Page 46 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

The timer went ping and she grabbed her oven gloves, and pulled out another loaf baked to perfection. “This one’s for us,” she said. “But it’s too hot to eat. It should be cool by the time I get back.”

“Let me drive you.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” I didn’t want to let her go by herself. These moments were precious, while I was still Brad. Precious and precarious, as they might be our last. If she couldn’t forgive me, or understand what I’d done, our story would end, and that would be that. It was bad to imagine how that might hurt, worse to imagine how it might hurt Lana. She’d let herself trust me, let me into her life?—

“Hey. Are you coming?”

I snapped back to the present and followed her out to my truck, and soon we were joining what looked like a party, half of Haverford gathered to see Alice’s mom. Most had brought food, and a few had brought supplies, ice packs, water bottles, a big, cozy blanket. Alice was running around handing out cookies, and Lana went bounding to help her friend out. I stood in the doorway still holding our banana bread, and people came in and out, and most of them greeted me. Most of them smiled and asked how I was doing. How Lana was doing. How I liked Haverford.

I held tighter to my serving tray and all I could think was, I loved it here. I loved the town and the beach and the people, the sense of community. Their easy acceptance. From the first day I’d come here, they’d made me feel welcome, but soon I would have to tell them goodbye. That would be true no matter what Lana thought, no matter how she reacted when I told her the truth. I’d still have to leave here and go back to my life.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, an unwelcome intrusion. I set down my tray and checked the screen: Dad.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, heading outside. Silence hung on the other end, then he grunted.

“Hey, Dad? Is that how we’re talking now, like factory workers?”

I rolled my eyes at him, though he couldn’t see me. He made a tutting sound.

“Where are you, anyway? It sounds like a party.”

I pulled the door shut behind me. “I’m delivering baked goods. And, before you start, no. That’s not my job. A friend sprained her ankle, so we brought her some bread.”

“It seems awfully early to be delivering bread.” I could hear Dad pacing, his shoes on the carpet. Then his chair creaked as he sat down. “Still, I suppose it’s philanthropy, at least on a small scale. And that’s why I’m calling, about this grand reopening. Should I come out for that?”

My heart stopped. “No! Don’t.”

“Well, that was emphatic. May I ask why not?”

I sighed, trying to get my pulse under control. My palms had gone clammy with nervous sweat. “The grand opening, it’s more of a… community event. There’ll be kids there. It’ll be noisy. It’s not a press op, so you don’t need to be there.”

“No press?” His voice hardened. “Then what’s the point?”

“I didn’t say no press, just…” I fumbled for a reason Dad couldn’t come. I couldn’t have him buzzing around Lana. Getting ideas about snapping up her shop. “We did most of our press around the fun run. The day of the opening, it’s going to be busy, so the coverage?—”

“Got it. You’ve had it prewritten.”

I hadn’t, in fact, but I agreed anyway. Whatever would keep Dad away from the relaunch. That would be Lana’s day, her crowning triumph. And I knew in that moment I couldn’t risk spoiling it, or tainting it with even the slightest tarnish. Lana deserved her big day to be perfect. She deserved to have that, at least, to look back on and treasure.

I’d tell her right after. The very next day.

CHAPTER 19

LANA

Astrange thing happened the day of the relaunch.

I woke from a light sleep full of dreams of bad weather — dreams where it rained so hard nobody came — and in place of the morning quiet, I could hear chatter. I could hear Brad as well, fixing us breakfast, but I ignored that and went to the window. Who would be out there at barely past seven, riling up Wiener to start the day?

“Oh, cute,” came a voice.

“Hey, bud, do you work here?”

“It says they open at nine. Let’s hurry to breakfast.”

I peered out and saw a tight knot of joggers, out-of-town types, all playing with Wiener. They’d gathered at my door, not Mrs. Schneiderman’s, and it was my sign they were squinting at. One of them cupped her hands to my freshly-cleaned window.

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