It sounded like they knew what they were talking about, so why had Allie asked for his help? “You sure you need me?” he asked.

“Yes,” Allie told him. “I’ve never tried this before. Look under cleansing rituals and make a list of supplies.”

Marc turned each delicate page with caution while squinting at the inky calligraphy. He flipped past topics like ge-rouge, mange loa, bokors, and zombis. Halfway through the journal, he found an entry for spiritual cleansing, but Allie interrupted him before he had a chance to read it.

“First you have to do something special,” she said. “Complete a task.”

Marc tucked an old receipt between the pages to hold his place. “What kind of task?”

“You have to make things right with your pawpaw.” Allie looked to her sister for affirmation. “We’re basically healing an old family rift, so don’t you think it makes sense to mend that relationship first?”

“Uh, yeah.” Devyn pointed her icing bag at Marc. “Make nice with your pawpaw.”

No way Marc would crawl on his knees to that meddling, crotchety old jerk—not after what he did to Allie. “When he’s ready to apologize, he can come to me.”

“We don’t have time for that kind of stubbornness,” Allie said. “Besides, this will show the spirits you’re worth their help, so suck it up and be the bigger man.”

Marc grumbled under his breath but didn’t say no. Then, speaking of bigger men, the front door opened with a light ding, and Beau ducked his auburn head, barely clearing the frame as he pushed inside.

“Hey,” he said to Marc before his gaze drifted to Devyn and caught there. His green eyes flew wide, his giant sneakers pausing midstride, causing him to stumble for balance. All the color drained from his face while he gaped like a suffocating catfish.

And he had the nerve to call Marc whipped. Beau probably couldn’t talk over the hook in his mouth.

From farther down the counter, Allie drew a sharp breath, causing her sister to glance up from her tray of cookies. Devyn squeezed her bag so hard it sent spurts of icing clear across the counter. Her lips parted as widely as Beau’s, but no sound escaped.

“Hey, Beau,” Allie said nervously. “What’re you doing here?”

Beau spoke to Allie, but never took his eyes off her sister. “Checking on my brother.” Blindly, he pointed at Marc. “Ella-Claire said he seemed off, and when he wouldn’t answer the phone, I figured he was with you.”

Allie released a tight laugh. “Well, he’s fine.” Her stiff, folded arms added, So you can go now. Then she laid a steadying hand on Devyn, who appeared to have quit breathing.

Beau didn’t move an inch. Finally, he whispered, “Hi, Dev.”

She didn’t answer.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Beau went on. “Otherwise, I would have—”

“You would’ve what?” she snapped. “Stayed away?”

“No.” Beau shook his head, then contradicted, “Yes.”

“Which is it?”

“Neither,” he said, beads of sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. “I wanted to call on you, but Allie made it sound like you might not want me coming around.”

“Really?” You could cut a tin can on the razor-sharp edge of her voice. “I can’t imagine why.”

Marc and Allie shared the same uneasy glance. It was getting awkward in here.

“Look,” Beau said, curling a muscled arm to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m awful sorry for . . .” He trailed off as his gaze fell on the tray of cookies; then he tilted his head and took a step closer. “Is that what I think it is?”

“That depends,” Marc said to lighten the mood. “Do you think it’s a left-leaning peen?”

“Yeah, and it’s really happy to see me.” Beau’s upper lip hitched in disgust. “Do folks actually eat these?”

Devyn threw down her icing bag and shouted, “I don’t work here! I’m just helping out!” then ran into the back room without another word. With a sigh, Allie handed her frosting bag to Marc and followed her sister, leaving him with a red-faced Beau and a tray full of half-decorated penis cookies.

“Real smooth,” Marc said, tossing his brother the bag of white frosting while retrieving the flesh-colored one. “How could she possibly resist you now?” He bent over the counter and picked up where Devyn left off, outlining each member with a steady hand. The task was harder than it looked, no pun intended.

Beau used the other bag to frost the tips. “When I woke up this morning, I never guessed I’d be doing this.”

“Or running into your ex, I take it.”

“No, I definitely didn’t see that coming.” Beau glowered at the white buttercream trickling from the end of each cookie. “No pun intended.”

Marc snickered. “I know, right?”

“I always wanted to tell her I was sorry,” Beau said. “Had ten years to cook up a good apology. But my noodle went blank when I saw her.”

Marc couldn’t deny that his brother had botched it like a boss. “If she means that much to you, try again.”

Beau made a noncommittal grunt. “Might do more harm than good.”

“Wait a minute.” Marc lifted his head and stared at his big brother—the same guy who’d flattened the senior fullback at fourteen. “Are you scared?”

“Psh,” Beau scoffed and cocked his head. “Of Devyn? No.”

“Liar.”

“It’s not that,” Beau insisted. “She doesn’t give two figs for me. Probably forgot I was even alive. What’s the point?”

“I guess it depends on how long you’re sticking around.” As badly as Marc wanted to glance up to gauge his brother’s reaction, he kept his eyes trained on the cookie. “You gonna settle here, or are you just passing through?”

Beau hesitated for a few beats. “I’ve got a few options. Sure do miss home, though.”

“Me, too. I’ve got a place here in the city, but I’m thinking of giving it up and moving back to Cedar Bayou.”

“Not a bad commute,” Beau said. “And you can stay on the Belle during high season.”

“That’s what I figured.” Marc faked a casual shrug. “You could do the same . . . if you wanted.”

“You think?”

“Why not?”

“Can you use me on board?”

Marc knew what his brother was really asking: Can we work side by side without tearing out each other’s throats? “It’d be nice to have you around, even if you are a pain in my ass.”

Beau chuckled quietly. “The feeling’s mutual, little brother.”

“So you’ll stay?”

After considering for a moment, Beau nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.” His smile fell as he scrutinized his bag of icing. “But, damn. Did we just bond over penis cookies?”

Marc considered that for a moment. “Maybe. But no one needs to know.”

* * *

Allie followed the sound of sniffles and hiccups until she found her sister in the storage room pretending to inspect a can of baking soda—in the dark. Allie flipped on the lights and approached Devyn, then rested a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her away from the shelf.

“You okay?” Allie said. “That must’ve been—”

Her words died when she saw the twin trails leaking down Dev’s cheeks. In disbelief, Allie caught a teardrop on her finger and inspected it to ensure it was real. It was. She hadn’t seen Devyn cry since their parents’ funeral.

Devyn scrubbed away the tears. Her voice was scratchy when she asked, “You know what I’ve been fantasizing about for the last ten years?”

Allie wanted to say Channing Tatum and a tub of peanut butter? but it seemed like the wrong time for a joke. So she simply shook her head.

Devyn jabbed a finger toward the front of the shop. “The day that asshole would come back to town, looking for me.”

“But I thought—”

“Not because I wanted him back,” Dev clarified. “To show him what he missed. I imagined I’d be gorgeous and successful with a hot stud on my arm. I’d rub it in Beau’s face, and then he’d be sorry for what he did.” Another tear slipped free as she gestured at her stained apron and her tangled ponytail. “But look at me—no makeup, no degree, lard in my hair, unemployed, and making pecker cookies!”

“Aw, honey.” Allie tucked a stray curl behind Dev’s ear. “I’m sure that’s not what he’s thinking.” A hitched breath shook Devyn’s chest, making her seem five years old. It broke Allie’s heart.

“This isn’t how I pictured my life,” Dev whispered. “It’s been ten years, and I’m no better off now than the day he left me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dev challenged. “What have I accomplished?”

Allie opened her mouth but drew a blank.

Since Devyn had dropped out of college, she’d floated like cottonseed on the breeze from one dead-end job to the next—a summer traveling with the circus, three months as a dog walker, a week detailing hot rods, even a brief stint as a “virtual dominatrix.” Allie wasn’t sure what that entailed, and she didn’t intend to ask.

“You helped me open the Sweet Spot,” Allie said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dev waved her off. “That’s your baby, not mine.”

“Technically, it’s our baby,” Allie reminded her. “Silent partner, remember?”

A weak smile quirked Dev’s lips. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but we both know you’re the real talent here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying new things,” Allie said. “So what if you took some time off to experiment? Don’t discount a whole decade of living because an old flame brought up bad feelings.”

“It’s more than that,” Devyn insisted. “My high school reunion is in the fall, and I’m already inventing excuses not to go. All my friends have careers and kids and husbands . . . or at least ex-husbands. What am I supposed to say when they ask what I’m doing now?”