“You’re practically famous. My daughter ordered your dinosaur egg cupcakes for my grandson’s birthday. They were a hit. A huge hit, I tell you.”

What are the odds in a place this big, hundreds of miles away from home, that I’d sit next to someone who’d heard of The Cake Factory?? “That’s our bestselling kid’s party item. I can’t believe this.” She proudly accepted her moment of fame. Hopefully, just a teensy test-drive before the big bake-off.

“I’ll be honest, I was a little skeptical when I saw them. They were so cute I didn’t expect them to taste like much, but your cakes are delicious. Ask my Henry, he’ll tell you I went on and on about it. You and my Henry, you have to chat. You both love to cook. We were meant to meet. Karma and all that.” The woman leaned in so close Kelly could smell the cough drop on her breath. “You know…I don’t tell everyone this, but I’m a bit psychic,” she whispered in her husky voice. “I don’t know why you’re in town, but I have a feeling that love is coming into your life while you’re here. True love.” She patted Kelly’s leg and gave her a wink. “You take care.”

The golf cart came to a stop. “Carousel one,” the driver announced.

The old woman slid off the seat and grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag. “This is where I get off. So nice to meet you, dear. Come to the restaurant.”

The airline attendant in the middle seat tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re at the other end. You’ll get off when we do.”

“Thank you so much. I’d have been lost for sure.”

The old woman waved as the cart took off.

Kelly waved, realizing she’d never even introduced herself. Where are my manners? I didn’t ask Henry’s wife what her name was. She looked at the card in her sweating hand. Henry and Candace Leary owned The Manhattan Original Diner. Right there on the card, they boasted the best New York cheesecake in the city.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

When the driver pulled to a stop in front of the baggage carousel for her flight, Kelly saw her suitcase coast by on the conveyor. She leaped off the cart, handed the driver a five-dollar bill for the rescue, then race-walked to catch up with her bag, but it was faster than she was in the crowd of people. She found an open spot and waited patiently for her bag to come back around.

She was just getting ready to pull out the piece of paper with the emergency contact information from Jennifer when she spotted a tall man in a black suit holding an iPad with the name McIntyre in bold capital letters.

He lifted his chin and mouthed, “Are you Ms. McIntyre?”