Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ISLA
The Thorn’s kitchen has never been so full of people.
And despite the whirlwind of the past week, my heart feels full. Really full. I glance around the room. Mom and Charlotte are at the bread station, pounding a massive mound of dough for the focaccia. Grace and Daisy are giggling together while they make shells for the macarons—I’ll fill them tomorrow before the festival. Dad is in charge of the cherry jam for the Bakewell tarts. I’ll make the croissants first thing in the morning. I’m doing one sweet (almond) and one savory (gruyere with ham). Caden is at the stand mixer working on the crust for the conchas—they’re Charlotte’s dad’s favorite pan dulce from his home in Mexico.
“Hey, cabron,” Charlotte calls to him teasingly. “Don’t fuck up those conchas or my dad will come for you.”
“Another dollar for the swear jar, Aunt Charlotte,” Grace says happily as my mother barely suppresses her sigh.
Charlotte holds up her hands. “Let me get this bread off my fingers first. You don’t want a yeasty dollar, do you?”
Grace wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”
“These smell amazing,” Daisy says, taking another tray of shells out of the oven as the timer beeps.
“Those are the peanut butter and jelly ones,” I tell her. “They were Grace’s idea.”
My sister beams.
“Am I doing this right?” Caden asks, looking down into the mixer with consternation. I check the consistency.
“Beat it just a little bit more,” I say. “You want it to be like a really smooth paste.”
“Isla, is this how the jam is supposed to look?” my dad asks, peering into a saucepan on the stove. I glance inside to see a hunk of overcooked cherries and burnt sugar. “I think I messed it up.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I say. “Try again. Keep the heat lower this time, so the sugar doesn’t burn.” I move back over to check on Caden’s progress. “Good thing we got extra cherries,” I say quietly.
“I got extra everything,” Caden says. “I didn’t trust myself to do anything right on the first try and I didn’t know what you were going to assign me.”
He did get more ingredients than we need. It was sweet the way we walked around Milton’s Market and he just kept piling things into the cart, like we were feeding the entire North Fork. I liked grocery shopping with him. I like showing him how to make concha crust. I like how easy things are between us again.
I try not to think about it too much though. He’s going back to Argentina soon.
Still, I can’t help standing a little closer to him than necessary. Letting my arm brush against his as I check the consistency of the crust. Leaning in to catch his scent.
“This is good,” I say. “Add the vanilla extract now and beat it on medium-low for about thirty seconds.”
“Want to time me?” he asks, his mouth quirking.
His face is so close to mine. The kitchen is spacious but with so many helpers, it feels like we’re all on top of each other. My gaze drops to his mouth and I remember that moment in the garage before Mike showed up. The tension that sizzled between us.
I turn away quickly, my cheeks flushing. There can be no sizzling. Caden has made it clear from the start that he’s not back in town for good. And besides, aren’t I meant to be a heartbroken ex-fiancée?
I haven’t been feeling that way though. Yes, there’s been gossip, and of course the pain of Luke’s betrayal…but heartbroken? I’ve been there once before, and it was nothing like this. That heartbreak was agony. This is like…well, if I’m being honest, it’s more like a sense of relief. Like some part of me knew deep down that Luke was never the right man for me.
“Isla, darling, is this right?” Mom asks and I quickly leave Caden’s side to check on the bread dough. I’m glad her arthritis is better today so she can help. I know she misses being in the kitchen.
“Great,” I say. “Now roll it into balls and wrap it up in cellophane. You want to wrap it twice, just to be sure it’s sealed up tight. Then we need to put them on a greased baking sheet and stick it in the freezer.”
“We’re going to run out of room in there,” Dad says as he starts his second attempt at the jam.
“You can keep some things in the freezer at our house,” Daisy pipes up. She and Grace have been attacking each other with buttercream, and there’s a big dollop on her left cheek that falls off when she smiles. “Oops,” she says as Grace cackles.
“Yeah,” Caden says. “We’ve got tons of room. Just tell us what to take and I can bring it back over tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“You’re blushing,” Charlotte mutters to me under her breath.
“No, I’m not,” I mutter back.
She shrugs. It’s a very smug shrug.
“Stop that,” I say.
“What?” She blinks at me innocently.
Just then, the front door opens.
“Oh, that could be a guest,” Mom says, wiping her hands on a towel and hurrying into the front room. She returns a moment later with Noah trailing behind her.
“Hi Noah,” I say. “Come to join the party?”
“Sadly, I can’t,” Noah says. “Got called into work today. But I wanted to come deliver the news myself in person.”
He glances at Daisy and then Caden.
“Forensics didn’t turn up anything on those letters,” he says sadly. “No fingerprints—well, except yours, Cade, and your mom’s. And no DNA. There’s just…nothing.”
It feels like a huge foot has stomped down on all the joy in the room. I’m stunned—how could there be nothing ?
Daisy looks crestfallen. Caden’s expression is hard to read.
“We’re still looking to see if there’s anything we can find out about the paper or where the note was printed,” Noah says. “And your dad is paying to send them out to an analyst to see if the language used can tell us anything about this person. They’re kind of weirdly written, so we’re hoping that could give us some clues.”
“And how long is that going to take?” Caden snaps.
“I don’t know.” Noah sighs and shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cade. I was hoping this would lead to something more.”
A mournful silence fills the room.
“Thanks for coming to tell me,” Caden says tightly. Daisy is pushing a blob of buttercream around on the island, her cheeks pink, her eyes watery.
“Yeah, thanks Noah,” she says.
“It’s still a lead,” Noah says. “It’s still more information than we’ve had before. We’re going to reinterview everyone who was at the party. And Marion’s friends. The sheriff is hopeful that she told someone about these letters. Someone out there knows something, Cade. We’ll find them.”
Caden nods but there’s no hope in it. The mood has soured as we finish up the rest of the prep. Charlotte and I help Daisy bring out some things to keep at Everton and when I get back into the kitchen, Mom is talking quietly to Caden.
I can’t hear what she’s saying but then she pats his shoulder, and he gives a tiny shudder. A fraction of release.
“Thanks, Ellen,” I hear him say quietly.
“You’ve done so much,” Mom says. “I have faith this is all going to work out.”
Caden gives her a bleak smile. “I hope so. Oh, and I’ll call Dr. Grant next week. Get you that appointment.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” Mom says even as my heart leaps. Dr. Grant is the top rheumatologist in the city. She never has appointments available. Seeing her could be a game changer for my mom. It’s what Caden promised to do five years ago.
Caden smiles at her grimly. “It’s the least I can do,” he says. He turns and shakes my dad’s hand.
“See you tomorrow,” Dad says.
Caden looks up at me—his face is haggard, all the lightness from the afternoon drained out of him. I don’t want him to leave like this.
I don’t want him to leave my side at all.
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Walk me home?” I ask.
He blinks. A tiny flicker of that earlier joy shows briefly in his eyes.
“Sure,” he says.
We head out to the porch. Charlotte is getting into her car. “Want a ride?” she calls but I shake my head.
“Caden’s going to walk me,” I say.
“Okay,” Charlotte says, but when Caden’s back is turned she waggles her eyebrows.
I shake my head sharply. Nothing is going to happen—he’s leaving soon for good. I’m not about to open myself up to that hurt again. She holds up her phone. I nod. I’ll text her later.
We head down Main Street in the shade of the sugar maples. The silence billows between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a silence of frustration. Of lack of answers.
“Well, this sucks,” I say.
Caden gives a surprised chuckle. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He sighs. “It feels so pointless, you know? We’ve gotten all these new leads, new evidence, and for what? Nothing’s changed.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “You’ve changed a lot. You’ve got the police actively investigating again! We just don’t have all the pieces yet.”
“How many more pieces could there be?”
“I don’t know. But I’m betting on Junior Detective Everton.”
He glances at me, and a gentle smile pulls at his lips. It makes my stomach shiver.
“You are quite the optimist.”
“I am indeed. Especially for someone with a broken engagement.”
Caden’s expression turns grim. “If you feel like he needs punching again, I’m happy to offer my services.”
“Nah, he’s not worth it.”
He shoots me a sideways look. “You seem to be taking it in stride.”
“Do I?” I gaze up at the leaves rustling overhead. “I should probably be sadder about it,” I murmur. “But after the initial shock, I’ve felt this sense of…lightness. Like I knew all along he wasn’t my person.”
Caden goes quiet beside me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s true.
“The world is your oyster,” he says after a moment.
“I hope I find the pearl.”
He gives me another sideways glance. “You are the pearl,” he says quietly.
I have the strongest urge to hold his hand. But I can’t give into that feeling.
He’s leaving soon, he’s leaving soon… I chant the words in my mind like a mantra.
As we enter the center of town, the sidewalks get more crowded, bustling with tourists.
“Hey guys,” Dev says, standing outside the Grater Good with a tray of samples. “Fresh pecorino? Just got it in yesterday.”
Caden and I each take a slice.
“Amazing,” I say.
Dev beams. “I wanted to thank you again for the booth,” he says to Caden. “It’s perfect. And Isla, I can’t wait to try all your delectable treats! I bet they’ll be the Brie’s knees.”
I laugh as Caden rolls his eyes good naturedly. A few tourists stop at the shop and Dev offers them the samples. Caden and I pass Perks, and Pamela Kim waves at us through the large front windows as she works the espresso machine. Emily Cochran is chatting with some other girls at one table while Mrs. Greerson does the crossword at another, occasionally glowering over at Emily’s table when the girls get too noisy.
Across the street, the windows of the Crooked Screw are thrown open and I see Jake wiping down the bar as Linda May brings a bottle of wine to a couple sitting outside.
“Hey guys!” she calls to us. “Coming in for a drink?”
“Maybe later,” I call back.
For one moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place. The sun hangs like a fat lemon gumdrop in a cloudless sky. The breeze off the bay scents the air with a faint, salty tang. I’m surrounded by people I’ve known my whole life, people who are like family. Caden is beside me, warmly greeting Lyle Watson as he walks some of the rescue dogs that live at Furever Friends. Caden’s arm brushes mine as we walk past the green. More booths are being set up. Booths Caden built with his own hands. For me. For this town.
It feels like I’m in exactly the right place, in a way I haven’t felt in ages.
In five years, if I’m being precise.
I glance up at Caden and he’s looking down at me, his eyes scorching like silver-blue flames. I swallow hard, my gaze tracing the sharp angles of his jaw. His hand twitches, his fingers brushing my knuckles. Was it on purpose? My throat has suddenly gone very tight.
Before I know it, we’re standing outside the door to my apartment. A need has blossomed between my thighs, hot and pulsing. Caden looms over me, casting a long shadow against the railing. His jaw tics. The silence around us is heavy with all the things we aren’t saying to each other.
I should not want him like this. He’s leaving. I’ll only be hurt again. And isn’t there some requisite mourning period for a broken engagement? But I don’t feel in mourning. I feel free. As my eyes snag on the crook of Caden’s lips, then follow the curve of his neck down to the dent at the base of his collarbone, I feel an ache bloom in my chest, an unbridled need that I’ve been repressing for so very long.
I throw caution to the wind. I’ve survived him leaving before. And I want this. I want him.
Caden takes one step closer to me. His hand comes up to sweep my hair over my shoulder. His fingertips brush against the slope of my neck and something ignites inside me. I gasp, the tiniest of inhales.
“Isla,” Caden murmurs. He fills my vision. He is everything.
My hand lifts to rest against his chest, his heart pounding beneath the hard curve of muscle. I lick my lips. I want him so badly it makes my teeth ache and my skin sing.
I tilt my head up to him.
He looks at me, one eyebrow cocked. A request. An invitation.
“Please,” I whisper.
His lips brush mine, softly at first, tentative, like he’s waiting for me to stop him. His mouth is warm and soft, and when he pulls away, I ache at the loss.
“Isla,” he says again, my name like a prayer, like an offering.
I grab his shirt by the collar and pull him into me.