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Island,” Thalia said. “Most guys her age are already married.”
    “What about Jack Rossi?” Thirty-eight and still, according to Meg, single. Virile. Lauren’s pulse picked up just thinking about him.
    “The chief? He’s not married. But he’s not that into her.”
    Lauren’s pulse fluttered again. “He comes in all the time.”
    Thalia snorted. “So does old Mr. Rogers.” Lauren recognized the name of one of the older bakery regulars. “That doesn’t make him Jane’s boyfriend.”
    “So Jane and Chief Rossi aren’t . . .”
Dating? Sleeping together?
“A couple?” Lauren hazarded.
    “Nope.” Thalia tilted her head. “Why? Are you, like, thinking of going out with him?”
    Was she? The thought was intriguing. Terrifying. That would certainly get her out of her rut.
    And into emotional quicksand.
    “I don’t know. Probably not,” Lauren said.
    “Why not? The chief’s kind of hot. For an old guy.”
    He hasn’t asked me
. But that was a—
haha
—cop-out. “We’re too different,” Lauren said.
    Thalia grinned again, perfectly comfortable now that they were off the subject of her boss’s love life and onto Lauren’s. “Well, you know what they say. Opposites attract.”
    “On a biological level, certainly. Women are hardwired to respond to chemical cues. Basically, we use smell to find mates who are genetically different from us, increasing the chances of survival for our potential offspring.”
    Maybe that explained her response to Jack Rossi.
It’s not me, it’s my DNA
. Not that she was going around offering to smell his armpits or have his babies or anything.
    “Cool,” Thalia said. “So is that, like, what you’re writing about?”
    No, because that would be interesting.
    “Not exactly,” Lauren said.
    The chimes jangled as two young mothers, six kids in tow, came into the shop.
    Thalia gave them a quick look before turning to Lauren. “Can I get you anything?”
    “Um.” Back to work. For both of them. However fascinating this discussion of Jack Rossi was, Lauren couldn’t take up Thalia’s time when she had other customers. On the other hand, she couldn’t sit for hours using the WiFi, taking up a table, nursing a single cup of coffee. You had to buy. “Maybe iced tea? And . . .” She surveyed the bright, glistening pastry case. “A chocolate croissant, please.”
    Thalia smiled. “You got it.”
    Lauren took her croissant, retreating to her table so that Thalia could serve the bakery’s other customers. But as the lunch crowd began to straggle in, it was clear that the teenager had more than she could handle. She shuttled between the register, the panini grill, and the espresso machine, making change, sandwiches, drinks, struggling to keep her head in the rising tide of orders. Lauren felt a twinge of sympathy. Jane’s errand must be taking longer than either of them had expected.
    A buzzer went off somewhere in the back of the bakery. Thalia threw a panicked glance toward the kitchen.
    Lauren moved without thinking. “I’ve got this,” she said to Thalia, sliding behind the counter. She pulled the portafilter from the espresso machine. “Go do what you need to do.”
    Thalia wavered. “But—”
    Lauren grinned and dispatched the spent grounds into the knockbox with a well-placed
thwack
. “I used to be a barista. But I can’t bake worth a damn. You’ll have to take care of whatever’s buzzing back there.”
    “It’s the bread.”
    “Okay.” Lauren tamped fresh coffee into the portafilter. “Don’t let it burn.”
    “Right.” Thalia smiled. “Thanks.”
    Thank you
, Lauren wanted to say. It felt good to be busy. Helpful. Heck, it felt good simply to be moving again.
    Jack Rossi’s dark, sardonic eyes gleamed.
Moving forward?
Or running away?
    She shoved the thought aside and turned to help the next customer.
    *   *   *
    J ANE C LARK LEFT the tiny branch bank, shaking in the aftermath of conflict.
    She’d promised herself that she