“You said that in the spring. And, in the summer. I’m just saying, there’s more to life than work, young lady.”
Cass passed the box across the counter. “On the house,” she said, hoping that would effectively change the subject. She waved a hand as Faye tried to give her cash. “You’re actually saving these lemon bars from the garbage, Faye. So, thank you.”
“Thanks, Cassie,” Faye said. “You’re a doll.” Then she turned to Jake, who had taken the box from Cass, and clucked at him. “Be careful there, young man. You know what I’m like if I don’t get one of Cassie’s lemon bars each day.”
Jake good-naturedly rolled his eyes as he tried not to smile. “I do, Gran. But let’s get out of Cass’s hair, okay?”
Cass walked them to the door and watched the older woman take her grandson’s offered arm so she could safely cross the snowy sidewalk. She did her best with the rest of the Starlight Bread sourdough balls, then covered the bowls in proofing cloths and checked the pile of orders she kept in a cabinet near the phone. As several sheets of paper fell to the floor she had the sudden thought that maybe she should come up with a better system for organizing them, but it was almost 7:30. She was due to meet Brett soon.
Untying her apron, she washed the flour and dough from her hands, and picked up her cell phone. For the third time that day, she tried Charlie’s number, and again, there was no answer. For a moment, Cass’s worry blossomed—and her headache grew stronger. It wasn’t like Charlie to be unavailable all day. She had a busy schedule with the baking show, yes, but she always managed to sneak away to talk to Cass if her sister needed her. And three missed calls should be a sure sign that her sister needed her, right?
Needles of worry jabbed at the edges of her mind as she put on her parka and boots, locking the bakery’s door behind her. I’m on my way she texted Brett, her resolve lengthening her stride as she headed toward his place. She had suggested they meet there because meeting at a restaurant in town, as Brett had suggested, would mean prying eyes. It needed to be a private moment, and it was only fair to Brett to give him time to process. Cass wasn’t ready to talk about this yet with anyone except her sister; even her parents still thought things were going along with Brett just fine.
Her phone notification pinged almost immediately.
I’m running a bit late at this open house, just cleaning up. Meet me here? 24 Ridge Street. See you soon! xo
Cass ignored the sick feeling his upbeat tone and the “xo” at the end of his text ignited in her stomach. That was just Brett. He signed all of his messages with “xo’s.” He was friendly and effusive, which worked well for his real estate business—and had attracted her as a teenager, when most of the other guys she knew were speaking in monosyllables.
Cass and Brett had become good friends in high school, when they discovered during a school trip to a nearby ski resort that they both had an affinity for snowboarding. They got to chatting on the ski lift that afternoon about how the female sports teams at their school didn’t get even a quarter as much attention and funding as the male teams did. Brett had later helped her fundraise for the girls’ high school basketball team jerseys. They had kept it platonic for a while, and then drifted into becoming a couple when all their friends started pairing off. She could barely recall when they’d made it official.
Now, more than a decade on, being with Brett had become the easy, safe option—which for a time had suited Cass just fine. They had maintained a long-distance relationship when she went away to college and he stayed close to home and got his Realtor’s certificate. He had suggested moving in together once she graduated, but she had wanted time to save up for a house and focus on her goal of one day running her family’s bakery. Then he had started talking marriage—and Cass had waited to feel what she knew you were supposed to at the prospect of spending a lifetime with someone: excited, in love. Instead, she realized she had fallen out of love with him at some point along the way. When Brett proposed, she should have said she couldn’t marry him—even if every single person in town expected it.
But she hadn’t. She had stalled, asking him for time to think. And her time was up.
As she marched toward the open-house address, Cass tried to tell herself that Brett would feel as certain as she did that marriage was not the right path for them. That they had outgrown each other. This would simply be a fast ripping off of the bandage.
Cass had reached the house, a Victorian set back from the street, its butter yellow–painted brick facade luminous in the dark thanks to the twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around the porch’s railing and lining the eaves. There was a small but beautifully decorated pine tree on the front porch, no doubt a Brett addition for the open house.