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sweetest man,” she says, smiling like a coy schoolgirl. It’s no secret that Sullivan Grace has always liked my father. “No, no. I’m talking about the Upper Crust.”
    “Upper what ?”
    “Honestly, Lillie, have you heard nothing I’ve said? Sometimes I don’t know where your head is at,” she says, adjusting the strand of heirloom pearls around her neck. “The Upper Crust is Junior League’s annual charity baking competition. You’ll make Elizabeth’s peach cobbler recipe, of course.”
    Baking competition?
    Peach cobbler?
    “Are you crazy?” I say, my voice rising. “I’m not doing that.”
    “Don’t be silly, dear,” she says. “Jackson already signed you up!”
    My mouth drops open and a disbelieving laugh spills out. The jingling bell above the door interrupts my protest. A voice I never thought I’d hear again flitters into the Prickly Pear. It’s a voice I heard nearly every day for twenty years until the night everything broke apart. Nick’s voice.
    The blood drains from my face, and panic bubbles up in my chest, crushing my lungs. My heart pounds a two-beat bass line, so loud I’m sure even the barista can hear it. A roaring, rushing noise fills my ears.
    When I left Dallas, he was a second-year resident at Baylor Medical Hospital, sleeping on cots, living in scrubs, and eating cold cafeteria food. All so he could someday call himself a surgeon. Now he’s here, in the last place I expected.
    Inhaling sharply, I keep my focus on Sullivan Grace’s pearl necklace. Don’t look at him. I peek anyway. I can’t help it. He looks exactly as I remember, but older and somehow even more handsome in that striking way I’ve always found devastating. A hum of electricity runs through me.
    He’s standing in the doorway chatting with Candy Cotton, a diner regular from my high school days. Hovering at least two heads over her, he nods politely at something she says. Candy must be pushing ninety and almost deaf by now. I watch as she pats his cheeks with gnarled fingers, then pulls him down by an earlobe, yelling something in his face that brings out his signature crooked grin, followed by a laugh.
    My breath catches as I gape at him, mesmerized. Somewhere in the background I hear Sullivan Grace droning on, her words a monotone “wah-wah-wah” like Miss Othmar from the Peanuts comics. I’m too fascinated by the sound of his laughter to speak. It comes from deep in his chest—full and real.
    That laugh was once my favorite thing about him. The warmth of it. How it made the world seem limitless and bright. But like everything else that fell by the wayside once he started medical school, that laugh eventually faded away into silence.
    A weight settles on me and I jump, blinking at Sullivan Grace’s hand resting on my arm.
    “Are you paying attention, dear?”
    When I don’t answer, she snaps her fingers in front of my nose and scrutinizes me like I’ve stuck my head inside an oven and turned on the broiler.
    Maybe I have. Nothing else makes sense.
    Sullivan Grace sighs. “Lillie Claire?”
    My name hangs in the air. Nick’s gaze shifts in my direction, and the smile disappears from his face. Every alarm in my body sounds.
    Before I can run for cover, he’s walking over. Then he’s in front of me, studying me with those piercing blue eyes that can see right into me. I refuse to look away. Looking away is weakness. Looking him in the eye is a challenge, a silent way of letting him know I’m not the girl I was before, the girl who lost herself.
    Then he speaks, steady and controlled. “Hello, Lillie.”
    My confidence fizzles away. I’m not sure what I expected after . . . everything, but his simple greeting definitely isn’t it.
    “Hello, Nick.” My voice sounds weird and shaky.
    His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my clothes, my hair, my face. My heartbeat speeds up as little pinpricks travel up and down my body, vibrating with energy. I hate how he can still affect me like