She leaned into him, mirrored his smile. “Hi.”
“How are you holding up?”