Killian shrugs. "At least she's got opinions."

"That's for sure. You stayed here to wait for the delivery?"

"I heard you say they were late. I wasn't about to leave Opal here to move this stuff."

"We usually just let the delivery guy in and he leaves it all in a pile here."

Killian shrugs again. "Didn't have anything else to do anyway."

"You might want to get some friends," I suggest.

"Are you volunteering?"

"Not to be the kind of friend you're talking about," I call, walking to my office. "Office" is a polite term for the room in the back corner of the kitchen that's approximately the size of a closet. It has just enough room for my desk and a chair and a filing cabinet.

After I grab the paperwork and file a stack of receipts, I walk back into the kitchen to find that Killian has already put everything from the delivery away where it belongs.

"What kind of friend do you think I'm talking about?" he asks. I stop short as I walk right in front of him. There's all this space in the kitchen, and somehow I keep winding up mere inches away from him. How does this keep happening?

I cock my head to the side. "You know."

"Oh?" His voice is low and gravelly and his eyes linger on my lips as I stand there unmoving. I think he might kiss me again. I think part of me might want him to kiss me again. Instead, he steps back. "I have to go. I have to be someplace."

I clear my throat. "Hot date?" I blurt out, immediately regretting my choice in words. Shit. Was there an edge to my voice? Did I sound jealous?

I'm a hundred percent not jealous. The opposite of jealous, in fact. I hope he's going on a hot date. Maybe that will get him out of my hair.

Killian's expression is smug. "Why?"

"No reason. Anyway, I have to go. To swim. With Chloe." When we walk out front, I see Chloe sitting at one of the tables doing her homework. "Did you get those math problems done?"

"Two," Chloe says.

"We said five."

"Math is boring," she complains.

Behind me, Killian grunts. "Maybe East is right. You probably can't do math. It's probably too hard for you."

I whirl around to look at him. Did he just say that to my kid, the kid I've been gently encouraging to do math even though she hates it?

"Oh yeah?" Chloe asks, sitting straight up in her chair. "This is easy stuff."

"Put your money where your mouth is, kid."

"That's it," I interrupt. "Mr. Saint is leaving."

"I can't put money in my mouth," Chloe says. "It's dirty. There are germs crawling all over it."

Killian laughs. "It's a figure of speech. It means, You want to bet?"

"Mom says I'm not allowed to bet."

If I could breathe fire, Killian would be completely incinerated. "We need to go to swim," I say, putting Chloe's math homework into her bag.

Killian shrugs. "Guess you don't want to prove me wrong, then."

Chloe jumps down from her chair and follows Killian to the door as I shove the rest of her stuff in her bag. "I'll totally prove you wrong."

"Well, I don't believe you can do that math. A quarter says it's way too hard for you."

Chloe scoffs. "Pfft. You're wrong and I'm right. Two quarters."

"Don't believe it 'til I see it." Killian winks at me as he walks out the door.

After swim class, I buckle Chloe into the car to drive home. "Hurry up, mom."

"Why are you in a rush all of a sudden?"

"I need to get my homework done."

12.

Lily On the sidewalk outside the store, two older women are exiting the bakery carrying to-go cups of coffee in their hands. "I had to see it with my own eyes," one says. "Connie said she heard he was working here."

The other woman clucks her tongue disapprovingly as she makes eye contact with me, then quickly averts her gaze. "I think he's been to prison," she whispers. "That whole family is no good. Anyone who has any sense knows to stay away from the Saint boys."

"They did help get Letty and Barbara Jean's property back from the mining company. And Peggy and Lou think him working here is funny."

"Even so. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig."

They give me a sideways glance before turning and walking down the sidewalk, tongues still wagging loud enough for me to hear them continuing to gossip. The way one of the women glances over her shoulder as they talk, I'm sure they want me to hear what they're saying.

Catty old shrews.

Connie C. said she heard he was working here.

They're talking about Killian.

I think he's been in prison. That whole family is no good.

A pang of possessiveness rushes through me. How dare they talk about him like that? Those nosy old biddies. Lipstick on a pig?

I pull open the door to the bakery with more force than I intend, more annoyed than I should be by what I overheard. I thought that the town gossips had been running their mouths and speculating about my past just because I was new in town, but apparently it doesn't matter if you're new here or if you've been in this place forever.

I despise stuff like that.

I'm so irritated that I'm halfway across the store before I realize the store is eerily quiet. There's a long line of customers, but not the regulars who've been coming in for months; these are students from a nearby college and people in town like the old ladies outside, the women from the hair salon and the church. The ones who have shunned the bakery as if everyone who comes in this place is infected with the plague.

Two women standing beside each other in line whisper, and then glance up front to the register where Opal rings up a customer, like they're afraid of being caught talking in class. I look around my bakery, watching as a regular customer wipes his table with his napkin, and then brings his used cup and saucer toward the front of the store. Stopping him, I take the dishes from his hands. "You know I'll get that for you, Dan," I say.

He glances furtively toward the front of the store, then back at me. "It's no problem at all. I'll bring them to the front. Glad to help out."

Okay, what the hell is going on here?

At the front of the store, Killian is calling customer orders with military-like precision. No one is deliberating at the cupcake display case, asking what each flavor tastes like and how the cupcakes were made and whether they contain gluten or eggs or organic flour or dairy or food coloring and why I don't have vegan and gluten-free options every day. Or why I carried orange cream cupcakes yesterday but not today and when's the next day I'll do them again.

Instead, the front of the store runs quietly and quickly.

When I get to the register and look up at the large chalkboard on the wall, the one that usually lists the daily coffee drink specials and the daily cupcake flavors, I see exactly why.

And I stop breathing.

Instead of the coffee drinks, the chalkboard reads: "Customer Rules."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I read down the numbered list in disbelief.

Number One. If you don't know what you want, get the hell out. Don't ask us what we recommend. You have a brain. Make a decision before you get to the front of the line.

Number Two. No small talk. We already know what the weather is like and we saw the game last night.

Number Three. Don't ask if the cupcakes have gluten, dairy, or food coloring. Whatever you're asking about, the cupcakes have it.

Number Four. If you ask for a skinny anything, we'll tell you to leave. We make good coffee, not skinny coffee.

Number Five. If you use a table, clean up your damn mess. We're not your maids or your mothers.

Two women in the back of the line giggle quietly as they attempt to take photos of the sign as unobtrusively as possible.

I have a vision of ending up in the West Bend Gazette with a review of the bakery and our horrific customer service and offensive sign.

Killian is dead. Totally dead. I will actually strangle him with my bare hands. If the people in this town suspected that I was a criminal on the run from the law, they'll at least have good reason to believe that when I actually commit murder.

I storm up to the front register, positively fuming. Opal catches my look and puts her hands up as I walk behind the counter, headed for Killian. "Now, before you say anything, honey - " she starts.

"Don't. Even."

The girl standing at the front of the register hands over a slip of paper with her order on it before leaning forward to Opal. "The new rules are hilarious," she whispers, glancing furtively at Killian. "And the new guy is so hot. I already shared photos online. My friends are going to come here tomorrow."

Inwardly, I groan.

Killian clears his throat loudly and gives her a glare, and she mock-salutes, stepping to the side to wait for her coffee as she stifles a giggle.

Opal gives me a look. "Don't kill him."

"I'm not going to kill him," I say through gritted teeth. "Killing him would be too kind."

I glare at Killian and mouth the words. "Kitchen. Now."

He looks at me innocently before handing a cup of coffee to the college student waiting in line, the one who's not-so-subtly snapping photos of him on her phone. When she reaches for the coffee, he stops. "No photos," he growls. "Do you want me to confiscate the phone?"

She titters and practically swoons. "No, sir," she says with faux military inflection.

I roll my eyes so hard I think I might sprain a muscle. Then I watch in disbelief as the next customer in line, one of the guys who's shown up here regularly in the mornings for a cup of coffee and a newspaper, hands Opal his written order. He pays without a word to Opal, and then looks up at me. "I like the new system."

That is it. A muscle-bound, tattooed, bearded caveman who lives alone in a cabin somewhere isn't going to waltz into my shop and start issuing customer rules like he owns the place. I whirl around, grabbing the chalkboard eraser and wiping it over the surface of the board until the stupid rules are smeared into a blur of chalk dust.

Behind me, several patrons groan their disappointment. Sure, some of them might have thought it was funny mostly the airheaded girls who seem to be all-too-infatuated with Killian but there will be plenty more who are offended by it. And the old biddies in town will have even more fodder for gossip and even more reason to hate me.

When I turn around, I force a polite smile on my face. "I'm afraid that's not how we do things here," I explain, my voice excessively calm.

It's a freaking miracle I can keep my voice calm, given the fact that my blood pressure has to be through the damn roof right now. Look at me, practicing self-restraint. I haven't even murdered Killian in cold blood yet.

I hear someone in the line grumble, and someone else walks out the door. Seriously? The people in this town have nothing better to do than come read a stupid, obnoxious sign in a store? There's really nothing else happening in West Bend that a dumb sign and Killian Saint can cause that much excitement?

I turn around and storm into the kitchen, pulling out the mermaid cake while grumbling to myself. I won't scream at him right now in front of customers. I won't fire him right now and cause a huge scene.

I'll wait.

I'll wait here in the back while I work on this cake, stewing and plotting Killian's demise. Killian obviously can't work here, since he has the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old boy.

I pour all my frustration into working on the mermaid cake and I lose track of time. Opal walks through the kitchen door two hours later. She holds a receipt in her hands. "Now, before you say anything else," she starts, "I know you're mad."

"Mad?" I put down the spray gun I've been using to color the ocean on the cake a mixture of blue-green. "Mad doesn't even begin to describe what I am right now. I'm beyond mad. I'm absolutely livid."

"That boy is a bit of a rebel, I know, honey. But look at the morning revenue."

"A bit of a rebel?" I snatch the receipt from her hand. "He's way beyond that. I should fire you both."

Opal shrugs. "You do what you got to do, honey. But if you want my opinion, that boy is good for this place. And you."

I bark a laugh. "Good for this place? He's going to run all the customers out of here."

"Maybe so." Opal shrugs. "I've been in this town a long time, though. Seems to me things need to be shaken up sometimes."

"Traitor," I breathe.

Opal shakes her head. "You okay on the cake? I've got to get home."

"Fine." The fact that Opal has been in my corner since I bought this place is the only reason I don't fire her the way I'm going to fire Killian.