In reality, of course, she figured that Riley and Maggie were in Riley’s room with their phones, Snapchatting the summer kids, or out for ice cream at Mia’s Gelateria, or just wandering downtown like a couple of hooligans, looking for some excitement. Joy had done the same sort of thing when she was young, and admittedly the streets she had wandered had been far more dangerous than these.

She returned to the kitchen, feeling prematurely alone.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just my daughter.” While she’d been gone Anthony had rinsed their dinner plates and stacked them by the sink. A tear leaked out and she turned away. Wine did tend to make her weepy, and she’d had a lot, but no need to turn her heart inside out in front of her dinner guest. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the tear.

“Hey,” Anthony said. “Hey, hey. Everything okay?” Anthony wiped at the tear with his thumb. Instantly a charge went through Joy’s body. Wow, she thought. Wow.

After that there was a new energy to the evening, Joy was sure of it. Over dessert, which they ate at the small kitchen counter, Anthony’s bicep pressed close to hers, and neither of them moved away.

She drank more of the wine. She thought of Mrs. Simmons saying that Joy would be alone forever. The skin on her face felt very alive where Anthony had touched her. She thought, Can something like that happen this fast?

She thought, No way.

She thought, But maybe.

After dessert, Anthony declined Joy’s offer of coffee. He said he’d better be getting on his way. Joy wondered if he meant that to be code for, Do you feel it too? She hadn’t said that Maggie wouldn’t be home, but the knowledge definitely opened up options.

“Okay,” said Joy. She meant that to be code for, Yes, I definitely feel it. She stood. The air was positively singing with possibility. She leaned in and closed her eyes.

She met empty air.

Anthony let three of his fingers fall against her cheek. He whispered, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Joy’s eyes flew open. “The dinner was amazing,” he said. There was something complicated in his eyes, something inscrutable.

“I understand,” said Joy. That was code for, I don’t understand at all. I am humiliated but I am going to play it off.

Well, thought Joy, that’s that.

She packed the leftovers into Tupperware and stacked them in the fridge. She texted Holly to let her know that she wasn’t murdered. She poured just the teensiest bit more wine into her glass—why not?—and drank it standing up, shocked that she could have misread the signs so completely. She could blame part of it on the wine, but really, couldn’t she put some blame on her own inexperience? Why had she gone on and on about her sisters-in-law? Why had she made a dish that prostitutes used in order to lure in customers? Why had she had so much Sancerre?

And why did she care? You don’t need a man, she reminded herself. You are a strong and independent woman, a business owner who scratched out her own living on island soil, and who will continue to do so, no matter what the Roving Patisserie is up to. They are fleeting, and you are for real, forever. You don’t need anyone! You just need Maggie and Pickles and Joy Bombs. It’s the four of you against the world.