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“I understand that,” Eleanor said. “We’re working on a plan to get him off. He’s a little more complicated, as his background is less concrete.”

Rose took that to mean he was less susceptible to manipulation, as he had less to lose. That, and there wasn’t as much dirt on him.

“Thank you, Eleanor.” Rose stood and brushed flour off her apron, then peered through the little window to watch the scones rise higher and higher.

“But there’s something else we need to discuss,” Eleanor said.

Rose sensed it coming. Eleanor needed something from Rose, in return for all she’d done for her lately. Fear and anger rolled through her.

“I don’t see what⁠—”

Eleanor interrupted her. “It isn’t anything like that.” Something about her voice, so meek and frightened, stopped Rose in her tracks. “We need to discuss a new situation here on the island. It involves you. And it’s quite delicate.”

Rose collapsed back on the stool; her knees clacked together. Before Eleanor could say anything else, she blared, “Tell me Maxine is safe.”

It was the only thing that mattered. It was why Rose was fighting tooth and nail to get this cleared away: so she and Maxine could resume their cozy, simple life here on the island.

“Maxine is safe,” Eleanor said.

“Why should I believe you?”

“You’re going to have to trust me,” Eleanor said. “Come over after you close the bakery today, and I’ll explain everything.” With that, she hung up.

Rose was unfocused and frazzled. She took the scones out of the oven a half minute late and cursed their coloring. They were still edible, but people wouldn’t be as willing to buy them.

Trying to stay focused, trying to keep her emotional state above water, Rose set to work, lining the case with fresh-baked goods and scrubbing the countertops. She dealt with customers, asking them questions about their children, their mothers, and their plans for the upcoming holiday season. But the hours were crawling past. She felt that the end of the day would never arrive.

Then, a few minutes later, the door opened, and in walked yet another ghost from her past. With his camera bag clicking against his hip, Rhett Baldwin approached the glass counter, his eyes glinting, his beard thick and protective, yet his lips pillowy and just as kissable as they’d been in 1999. Rose’s heart dropped into her stomach. Was she dreaming this? Was she in some strange game show where lovers from her past kept showing up at her bakery, demanding things from her? Testing her?

“Rose,” Rhett said, placing his large hands on the counter, then taking them off.

“Rhett,” Rose said, her voice shaking. She cursed herself. She was a professional woman of forty-two. She’d had plenty of boyfriends since Rhett. She’d been married and divorced. More than that, she’d had two children since she last saw him.

Yet looking at him now made her feel sixteen again.

“I don’t mean to barge in on you,” Rhett said.

“It’s a bakery,” Rose said, trying to laugh. “People come in and out all the time.”

Maybe to distract himself, or maybe to calm down his own nerves, Rhett looked down at the baked goods, raising his eyebrows. “Rose, these look incredible,” he breathed. “Is that pecan pie? And peanut butter blondies? My mouth is watering.”

“Let me get you something,” Rose said. She realized that, in a moment, all she wanted to do was fill Rhett’s plate with baked goods she’d made. She wanted him to eat and smile and laugh and compliment her.

But Rhett shook his head. “I don’t think I could eat anything. I’m too in my head.”

“Let me make you a box,” Rose said, hurrying back to grab a little cardboard container, into which she put all of her best-selling items: cookies and blondies and a slice of pie and a piece of cake. She was grateful to have something to do with her hands. When she slid the box over the counter, she raised her eyes back to his and felt a jolt of electricity. What was he doing here?

“What are you doing on the island?” she asked.

“Taking photographs,” Rhett said. “I’m a travel photographer.”

“Sounds exciting,” Rose said. She decided she didn’t need to tell him that she already knew that, that she’d stalked him and learned what he did, that he was divorced, and that he was scouting along the coast. “You were always such a brilliant artist.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m not exactly a household name.”

“You should be,” Rose told him. A blush crawled up her neck and into her cheeks.

“Listen,” Rhett said, his face stern. “I’d really love to talk to you. Catch up properly. Maybe we could go for a walk later? Get some food?”