Chapter 23: The Welcome Party

I didn't answer the lease that night.

I had a party to bake for, and I wanted a day to read all forty pages.

By three o'clock on the second of May, Hearth & Honey was packed to the walls.

Libby had hung paper bunting across the ceiling and pinned a cardboard crown to the baby's bassinet.

There were regulars from the brunch rush, and the man in the flat cap.

The girl who had filmed table nine in December was there too.

There were twelve people from the fortieth floor of Stroud Capital, in their weekend clothes.

My first memo as chair had been a raise and a tray of croissants.

They had come to see where the croissants lived.

Constance sat by the window in her gray coat with the baby in her arms.

It was her monthly hour, and Libby sat across from her with a coffee, supervising with great seriousness.

"She's holding her head up," Constance said.

"She's seven weeks old. She's showing off," said Libby.

The baby wore the yellow blanket a customer had knitted in December.

I was cutting a lemon cake when the bell rang.

It was ten past three.

Daphne stood in the doorway in her cream cardigan.

She had a white cake box in both hands, tied with ribbon.

A man with a camera stood behind her, and I knew him from the tabloid.

"Hello, everyone," she said brightly.

The party went quiet from the door inward.

"I did say I'd bring the cake."

She walked to table nine, the only table with sun on it, and set the box down.

She untied the ribbon.

Inside was a tiramisu, with a single spoon laid across it.

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