Déjà Date Read Online Free

the bakery?”
    “He already put it on the market.” He squatted down and retrieved my breakfast casualty from under a bistro table where it had bumped into some man’s unsuspecting loafer. “His Realtor, Wendy Watts, is putting the “for sale” sign up tomorrow. She’s on billboards all over town and is supposed to be the best in Sacramento.”
    My heart dropped to the floor, and my brain swirled trying to make sense of what he was telling me. I shook my head, because the possibility of Bernie selling his bakery did not compute. “But your dad’s going through a stack of résumés to hire a manager. Why would he do that if he’s selling?”
    “In addition to selling the building, he’s hoping someone will buy the business and keep it going. That’s his dream, anyway.” Nate tossed the dirty muffin into a nearby trash can, then returned with a crease between his brows. “I thought he’d explained all of this to you.”
    “No.” Tears burned behind my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to keep them at bay as I fought for composure. I couldn’t imagine Bernie not being here every day. My throat started to close, so I made a show of checking my watch. I had to get of here before I broke down. “I’m late to meet my mom. I have to go. Bye, Nate.”
    “Melinda . . .”
    I heard his voice behind me, but I hurried to the exit before I lost it. The purple-haired barista shouted my name as I dashed by, and shoved a basket of baked goods over the counter, saying Bernie had put it together for my mom. Of course he had. That’s what he often did.
    But that wouldn’t happen anymore—not once Bernie’s Bakery was sold to the highest bidder. My throat tightened even further. With the basket in one hand, I pulled open the yellow door with the other, and the familiar ding-a-ling of the bell chimed overhead. A wave of nausea rolled through me and I rushed to my car.
    I unlocked the door and climbed behind the wheel, but my hand was too shaky to get the key in the ignition. My eyes watered and my chest pounded, so I leaned back in the seat trying to take deep calming breaths. Immediately my gaze darted to the building on the corner. Big white letters with a thick brown outline decorated the center of the window, spelling out “Bernie’s Bakery” in a cheerful font.
    That bakery was a neighborhood icon. It had been a place of joy when I was growing up back when Nate and I were best friends, a place of comfort after my dad had died, and it still felt like my home away from home. But soon the bakery would be sold and its fate would be up to the new owner, who could turn it into a yoga studio or a clothing boutique or whatever they wanted.
    The mere thought of Bernie’s Bakery shutting down had absolutely devastated to me. I couldn’t imagine how heartbroken I’d be when it actually happened.
    ****
    Completely crushed by the news that Bernie was selling his bakery, I had to force myself to concentrate on the road ahead as I pulled my convertible away from the curb by Bernie’s Bakery. I cruised through “The Fabulous Forties” neighborhood in East Sacramento, heading to my mom’s house to ask for a small chunk of the inheritance funds I had never wanted to touch just so I could pay next month’s rent.
    Even in my sad state, I had to admit that it made sense that Bernie would sell his bakery. His health was at stake, which was why even his audacious son had (annoyingly) returned after all those years of being away. I also supposed Bernie was close to an early retirement age. But I couldn’t imagine a life where Bernie’s Bakery didn’t exist. There must be a way to ensure its survival.
    As I continued through the neighborhood I’d grown up in, my gaze darted around and I admired the grand custom homes built in the early twentieth century. Tudor-style homes. Dutch farmhouses. Mediterranean villas. A homey feeling encompassed me, along with the familiar longing to own one of these beautiful houses myself someday.
    Not