Chapter 6: Five A.M.

At five in the morning the bakery was warm and dark, and the only light came from the ovens.

I had the first tray of rye on the rack when I heard the back door open.

Only two people had a key to that door, and I had not yet taken the other one back.

"Maia."

Preston stood in the doorway in a wrinkled shirt, holding a white paper bag.

I did not stop working.

"We open at six."

"I brought your coffee. And the almond croissant from Dellie's. The one you like."

"I like the lemon tart."

"Right. I know."

He put the bag on my steel table and stayed where he was.

"I haven't slept since the courthouse," he said. "I keep seeing that ring on your hand."

"That sounds hard."

"I mean it." His voice cracked on the second word.

"I stood in that ballroom with everyone clapping, and I looked at you in the green dress, and I knew I'd made a mistake."

"You knew."

"I knew when you walked out. It hit me all at once."

"I love you. I'm so much in love with you it makes me sick, and I'm too late."

He looked young when he said it, and wrecked, and for a second I felt the old pull.

Then I wiped my hands on my apron and turned to face him.

"Preston. What am I baking right now?"

"What?"

"The tray on the rack. What is it?"

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