Page 3 of Undertow

It curled into a ball and went immediately to sleep, as if this had been the plan all along.

“Absolutely not,” Cara told it.

It sighed, a sweet heartbreaking sound she had no intention of adoring.

She went back to her croissants.

The morning rush came and went. By two o’clock the rain had settled into a steady, serious gray that showed no interest in stopping, and the bakery had emptied out to the kind of quiet that made the refrigerator hum sound loud. Cara restocked the pastry case with the last of the afternoon’s blackberry scones, wiped down the counter, and concluded that January in Haven Cove was a form of penance.

The cat had migrated from the apron to the corner of the prep station, where it was conducting a slow, methodical audit of every surface within reach. She’d moved it twice. It had returned with the patience of something that knew leverage.

The back door banged open at three-forty, which meant school was out and Piper had jogged two blocks from the bus stop in the rain rather than wait for Tom to pick her up.

The teen arrived in a cloud of damp jacket and teenage energy, shaking water out of her dark hair. “I need you to know that the mailbox situation was completely not my fault.”

Cara looked up from the pastry case. “What mailbox situation?”

“Dad’s been doing morning driving lessons in the truck. We were doing the parking lot on Fifth, which was going great, I had everything under control, and then Mrs. Adelman walked across the exit with her little dog and I did the responsible thing and braked. But I maybe also turned a little at the same time, and the corner of the mailbox was already kind of sticking out from the curb.”

“Piper.”

“It was barely a scratch.”

“On the mailbox or the truck?”

Piper’s pause was one beat too long. “Both? But small. Dad’s going to make it a whole thing at dinner, which is frankly disproportionate, because he’s the one who chose a parking lot with a mailbox in it.” She finally stopped, took a breath, and looked around the kitchen. Her eyes landed on the stool by the door.

She found the cat in approximately four seconds.

“CARA.”

“It followed me in this morning. Don’t.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Piper crossed the kitchen and scooped the interloper up with confident ease — someone who’d been charming animals since birth. The cat accepted this with minimal protest, settling into her arms and fixing Cara with a look of unassailable satisfaction. “Hi. Hi, you perfect creature. What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Cara said. “It’s a stray. We’ll call the shelter after close.”

Piper looked at the cat. The cat looked at Cara. There was a brief, wordless referendum.

“Agent,” Piper announced.

“I’m sorry?”

“His name is Agent. Look at him — showed up in the rain, completely undercover, clearly been on a mission.” She brought the cat closer to her face and addressed it directly. “You are very brave and we’re glad you made it.”

“We are not naming the stray cat.”

“Too late. He’s already responding to it.” Objectively untrue — Agent was asleep again, or performing sleep — but Piper was undeterred. She settled him on the stool beside the door and grabbed her apron from the hook.

“He can stay until close,” Cara said. “Then the shelter.”

Piper’s expression communicated exactly how likely she thought that was. She tied her apron, glanced around the empty bakery, and leaned against the counter with the energy of someone who had been saving a story all day.

“So. Dad texted me at lunch.”

“About?”

“He wanted to know if I’d heard anything. At school. You know.” She made a vague gesture. “Word-of-mouth stuff. Whether anyone’s been asking about us.”