Page 36 of How Sweet It Is (Willow Shade Island #3)

S unday morning, I arrive at my bakery at my usual time, four o’clock in the morning. I spend the morning making gluten-free scones, croissants, and cupcakes for my new section. We keep selling out of them, even at the higher price, so I’m expanding it.

I expect Claire to come in fifteen minutes before we open, as usual, but she doesn’t show up. I shoot her off a quick text before I open the doors.

Are you okay?

I start to get worried when she doesn’t answer, but there’s a long line of people coming in to get my gluten-free treats, so I run the register until the crowd wanes.

I check my phone again, just to be sure I didn’t miss a text from her. My throat tightens. What’s going on? She wouldn’t leave for the trial without telling me, right? Or did something happen to her? That thought shoots terror through me.

I’m stuck behind the register making coffee and boxing cupcakes until I hear the back door open. Relief floods through me as Claire rushes in through the swinging door, putting on her apron. “I’m so sorry ,” she says, breathless. “I overslept. I never do that. I don’t know what’s going on.”

She bumps me aside with her hip. “Go. I’ve got the register.”

“Hey,” I say, grabbing her hand, my chest tight. “I was worried about you.”

Her gaze softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

I pull her to me and wrap her in my arms. “Promise me you won’t leave without telling me,” I whisper.

She gasps. “I’d never do that.”

“Good. Let’s talk later.” I give her a quick kiss before I go into my kitchen and start on a fresh batch of bread.

I work all day, filling my bakery up with different kinds of pastries and breads. After we close, Claire walks into my kitchen. I’m mopping the floor, and she comes and sits down on the stool by the counter. “I have an idea.”

I stop mopping and look at her. She looks serious. “What is it?”

“What if we make this a completely gluten-free bakery?”

I wasn’t expecting that. I push the mop into the bucket to rinse it. “How would that work?”

She shrugs. “Everything you make would be gluten-free.”

I grin at her, squeezing out the mop water. “I figured out that part. Why would I want to do that?”

Claire rests her elbows on the counter. “Some people can’t eat things that have been made in a kitchen where wheat flour has been. It would increase the value of your gluten-free items.”

I push the mop across the tile. “I know they’ve been selling really well, but so have my regular pastries. Aren’t you worried I might get too specialized if I go all gluten-free?”

“I’ve run the numbers. You’re making more from your gluten-free stock than from your regular pastries. Almost double. And people have been driving in from the mainland for them, just with the few posts I’ve created on Facebook. I really think you could go all gluten-free and make a killing.”

I stop and lean on my mop handle. “You really think so?”

Claire grins at me as she pulls a whisk from my crock. “I do.”

“Wow. All right, then. What would I need to do?”

“We would need to get rid of your wheat flour and sterilize your kitchen from the wheat. You may want to purchase some new equipment so it has never touched wheat flour. But I really think it would be worth it for you.”

I slowly nod. “And my gluten-free items would be more valuable then?”

“Oh yes. Then you could say your bakery is all gluten-free. That will bring in tons of people who can’t have any cross-contamination.”

I chew on this for a moment. I’ve found great satisfaction in coming up with gluten-free recipes.

It’s been a challenge for me, but I get completely pumped when I can beat that challenge and create something delicious that Claire can eat.

Excitement bubbles through me at the thought of continuing to do that full-time. I grin. “Let’s do it.”

“Fantastic. I know a lot of people who will be thrilled. We can work on signage and everything this week, and you can order some new baking pans so we’re ready to go full-on gluten-free in a month.”

“A month? You think it will take that long?” I want to ask her if she thinks she’ll still be around in a month, but stay silent. I don’t want to know the answer to that.

“To fully prepare, yes. But don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

I lean the mop against the counter and slide my arms around her, pulling her off the stool and into my arms. “As long as you’ll be around to help,” I say quietly.

“I want to be…” She doesn’t meet my gaze, and I know there’s the part she’s not saying. The part that would pull her away from me.

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering longer than they should. “I want you to be,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her eyes flick to mine, hesitant and unreadable, but she doesn’t pull away.

I lower my forehead to hers. “But you might not be.”

She closes her eyes, just for a second. “There’s the trial. And my parents. And the store… I can’t abandon my parents. My sister did, and I just can’t do that to them. They depend on me.”

“And what do you want?” I whisper, not sure I want to know.

She swallows but doesn’t answer me.

I tilt her chin up gently until her eyes meet mine. “Maybe it’s time to explore what you want instead of only doing what others want.”

I kiss her before I lose the nerve, soft and searching. She melts into me, her arms sliding around my waist, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of us.

When we pull apart, her forehead rests against mine again, and I want to believe this means she’s choosing me. Choosing this.

But she pulls back first, slowly, her smile wistful. “I really do want to help you go gluten-free.”

“I know,” I say, even though I want more than just her help with flour.

I hold her there a second longer before stepping back and reaching for the mop again. It’s not the right time to ask her to stay.

But maybe… she’ll see there’s something worth staying for.