Page 134 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

Stocking shelves at night at Costco didn’t make him happy. It paid for his portion of the grocery bill at Mom’s and some utilities. But he wasn’t happy.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Isaiah said. “I, um . . . I actually got offered a job working at a garage in Clifton Forge. They do a lot of remodels on old classics. Pay isn’t great but it sounds like a cool gig. One of the guys I was inside with contacted me about it.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to hide the shock that he’d just willingly confided in me. “Are you going to take it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Isaiah didn’t say anything more, and I didn’t press. We were still feeling each other out, still redefining our relationship. Maybe one day things would be back to the easy friendship we’d had once.

“I’d better try and track Piper down. See you back at the house.”

He waved as I turned and left the shop. I walked back home and did another pass through the house but still couldn’t find her. So I went to the last place she might have gone without leaving me a note.

The Airstream.

We parked it alongside the garage rather than in the driveway. There, it was out of the way and could be hooked up to the power from the house rather than a generator. We’d offered it to her parents for the week they were visiting, but they’d decided to rent a place on the lake for a change. They’d also rented a boat and tomorrow I was going to teach Piper how to water-ski.

The moment I rounded the garage, I spotted a light on inside the Airstream.

“There you are,” I said as I opened the door. She was sitting at the small table across from the kitchen, the same one where we’d shared our first meal together. “I’ve been look—what’s wrong?”

She sniffled and wiped her eyes dry. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Piper,” I warned.

She rolled her eyes, still swiping at the tears. “I’m fine.”

As I stepped into the camper, I saw dishes in the sink. The oven was on and it smelled like chocolate.

“Are you baking?”

She nodded just as a sob burst loose.

My heart broke as I crossed the floor in two long strides, pulling her out of the bench seat and into my arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot how to make my magic cake,” she cried into my shirt.

“Magic cake?”

She nodded. “The last five times I’ve tried to make it, something has gone wrong. The cake isn’t dense enough. The frosting doesn’t taste right. They’ve all been bad.”

As the taste tester for these alleged failed cakes, I had no idea what she was talking about. “Can’t you just follow the recipe?”

“No!” She leaned back and glared. “You don’t make magic cake from a recipe.”

“Right.” Sorry I asked. “Can you call your aunt?”

“I already did.” She huffed and stepped back, walking to the small oven and peering through the glass window. “I’m doing everything right. It’s just not working. So I came in here to try a different oven. It worked in here when I made it before.”

There was more going on here than a need for chocolate. She only made that cake when something was wrong. And as far as I knew, things in our life couldn’t be more right.

Nine months after the boys were born, Piper and I had gotten married in a small ceremony at a guest ranch in Kalispell. From the day she’d walked down the aisle in that fancy rustic lodge wearing a white-lace, strapless gown, I could count on one hand the number of bad days we’d had compared to the good.

“Why do you need magic cake?” I asked gently.

“Because,” she turned from the oven, “I’m pregnant.”

I swayed on my feet. “We’re pregnant?”