“No. And maybe it’s none of my business.”
Mark cinched his belt on his hips and climbed the ladder to the spot where he’d been working the afternoon before. “Maybe.” He’d become really good at this game. If he didn’t want to answer, he didn’t have to. “It was just a misunderstanding. Mistaken identity.”
“She thought you were someone else?”
Mark considered that option. “Yep.” Riley Madigan had thought he was a stalker. “It’s fine.”
“Okay.” His dad left it alone, and Mark finally focused on the work and keeping his hands warm in the morning chill.
“Nice for you to be talking to a woman, though.”
Mark just about hit his fingers with the hammer. “Dad. Knock it off.”
“I hope you were nice. Les said she’s new in town. Single. Smart. Is she good-looking?”
Mark scowled. Like that even mattered anymore. “She’s a teacher, and she looked strong.” He hadn’t been able to keep from stealing glances at the fierceness in her eyes. When he wasn’t watching the bat.
“Bodybuilder, eh?”
Mark laughed outright. “Dad. Let me work.”
Friday morning, Mark stood in the back of the bakery, hands shoved into his coat pockets, waiting to order his fritters. The temperature had dropped, and the forecast was teasing the idea of snow, but the bakery was warm and full of people. Still, Mark kept the hood of his sweatshirt up. The counter was on the right side of the bakery, so his right side faced the door and anybody coming in. He didn’t like startling people.
“Uncle Mark, why is it taking so long?” Ivy asked, pulling on his elbow, waving their ticket in the air.
“Because they like to make little kids wait,” he teased. “If you’d stayed home, I’d have our order by now.”
She looked skeptical. “I’m not little.”
“Little enough for me to do this.” He scooped her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Ivy squealing with giggles.
“Put me down,” she said.
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please.”
“Nope.”
Whenever Ivy was home from school for a teacher prep day, he took her along to get fritters. Ivy made everything easier.
“Donuts,” she tried again.
“Nope.”
The bell jingled on the front door, and he felt the too-familiar sensation of being stared at.
“Pickles,” Ivy squealed.
Mark lowered Ivy to the ground.
She scrunched up her nose. “The magic word was pickles?”
He lowered his head, allowing the hood to fall forward a little more, and smiled at her. “This time it was.”
The bell jingled again.
“Mark!”
He peered up. Nate Crandall and Gus Pratt hailed him and walked around a few customers to join him. As they approached, he spied Riley Madigan by the door; she averted her eyes.
“Mark, good to see you out and about.” Nate fake-punched him in the arm. He looked down. “Hey, Ivy, what’s up?”
Mark had known Nate since fourth grade, and Gus since freshman year in high school. Nate was in Spokane now, and Gus was in Wenatchee just down the valley, but they’d both visited him in the hospital and then again after he’d moved in with his dad for recovery. The three of them—plus Jay—had spent most of high school trying to figure out cars, girls, and life in general.
“What are you guys doing home?” Mark asked.
Nate shrugged. “Came to see my little brother play in the game tomorrow. Joslyn is having a girls’ weekend with her sisters in Seattle.”
Mark shook his head. “I’m still not used to the idea of you being married. I’m sorry I missed the wedding.”
“No worries. You were a little busy.”
Nate had married last year in Pashastin, right in the middle of a round of Mark’s painful skin grafts.
Gus folded his arms. “Oh sure, he gets off easy.”
Nate turned to Gus. “Dude, you were forty minutes away. You could’ve at least come to the reception.”
“I told you, I had to take my grammy to Emerald City Comic Con. You try turning down a ninety-year-old woman who demands to see Zachary Quinto. It’s not like I could’ve dropped her off at the door with her walker and her Iron Man compression socks.” He waved to the air. “Bye, Grammy. Pick you up at ten. I’ll meet you out here by the giant Eye of Sauron.”
Mark stifled a laugh.
“Okay, fine,” Nate said, chuckling. “Grammy wins.”
Gus winked at Ivy. “She always does.”
Ivy giggled.
“You going to the game, too?” Mark asked Gus.
“Naw, I’m helping my parents get the vines mounded before winter sets in. My in-laws have the kids; Heidi needed a break.”
Mark nodded, sobered. Gus’s parents had lost an entire vineyard to the fires. They’d been able to replant early this spring but the young vines needed to be heavily mulched for winter.
“How is Heidi?” Mark asked.
“Good. Baby has another month so she’s getting the house ready and generally going nuts.”
Ivy swung on Mark’s arm. “Is she having a boy or a girl?”
Gus grinned. “Which do you think it is?”
“Umm . . . a girl!”
Gus made the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong. Try again.”
“A boy?”
“You got it.”
“I guess boys are cute, too.”
“Oh, they are, are they?”
Ivy shook her head. “Baby boys.”
Mark half-smiled at the exchange. He sensed he was still being watched. Closely. He dared a glance in the direction of Riley Madigan and caught her gaze. He would’ve looked away immediately, except that she didn’t look away first. People usually did. She continued to study him, her expression one of questioning more than morbid curiosity.
And then she smiled.
Mark dropped his gaze and smiled back. Sort of. He suddenly felt like swinging Ivy up in the air again and laughing at her squeal. And letting Riley Madigan look on.
Thankfully, he wasn’t given the chance.
“Number twenty-seven,” Lette Mae called. “Mark, that’s you, hon.”
Ivy jumped toward the counter, and Lette Mae handed the bag of fritters to the girl while Mark paid.
“I threw in
