Chapter 19: Mine

The bakery smelled of butter and burnt sugar, and nothing about it had changed.

Becky stood inside the door with her heart going hard.

Five women in aprons looked up from the counter, and the oldest dropped a tray of shortbread.

"You're alive," she said. "You married a billionaire and you didn't tell us."

"I didn't know he was a billionaire when I asked him," Becky said.

They crowded her, all talking at once.

The one who had once left a lemon tart in front of her without a word held on the longest.

She said nothing at all.

Behind her the door opened, and a cane thumped across the tile.

"I was told there would be cake," Wendell said.

"Mr. Strathmore." Becky stared at him. "You're supposed to be at the lake."

"I'm seventy-one, girl, not dead. Which of these is the tart? I've heard a great deal."

The oldest woman put a plate in front of him without a word.

He ate it standing, with his eyes closed.

"I withdraw my objection to your trade," he said. "Kendrick can keep his hotels."

The owner came out of the back, gray and apologetic, with a folder.

"The buyer wants the corner for a pharmacy. He wants the shop gone by Friday."

She looked at Becky.

"I'm sorry. I can't afford to keep it myself."

"What would it cost me to buy the shop?" Becky asked.

"Not the building. The shop, the ovens, the name, the lease on the front."

The owner named a number.

It was a sum Becky had never held in her hands.

"I'll cover it," Wendell said. "For the girls. For the tart."

"No."

"Becky."

"Thank you, and no." She smiled at him, and it was a real one. "I need this to be mine."

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