Page 2

Chapter 1

Sugar Rush

Sydney

I push open the door, and the sharp bite of a Central New York morning greets me like a slap of reality. My breath fogs in front of me in puffs, dissolving quickly into the crisp, icy air. The week between Christmas and New Year’s is like a strange limbo where time seems to lose all meaning. It’s hard to tell what day it is, and everything feels slightly off-kilter, like the world is on pause but life is still happening.

With the mix of exhaustion from the chaos of Christmas and anticipation for the New Year’s fresh start, the community fitness center was empty. The old me would have fully leaned all the way into relaxation—living in my pajamas, nibbling on leftover cookies as I made a huge breakfast for anyone who was around, while basically waiting for the ball to drop and the New Year to officially reset the rhythm of life. But Sydney 2.0 is doing things differently. This year, I am determined to tick boxes and get everything buttoned up before the calendar flips and my first official year of the new me begins.

The new me is self-aware enough to get a jumpstart on my anti-New Year resolution, which is called such, knowing that any New Year resolutions I make might as well be called things I am never going to finish and would be broken January first. There’s no way I’ll be exerting any physical energy after our annual New Year’s Eve / Uncle Lucas’s birthday celebration.

The salt on the ground crunches beneath my sneakers as I hurry to my Jeep, trying to ignore the sting as the wind cuts through the wide-open space that should be available for parking yet isn’t, and force myself to believe there’s something invigorating about this kind of cold, like it’s waking me up from the inside out. It’s as lovely an idea as ideas come.

It’s not like I don’t love this time of year, because I do. There is nothing worse than a green or brown Christmas in Blue Valley, and right now, it’s white. The air smells clean, sharp, and faintly metallic, like snow and ice mingling with the promise of more.

I look up and see the sky is a pale gray, heavy with clouds that hint that more snow is coming. Beautiful when you’ve got the time to enjoy it. Today is not that day.

There’s already a thin layer blanketing my Jeep that will take a couple of minutes to clean off, or I could just sit inside, crank the heat, and wait for it to warm up enough to melt, but that would be counterproductive as I attempt to get in ten thousand steps, on top of the amount I have from my elliptical warmup before hitting the weights and machines.

“You love snow,” I remind myself.

I tug my jacket tighter around me; the warmth of my workout has already faded, and the chill is quickly seeping into my bones. I attempt to ignore it as I hit the unlock on my key fob, open the door, start the Jeep, grab the snow brush, and remind myself how much I love the winter. This is home, after all.

Blue Valley in December might be harsh, but it’s familiar, full of family, and there’s a kind of comfort in knowing exactly what to expect—icy winds, gray skies, and that freezing cold that makes you feel alive … despite the fact you could easily freeze to death.

I pull up into the alley and around back to the parking lot, park the Jeep, grab my keys, and hurry toward rear entrance of the building.

At the top of the stairs, I toe off my sneakers so I don’t track any salt into my freshly renovated wood floors, unlock the large whitewashed wooden door, turn the knob, push it open, and inhale the warmth of my home that still smells a little like paint, yet I love it. It’s open and airy, the kitchen cabinets are a soft, creamy white with gold hardware, and the countertops gleam with smooth white surfaces delicately veined in gold. The backsplash is pale pink subway tile. It would have been the same in the shop, but everyone said that was just too much for a commercial space. Gold pendant lights hang over the island, casting a soft yellow glow that reminds me of candlelight when it’s dark out.

The focal point in the space is the gas fireplace that my cozy, pale pink loveseat, with way too many pillows scattered on it to make any man feel comfortable, which is, in fact, the point. This place will not be shared with any male, not ever.

I miss the smell of burning wood, but the convenience of pressing a button that brings to light the dancing flame, and my beautiful new fireplace makes much more sense than carrying wood up a flight of stairs. With two jobs, I simply don’t have time for that.

Smiling, I look at the little breakfast nook and the bay window facing the street. This is where I’ve sat for the past two mornings, having coffee as I watched the snow continue to dust the sleepy little streets of Blue Valley. The small white table with gilded legs, a thrift find that Mom and I scored, along with the oversized, cushioned chairs we recovered in a pale pink canvas type of fabric, with seats large and comfortable enough that I could sit crisscross for hours, if I, in fact, had hours to do such a thing. The curtains frame the windows and, when closed, give a bit more privacy, which I really don’t need because no one lives above the printery across the street.

On the left side of this spacious apartment is yet another floor-to-ceiling bay window and the spot I have decided to end my day. If I’m home in time to watch the sunset, this is the perfect place. My laptop sits on the white desk with just a pale pink pencil holder and my chargers, which is where I will add any pertinent information into my accounting app. A chair matching the one at my breakfast nook acts as my desk chair. I love it.

As much as I would love to turn on the fireplace and make a warm cup of cocoa, I simply don’t have time to do that, as Saturdays have become my busiest days yet.

As I head up the stairs, I pull my hoodie over my head, because why not? There’s no one who will see me, and God does it feel good to be free to run around naked without watchful, judgmental eyes.

The staircase leads to the third-story loft, half of which looks down over the kitchen below. My bedroom is big enough for a queen-sized bed with plenty of space to walk around to make the bed. It could have been bigger had I not chosen to make the ensuite bathroom and the closet larger.

The bed’s tufted pale pink headboard is paired with silky white bedding. A crystal chandelier sparkles, casting dancing prisms on my wall as sunlight kisses it, making me smile as I head into the ensuite bathroom. It’s not huge, but it’s set up in a way that doesn’t make it feel like there’s too much inside of the room. The walk-in shower is where I’m heading, but to get to it, I have to pass the soaker tub. Oh God, how I would love to soak in it all day.

“Tomorrow,” I promise myself. “Tomorrow is all you.”

Once I’ve shed my clothes and started the water, I stand in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth as I look my body over with far less disdain than I once did.

Pointing the toothbrush at the mirror, I tell myself, “I’d do you.”

I look at the little clock and realize that I may just have time to fulfill that promise.

Standing under the steady stream of my shower, small pink vibrating bullet in hand, I close my eyes and picture #21. To be fair, he’s an easy target. A man who’s sexy and has a slight southern accent clearly makes me a little weak in the knees, because it gives off the illusion that one is a gentleman. And in my fantasy, #21 starts out as a gentleman but always ends up taking me in the shower or, on occasion, in the bathtub. He starts slow, but ends up wild and wanton, like a starved man, craving … why, me, of course.

I tease my nipple first as they are extremely sensitive, and unlike my ex, #21 loves my double Ds. Judge all you want, but no man I have gone on a date with since the breakup comes close to deserving my double Ds, let alone the rest of me.

This occasional release, it’s completely harmless and also reminds me that I can take care of business all by myself. And when I do take care of myself, there is no need to call for clean up on aisle me. It’s my release, my ritual, a way to ground myself and connect with my body to start the day out right, loving it the way it deserves to be loved, curves and all.

I close my eyes and let my mind wander, picturing #21. The night he told me that piece of shit ex shouldn’t be the last man I was with. He told me that if this was a different circumstance, and he was not trying to bring his family together, he would have fucked me so good that I wouldn’t even remember the damn fool who let a girl like me go. My face caught fire, and I remember the sound of a groan coming from him, and then a nervous chuckle and his admittance that it had been a while. And then he asked me if I would do him a favor. For a moment there, I had no idea what he was talking about, but I was pretty sure, since his daughter was laying between us, as we had just brought her favorite blankie that she had left when they were at Riley’s place, #21 certainly wasn’t going to ask me for a blow job. And boy, was I right. He didn’t ask for that. At all. He asked me to allow him to kiss me just once so that the last person whose lips were on mine was someone I knew could see how special I was.

Talk about foreplay. The man who says stuff like that to you, I should go to my knees for him without question. But right now, I lean back and let the water wash through my long blonde waves, rubbing the sweet little pink vibe across my aching nipples, imagining his mouth leaving my lips but only to travel down my jaw, my neck, to that place where your neck and shoulder connect that is so damn sensitive. I moan, picturing the crooked smile on his pouty lips, fully pleased with himself for making me feel the way I do right now.

My hand moves down between my legs and inhale sharply as my little vibe connects with my soft lips. I would love to stand here and bask in this feeling, this fantasy, but reality waits downstairs, and I have thirty minutes to be fully ready for my day.

The sound of the water and the buzzing of the bullet are the only noises in the room as I lift my foot to the little built-in ledge and slide my little friend between my legs, and that’s all it takes. Electrical currents pulse immediately, and I ride the waves of ecstasy, lost in my own fantasy world, free from worry and stress, just existing in this moment.

As I come down from my high, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. My body feels alive and refreshed, my mind clear and focused. Yoga has nothing over starting my morning out like this. It is my own form of meditation, a way to release tension and find peace within myself.

Hair blown out, makeup perfectly in place, my favorite, long denim skirt that hugs my rear, paired with a ribbed, fitted long-sleeve cashmere sweater and, of course, my cute little kitten heels that are as much of an illusion as those chicken cutlet looking things some girls put in their bra. No one would ever guess how comfortable these things are. They’re perfection.

Once I get to the doorway to unlock the shop, I realize I gave my mom the key off my keychain and she was going to have copies made and bring it to me today. No big deal. All I have to do is walk around the front and unlock the door, which is not ideal with these shoes on, but I will survive.

Keys in hand, I walk around to the front and get a feeling of joy that I hope each customer also gets when they see this place. The exterior is a cheerful pale pink with crisp-white trim, the name “ Sugar Rush ” elegantly painted in flowing gold script above the wide display windows. Hanging from the awning, a sign shaped like a cupcake swings gently in the breeze, a wave inviting passersby to enter. It’s the kind of place that when you step in, it feels like you’re walking into a pastel daydream of happiness.

I unlock the door and do just that, immediately feeling real joy in what this place means to me, a reminder of how sweet life is when you surround yourself with sweet things. No, not just the treats and snacks, but the people you love and who love you, in a community where neighbors still help neighbors.

That sweetness, it does something to me, but so does the scent of sugar, vanilla, and baked pastries that hit me the moment I open the door. Add to that, the interior is bright and airy, with high ceilings and a glossy white floor that sparkles under the golden light of vintage chandeliers. Pale pink walls are adorned with whimsical, hand-painted art.

A gleaming white display counter runs along one side of the shop, its glass shelves brimming with cupcakes topped in swirls of buttercream, flaky pastries, and rows of vibrant, freeze-dried treats. Behind the counter, a white-tiled backsplash and open shelving show off jars of sprinkles and stacks of pastel-colored mixing bowls—functional yet charmingly decorative.

The other side of the shop is lined with built-in shelves, each showcasing rows of neatly bagged freeze-dried treats, like crunchy strawberries, tangy taffy, and even marshmallows that look like tiny pillows of joy. There’s a cozy seating area near the front window with small white tables and pink chairs, perfect for savoring a treat and a coffee while sunlight streams in through sheer white curtains and bar stools lining up along the countertop, where some prefer to sit and chat about their day.

Every corner of Sugar Rush is intentional, from the gold-accented menu board behind the counter to the little jars of fresh flowers on each table. It’s a place where the atmosphere is as sweet as the treats and customers leave with smiles.

After turning the sign to open , I pause, my eyes wandering across the space, drinking in every detail. “Another day of sweetness,” I murmur to myself, a smile tugging at my lips.

My gaze drifts to the paintings that never fail to make me smile. Each brushstroke tells a story—of frosted cupcakes with swirling tops, delicate macarons in pastel hues, and jars brimming with colorful candies.

I can’t help but chuckle, remembering the day we painted them. Maggie and Iz insisted on helping. It was a labor of love. We’d laughed for hours, our clothes speckled with pink paint, as we struggled to make cupcakes look real but not too real, and the realization that none of us would ever be a famous painter.

The memory warms me from within as I walk further into the shop, my footsteps echoing in the empty space.

“You know,” I say aloud, as if the shop itself can hear me, “you’re so much more than just a business.” My fingers trail along the edge of a display, and I close my eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude. “We’ve got another big day ahead of us,” I announce to the empty shop, my voice filled with determination and the joy I lacked at the gym. “Let’s make it a sweet one.”

“It’s all there,” Dad assures me. “You’ve checked it twice; Mom and I both checked it, too.”

“It’s the biggest order I’ve ever received, and everything is riding on?—”

“Give it to me.” Mom holds her hand out for my iPad, and I begrudgingly give it to her. “Sugar Rush is your baby, but you’re mine.”

“Ours,” Dad corrects.

“Hey,” my cousin AJ mumbles around a mouthful of freeze-dried Skittles—his favorites.

Mom smiles at him. “You were never a baby; you all but walked out at eleven pounds and?—”

He covers his ears, and around his mouthful of Skittles, manages to say, “La, la, la, la, la,” and then he nearly chokes.

“You were a C-section.” Mom chuckles as she pats his back as he bends over the garbage container, emptying his mouth so he doesn’t aspirate.

After dramatically spitting out the candy, he huffs, “How does that make it better?” He takes the bottle of water I offer him.

“You are such a baby.” I laugh.

He takes a swig before continuing, “Being the baby boy of this big old family has its perks.”

I answer while taping up the final case of dried goods, “Including getting away with way more than any of us ever dreamed of.”

I catch Dad flinching slightly, and I know he’s taking some sort of responsibility for sheltering me so much that the first guy I gave my heart to shattered it.

I point the tape gun at him. “That’s not your cross to carry; I made my own decisions.” I aim it at Mom next. “Not everyone falls in love like you two did and does whatever it takes to make it work.”

Dad gives Mom a wink. “Priority one.”

A blush creeps across her face.

AJ catches it and swiftly heads toward the door. “I’m outta here. It’s getting to?—”

“Love’s not contagious.” I laugh after him.

Dad calls to him, “You mind helping me pack up the SUV?”

“I can get them to the post office,” I tell them.

“Not like I have anything else to do until college starts back up,” AJ says as he heads back toward the towering twelve cases to be shipped to a candy store in South Florida. “I can follow you to the post office and unload.”

“Thank you, AJ.”

He tries not to react, but I see the dimple on his left cheek deepen.

AJ hit a major growth spurt during the pandemic, which happened to be when Mom and Dad moved from Binghamton to Blue Valley. While I was in my master’s program, he went from the husky boy who loved video games and a full belly, who pouted when Uncle Alex made him play sports, to the young man who woke up and decided he was going to play football, baseball, and basketball. Post-pandemic AJ had the girls of Blue Valley High swooning. Now he plays college football for Empire State U, a Division 2 school, and loves it. He also tends to teeter on the line, often leaning more toward cocky instead of confident, and I feel it’s my job to tease him relentlessly about making sure he doesn’t stop being the gentleman he was raised to be. He’s still sugary-sweet down deep, but it takes a little bit more digging to get to that spot when he stands a massive six-foot-four.

He smiles at me, all sweet. “I go back on Wednesday; you think?—”

“I’ll have everything ready for you by Tuesday.”

“You’re the best, Sydney, and I don’t care if the others know I think so.”

“Let’s keep that a secret. Best not break all their hearts.” I laugh.

“Love you, Aunt Molly,” he calls as he heads out the door, carrying four giant boxes full of freeze-dried goodness.

I stand still, watching them load all the boxes up.

Mom laughs “You going to be all right?”

“Forgive me if I’m a little emotional. That order paid off one of those three new machines.” I turn and look at her. “ And I gave them a discount.”

“That’s incredible!”

Trying not to get too excited, I shake my head. “I’ll ride this fad out as long as I can, but I want to focus on the other side of it, too—the natural side—and, of course, the bakery.”

“Your uncle Jake said you could market as one of those preppers, he offered to do promo videos.” Mom laughs from behind me.

“That’s not my brand. Not how I wanna live, or anyone else to live, for that matter.”

Mom saddles up beside me and grabs a sponge.

“You’ve helped plenty; I can do this.”

“You’ve been here twelve hours on your day off.” She nudges me with her hip. “You’re teaching and running this …” She pauses and laughs. “I can’t say little business anymore, because it’s grown exponentially. Take the help so you don’t burn out.”

“I won’t let the long-term sub position interfere with my plans to grow Sugar Rush.”

“You need a work/life balance.”

“You don’t say?” I tease.

Mom has been a nurse practitioner my whole life, and Dad an optometrist. They’ve worked forty-hour weeks since I can remember, and they seldom had the same day off, which I recently learned was because they didn’t want to leave me with a sitter when I was younger. When we moved to Blue Valley, they both found they hated the commute and found part-time jobs in their fields until they hated it enough that they both decided to embrace that they are part-owners of the Legacy Field complex and grounds that the New York Knights football team calls home. Just a few weeks ago, she and Dad took part-time volunteer work, which can best be explained as a doctor-without-borders type of group that serves those who make too much money to get free healthcare, don’t have employment that gives them healthcare, and can’t afford private insurance, or the so-called affordable healthcare the state provides.

“You two are busier now than when you were working full-time and raising us.”

“Busier in a different way. Things changed, and …” She shakes her head, stopping herself from returning to the place that made her lose faith in her profession when policy became more important than patients. I remember hearing her cry—no, sobbing—to my father, the words, “Why won’t they let us save them?” Those words will forever haunt me. “I love being a nurse, and I’m damn good at my job. Now I get to work with people who remember healthcare is one word. I work with my mom, sisters, and husband, and I get to do more in three- to four-hour shifts than I could in forty or fifty hours a week.” She nudges me with her hip. “And I get to learn your business, all under the pretext of helping out here when it’s really just to get more time with you.” She waves a soap-covered hand toward the four machines, all loaded with different candies and fruits. “And, of course, to test all the treats.”

When the bell jingles on the door, I reach up and push the pink curtain from the pass-through window open to the front of the store, and I see Liam walking in.

“Shoot,” I mumble, remembering I promised to test out the new dog food recipe he wanted to try for the veterinary clinic.

“You forget about me?” He chuckles.

“No? Yes? Sort of?” I laugh as I take the towel Mom is holding out for me to dry my hands off and head toward the machines. “These have thirty minutes left. I can switch?—”

“Don’t do that. I have thirty minutes.” Liam chuckles as he sets the bag of … whatever it is on the floor, gives me a quick hug, and heads to Mom to do the same. “Hey, Aunt Molly.”

“What a nice surprise.” She smiles as she hugs him. “You’re done with your residency and home now, I hear.”

He nods as he steps back, shrugs off his jacket, and laughs. “I can officially act as a therapist for animals.”

“And you’re making dog food?” she inquires.

“Testing some behavior theories on the basis of nutrition.” He nods as he pushes his sleeves up.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” She smiles, and then the bells jingle again.

“Must be happy hour here?” The corner of Liam’s lips twists up.

“Look, Mommy, it’s my friend Sydney. She’s a girl bossesses.”

I turn and see sweet little Lily Boone dragging a petite, stunning, older version of herself behind her—her mother. Lindsey, who I’d never spoken to before, only waved from a distance and smiled at me from across the crowd at a game or the brewery. She’s now here at Sugar Rush.

“I think they’re closed,” she informs Lily and gives me an apologetic smile as she holds out her hand. “I’m?—”

“Lindsey.” I shake her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you up close and personal.”

“Lindsey, as in Beau’s Lindsey?” Mom asks as she walks out of the kitchen area and into the storefront.

Lindsey laughs. “To be fair, I think we’re both Lily’s.”

“Yep,” Lily says, bouncing on her adorable little toes. “My mommy and daddy.” She holds out her pinkies like little weapons. “They say I got ’em wrapped around this.”

“Of course, you do.” I smile as I head to the cupcake display to find the perfect dessert. “We have your favorite—red,” I quickly correct myself, knowing that Lily asked for dark pink instead of red every time she comes in here, which has caused me to alter my recipe a bit, because I love how she reacts. I give her a wink. “I mean, pink velvet for you, of course, with pink frosting and rainbow glitter. And Ms. Lily, I even have one for Mom, too.”

Lily drops Lindsey’s hand and throws hers in the air. “Touchdown!”

She reaches her hand out to me, and I shake my head. “No way. I wanna see your touchdown dance first.”

She grins as she jumps up and twirls, grabs her imaginary lasso from her imaginary belt, whirls it above her head, and pretends to catch Lindsey. “Mommy, you gotta try to get loose.” She shakes her tiny hiney in a circle, showing her how.

“Now, why would I try to get loose when you got me all wrapped up already?” she asks, holding up her pinky and wiggling it.

“You two are adorable.” Mom holds her hand to her chest, her voice thick with emotion when she says, “Don’t blink, Lindsey, because the moment you do, this little beauty is going to be a young woman.”

“I don’t wanna be a young woman, Miss Molly. I wanna be a girl bossesses,” Lily says and looks at her Lindsey. “I can, right, Mommy?”

“You can be whatever you want to be, little flower.” Lindsey smiles down at her, her tone thick and emotionally charged, just like Mom’s.

“You two are absolutely adorable.” Mom smiles.

“Miss Molly, you adorable, too, you and Sydney.”

Mom holds her hand to her chest. “There’s nothing like a mother’s love for her daughter—nothing.”

Lindsey blinks rapidly, as if fighting tears. And me? I fight the urge to hold my hand to my stomach. Instead, I busy them and pack up the cupcakes.

“We’re closed the next few days. We better make sure you don’t run out. Would you like some for your dad, too?”

“It’s Mommy and Lily time. Daddy’s in bed early ’cause he has to be strong, and he gots to go to work tomorrow.” She inhales a breath and continues, “But it won’t be so hard now ’cuz Uncle Hart gets unvenched.”

“Benched,” Lindsey quietly and sweetly corrects her.

“Yep, that,” Lily agrees then continues, “He and our Knights are gonna win big, Daddy said. Yes, he did. He said it just like he said we’re a family, and we are, right, Mommy?”

I don’t miss the slight blanch, but Lindsey agrees, “That’s right.”

“Even if we don’t live in the same house, ’cause I’m a lucky girl with two pretty rooms; one at Mommy’s and one at Daddy and Uncle Hart’s house.” She looks around and spots Liam. “Hey, who are you?”

“Lily, manners,” Lindsey whispers softly as she looks in Liam’s direction. “Sorry about that.”

He runs his hand through his thick, dark blonde hair. “No need to be sor?—”

“Are you Knight?”

“Lily.” Lindsey laughs uncomfortably.

“Mommy, look at him—he’s a giant, too.”

Lindsey closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Liam laughs. “I’m not a Knight.”

“How come? You don’t love football? It’s the greatest game in the world, Mr. Liam, don’t you know that?”

“I love football, played in high school, but was more interested in becoming a veterinarian.”

“What’s a vetera … vetra … narian?”

Lindsey answers softly, “Mr. Liam is a doctor for?—”

“Is he the one you and Daddy go to when I stay with Uncle Hart?” Lily cuts her off.

When Lindsey agreed to move to Blue Valley and away from her controlling family and now ex-fiancé to try to fix their relationship, Beau moved out of his bachelor pad in the village and into Hudson Hart’s massive house on Skaneateles Lake. He now rents a stunning luxury lodge overlooking Owasco Lake for Lindsey and Lily. He doesn’t live with them because he doesn’t want to pressure Lindsey to become a couple, although it is his hope. They are working with a couple’s counselor. How do I know this? That man’s truth serum is sugar, and Sugar Rush has become his regular stop. At least two or three afternoons a week, he sits at the counter and eats a cupcake, or three. It doesn’t matter if it’s me, Mom, or one of my cousins, who are also my best friends, working; he stays for about an hour. He is the self-proclaimed taste tester of all the new recipes I’m playing with, trying to make healthier treats that taste just as sweet.

Lindsey’s face catches fire. “A veterinarian is a doctor for animals, not for Mommys and Daddys.”

“Like Bossy, my new puppy?” she asks.

He nods as he smiles at Lily. “How’s Bossy doing?”

Lily cringes with her whole face then says, “Bossy has big, huge poops.”

Mom and I laugh, and Lindsey closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Bossy’s a big dog.” Liam chuckles.

Lily asks, “Do you like big or little?”

“Dogs?” He smirks.

Mom elbows him. “Of course, dogs.”

Liam chuckles. “I like them both.”

Lily crosses her arms and asks, “Favorite animal?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not a fair question.”

“Mine is horses. Do you have horses?” She doesn’t pause for an answer; she just continues, “Is there pink ones? Daddy says there’s no other pink horse besides my Lovey, who is real, Mr. Doctor.”

“I’d love to meet Lovey, the pink horse.” He chuckles.

“You can’t ride Lovey. Loveys just for cuddles and carrying.”

He holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s not scary, but Grandmother says horses are dangerous and only fools and idiots ride them. Lovey?—”

“We should pay for the cupcakes and get back to the house before it’s dark,” Lindsey cuts her off.

“No payment necessary,” I say as I walk over with a box full. “Consider it a welcome to Blue Valley treat.”

Lindsey smiles apprehensively. “Not necessary, but thank you.”

“You got a treat for Bossy?” Lily asks, pressing her nose to the glass display case.

“Best for Bossy not to eat human treats.” Liam states.

“Sucks to be a dog.” Lily sighs dramatically.

“Lily Boone,” Lindsey corrects her on a laugh as Mom and I try to hide ours.

“I’ll tell you what, next time you come in, I’ll make sure Sydney has something special for Bossy.” Liam winks at Lily.

“Like what?” Lily asks, blue eyes bright and excited.

“I’ll help Sydney come up with something that won’t hurt Bossy’s tummy but will be as tasty to a dog as those cupcakes are for us.”

She holds up her pinky. “Promise?”

He hooks his around hers. “Promise.”

“It was so nice to finally meet you.” Lindsey smiles and holds up the box of cupcakes. “What do we say, Lily?”

“Thank you!” Excited, Lily pushes up on her toes and accidentally hits the box that goes flying. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!”

Liam catches it as Lindsey squats down, eye level to her daughter. “It’s okay, Lily.”

“Sometimes I get too c-c-carried away and?—”

Lindsey hugs her. “There’s not one thing wrong with being a happy little flower.”

Lily cries something softly into her mother’s hair that I don’t hear as Liam squats down beside them.

“Nothing wrong with it at all,” Liam says as he holds out the box. “I caught it just like a football, see?”

Lily sniffs. “You gotta do the touchdown dance.”

He laughs. “You’re gonna have to teach me.”

And to that, she steps back and smiles. “Okay, look, Mr. Doctor, watch me, just like this.”

I smile so big as I watch them that my face hurts, and it’s impossible not to feel Lindsey’s eyes on me. It’s also been impossible not to notice that this whole time, Lindsey would rather be anywhere but here, and I hate that. I also hate that I can’t help but wonder if, Your man is the star of every filthy little fantasy I’ve had since I caught my ex-fiancé in bed with another woman and my life turned to shit, isn’t written all over my face, making her feel that way.

I break what could possibly turn into a middle school staring contest and head around the counter to grab a bag. “I should have put them in a bag to begin with.”

After placing the box in one of the pink and white striped bags, I hand it to her.

She smiles softly. “You truly are the sweetest.”

Feeling an invisible weight on my shoulders that is so heavy I pray—actually pray—to give a response that seems … needed. “I made it my brand as a reminder that life should be sweet.”

Her lips twist up, but just a touch. “Just throw sprinkles on to cover the things you wanna hide?”

“Once, maybe?” I smile back the same way. “Now, I don’t waste the time on it. I toss it in the trash and start over.”

She cocks her head to the side in question.

I lean in and whisper, “Dating apps.” I grimace. “It’s an experience.”

She laughs—actually laughs. “I’ve heard that.”

“Mommy, it’s getting dark, and you don’t like driving in the dark. We gots to roll, right?”

I turn to Lily and smile. “Well, you better scoot then, but you have to promise to bring your Mommy here more often, yeah?”

“She can be a girl bossesses, too?”

“Lily, I’m pretty sure she already is.”

Lily throws her hands in the air. “Touchdown!”