I promise I will look after your B&B as if it’s my very own.

Which, in hindsight, had been a reckless promise to make. Already regretting her words, Eve huffed out a shaky breath and sat upright (in order to seem more commanding and less, er, collapsing). Unfortunately, regardless of her physical position, she was clearly incapable of looking after a damned flea. This morning alone, she’d failed at running away, failed at her first job interview, and failed at basic car safety. By the time Jacob returned she’d probably have set his roof on fire.

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she wiggled her still-vibrating phone from her pocket. It was set to Do Not Disturb, so someone must have called multiple times. The name FLORENCE LENNOX flashed up on the screen. Eve sighed, hesitated, then pressed Accept. In her experience, the best way to deal with Bad Feelings was to avoid facing them by any means necessary. Whatever Florence wanted would do wonderfully as a distraction.

“Hello?”

“Darling! There you are, I texted twice.”

“Twice?” Eve murmured. “Goodness. Please thank your fingers for their service.”

Florence released a waterfall of tinkling laughter, which was strange, since she never usually laughed at Eve’s jokes. In Florence’s circle, Eve was the Baker Friend—which meant they called her up when they needed event cakes, then invited her to whatever said event happened to be, as a form of payment. Following which, they gently ignored her until the next party.

Eve had a designated status in every friendship group she belonged to. That was how she managed to cling to the periphery of them all.

“Oh, darling, you’re hilarious. But, do listen—I have a proposition for you.”

Eve frowned at the phone. A proposition was not how Florence usually spun, A request for you to bring a three-tiered topsy-turvy cake to my mother’s fiftieth birthday.

“Yeees?”

“Don’t sound so nervous!” Flo had a charming habit of noticing and immediately articulating weakness. A bit like a wolf that could talk. “It’s about your little events company. Now, I know you love to take over the cakes and things for all my parties.”

Love might be an overstatement, but Eve didn’t hate it. Fucking up a favor was nearly impossible—and people were always so pleased when they tasted her double-fudge.

Causing happiness was about the only thing that still made her sparkle.

“I thought cakes were your only real skill,” Florence was droning on, “but it seems you’ve been hiding other talents, you naughty thing. Because I’ve heard amazing things about the wedding you planned.” She paused. “Well, except for that odd rumor about your biting off a dove’s head and spitting feathers into the bride’s face, but never mind that. My point is—it’s little Freddy’s birthday in February, and he’s just given our original party planner the clap, so we need a new one. One he probably won’t give the clap.”

Little Freddy Lennox was Florence’s twenty-year-old brother. Eve considered several responses—for example, I actually just closed my company down, or, All I did was free the doves, that lying cow. But in the end, she settled on stammering, “Er—Florence, does that—well, what I mean to ask is . . . Erm, the clap is some sort of euphemism, isn’t it?”