you,” Kate said, flushed and laughing when they ended up back where they’d started, “still talk good blarney, Ben McGuffey.” She was quiet for a moment, then smiled into his face. “It was fun,” she said quietly, “and for a little while, we were young again. Something, at least, wasn’t in ashes. Thank you for that. I needed it.” She stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss along the line of his jaw, then took off her apron and pushed it into his hands. “Tell your folks so long for me—I have to go.”
She fled before he could stop her.
On the way back to Kingdom Comer, she stopped at the now-vacant double lot on Alcott Street where her house had stood. The long piece of land with an unexpected grove of maples at its back was cordoned off with police tape, and the charred remains of her duplex still smoked. She remembered her excitement when she’d bought the white clapboard saltbox, her plans for making it into a single dwelling when she could afford it. There would have been room for several children and a couple of dogs, for cats to lie on heat registers and the porch swing. She’d haunted rummage sales and antiques shops, searching out blue-and-white dishes and quilts with love stitched into them.
The last time she’d danced between the tables with Ben, he’d told her he didn’t want to be her boyfriend anymore. She’d felt, even as she nodded agreement and kissed him goodbye with all the bonhomie she could muster, as though the bottom had fallen out of the world. She’d felt lonely and afraid and betrayed. She’d stared blindly into the soapy water in the bar sink and wondered what in the world she was going to do now.
Thirteen years later, still warm from being in Ben’s arms, still hearing the music of the dance, she looked at the place where her house had stood. And wondered what in the world she was going to do now.
KATE MUMBLED UNMUSICALLY about making lists and checking them twice as she went over, for what was more like the twentieth time, the inventory of contents for her house. “I didn’t keep receipts from garage sales,” she told Penny and Marce, who were discussing recipes across the kitchen island from where she sat. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of course, even if I had, they’d have burned up.”
“I think you should buy the inn from Marce,” said Penny, “and we should be partners. I can’t afford half—no one will pay enough for the kids or Dan’s ’57 Chevy for that—but I’m good for twenty-five percent and I’ll throw in one of the boys. Michael gives good shoulder-rubs, but Josh takes out the trash without being asked.”
Kate got up and went around to hug her. “We’ve been best friends since first grade. I’m not giving that up for a partnership. Not to mention, I don’t think Marce is interested in selling.”
Penny looked sorrowful. “I can’t get you to take any of the kids, even if we don’t buy the inn?”
“Not a one. You’d end up wanting them back and we’d fight over them. The kids would like it—the boys always like a good fight—but it would be ugly for us. We’re too old for the whole hair-pulling thing.”
“Oh, well, okay.” Penny stopped poring over coffee cake recipes and leaned her chin in her palm. “So, best friend, how was lunch with Ben yesterday?”
“It was fine,” said Kate, “but I swear, he seems as much at loose ends as I am.”
“He is.” Marce got up when the bell on the oven dinged, opening the back door to admit Joann at the same time.
Kate looked up in surprise. “You’ve talked to him, Marce?”
“My word, I thought you knew. He’s the tenant in the garage apartment. He said he thought he’d outgrown spending summers with his parents.” Marce handed out scones before biting into one herself. “I don’t know about these. They’re cranberry, which some people are quite picky about. What do you think?”
Kate took a taste, blowing out crumbs when she sighed in ecstasy. “Yum. You need to forget about college and the B and B, Marce. You and Penny need to build a bakery where my house used to be.”
“I’ll insure you,” Joann offered, grabbing another scone before she’d finished the first one. She held up the second one. “This is the real meaning of insurance. If you’re in a kitchen with a bunch of women, don’t be too polite or you’ll end up with nothing to eat but the parsley garnish on the plate.”
Penny ignored her, latching on to the bakery idea. “But who would teach my boys algebra?” she demanded. “Although if it was a bakery and caterer combined, I could be the catering half and just make Dan help the boys with their math.”
Joann shook her head. “Dan was in my class. He only got by with a C minus because he was charming and Mrs. Wildermuth was susceptible. He should have flunked.”
Penny smiled fondly. “He was something, wasn’t he?”
“So, anyway.” Joann leaned her elbows on the solid surface of the island. “How was lunch at McGuffey’s, Kate? I heard you and Ben danced and that no one heard the music except you two.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Penny snorted derisively. “Everybody dances at McGuffey’s.”
“Not at lunchtime, without music,” said Marce wisely, “although Frank and I did, and then we had the twins.” She paused, her cup halfway to her mouth, her eyes softening in memory.
“That’s a lie,” Kate accused, sending more crumbs flying.
Marce smacked her with a folded napkin. “It is not a lie. We danced at McGuffey’s and then a year later the twins were born.” She refilled everyone’s coffee cups, grinning. “It was a really long pregnancy.”
“All of them are,” Penny agreed.
Joann sighed. “I’ve heard all these stories before. I just want to know about Kate and Ben’s lunch.”
“We just walked a little, talked some and ate potato soup and corned beef sandwiches. On that rye bread Maeve makes from scratch. You need to get her recipe when you open your bakery.” Kate looked down at her list, trying not to remember the momentary look in Ben’s eyes. She ached, knowing something was wrong but not what it was. “My refrigerator was really old. Do you think I could list that under Antiques and increase its value?”
“I remember that refrigerator.” Joann reached for the cream pitcher. “You would have had to pay someone to haul it away, so you need to reimburse the insurance company for that.”
It was easy to laugh when Kate was in Kingdom Comer’s kitchen with her friends or even when she was walking with Ben McGuffey, but later that night, when she was alone in the back suite of the B and B, her situation was overwhelming. She sat in the window seat of the sitting room, hugging her knees and staring at the stars that peeked through the maple trees in the inn’s backyard. Below, Dirty Sally walked slowly across the courtyard toward the pet door that led into the three-season room on the back of the inn. Before she got there, however, a man stepped into Kate’s view and scooped the cat up, cuddling her against the side of his neck.
Ben.
They’d always been able to talk. One long and cold night soon after he’d broken up with her, she’d sat in the dark for
