Chapter One
The moon brings the man. That’s what Grandma Sophie would say.
Tessa Montgomery shook her head at the thought. If the moon was supposed to bring her a man, he must have gotten lost along the way.
She wheeled the giant rack full of warm baguettes up next to the scarred wooden front counter of Bonjour! Breads. It was only six p.m. in the middle of May, but the moon was already visible, huge, hanging over Main Street like it was peeking into the windows of her family’s hundred-year-old boulangerie. A romantic moon.
But for Tessa, there was no romance in sight, and there hadn’t been in quite a while. Not since last summer, when her fiancé left her for someone else.
While Tessa didn’t believe the moon-man connection, she had to admit that the big round boule in the sky sure was beautiful. Although, she thought wistfully, it was a shame not to have someone to share it with.
The bell above the door tinkled, and she put on her usual customer-friendly smile. Which was sometimes difficult when she had to endure a lot of sad headshaking and endless questions about being dumped. Yes, still, even after almost a year.
That was the thing about a small town—the first thing you did in your life that was gossip-worthy became the defining trait of your existence.
She breathed a sigh of relief, though, as her favorite customer walked into the empty bakery. “Good evening, Arthur,” she said to the older gentleman who came in every Tuesday like clockwork. At least he was a man she could count on.
Tessa leaned over the countertop to address the little Yorkie that had strolled in with him. “Hello to you, too, Millie.”
The dog put her paws up on the glass of the display case and wagged her tail.
“I have just the thing for you.” Tessa handed Arthur the freshly made latte and egg-and-cheese croissant she’d already bagged, his usual Tuesday dinner, and grabbed a dog biscuit for Millie. As Tessa walked around the counter and stooped down, Millie daintily plucked the treat from her palm.
Tessa patted her head. “She’s such a lady.”
“So are you, Tessa,” Arthur said, beaming.
She glanced up at him. “Aw, thanks. Where are all the nice guys when you need them?”
Not in Blossom Glen, Indiana, that was for sure, where the biggest attraction was the new scents reveal from the famous candle factory across the street. Although, to be fair, visiting with her regular customers was one of the things she loved the most about their little town. And the rows of crab apple trees that lined Main Street, now in glorious bloom with rich pink flowers, that gave their town its name.
“I don’t believe for one second that stuff they’re saying about you.”
She held up her hands in mock protest. “I swear I only spent five years in prison,” she said jokingly. “An honest mistake.” But inside, her heart sank. Because she already knew what everyone said behind her back. Phrases like such a shame, and even spinster, now that she was thirty-two and single. And stuck in Blossom Glen, Indiana, baking bread twenty-four seven.
“You’re not an Ice Queen,” he said. “You just need someone who understands you.”
Ice Queen. She hadn’t heard that one yet. Well, could she help that the few guys in town who were her age were immature and foolish and she didn’t hesitate to let them know that?
Or, a little voice deep inside her seemed to say, was it because shooting one-liners at people was her best defense against being an object of pity?
“If only I were forty years younger,” Arthur said with a wink.
“Eighty is the new sixty,” she said with forced cheer. It wasn’t his fault she was stuck. Or that the only happily ever afters she’d be seeing were in romance novels or Hallmark movies.
He left his usual bill with a big tip, which she fought him on every time to no avail. “Okay, doll,” he said with a wink. “See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, Arthur, one more thing,” Tessa called just as he reached the door. She grabbed a flyer off the counter and ran it over to him. “The library’s having a botanical lecture this week about perennials. I was thinking it might be a fun place to meet someone who loves gardening as much as you do.”
“Thanks, honey,” he said. “The last woman I met online was nice, but she just wanted companionship.”
Tessa frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”
He grinned. “I may be eighty, but”—he dropped his voice—“my parts are still in working order.”
Okaayyy. That was TMI. “Have a nice night.” She shook her head as he left. “Great,” she said to herself when she was alone. “Even the eighty-year-olds around here have a better sex life than I do.”
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d arrived at the bakery at four thirty this morning and had been so busy she’d forgotten to eat lunch. She snuck a chocolate croissant from the case, the one sweet thing her mother would allow in the bakery because it was still bread.
The bell tinkling again caught her mid-chew. Wow, two customers in a row—the busiest they’d been in ages.
Turned out her excitement was unfounded as she looked up to see Sam Donovan, her ex-fiancé, stroll in.
He still wore his shirt and tie, no doubt just finishing his day at the candle factory. He looked a little tired, his thick hair tousled, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it during a stressful day in the accounting department.
In the past, she would have asked him how his day was. And if he was hungry. Listened to him discuss complicated problems in the accounting department as he got them off his chest. And his rumpled overworked-executive look would have made her heart flutter a little.
But not anymore.
“Hey, Tessa.” He flashed what she read as a guilty smile and pushed up his glasses. “How’re you doing?”
“Great,” she said with a forced smile. Could he not see he was the only customer in the shop? Even after a year, she still had to curb the urge to hit him on the head with a stale baguette. But she knew in her heart that even that wouldn’t install any sense.
“It’s still busy as ever over there.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the candle factory across the street. “I have at least another hour of work. Mr. Brighton’s cracking down, dumping all kinds of extra projects on me. It really sucks. Can I get a ham and cheese?”
She didn’t know why he came in here multiple times a week, clearly expecting her to soothe his worries, give him reassurance, and sympathize with his grievances. And pretend that they were still friends.
As she assembled the ingredients for his sandwich, she practiced calming breathing. It was easier to serve him and get him out of the bakery as soon as possible, because their town wasn’t big enough for her to handle more than one massive feud.