Free Second Time Around by Beth Kendrick

on a silver platter.”
    “That is so clever,” declared a postmodern flower child with long brown hair, a batik skirt, and the subtle but unmistakable air of wealth. “And it all looks delectable. Tell me, what are these over here?”
    “Those are little slices of Election Cake. It’s sort of like fruitcake; they used to bake it in New England on Election Day. Lots of butter and brandy.” Anna overcame her reticence and started to enjoy the opportunity to share her passion for baking with an enthusiastic audience. “These are called ammonia cookies. Don’t be alarmed, I wasn’t pouring cleaning fluid into the dough! They’re just peppermint sugar cookies made with baker’s ammonia instead of baking soda. And here we have Victoria Sandwiches, which are basically layers of cream and strawberry jam between sponge cakes. Popular in Britain during Queen Victoria’s reign.”
    The flower child took a nibble and closed her eyes in a display of culinary ecstasy. “These are heavenly. Do you have your own bakery?”
    “No. I’m what you might call a dessert dilettante.”
    The older woman in the purple dress wagged her index finger. “Don’t sell yourself short, young lady. I know a thing or two about baking. It’s an art and a science.”
    “I suppose,” Anna said.
    Jamie slung her arm around Anna. “I always knew she was destined for greatness. We were housemates back in our college days. Both English majors.”
    “But you’re baking cakes now?” one of the student waiters asked as he passed by with a tray of empty water glasses.
    “Yep,” Jamie said.
    “And she’s an event planner,” Anna said. “We English majors are very versatile.”
    “Cool.” The waiter nodded. “That gives me hope.”
    “Why? You’re an English major, too?” Jamie motioned for him to pause so she could adjust his crooked black bow tie.
    “Yeah, my parents keep harping on me to study something quote-unquote ‘practical.’” He heaved a weary, put-upon sigh. “They want me to sell out to The Man and be a corporate bean counter or whatever. But I told ’em I’d rather be poor and authentic than rich and spiritually bankrupt.”
    “If I may offer a word of advice …” Jamie said.
    Anna’s cell phone rang and Jonas’s name flashed on caller ID, so she turned away as Jamie launched into an arm-waving, frothy-mouthed rant on the many benefits of selling out to The Man.
    “Look into law school!” Jamie exclaimed. “You’ll thank me later.”
    Anna ducked under the trellis, flipped open the phone, and said hello with deliberate casualness.
    “Hi.” Jonas sounded even more guarded than she did. “How’s it going up there?”
    “Great, actually. The cakes turned out better than I expected and I decided to do a bunch of old-school pastries to commemorate the sesquicentennial anniversary theme.” She went on in this vein for several minutes before she realized he wasn’t responding. She broke off and asked, “Is everything okay?”
    “Yeah.” He coughed. “It’s just—my boss wants to send me to Europe to review the production records at the new factory in Brussels.”
    “Really?” She brightened. “That’s wonderful!”
    “I didn’t think you’d be in favor.”
    “Are you kidding me? Free trip to Europe? Of course I’m in favor. When do we leave?”
    He paused. “That’s the thing.
We
wouldn’t be going. Only me.”
    “Is that the company’s decision, or yours?”
    “A little of both.” Another pause. “I think you and I could use some time apart.”
    “Oh.” Anna swallowed back her fear and frustration and asked, “How long will you be gone?”
    “Not long. A few weeks, maybe two months.”
    “Two months!”
    “I know,” he said. “Two more ovulations you’ll never get back.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You didn’t have to.” He sounded rushed and rehearsed, as if he’d been dreading this conversation all day. “Look, my boss has been hinting that I might be up for a