She climbed the steps, but when she knocked on the door she found it slightly open. Inside, what struck Cass first was that she didn’t smell Brett’s signature chocolate chip cookies—which were from a slice-and-bake package even though he told people he made them “from scratch”—that accompanied every one of his open houses.
But she did smell something: simmering garlic, roasting tomatoes, and fresh basil. What was he doing making his marinara sauce? It was Brett’s one reliable dinner, and he had made it for Cass for every special occasion in their relationship.
“Hello?” she called out.
“Hey, hon, I’m in the kitchen. Come on through. Don’t forget to take off your shoes.”
“Already did,” she replied. The way he called her “hon” made her stomach wiggle in an unpleasant way. This was going to be harder than she thought. He had been in her life a long time, and they had helped each other through a lot—including the loss of her beloved grandparents, both from illness in the same year. She had to get this right.
The anxious feeling only increased as she passed through the hallway into the kitchen. The table was set with already-lit candles, and the lights had been dimmed to what Brett would call a “romantic level.” There were wineglasses and an open wine bottle in the middle of the table. Her favorite red, a Barolo. There was also a fresh bouquet of peonies, which Brett knew she loved and were difficult to procure in Starlight Peak in winter, draped over one of the plates. Oh no.
“Quite the open house,” Cass managed, steadying herself with one hand on the large island countertop.
Brett grinned. “Isn’t it perfect? I knew you’d love the soapstone countertops. Look around you. This is your dream kitchen. Isn’t it?”
Cass took in the Viking stove and double oven, the vast pantry shelves and innumerable built-in cabinets. “It’s beautiful. Whoever buys it will be lucky.”
“It’s already sold,” Brett said, walking over to the table. He poured two glasses, handing one to Cass.
“Oh really? Who bought it? Anyone I know?”
“Yes. Someone you know very well.” Brett clinked his glass to hers, then said, “Me. I bought it for us.”
“Sorry?”
Brett laughed at her surprise, then jogged back to the Viking stove to give his sauce one last stir while she took a fortifying swallow of her wine. She clutched the stem of her wineglass. “This is our house. We can start over here and put all the confusion of this past month behind us.” Brett came back to where she stood and picked up his glass. “I’ve had quite a day, Cass,” he said, as if everything was now sorted. There was a time she had adored his certainty about everything, because it made it so much easier for her not to have to make tough decisions. “I had a meeting with a huge developer. They want to buy three storefronts in town and turn it into a food hall, really world class. This is going to bring Starlight Peak to the next level. They even mentioned a Makewell’s Bakery wanting to move in—”
“Makewell’s Bakery?!” Her shock turned to dismay. Makewell’s was a trendy new chain that had started in New York and recently moved to L.A. Cass had stopped in the last time she had visited Charlie in the city and had been appalled at the fact that everything on offer tasted like it had come from a package—and that none of the customers seemed to care, lining up around the block for subpar baked goods just so they could post on social media that they had been there. “But that would be direct competition for Woodburn . . .”
He frowned. “I don’t see it that way. Starlight Peak needs this. If you get a Makewell’s, it means you’ve arrived. Besides, Woodburn Breads is like . . . comfort food, you know? Delicious, of course, but predictable. Makewell’s is the latest thing, and we could use a bit of that energy in town.” Then seeing her face, he added, “Cass, take it from me. A little competition is a good thing! Now, would you like a grand tour of your future home?”
She had to do this. “We need to talk.”
He sipped his wine, looking slightly concerned now but hiding it behind another smile. “Sure, Cass. Let’s talk.”
He picked up a little velvet box that had been sitting on her plate.
“Now, should I get down on one knee again?” Brett started to kneel.
“Stop.” Cass grabbed at his arm, trying to pull him back up. “Please, don’t do that.”
Brett paused, looking confused. “What’s going on, Cass?”