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when do you bake, Ruby?”
    “Since this morning,” Ruby says, smiling, all rosy-cheeked apple-pie innocent. “Somebody needs to show this sweet British boy some American hospitality. You ran off and left him all alone last night.”
    I stand there sputtering like a fish caught on a line. There’s so much I want to say but I’m afraid I’ll scream or cry or pull someone’s mermaid hair out. “I’ll talk to you later,” I say to Will.
    “Sure,” he says. “I’ll be here.”
    Salty Dog whimpers, but stays.
    “Traitor,” I mumble under my breath, and turn to leave.
    “Willa, wait,” Tina says, standing, her former-best-friend guilt finally surfacing. “Want some breakfast?”
    “No, thanks. I’ve got to go to work.”
    “Oh, that’s too bad,” Ruby says, feigning sincerity. Her family’s so rich; she’ll never have to work. “It’s such a nice day.”
    “Shut up, Ruby,” I snap.
    “Uh-oh,” Will says. He laughs, eyebrows raised, surprised at me.
    “You, too,” I say to him, and storm off.
    I hate when people laugh at me.

CHAPTER 10
Off to the Vineyard
    The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
    — Samuel Taylor Coleridge
    Rosie is on kitchen duty when I get back to the inn. Rosie is in her early twenties. Thin, pretty, a single mom. An unbelievably talented baker. I keep telling her she should write cookbooks and have her own television show. My mother gets mad when I say these things because she doesn’t want to lose Rosie as an employee.
    “Good morning, Willa,” Rosie shouts over the bustle of the busy kitchen.
    “Morning, Rosie,” I say without much enthusiasm.
    “Rough night?” Rosie asks, coming over next to me, drying her hands on a towel.
    “Yeah, sort of,” I say.
    “Here, sit and have breakfast,” she says. “You’ll feel better.”
    Rosie puts a gigantic muffin, steam rising, still warm from the oven, on a plate. She pours me a glass of orange juice. “And I’ll make you some tea. You’ve got time.”
    “You don’t have to wait on me, Rosie. You’ve got plenty to do.”
    “It’s my pleasure,” Rosie says. “I’m happy to.”
    The muffin smells divine. My mouth waters as I spread a bit of butter across the top. Rosie is so talented with breads and pies and cookies, pretty much anything you make in an oven, but her pièce de résistance is cake.
    Our friend, Chickles Blazer, Suzanna’s mother, was so impressed with the cake Rosie baked for her daughter Suzanna’s wedding that she said she was going to “make her famous.” I noticed Rosie got a letter with a return address from Mrs. Blazer last month. Rosie hasn’t mentioned anything. I wonder what’s up.
    I take a bite.
Pop-pop-pop
… sweet and tart berry flavors explode like fireworks in my mouth. “Oh, my gosh, Rosie, this is delicious. How many different berries are in here?” I swallow and take another bite, have a sip of juice. What a lucky duck I am to have food like this every day.
    “Let’s see,” Rosie says, “raspberries, blueberries, strawberries. Vanilla almond cake batter. I thought itwould make a nice red, white, and blue theme for the holiday.”
    “Oh, that’s right. Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July.”
    “You don’t seem excited,” Rosie says.
    I think about JFK, how we would have watched the fireworks somewhere together. Why hasn’t he called me? “I’m sure I’ll do something with my friends,” I say. Tina said that Ruby and the other Bramble Burner cheerleaders are planning a bonfire on the beach. A bunch of girls from school — Caroline, Lauren, Emily, Shefali, and Chandler—are bringing food. Our friends Luke and Jessie might get their band, The Buoy Boys, to play. At the very least there will be boom boxes, and everyone will end up dancing; budding bestselling authors Tina and Ruby will dance with college lifeguards if they get their holiday wish.
    I picture Tina and Ruby serving