Wild Iris Ridge. RaeAnne Thayne

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      “That’s tough. I’m sorry.”

      She gave him a wary look. “What? No sarcastic comments about how I probably had it coming?”

      What had he ever done to make her think he was the kind of jerk who would kick a woman who had obviously hit a personal low point?

      “Not my business. If you wanted to tell me, you would have.”

      “Our last product launch failed spectacularly,” she said after a moment. “It was a PR nightmare. Our entire marketing campaign focused on how much more secure our newest software was than its closest competitor. Within minutes of the product launch, hackers set out to prove us wrong. Our clients have lost millions and the lawsuits have only just begun.”

      “How is that your fault?”

      “Someone needed to take the hit, and after I got into a yelling match with the CEO and the product manager last week and called them both a few choice names, I was nominated.”

      “Ouch.”

      “As you can see, last night’s stupidity trying to burn down Iris House was just the latest in a string of brilliant decisions on my part.”

      Before Brendan could come up with an answer to that, Pop came bustling out from the kitchen with two plates piled high with carbohydrates.

      “Here you go. Two of the breakfast specials, French toast, just the way you both like it, with strawberries and almond butter.”

      “I can’t believe you remembered that!” she exclaimed.

      “You’ve only been coming in here for it since you were a wee girl.”

      Brendan thought he was the only one on the planet who ate his French toast like that. How strange, to find that Lucy shared that particular affinity with him.

      “I remember because I always thought it funny that you and my boy here liked it the same way, given that you don’t usually see eye to eye on many things.”

      Not much slipped past his pop.

      “Isn’t it?” she murmured.

      She took a bite of her breakfast and closed her eyes in appreciation. “It’s every bit as fantastic as I remember. You’re a genius in the kitchen, my friend. Are you sure I can’t talk you into running off with me?”

      Dermot laughed, his usually weathered features once again turning pink with delight.

      “I do hope you plan to stay in town longer than a few days. You look like you could use a few more mornings of my French toast.”

      She was too skinny, Brendan thought, as if she had been working too hard, though she did have a few nice curves he had no business noticing.

      “You’re in luck. At this point, I’m here indefinitely,” she said with false cheerfulness.

      Brendan’s gut tightened. Indefinitely. That certainly sounded like she would stick around longer than a few weeks.

      “Oh, that’s lovely to hear,” Dermot exclaimed. “What will you do?”

      “I’m thinking about opening Iris House as a bed and breakfast.”

      “Are you, now?” Pop beamed at her.

      “It seems like the right thing to do. Jess and Annabelle were always talking about it.” She was careful not to look at Brendan while she spoke.

      “They were, at that. That doesn’t make it the right thing for you. I never would have figured you for an innkeeper.”

      “I know I don’t have any experience at running a B&B. But I can certainly market the heck out of it.”

      Dermot laughed. “Indeed.”

      The door to the café suddenly opened and Pop looked up with a smile to greet the new customer.

      “Oh. Katherine.” His smile slid away, replaced by an even deeper blush. “Good mornin’ to you.”

      “Hello.” Katherine Thorne, a city council member and one of the town’s leading citizens, walked into the café looking as smart and put-together as always.

      Dermot suddenly fumbled the coffeepot and splashed some over the side of Brendan’s cup. He glared at his son as if it were his fault, before reaching for a napkin to clean it up.

      Pop had a long-term infatuation for Katherine Thorne. Brendan had no idea why his father had never done anything about it, especially when it was obvious to everyone in town that Katherine shared his infatuation and would certainly welcome something more than this awkward friendship.

      Margaret Caine had been gone for more than a decade. His mother had died of cancer while he was still a running back for Colorado State, before his short-lived time in the NFL.

      As for Katherine, she had been alone even longer, as her husband died years ago.

      Brendan could see no reason why the two of them seemed locked in this dance where neither wanted to be the first to lead off. He only knew that watching them together was like chewing on last year’s Halloween taffy, both sweet and painful.

      “I’m meeting some friends for breakfast,” Katherine said. “There should be about six of us at last count. If it’s not too much of a bother, could we take one of the back tables, out of the way?”

      “Of course. Of course. No problem at all. I’ll just go make it ready for you and your friends.”

      Anything for his sweetheart, Brendan thought in amusement. Except actually making her his sweetheart.

      Katherine watched after him for just a moment then turned back to greet Brendan. Her eyes widened when she spotted his companion at the counter.

      “Lucy! Hello. How are you, my dear?”

      Lucy gave Katherine a smile far more genuine than anything she ever bestowed on Brendan. “I’m fine. It’s great to see you. You look wonderful. How’s the bead business treating you these days?”

      “Oh, I sold that ages ago. I loved it but the details of running a small business—taxes, inventory, personnel headaches—was sucking all the fun out of it for me. Now I’m just a beader. It’s a much better fit.”

      “That’s too bad. I planned to stop in while I was in town.”

      Brendan never would have pegged Lucy as a crafter. He might have thought she was only being polite if not for the sincere regret in her blue eyes.

      Katherine smiled. “You still can, never fear. Make sure you do, in fact. You won’t be disappointed. String Fever is as busy as ever. I sold it several years ago to Claire McKnight and she’s done wonders with the place. You know Claire, of course.”

      “I don’t think so. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

      “You might have known her by her maiden name. Claire Tatum.”

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