I’ve really managed to screw everything up. Royally. I should get a damn award.

I’d like to thank the friends I’ve lost because I’m an asshole, and my family who are either dead, or dead to me … I cringe at my makeshift acceptance speech while I top up my glass, but I’m stopped—rendered frozen—by the sound of the door to the store opening and closing.

“We’re closed!” I yell, wondering how whoever it is managed to miss the glaringly obvious sign stuck to the window of the shop. But then an unexpected face appears in the cut-out wall, and my eyes widen, my heart coming to stop hard in my chest. “Anna?”

She continues through to the back, coming into the kitchen with an exasperated and dramatic sigh. Dressed in matching sweats that would look shocking on anyone other than her, her blonde hair in rollers, her beautiful face immaculately made-up complete with delicately winged liner and a crimson red lip, she takes a long look at me, folding her arms over her chest.

I push myself off the countertop, gaping at her in utter bewilderment. “W-what are you doing here?”

She cocks her head, quirking a brow as she eyes me. “I know what you did.”

Oh damn.

“Nash told me everything.”

I blink once, frozen as I stare at her, holding my breath while accepting whatever it is my fate may be.

“You’re a complete psychopath,” she says with little to no emotion. “You know that, right?”

I look down at my hands, nodding once, wondering if she came here just to make me feel worse than I already do.

“But what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t try everything I can to help mend my husband’s broken heart?”

Surprised and confused by her words, I look up finding the slightest hint of a smile ghosting over her red lips.

“I know he’ll never forgive himself if his Murph isn’t at his wedding,” she continues. “And I know he’s miserable right now.”

I swallow hard, watching as she closes the distance, stopping at the opposite countertop and taking a moment to gaze around at the shop with a faraway look in her eyes. “So, this is the bakery, huh?” She smiles, looking from the shiny turquoise KitchenAid, to the vintage jars that were my grandmother’s, lined perfectly up against the pale pink wall. She picks up my apron from where it’s sitting on the counter, the apron my mother made me as a graduation gift before I left for New York. She’d made it for me, making me promise that no matter what great, exciting things I go and do in my life, I’ll never forget where I came from, that I will always come back.

Anna looks down at it, tracing a finger over the delicate lace, my name, Alice, embroidered over the front. She casts me a glance, her eyes full of an emotion I hadn’t expected. “I’ll admit when I first arrived in Graceville, I couldn’t understand the hype about it. The way Nash went on and on about this place.” She smiles, a thoughtful look of consideration in her eyes as she carefully places the apron back onto the counter as if she’s afraid she might break it. And, with another smile, she nods. “Now I get it.”