I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t even give me a chance to counter.”

He dropped a loaf of bread into my arms. “My bread. My terms.”

I huffed. “Isn’t it technically Rodrigo’s bread? He’s the one who makes it now anyway. Maybe I ought to give the tickets to him.”

Rodrigo breezed past, a tray of fresh loaves ready for the oven in hand. “Hey, thanks, Lane,” he said with a grin. “I’d love the tickets. I’ll slip you some bread whenever you want.”

Gaspard stalked off after Rodrigo, muttering something I couldn’t understand. Probably something French. I chuckled on my way out, the booty of my conquest wrapped safely in my arms. My first couple of months at Winding Way I’d been terrified of Gaspard, but really, when you got through all the bluster, he had a pretty decent heart. Not a generous heart. But a decent one nonetheless.

* * *

“How on earth did you wind up with tickets to Francesca Maren?” April dipped a huge chunk of bread in her soup before taking a bite.

“I booked the library for a bridal shower. The mother of the bride is the station manager for WKIX in Raleigh. There was an issue with dates and availability, but I managed to shuffle stuff around and get her the date she wanted, so she sent the tickets over as a thank-you.”

“Wow. Some thank-you.”

“Maybe if I liked Francesca Maren.”

“Does anyone like Francesca Maren? Besides Gaspard?”

“I have no idea. They’ve been giving tickets away on the radio for months, so someone must.”

“Or no one does,” April said. “And that’s why they’re giving away all the tickets.”

I reached for the bread and tore off a chunk. “Don’t you dare say that out loud. I just secured our bread source. You really want to risk it now?”

My cell phone rang from inside my desk drawer, the ringtone faint but not faint enough that April couldn’t hear it. My cheeks flamed red, and I lunged for my desk, grabbing the phone and silencing the call.

April held up her finger and pointed at me, shaking her head. “No way are you getting off without an explanation.”

I dropped the phone back into the drawer and slammed it shut. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You have a BOYBAND 2.0 ringtone on your cell phone. You! A working professional. An adult. A classy, put-together woman has a ringtone that plays ‘You’ll Get Me Back’ by BOYBAND 2.0.”

“Maybe we need to talk about the fact that you, also a working professional woman, recognized ‘You’ll Get Me Back’ in less than five seconds.”

She paused. “Maybe so, but it’s not my ringtone.”

I dropped back onto the sofa across from her. “It isn’t generally my ringtone either. Only when Randi calls.”

“An old friend from high school?”

“College. My freshman roommate. We didn’t know each other, but then we discovered we had all this random stuff in common, including an intense and deep-seated love for all things BOYBAND 2.0.”