“Well, anytime you need someplace to hide—or some fresh pie, you know where to find me.”

“I’m so going to take you up on that,” Juliet grins.

A buzzer goes off inside. “Cake time!” I announce. We head inside, and I open the oven. The scent of vanilla and caramelized fruit hits me, intoxicating and rich.

“Oh my God, I’m drooling already.” Juliet peers over my shoulder. “That looks amazing.”

“Let’s just hope it tastes amazing too. I’m pretty rusty at this,” I confess. I lift the pan from the oven and carefully turn the cake out onto a wire rack to cool.

There’s a second’s pause. We both gaze at the cake, still steaming.

“You know, some things taste better when they’re hot,” Juliet points out with a wicked grin.

I laugh. “Let’s do it.”

I cut a slice and pass it to Juliet. I watch her bite into the fluffy, moist cake. “What do you think?” I ask nervously. “Did I get it right?”

Juliet chews thoughtfully. “It’s good,” she says slowly, “but not quite like Mrs. Olsen’s.”

My hopes fall. “But what’s missing?”

I cut one myself and bite into the fluffy cake. This time, I rack my brain for the memory of Nana’s recipe. Nutty walnut, the tart bite of apple, and…

Juliet and I both look at each other at the same time. “Orange zest!”

We laugh. “That’s it,” she nods. “There was always this zesty tang to the cake.”

“She must have added it on a whim, and just never written it down.” I put the recipe card aside, and reach for the mixing bowl again. But as I do it, I’m struck with the humor of the situation. Last week, I was obsessed with fact-checking a deposition, and now I’m getting stressed over cake.

“I know it’s crazy, caring so much about a recipe,” I admit. “But everyone I talked to has such great memories here, including the food. I want everything to be right for them.”

“So what are you going to do with this cake?” Juliet eyes it hungrily.

“It’s all yours.”

“Really?” She snags another slice. “Are you sure?”

“Please.” I laugh. “If you don’t take them, I’ll have to eat it all. By myself.”

“When you put it like that…” Juliet grins. “What kind of woman would I be to abandon you to such a terrible fate?”

“Aren’t you generous?” I laugh, but the happiness is real. I’ve only known Juliet a few days, but already, it feels like we’re going to be friends.

“So what’s the plan with this place?” Juliet leans against the counter and looks around.

“Well, I managed to get back some of the original bookings for the summer, so they’ll start arriving next week.” I fill her in on my calls. “But I’d love to book more. I’m not sure what Nana did to get the word out about this place.”

“I’m not sure she did anything, she might have just relied on word-of-mouth.” Juliet finishes her second slice. “I don’t think she ever advertised, or even has a website.”

“A website?” I repeat, the idea taking hold. “That’s a great idea! I bet there are tons of people who would want to come once they saw the place.”

“It is pretty idyllic,” Juliet agrees. “Except…” She pauses reluctantly.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, it’s great here, but it is kind of ragged around the edges. I know it’s all part of the charm,” she says quickly. “But tourists can be picky.”

“It could use a bit of sprucing,” I agree, looking around. The chipped ceramics and cluttered photographs may be full of memories to me, but an outsider might just see them as musty and old. And the wallpaper is fading in places… The fireplaces could use a sweep… The roof might need some new tiles… The cost quickly adds up in my mind and I panic. I have some savings tucked away, but not enough for a major renovation.

My fears must show, because Juliet quickly reassures me. “Don’t worry. Just a freshening up would make a ton of difference, make it more beachy and modern.”

“You mean those china figurines from the living room aren’t modern?” I joke, relieved I’m not looking at a major project.

“She did love those,” Juliet laughs. “But maybe it’s time for Little Bo Peep and friends to retire. My brother-in-law is a contractor,” she adds. “I can give you his number if you need anything done, he’d be happy to help out.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

“And my sister is in PR,” Juliet adds. “I’m sure she’d have tons of ideas about getting the word out.”

“You’re so connected,” I grin.

Juliet giggles, “Everyone’s family in this town.”

For a moment, I wonder if she knows Ash—or his family. But I quickly push the thought aside. I can’t sit around thinking about him all day, not when there’s so much to do.

After Juliet leaves, I make a list of the easy—and affordable—updates I can make to the house before I put the photos up online. Clearing out the cluttered decor will be easy, and even switching out Nana’s old framed pictures for some simple beach scenes would make it look fresh and breezy. The exterior is my main challenge. The house paint was blue originally, and salt air and sunshine has faded it to a soft, greyish hue, but the trim on the windows and shutters is a grubby yellowed white, and begging for a refresh.