Author: Kristan Higgins

I sigh and, as usual, am ignored.

Grinelda takes another bite of brownie. “Pete says do what you need to do. But don’t do anything you don’t need to do.”

“Huh,” Iris grunts. “You know, that makes sense. The truth is, I don’t really want to date anyone.”

I sigh again, more loudly, and throw in an eye roll for emphasis.

Iris spares me a glance. “What else, Grinelda? Don’t mind the youngster here.”

But Grinelda is looking at me through the acrid smoke of her cigar. “You,” she says, frowning. “Jimmy’s telling you to check the toast.” She frowns, her face cracking into a hundred folds of age-spotted skin. My aunts frown as well, clearly displeased that I haven’t heeded my otherworldly message.

“Can’t I get something better than that, Grinelda? Something about true love never dying?” I ask.

Then Rose gasps. “Check the toast…or check the bread!” she squeals. “The bread man! The one who looks like Jimmy! Oh! My! God!”

“The bread man! Dear Lord!” Iris trumpets. “That’s what he meant! Check the bread, right, Grinelda?”

Even my mother looks flabbergasted.

Granted, my faith in Grinelda is wafer-thin, but ice seems to be flooding my stomach right now. The Black Widows are beside themselves…the bread man, yes, yes, the bread man!…and I have to admit, it’s a little spooky. Matt DeSalvo does look like Jimmy…I’m not the only one who thinks so. And Matt does deal in toast. Sort of.

“It’s a sign,” Rose coos. “Jimmy wants you to marry the bread man.”

“I’m not marrying the bread man,” I say firmly, though my voice sounds a little distant.

“Why? You’re the one who wanted a new husband,” Iris says in the same tone that she might say, You’re the one who wanted to pee in the street.

“The bread man looks like her dead husband,” Rose informs Grinelda.

“Which she’d already know, being psychic and all,” I say automatically. Still, I can’t help but wonder if there’s really something here. If Jimmy’s trying to tell me not to date his brother—

“So? What’s the plan, then?” Iris asks. “Are you going to ask him out?”

“You should, Lucy,” Rose seconds.

Then I give myself a mental shake. “Let’s drop it, okay?”

“But you are meeting the bread man later, aren’t you?” Mom asks. “I heard you on the phone.”

I bite my lip and swallow. It’s time to acknowledge Ethan here, but the words are hard to get out of my throat. The pebble is back. “The truth is,” I say, and my voice is shaky, “I’ve actually been—”

“I’m getting an R,” Grinelda says in her scraping voice. “Ronnie? No. Robbie.”

“It’s your Robbie!” Iris and Rose chorus, their heads whipping to my mother.

Any interest in me is swept aside as my father reaches out from beyond the grave. “Robbie’s glad you still look so good,” Grinelda tells my mother, who preens noticeably and gives Iris a satisfied smirk.

“Does he think she should get spider venom shot in her face?” Iris asks.

I head back to the kitchen to start the afternoon bread order. “I’m dating Ethan,” I tell Jorge.

He raises his eyebrows, then gives a nod.

“Did you know, Jorge?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

I drum my fingers on the countertop. “What do you think? Me dating my dead husband’s brother?” I ask. “Weird? Maudlin? Gross? Or does it make complete sense to you?”

Jorge shrugs, smiles a little, giving me a flash of his gold tooth. For the millionth time, I wish he’d just write something down if he can’t talk. Then again, he might not be able to write. Jorge’s mysteries go quite deep.

“Well, thanks for your input,” I tell him. He pats me on the shoulder and fires up the oven.

I ARRIVE AT LENNY’S TWO MINUTES BEFORE seven. Matt DeSalvo is already there, standing in the doorway, being ignored by the staff, as is traditional.

“Hi, Lucy! Thank you so much for meeting me,” he says the minute he sees me. He bends and kisses my cheek, making me blush furiously. “Sorry,” he says, grinning. “Here.” He extends his hand and shakes mine firmly. “Good to see you.”

I laugh. “Good to see you, too. Let’s grab a table.”

“The sign says Please Wait To Be Seated,” he observes.

“The sign lies. They’ll just ignore us until we starve to death,” I tell him. I lead him to a table in the back, blushing again as he holds the chair for me.

Roxanne tosses some cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin as we take our seats. “Whaddya want?” she asks.

“Hey there, how are you?” Matt asks, naive as a newborn kitten to the ways of Lenny’s surly staff. When she fails to answer, he asks, “Um, do you have a wine list we could take a look at?”

“No,” she growls. “White, red, pink. Full bar. Whaddya want?”

“How about two dirty martinis?” I suggest, remembering Ethan’s last happy hour with my aunts. It sounds sophisticated, and the truth is, I’m a little nervous. Also, I’m wearing one of my La Perla bra and panty sets (don’t even ask what it cost, it’s just too shameful). But it seemed about time I wore something nicer, even if the lace is a little itchy. And I do feel pretty…I even cut the tags off a beautiful pale pink cashmere cardigan with black buttons, which I’ve paired with a short, swirly black skirt, silver dangly earrings and yes, my Stuart Weitzman kitten heels. I wanted to look like someone with a little business savvy. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Not only is Matt DeSalvo an executive with a big grocery store, but he also represents a huge shift in my own status as a baker. NatureMade is a prestigious store, on par with Whole Foods, if much smaller. This deal could keep Bunny’s alive for the foreseeable future, as well as bump up my own status.

And Matt DeSalvo’s really cute. And he looks like Jimmy. And he’s the bread man. And maybe my dead husband wants me to date him.

“Did you grow up in Mackerly?” Matt asks, and I tell him, yes, I sure did. We chat amiably about our families, sip our cocktails. The dirty martini tastes like something you’d drink if your airplane crashed in the Sahara and the only fluid available to you was leaking out of the engine block, but it does go a long way in relaxing me. We order a few stuffies to start off with, earning us another disgusted look from Roxanne, since now she’ll have to make an extra trip to our table. She doesn’t approve of appetizers.

Despite Roxanne being Roxanne, Matt continues to try to ease himself into her good graces, not realizing she doesn’t have any. Jimmy, too, was always a sweetheart to waitresses, both at Gianni’s and anywhere else we might eat, always chatting them up and asking what they’d recommend, where they were from. Matt also seems to find me really charming. Just like Jimmy.

We’re halfway through our main courses (steak for me, salmon for Matt) when I hear Ethan’s voice. I look past Matt, and there he is, talking to Tommy Malloy. He looks up, smiles at me, and once again, guilt flashes its hot brand across my gut. I wave. “Ethan just got here,” I say to Matt. I’d mentioned Ethan earlier in the conversation…as Jimmy’s brother and a fellow food executive. Not as my boyfriend. Say something, idiot! my conscience orders in a shocked voice. I don’t. “I told him to join us.”

“Great!” says Matt, seeming sincere.

Then I look back at Ethan and feel something else…I missed him. Haven’t seen him for four days now, and as he approaches, weaving through the crowded restaurant, I recall the goodbye kiss he gave me the other day, the heat that flowed through me, the way I kissed him back, almost making him miss his flight.

“Hi,” I say, standing up and kissing him quickly on the cheek. I give him a hug, too. Matt DeSalvo can draw his own conclusions.

“Hi,” he says, and though it’s just one word, his voice reverberates inside me. He touches my arm, and a wave of lust rises hot and fast, making my knees feel a little unreliable. Ethan’s lips curl into that slight, knowing smile, and those knees turn to mush.

Then Ethan looks at Matt, and his smile falls. “Jesus,” he breathes.

“Ethan, this is Matt DeSalvo. Matt, this is Ethan Mirabelli.” I bite my lip. Ethan stares, his face pale.

“Hi there,” Matt says, half rising and extending his hand. “I’m told I look a lot like your brother. Sorry.”

“No, no,” Ethan says, recovering a bit. “But…wow. At first glance, yes.” He clears his throat. “Nice meeting you.”

“Have a seat,” Matt says. “Lucy says you’re in the food business as well.” I’m glad he mentions this, as now Ethan will see that I talked about him. It makes whatever lingering guilt I’m feeling dissipate almost entirely.

“That’s right. I’m in marketing at International Food Products,” Ethan answers.

“Makers of Instead?” Matt asks.

“That’s right.”

Matt’s eyebrows rise. “I’ve heard of your company, of course.” He glances at me with a little smile. “So, Ethan, what do you think of Bunny’s going big time?”

Ethan glances at me, then back at Matt. “I think Lucy will make the right decision,” he says a trifle awkwardly.

“Ethan, sit,” I urge.

“Actually I’ll let you two finish your dinner.” He can’t seem to stop looking at Matt. “I told Nicky I’d drop by.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay. Tell him hi for me.”

“Will do. Matt, nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Matt says. They shake hands once more. Then Ethan gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and with that, he’s gone.

“Nice guy,” Matt says, watching him go.

“Yes,” I answer. “Very nice.” I pause. “He’s very close with his son.”

“As it should be,” Matt replies, smiling. “I love kids myself. Would love to be a dad someday.”

ETHAN IS QUIET WHEN HE COMES BY LATER that night. My head is swimming…not so much with details of a bread distribution contract, but with how much Matt reminds me of Jimmy. Maybe it’s nostalgia, but the whole time, I’d felt an unnerving tingle with Matt DeSalvo.

“When you said he looked like Jimmy…” Ethan says, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I didn’t really think about it.” He sits on my couch and stares at the rug.

“Kind of strange, wasn’t it?” I ask.

“Kind of something,” Ethan answers.

“So,” I say. “We talked about the bread. Seems like a good thing.” Ethan nods but says nothing. “How was your trip?” I ask.

Fat Mikey jumps up next to Ethan and headbutts him fondly. “It was fine,” Ethan says, petting my cat.

“You said the hotel was nice,” I remind him.

“It was. Very nice.”

He looks a little lonely sitting there, scratching Fat Mikey’s ragged ears, and I try to imagine what it felt like, to see someone who looked so much like his brother…and how much he must miss Jimmy. Poor Ethan.

“I missed you,” I tell him, and he looks up fast, making my heart squeeze.

“Did you?” he asks, his lovely smile curling his lips.

“Yes, I did,” I say, trying for a sultry tone and blushing a little. Rising to my feet, I stand in front of him, glad I’m wearing a short skirt and pretty underwear (and trying to forget that I donned these because of my dinner with Matt). I slip the top button of my sweater from the hole. “Very much,” I add, raising an eyebrow.