“He likes to pull pranks,” Cal said, a delighted smile on his lips. “Now, Esa!”
And suddenly, there was a loud bang as the firecrackers ignited, causing Sameera to jump what felt like a foot in the air. “Eek!” she screeched.
Another one went off, and she waved her hands in the air. The boys were falling over themselves laughing at her reaction, and she realized they had the camera aimed right at her. “Why are you filmingmeeeeeee,” she said, the final word combined with a shriek when the last one went off.
“They thought it might be funnier to watch someone react to the firecrackers rather than filming them explode,” Tom said with a smile.
“I disagree,” Sameera said, her heart pounding.
“Wait until you see the edited version set to music,” Esa said. “You look hilarious!”
Once her heart had calmed down, Sameera could see the humor. And watching her brother enjoy himself was almost worth her humiliation. She met his grin with her own. Scratch that—it was definitely worth it.
But then Esa’s smile slowly faded, and he took a step back, his usual cool reserve slotting into place. “I’m sure you’re busy with work,Sameera. Cal, let’s go look at the footage.” He took off for the main house without waiting for her to reply, his new friend following close behind.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring at her brother’s retreating form, but when Tom placed a hand on her shoulder, she jumped.
“That was fun,” she said brightly. “Thanks for helping Esa. He’s got plenty of enthusiasm, and I think your suggestion that he focus on his strengths is a good one.” Her voice sounded brittle even to her own ears, and from the gentle expression on Tom’s face, he knew she was masking her pain at Esa’s dismissal.
She couldn’t stand to be an object of pity, and she rushed to change the subject. “Esa’s right. I have a lot of work to do,” she said, though the thought of heading back to the guesthouse to lock herself away for the rest of the day now made her feel sad.
After another careful glance at her face, Tom said, “I could use a walk. Want to check out Main Street instead?”
The email from HR, written in the carefully terrifying language that only a department responsible for discipline and firings could achieve, flashed in front of her eyes, and a feeling of despair flooded her senses. If she didn’t clear her head first, she knew she would sit at the small desk in her room and catastrophize for hours. She would work all evening to make up for this little break, she decided, trying to tamp down her guilt. All night, if necessary.
“A walk sounds nice,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Tom.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tom eased the black pickup truck into a parking spot off the main road and cut the engine. The tiny village of Wolf Run looked even more charming this afternoon, with picturesque storefronts, the streetlamps decorated with red ribbons and green ferns. Evidence of the Cooke family’s legacy, as Rob had boasted, were everywhere: an old-fashioned post office, with brass-laid windows and a curlicued sign thatreadCooke Copy and Ship, while Cooke Convenience and Cooke’s Best Gifts rubbed shoulders across the street. Even the local bank was owned by the Cooke family. The main strip had other stores as well: an ice cream shop, now closed for the season, a beautiful apothecary that sold locally made natural supplements ... Sameera ogled the window display of Hilda’s Bakery, with its mouthwatering selection of breads, pastries, and cakes.
“Let’s start here,” Sameera said, and Tom followed her inside after only a slight hesitation. She frowned at him, wondering what was wrong, before mentally shaking her head. Tom’s mood wasn’t her problem, because he wasn’t her boyfriend. She was just feeling sensitive after her interaction with Esa; that was all. Luckily, the delicious pastry on display served to be a wonderful distraction, and she perked up at the sight of the walnut brioche bread, Danish, and homemade pies. At the register, she ordered a nutmeg latte and three pastries to go. She turned to ask Tom what he wanted. He had his head lowered and his hat pulled low over his eyes. Almost as if he were trying to hide.
She was about to ask what he was doing when the older woman behind the register, dressed in jeans, a wool sweater, and an apron, made a squawk of outrage. Emerging from behind the counter, she stalked over to Tom, and Sameera noted that her forearms were as big as his. “Tom Cooke, you damn fool. Were you really going to walk by without saying hello?”
Sameera was certain the older woman was seconds away from grasping Tom by the ear, when he sheepishly introduced her as Hilda, the owner of the bakery. The woman examined Sameera thoroughly. “Aren’t you a beauty,” she remarked before poking Tom with enough force to drive him back a step. “You back in town for good this time?”
Tom reached for Sameera’s hand and gave it a squeeze, taking her by surprise, the contact sparking a burst of electricity that left her fingers tingling. “We’re only here for a few days. We plan to head back home in the new year.” Sameera tried not to glare at Tom. It was one thing to pretend to be together for a hypothetical social media audience,another entirely to keep their showmance going in person. She kept silent when Tom squeezed her hand once more before letting go. She instantly missed his touch, which only made her more annoyed.
Hilda frowned at Tom. “This is home, honey, whether you like it or not.” She turned to Sameera and smiled in welcome. “I keep trying to get this one to take over my business. He worked part-time for me when he was a boy. Best pastry chef I ever had. With your vision and work ethic, you could take Hilda’s global, Tom.”
Tom’s smile was strained. “Did my dad put you up to this?”
Hilda laughed at that. “Honey, you know your daddy and I don’t see eye to eye on much.” A sly expression crossed her face. “I bet it would piss him off plenty if you took over the bakery and not one of his businesses.” She leaned over to Sameera, voice lowered conspiratorially. “Rob likes to boast about how long his family has been settled in Wolf Run. He forgets there were people here way before his kind. I like to remind him about that every chance I get.”
“Hilda is Dena’ina Athabascan on her mother’s side,” Tom explained, referencing one of the many Indigenous tribes native to Alaska. “As much as I would love to annoy Dad, I’m settled in Atlanta. Now that I’ve met Sameera, I have another reason to stay.”
His words made Sameera’s face heat with embarrassment and confusion. This wasn’t part of their agreement, and resentment flared. She had told Tom she wouldn’t lie for him. She had spent too many years of her life deceiving those closest to her, with catastrophic results.
The look Hilda threw Tom now was speculative, but she said nothing, only hugging Tom once more. “I’m happy for the both of you. Hope you’ll stop by for a proper visit before you leave again.” She waved away Sameera’s payment and added a few more walnut brioches, complaining that Tom was too skinny. As they were about to leave, she called Tom back. “Emily is in town, visiting her ma. Thought you’d like to know.”
Sameera waited until they were on the sidewalk to confront Tom. She shoved the bag of pastry at him and glared. “You can keep your guilt pastries. I want nothing to do with them.”
Tom stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “What did I do?” he asked, and she wanted to take the white pastry bag back, just so she could pelt him with the contents. Though that would be a waste of Hilda’s efforts.
She snatched the bag back and savagely bit into a walnut brioche; her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. Hilda was a genius and didn’t deserve to have a lying liar like Tom in her life. She resolved to immediately replace him in Hilda’s affections.
“Our fake romance is for your social media audience only. I didn’t consent to fake dating you IRL. You’re reneging on the terms of our agreement, Thomas Tipper Cooke,” she said.
Understanding, followed by embarrassment, instantly flooded into his eyes, and Tom stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, inviting more than a few stares. She had noticed how much attention they had gathered since they’d arrived on Main Street. It was hard to ignore the lingering looks and whispers as they walked:Is that Tom? Is the Cooke boy finally home?
