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you to the world of baked goods?”
    “I’m helping Bernie out,” I said, since it was the truth. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about my plan to hurry through my dad’s frustrating Carpe Diem list so I could buy the bakery. Spotting a fork under a table, I bent down and picked it up then put it in the dirty silverware bin. “I worked here for a few years in college, so I told Bernie I’d fill in as manager.”
    “You’re just ‘filling in’ as a manager? Must be nice.” Her tone was suddenly laced with sarcasm, which irritated me. Although, I supposed my casual approach to managing the bakery could come across as a bit snooty to someone working as a barista.
    “What’s your story?” I asked. Normally, I wouldn’t pry into someone’s private life. But Avery had felt fine prying into mine so I figured it was fair play. I fully expected her to clam up and give me one of those “back off” looks.
    Instead, she shrugged, and said a little wistfully, “You know the drill. Bad relationship. Even worse break-up. Now I’m starting over in a new city. Yada-yada.”
    “Wow.” Not the most revealing answer, but I was kind of surprised she’d opened up to me at all. Women only opened up to me . . . well, pretty much never. Except for Mary Ann the other night, who’d opened up to me big-time. Was something in the air? “I’m sorry to hear about all of that, but change can be good.”
    Unless it’s the kind of change that forces you complete an entire list of tasks that make poking your eye out with a marshmallow stick sound preferable. Ugh. Why did I have to think about the word “marshmallow” when those deliciously tempting marshmallow fudge bars were only a few steps away?
    Maybe they were all gone. I certainly was not going to check.
    “Interesting.” Avery’s voice held her signature humorous tone.
    My gaze snapped over to her. “What’s interesting?”
    She glanced up at the clock on the wall, then leaned against the broom handle she was holding. “That look on your face. I’m dying to know what you were thinking. Care to share?”
    Normally my answer would be a firm “no.” But I’d been holding in all of the day’s events, so I found myself taking a deep breath. “My dad died when I was fourteen. This morning, my mom gave me a letter from him containing a Carpe Diem list he wants me to complete. I’m not looking forward to completing the tasks, but I don’t have a choice.”
    She swept the broom across the floor in short pushes even though I remembered her sweeping that area about fifteen minutes ago. “What’s on the list?” she asked.
    My stomach knotted. “For one, host a girls’ night, which sounds like torture.”
    “That’s kind of an odd thing for a dad to ask.” She squatted down, then swept a few specks of dirt into the dust pan. “But what’s the problem? Invite some people over.”
    I sighed, humiliated by what I was about to admit. “I’m afraid nobody would show up. I wasn’t exactly popular at my last job.”
    “That doesn’t surprise me.” She suddenly froze, then glanced over at me, seeming to notice that my jaw had pretty much hit the floor. “Sorry. That totally slipped out. But you had to know that about yourself, right? I mean, look at you. No hair out of place, size four I’m guessing, and you’ve got to be glossing off and on all day in the bathroom because nobody’s lip shine lasts that long. Anyway, women tend to find that kind of perfection intimidating.”
    I blinked in shock, wondering if that could be true. “When I was young, girls used to call me ‘Marshmallow Melinda’ because I’d been kind of pudgy. I’m committed to leaving that nickname far behind forever.”
    “Mission achieved.” She emptied the specks of dirt from the dustpan into the garbage then glanced at the clock on the wall again, making me wonder if she was in a hurry to leave. “Girls can be cruel. I won’t even get into all of the names I was called when I