***Please enjoy this unedited excerpt***

Chapter 1

CeCe

CeCe Dupree sprinkled cinnamon over the creamy, coconut milk latte, keeping an eye on the mysterious man at the corner table. He’d frequented her café every morning for the last five days, soaking up the summer sun that filtered through the ample front window. Always alone, he barely spoke a word, except to place his beverage order. He requested something different each day, ranging from a strong black coffee to a frothy cappuccino. Now, he’d moved on to the fancier drinks. 

As a fellow introvert, CeCe wouldn’t normally mind a man of few words who kept to himself. But there was something about this particular patron—who had yet to reveal his name—that piqued her curiosity. And, honestly, her concern. His muddied brown eyes bore a sadness so deep, one glance made her chest tighten. 

“Here you go.” She slid the cheery, lemon-yellow mug onto the table with her friendliest smile. “One coconut milk latte, extra hot.” 

“Thank you.” Without meeting her gaze, he dug a hand into the pocket of his worn Levis. A rough hand with deep grooves and dark freckles. A hand befitting a day laborer who worked long hours in the hot sun, not the gaunt, rail-thin man seated before her. She guessed him to be about forty, maybe younger, but his pallid appearance made it difficult to pinpoint an age.

“Can I get you anything else?” She wanted to feed him half the pastries in her shop. His thin shoulders filled out the faded gray t-shirt about as well as a metal coat hanger. 

“No, thank you.” He set a small, irregular-shaped stone on the table, freeing both hands to cradle the oversized cup. The smooth sliver of sea glass gleamed in the sun, enhancing its soft aqua sheen. 

CeCe had noticed the trinket before, but never had the courage to mention it. Until today. “It’s beautiful.” She nodded toward the stone. “Aqua is my favorite color of sea glass. According to legend, it’s the color most coveted by mermaids and is thought to bring good luck.” 

“Not this one,” he muttered under his breath. The melancholy words mingled with the steam wafting from his mug, but any further explanation was silenced by his first sip. 

Should she ask him what he meant by his mumbled statement? Or leave well enough alone? Before she could decide, the bell above the front door jangled. 

Abigail Preston, one of her dearest friends, waved as she stepped inside. 

“Excuse me.” CeCe left Mystery Man to welcome her friend with a hug. 

Abby’s brown, shoulder-length waves felt warm against her cheek, and smelled of sunshine and salty sea air. When she pulled back, her expressive hazel eyes shone with all the joyful radiance of a woman in love. “Is there anything more beautiful than summer in Blessings Bay?” 

CeCe laughed at her friend’s blissful exuberance. Abby had moved to the small Northern California town in early December, making this summer her first taste of the season. While CeCe couldn’t deny her hometown’s quintessential charm, she had a feeling Abby’s euphoric mood could be attributed to more than the idyllic weather. “Only two weeks left until the big day! How are the wedding plans coming along?” 

“The biggest task left is the cake.” Abby grinned. 

“I think I can help you with that.” CeCe led the way to the long counter lined with spotless glass display cases. Nearly every pastry imaginable, from classic cupcakes and eclairs to more unexpected offerings like plantain tarts and Jamaican rum cake, filled the shelves. 

Abby settled at one of the tall bar stools while CeCe ducked into the kitchen and returned with a tray of three miniature cakes, each one a different and delightfully decadent flavor. 

“He’s here again?” Abby whispered, nodding over her shoulder at Mystery Man, who stared blankly out the window, sipping his latte. Only a few tables away, he could probably overhear their conversation if they didn’t take care to lower their voices. 

“Five days in a row,” CeCe whispered back. 

“It looks like he’s waiting for someone,” Abby observed with a sympathetic frown. 

“It does. But no one ever shows up.” 

“How sad. Do you think I should introduce myself? See if he’s new in town?” 

CeCe smiled. That was so like her magnanimous friend. Abby owned the only bed and breakfast in town, which she ran with her trademark, kindhearted hospitality. “You could try. You might have better luck than I've had. But first, let’s decide on your wedding cake. Is Logan coming?” As business partners who ran the inn together, as well as a newly engaged couple, the pair didn’t do much apart these days. 

“No, he couldn’t make it. He said I could decide without him. As long as it doesn’t include pineapple.” 

“I’ve got you covered. Not a shred of pineapple to be found.” CeCe nudged the tray closer to her friend, her heartbeat fluttering as Abby surveyed the three one-of-a-kind offerings. 

“They all look incredible. I don’t know where to start.” 

“Try this one first.” CeCe handed her a fork, gesturing toward the third cake with its ivory swirls of frosting and dusting of sweet coconut flakes. Her personal favorite. Why save the best for last? She wiped a smudge of flour from her black-rimmed glasses, not wanting to miss a nuance of Abby’s expression when she sampled her first bite.  

Ever since she was a little girl, mirroring her mother as they made their family’s traditional Caribbean recipes, she’d loved creating culinary magic. They’d tie their black, wayward curls into messy buns, but wouldn’t bother with aprons. Or, heaven forbid, gloves. They’d meticulously wash their hands, of course, but according to her mother, food should be touched—it should be felt all the way from the fingertips to the depths of a person’s soul. 

CeCe smiled at the mental image of her mother, elbow deep in a bowl of boiled sweet potato. While she mashed, she’d smear a dollop of the burnt orange paste onto each cheek, claiming it kept her skin youthful. Considering her mother’s smooth, dark complexion had hardly a wrinkle, even in her sixties, CeCe was inclined to believe the beauty hack worked. 

When they’d finally savored the sweet potato pudding, the fruits of their labor always tasted better than any store bought variety. CeCe suspected it had something to do with the time they’d spent together, laughing, talking, and making memories. 

“Food is the universal love language,” her mother regularly reminded her. Not that all the five-star gastronomic masterpieces in the world could keep her globe-trotting father around. As an archeologist for hire, he preferred traveling the world excavating private dig sites in exotic and exciting locales to dinners at home with his wife and daughter. Tonight would be an exception, and he’d finally join them for a family meal. 

“Now this, this is heavenly,” Abby murmured, dragging CeCe’s thoughts from her father’s long-anticipated homecoming. “What is it?”

“It’s my own twist on a traditional Toto.”

“Toto?” Abby cocked her head, trying to place the unfamiliar word. 

“Caribbean coconut cake.”

“Yes! That’s what I’m tasting. Toasted coconut. And—?”

“Maple pecan butter cream.” 

“Okay, this is it. This is the one I want. I don’t even need to try the other flavors. It’ll match our beach wedding vibe, and Logan and Max will love it. Max devours anything with coconut.”

“Perfect.” CeCe adored the way Abby lit up with a special, motherly glow whenever she spoke about her foster son, Max. Her voice grew louder and more animated, too, as if she couldn’t contain her happiness. “I’ll box up the rest, along with the other two samples, for you and Logan to enjoy later.” She grabbed a pastry box from underneath the counter. “When does Max get back from summer camp?” 

“Next week. I can’t wait. I’ve missed him like crazy. Although, between Max being gone and Logan and I deciding not to book any more guests at the inn until after the wedding, I’ve been able to knock out the to-do list pretty quickly. I’m heading over to see Bonnie at Sweet Blessings next, to finalize the favors. We’re bundling an assortment of salt water taffy into cute little gift bags.” 

“Feel free to put a few extra in mine,” CeCe teased. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Abby grinned as she slid off the stool. 

CeCe arranged the sample cakes inside the box, then had an idea. Lifting the white chocolate amaretto flavor, she nodded toward Mystery Man. “Mind if I—?”

Abby followed her gaze, her eyes glinting with understanding. “Of course! That’s a lovely idea. It’s not like I need the extra calories two weeks before my wedding anyway,” she said with a laugh. 

CeCe set the cake off to the side, hoping she could convince the man to accept the gesture under the guise that it would go to waste otherwise.

Abby turned to go, the third flavor and remainder of the Toto sample tucked under one arm for Logan, then hesitated briefly before asking, “Speaking of the wedding, have you decided if you’re bringing a plus one?” 

CeCe grimaced. “No, I haven’t. I’m sorry. But I promise to let you know soon. By tomorrow,” she rushed to add, feeling guilty even though Abby assured her it wasn’t a big deal. 

As CeCe watched Abby step back into the bright summer sunshine, she resolved to make a decision once and for all. Go solo or succumb to another friend’s persistent set-up attempts? According to Sage Harper, her boyfriend’s old college roommate was a total catch, despite his East Coast zip code. Nevermind the fact that CeCe needed a long-distance relationship about as badly as food poisoning. 

The only person she actually wanted to invite to Abby’s wedding was currently half-way across the world in the arms of another woman, which she should count as lucky. In the realm of bad decisions, dating her childhood best friend ranked higher than eating a batch of questionable shrimp, no matter how tantalizing.

Chapter 2

Jayce

Jayce Hunt gently cupped the side of his co-star’s face with his palm, gathering a bolstering breath. Okay, let’s get this over with. 

Stacey Sawyer gazed up at him with her enormous brown eyes as the warm Bali breeze tossed her long, shimmering blonde hair around her bare shoulders. She looked every inch the A-list star in her ethereal, white gauzy dress. No wonder the camera loved her. 

She tilted her chin, simultaneously parting her lips and fluttering her eyelids closed. The woman could fake eternal love better than anyone in the business. He should take notes. 

Sliding an arm around her waist, he drew her closer, just like they’d practiced a thousand times before, and closed his eyes. Her tanned skin smelled like fresh coconut. Perfect. The familiar scent would make it easier to imagine the woman he actually wanted to be holding on the beautiful white sand beach as the sun glittered across the water behind them. 

Picturing his secret dream girl, he lowered his lips toward Stacey’s, pausing the second he felt her gentle breath. He tilted his head, artfully angling his jawline to give the camera the appearance of a deep, undying kiss, without actually making contact. 

They held the pose until the director shouted, “Cut! That’s a wrap!” and then immediately snapped out of character. 

“You had a poppyseed muffin right before filming, didn’t you?” The twinkle in Stacey’s eyes belied her accusatory tone. 

“Better than fish tacos breath, right? I’m making progress,” he teased. “I don’t have any seeds in my teeth, do I?” 

“No, thankfully. Goodness knows we don’t want to reshoot, since Harry is already in a foul mood thanks to you.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Jayce felt slightly guilty that the no-kissing clause he had written into every contract irritated the director, but not enough to change his mind. When he kissed a woman, he wanted it to mean something. 

“Hey, don’t apologize. Rob loves the clause. He says I should only film movies with you from now on.” She laughed, but kept her voice low enough to not be overheard by the film crew. 

“Too bad you couldn’t sneak him onto our flight. Bali would make the perfect honeymoon destination.” He’d only met her fiancé once, but he’d instantly liked his easy, down-to-earth demeanor. The guy’s only flaw—if it could even be called a flaw—was that he couldn’t stand anything to do with Hollywood. According to Stacey, their relationship had only survived because she’d managed to keep it a secret from everyone except for family and a few close friends. He considered it an honor to be included in the tight-knit, clandestine circle. Not that he’d shared his own secret with her. At least, not yet. 

“I know. We talked about it, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. We’re eloping after the RCA in a few weeks,” she said, referring to a prestigious award ceremony honoring achievements specific to the romantic comedy genre held in Hollywood each year. “And honestly, if we weren’t each nominated in multiple categories, I’d skip the ceremony altogether. That’s how excited I am!” She beamed as if the mere thought of her impending marriage lit her up from the inside. 

“I’m happy for you two.” He tried his best to sound sincere. 

“You know, for one of Hollywood’s most beloved actors, you’re not very convincing,” she said with a lighthearted smile. 

“Sorry. It’s not you guys. It’s—”

“I know, I know,” she groaned, hinting he may have shared his philosophy one too many times. “You don’t believe in love. Which is ironic since People Magazine just named you The Swooniest Star on Screen.” 

“I believe in love. I’m just not convinced it lasts. At least, not for most people.” And definitely not for his parents, who went from blissfully married to bitterly divorced by the time he hit puberty. As if dealing with razor burn and body odor wasn’t bad enough. 

“Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” Stacey recited Tennyson’s old adage with exaggerated theatrics.

Jayce chuckled at her melodramatics, holding up his hands in mock defeat, although he still wasn’t convinced. But hey, if other people wanted to risk the kind of soul-crushing pain caused by an inevitable breakup, who was he to stop them? 

“You two were fabulous!” Gretchen Schroeder stumbled across the sand in her ridiculous high heels. Would it kill the woman to wear a pair of flip-flops?  

He exchanged an amused glance with Stacey. They’d shared the same agent for years, and her absurd antics—like wearing a black Prada pantsuit on the pristine white beaches of Bali—no longer phased them. 

“Another blockbuster in the books.” Gretchen wiped a damp strand of overly bleached hair off her forehead. “Ugh. I can’t wait to get out of this wretched humidity.” 

She teetered on the uneven ground, and Jayce reached out a hand to steady her. He knew better than to remind Gretchen she could’ve stayed in Los Angeles. Good ol’ Gretch. For better or worse, their agent slash publicist believed in being hands-on. While they occasionally found her dedication annoying—and Stacey struggled to keep her relationship with Rob a secret—they couldn’t deny the woman’s results. Their careers had soared ever since they’d signed with her, save for one tiny speed bump. 

“This film is going to put you back on top after our momentary blip,” Gretchen declared with inflated confidence. Ever since their romantic comedy, Tacos and Tango, didn’t do as well as they’d hoped, she’d refused to mention it by name. She’d sidestep around the title with terms like blip, hitch, and fluke. “And I have just the strategy to catapult you beyond the stratosphere of stardom.” 

Jayce bit back a groan. By “strategy” she meant a publicity stunt. What would it be this time? For Tacos and Tango, she’d had them helping to teach tango lessons at a rec center in an underserved community. He was pretty sure they would’ve preferred free tacos instead, but when Gretchen got an idea into her head, she ran with it. And it usually worked. The operative word being usually. 

“What is it?” Stacey asked warily. “I’ll do anything as long as it doesn’t prolong the press tour.” They’d agreed to a two-pronged promotional attack—one tour after filming and another shortly before the film’s release. Unfortunately, when it came to being an actor, the actual acting only accounted for half the job. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head. The schedule won’t change. But I’ll need you both on board with my plan.” Gretchen shot a pointed glance between them. “I’m talking full cooperation.” 

Would she cut to the chase already? “What’s your brilliant ploy this time?” 

“Not a ploy. It’s a tried and true tactic. It’s worked for countless actors before, and it’ll work for you two. If you do exactly as I say.” 

Good grief. At this rate, the movie would be done with post-production by the time she finished her pitch. “What’s the plan, Gretch? We’ve never said no to one of your schemes before.” 

“Again. Not a scheme. A strategy.” She fanned herself with the edge of her Hermès scarf. “It’s no secret you two make the perfect couple. It’s why you’ll win a BOCA this year,” she said, mentioning their nomination for the Best On-screen Couple Award for the millionth time that month. “With Stacey’s big, Bambi eyes and her ability to pull off the sultry ingénue paradox, and Jayce, with your dark, Italian good looks and a charm that’s both roguish and boyish, you’ve been America’s favorite sweethearts for years. And it’s time we give the fans what they want.” 

Uh oh. He didn’t like where this was headed…

“By the time you two land back in L.A. we’ll have accidentally,”—she punctuated the word with air quotes—“leaked your off-screen romance.” 

His heart slammed into his stomach. 

“And not just your boring, run-of-the-mill boyfriend-girlfriend situation,” Gretchen continued. “You two are engaged.” Her lips curled into a devious smile, reminding Jayce of a cartoon villain. “Your fans will eat it up.” 

And you know who won’t? Jayce thought. Stacey’s actual fiancé, Rob. He turned to gauge her reaction.

She met his gaze, her face pale. Her pleading glance said everything he needed to know. 

“Sorry, Gretchen,” he said crisply. “No can do.” 

“Excuse me?” Her green eyes narrowed. She wasn’t used to hearing no.

“I know we agreed to let you call the shots, but we’re going to have to pass this time. Let’s come up with something else.” 

“Let’s come up with something else?” Gretchen repeated, her tone incredulous with a touch of do-you-know-who-you’re-talking-to? She flashed an icy, ominous smirk that would’ve made Jayce shiver if it weren’t so hot under the blazing sun. “Have you taken a look at my client list lately?” 

“It’s very impressive.” 

“And what about my contract? The contract you signed,” she added pointedly. “Have you had a gander at that recently?”

“I’m familiar with the terms.” 

“Then you know there is no us. You’ve reached your level of fame because of my guidance. I make stars. It’s what I do. And I’m pretty darn good at it. It’s why you pay me the big bucks. And it’s why you’re going to trust me this time, just like all the times before. Right?” She’d sweetened her tone, but her smile still gave off supervillain vibes. She could be ruthless when she didn’t get her way. He might be able to handle being on Gretchen’s bad side, but what about Stacey? 

He shot his co-star another glance. She’d gone from pale to putrid green. A dead ringer for how she’d looked on yesterday’s sailing excursion right before she’d spewed her lunch all over the side of the yacht. 

To make matters worse, Gretchen pinned her with her most persuasive smile. “Stacey, darling. You see the wisdom in my proposal, don’t you? Please convince your short-sighted co-star that this is what’s best for your career. For both of your careers.” 

Stacey’s mouth fell open. She mirrored a limp fish gasping for air. “I-I-I—” 

Great. She was stuck in a single syllable panic loop. He needed to do something, but what? Gretchen wouldn’t back down easily. 

“I can’t fake an engagement with Stacey,” he announced before he’d formulated a coherent plan. 

“And why not?” Gretchen crossed her arms with a this-better-be-good glare. 

“Well, because, I—” Come on, man. Come up with something. There’s got to be a reasonable explanation in your brain somewhere. “Because I’m already engaged,” he blurted, then instantly winced. So much for reasonable—more like irrational. Idiotic. Irredeemably asinine. What were you thinking? 

“You’re engaged?” Gretchen’s tone dripped with skepticism. 

“Yep. Have been for a while now. To a girl back home.” Great. Just keep digging the hole deeper, dummy. Oh, the foolish things we do for friends.

Stacey gaped at him, looking both shocked and grateful. 

Gretchen scowled. “And why am I just now hearing about this?” 

“She’s a small-town girl. Not one for the limelight. She asked me to keep it on the down-low.” Okay, so he’d stolen Stacey and Rob’s story, but this way, they wouldn’t have to go through with the fake engagement fiasco and Gretchen wouldn’t find out the truth until after his friends tied the knot. 

“And does your blushing bride-to-be have a name?” 

“A name?” 

“Yes, a name is the form of identification written on a birth certificate.” Gretchen may not know how to conjure a sincere smile to save her life, but she could teach a masterclass in snark.

“Yes, she has a name. It’s—” Shoot. He should’ve anticipated this question. Pick a name. Any name. Don’t overthink it. “CeCe. CeCe Dupree.” 

Drat. Okay, so he should’ve thought about it a little. For more than five seconds, at least. Instead, he’d said the first name that came to mind—the one name always on his mind. 

Jayce bit back a groan. CeCe’s going to kill me. 

Although, they’d had a fake wedding once already. In kindergarten. She’d worn a dandelion crown and he’d borrowed his dad’s tie, which he’d tucked into the collar of his T-shirt because he had no clue how to tie one. They’d invited all their favorite stuffed animals to the ceremony and celebrated with Oreos and juice boxes afterwards. They’d had a blast. 

Maybe he could appeal to her sense of nostalgia? Or her inner romantic? After all, didn’t all women love weddings? 

 

Chapter 3 

Abby

Abby never understood the wedding hype until her entire world changed the day Logan proposed. Her first wedding had been all about her late husband, Donnie. He’d wanted the big shindig to show off to all his Air Force buddies, but without many loved ones to invite, Abby had hoped for a smaller ceremony. Instead, she’d spent their reception smiling in snapshots with a bunch of pseudo strangers. This time would be different, though. The people of Blessings Bay had become her family, and she couldn’t wait to celebrate with them. 

Buoyed by her blissful thoughts, Abby exited Sweet Blessings and paused on the sidewalk to soak up the summer ambiance. Across from Main Street, a grassy promenade underscored the vibrant blue hue of the Pacific Ocean. 

She tilted her chin toward the sky and briefly closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. With only two weeks until the wedding, the sun felt warmer, the briney breeze smelled sweeter, and her heart swelled with joy. She couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Logan Matthews. 

Her steps light, she strolled down Main Street, headed toward home. On her right, the Victorian-style storefronts painted in soft shades of lilac, lemondrop, and periwinkle beckoned to her with their whimsical window displays, but she didn’t stop to browse. Nor did she join the festive farmer’s market filling the promenade with music, laughter, and the mouthwatering aroma of artisan street vendors offering their wares. 

In a few hours, Max’s social worker, Carla Delgado, would stop by the inn to discuss the possibility of adoption. From the moment Abby welcomed Max into her home last December, Carla had approved of the placement, doing everything in her power to make sure Max could stay in Abby’s care. Abby didn’t doubt Carla would move mountains to ensure a smooth adoption process. Which meant, soon Abby would have the family of her dreams. After so much heartache, hope for a better life burned bright. 

As had become a habit lately, a spontaneous grin spread across her face. She wanted to skip or sing or hug the next person who walked past. Before she could do either, the bell above a shop door jangled. Abby moved out of the way, making room for a tourist exiting the art gallery. As she sidestepped, she caught sight of a reflection in the gallery window—a tall, waifish figure that looked vaguely familiar. Was it the man from CeCe’s café? 

Abby turned around to wave, but Mystery Man halted mid-step, quickly fixing his attention on a pretty watercolor painting in the window. He stared intently at the seascape, as if he’d never seen the ocean before. Oh, well. She’d say hi another time. 

Resuming her stroll, Abby spotted Mystery Man’s reflection again. He’d abandoned his perusing and followed a few feet behind. Glad to see him out and about, enjoying the town for a change, Abby mused with a smile. 

After checking the time on her phone, she quickened her pace, anxious to get home to prepare a few snacks for Carla’s visit. Was it her imagination or was Mystery Man also walking at a brisker clip? 

She shrugged off the suspicion and turned right at the single stop light in town onto State Street. The charming, tree-lined lane bordered by beautiful historic homes sat high on a regal bluff. Where the houses ended, a nature trail began, traversing the rugged cliff side, providing miles of pristine coastline views. How did she get so lucky to live here? 

Glancing over her shoulder to check for cars before she crossed the road, she noticed Mystery Man had also turned onto State Street. He froze when she spotted him, suddenly keenly interested in a hedge of roses. Odd. Why does he stop whenever I turn around? She tried to shake the eerie feeling he’d been following her. He must be heading for the nature trail, she surmised. 

But as she continued her trek, she hastened her step, this time for entirely different reasons than snack preparation. 

Footsteps echoed on the pavement behind her. 

Strange. He’d resumed his walk, too. Was the timing a coincidence? 

She resisted the irrational urge to run the last few feet home. This is ridiculous. Just stop and say hi. Gathering a breath, she spun around, summoning her friendliest smile. 

Mystery Man immediately dropped to one knee, pretending to tie shoelaces that appeared perfectly intact. 

Abby’s pulse pounded an uneasy rhythm. Okay, something was definitely off with this guy. She didn’t care how silly or paranoid she appeared. Tucking the cake box tightly under one arm, she scurried down the street, just shy of breaking into a jog. 

The elegant, two-story Victorian with pale blue paneling and a wide, welcoming porch greeted her like a safe haven from a storm. Her adrenaline surging, she scrambled up the steps and burst through the front door, plowing straight into a solid wall of muscle. 

“Oof,” Logan grunted as she collided with his chest. “Easy, Turbo. Are you trying to break the sound barrier?” 

“Sorry,” she panted, red-faced and flustered. “I—” She hesitated. I—what? I thought I was being stalked by a strange man who likes to tie his shoes for no reason? Suddenly, her fears sounded a little far-fetched. 

She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at the peaceful, empty street. Where did he go? 

“Are you okay?” Logan asked, his teasing tone giving way to concern. 

She peered one last time at the vacant stretch of road before closing the door on her vanishing Mystery Man. “I’m fine. I just—I was eager to get home.” 

Logan’s strong features softened into an understanding smile that illuminated his brilliant blue eyes and sent the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. Somehow, the man managed to put her at ease and send her heart racing. “I get it. I’m eager to hear Carla’s news, too.” He dropped his gaze to the crumpled cardboard in her hand. “What’s in the box?” 

“Wedding cake samples.” She pried back the lid, grateful they weren't smushed in the collision. 

“Did you decide on a flavor?” 

“I did. And wait until you taste it.” Her grin returned, all tension from the unofficial footrace forgotten. 

“Why wait?” Logan reached for the box, but Abby dodged his attempt. 

“In the kitchen. With a fork like a civilized human,” she teased, leading the way. 

She watched with satisfaction as Logan devoured the rest of the Toto cake, repeatedly praising her choice between bites. While he dug into the other flavor—with no regards to calories, Abby noted with bemusement—she prepared a tray of treats and appetizers along with a pot of Carla’s favorite raspberry tea. 

With each passing second, her apprehension mounted. What if Carla didn’t have good news? What if the court denied their adoption request? Or deemed the timing too soon? 

Her chest squeezed. She loved being Max’s foster mom, and in her eyes—and heart—the foster status didn’t make him any less her son. And yet, she couldn’t deny the benefits of adoption. Most notably, the permanency. She’d almost lost Max before, and it had nearly broken her. She couldn’t risk losing him again. Not when he claimed such a critical place in her heart. 

Abby placed the steaming teapot on the sterling silver tray, her fingers trembling. She knew she shouldn’t place all her hopes on a best case scenario. Max had a tricky case. Even if Carla tried her best, there were extenuating circumstances outside their control. Hurdles, Carla had called them. She’d been careful not to make any promises. 

The doorbell chimed. 

Abby jumped, spilling some of the cream on the counter. Jittery, she quickly mopped up the mess. 

Logan removed the damp dish towel from her hand and pulled her into his arms. 

She melted against his chest, basking in the comfort of his embrace. 

“No matter what Carla tells us today, it’ll be okay,” he murmured, planting a reassuring kiss on top of her head. “We’re a family. And that will never change.” 

She buried her face in his soft T-shirt, inhaling his distinct scent of warm earth from tending the garden and the tangy peppermint of his pain relief balm. 

Of course, he was right. So why wouldn’t her hands stop shaking? 

“I’ll bring the snacks to the sitting room, if you can get the door,” she said with the steadiest voice she could muster. 

She gripped the cool metal handles with clammy palms, repeating a silent prayer. Dear God, please let Carla have good news. 

Chapter 4

Logan

Logan Matthews clasped Abby’s hand between them on the couch cushion, holding his breath as Carla rooted through her threadbare briefcase. 

“As you know,” Carla said, retrieving an overstuffed file, “Max’s case is unusual.” 

“That’s an understatement.” Logan tried to sound lighthearted, while internally, his pulse thundered as fiercely as the engine of an F-16. 

Abby must have sensed his nervous energy through her fingertips because she tightened her grip. 

“True,” Carla conceded with a kind smile. “Between his mother’s death as an infant, his father’s disappearance last year, and the absence of extended family, his situation is one of my most challenging.”

“Not to mention all the other garbage the poor kid’s been through.” The muscles in Logan’s jaw still tensed whenever Max’s traumatic past sprang to mind. The foster family who used him as slave labor and pocketed all the money from the state without spending a single dime on Max’s wellbeing, all while they ran an elicit operation selling pilfered social security and credit card numbers. Then, more recently, the woman who posed as Max’s long-lost relative and nearly abducted him, all because Max had unwittingly taken a notebook filled with stolen credit card numbers. The kid had been through the ringer, and Logan would do whatever it took to give him a better life. 

“Exactly,” Carla agreed, flipping open the file on her lap. “Max has experienced enough trauma, which is why we need to proceed carefully.” 

Uh-oh. Logan stiffened. Proceed carefully didn’t sound good. Was Carla going to turn down their adoption request? At the possibility, a heavy weight pressed against his chest, matching the suffocating force of pulling high Gs. He needed to get off the couch, to walk around and shake it off, but he couldn’t move. 

Abby laced her fingers through his, pressing their palms together as if she could transfer her superhuman strength via physical touch. 

He met her gaze, amazed by the hopeful resiliency reflected in her hazel eyes, tempering her own fear and uncertainty. Not for the first time, he marveled at the unfathomable blessing that a woman like Abby would choose him. 

Whatever bad news Carla brought to the table, they would get through it together. Logan squeezed Abby’s hand in solidarity. 

“I’ve been researching your request, and here’s where we hit a few snags.” Carla glanced between them, her countenance soft and sympathetic. “If we were dealing with a general paternal abandonment case, Max would likely be eligible for adoption after six months as long as his father didn’t provide any financial support or communication during that time. However, Max’s situation isn’t that simple. Technically, his father is considered a missing person. And in most missing person cases, you need to wait seven years before they can be declared deceased.” 

“Seven years?” Abby whispered, the disappointment in her voice mirroring his own. 

“But everyone knows Sam Bailey’s fishing boat went down in a storm,” Logan pointed out, battling his mounting desperation. He’d wait seven years to adopt Max if he had no other choice, but he wasn’t ready to give up on a quicker solution just yet.

“That may be true. But since neither a boat or a body was ever recovered, it’s still a missing person’s case.” Carla’s round, pleasant features strained with regret. Logan knew the compassionate social worker didn’t like the situation any more than they did. “However,” she added with the slow, cautious inflection of someone choosing their words carefully. “I could pressure the court to evaluate the extenuating circumstances. There is precedence for what’s called an expedited presumption of death based on the nature of the person’s disappearance and their likelihood of survival. If the outcome is in our favor, it’s possible adoption proceedings could begin much sooner. Would you like me to pursue this course of action?” 

“Yes, of course,” Abby blurted, breathless with even the slightest chance of moving things along. She fixed him with her eager gaze, waiting for him to voice his agreement. 

But the words wouldn’t come. Time seemed to slow, then spiral in reverse. Suddenly, he was seven years old again, listening to his grandparents recount the fatal car accident that had robbed him of his parents. He’d refused to believe they were really gone. For weeks, his naive hope and optimism had comforted him like a warm embrace, making the world bearable. When he’d finally confronted their deaths, the overwhelming sense of loss and emptiness had terrified him. It was the biggest, scariest emotion he’d ever felt, and all he’d wanted were his parents to help him through it. And the fact that they couldn’t only made it worse. 

Max still clung to the belief that his father would come back for him. If they asked the court to declare Sam Bailey deceased, they would take that hope away. Logan’s heart ached at the prospect of putting Max through that kind of pain—the kind of pain that had left a lasting wound on his own heart. 

Yes, he and Abby would be there for him, to help him heal in any and every way they could. And yes, in the long run, the stability of adoption seemed like the healthiest route for Max. But what if they got it wrong? 

What if, in trying to do right by Max, they only made things worse? 

“Can I think about it?” he asked at last. 

“Of course. This is a big decision. Take your time.” Carla closed the file. 

Logan felt Abby’s gaze boring into him, but he couldn’t look at her. Not when he could already picture the gut-piercing glint of betrayal in her eyes. 

All Abby had ever wanted was to be a mother. Would she forgive him for getting in the way of her heart’s greatest desire?

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