Cover

Dedication

For Grahame Claire.

Thank you for the endless ways you’ve supported me on this journey. The author gig wouldn’t be nearly as fun if I didn’t have you alongside me.

Prologue

Kenna

PAST

I waved frantically, trying to clear the smoke away from the oven with one hand as I attempted to open the kitchen window with the other. My efforts were in vain. The smoke detector let out a wail that was likely to make my brain bleed.

“Blasted oven.” I ran for one of the barstools and tugged it over beneath the shrieking alarm. I climbed up, stretching on my tiptoes until I could just reach the device. I twisted it off and quickly unplugged the wire.

“What in heaven’s name is going on in here? Do I need to get the fire extinguisher?”

“I’m sorry, Harriet. I just…” I wasn’t sure how to finish that statement.

Harriet fought to hold back a laugh as she shook her head, the lines creasing her face deepening with the movement. “Let me get these out of the oven, and you climb down off that death trap before you fall and crack your head open.”

I carefully lowered myself to the seat of the stool and then stood, setting the smoke detector on the counter. “I really am sorry.”

Harriet waved me off as she slipped on oven mitts. “You know you don’t have to apologize for things like this. We have to make mistakes—”

“—so that we can learn,” I finished in tandem with her. My grandmother’s best friend had been preaching this line since I’d come to live with her seven years ago. One of many Harriet-isms that I’d come to know and love.

She lifted the baking sheet up and frowned. “I’m afraid to say I don’t think these will recover. What were you trying to make?”

I took in the charred black rocks on the pan. Just the sight of them had a burn lighting behind my eyes. “Biscuits.”

Harriet’s gaze jumped to me at the sound of strain in my voice. “Oh, sweet girl. We can make another batch.”

“I don’t have time. And I just…I wanted everything to be perfect. I swear I followed your recipe to the letter.” But somewhere along the way, something had gotten mixed up, and my plans had gone up in smoke. If that wasn’t a metaphor for my life at the moment, I didn’t know what was.

“Take a deep breath.” Harriet ducked into the pantry and pulled out a Tupperware container. “I’ve got some crescent rolls from lunch you can take. What are they for anyway?”

“A picnic.” One I’d spent hours preparing for, trying to think of every last detail. “It’s Grant’s and my anniversary.”