Page 27 of Merry Fake Bride

My short trip to LA that turned into five years created a rift between my parents and me, at least in my mind.

Axel cut me off from everyone, making my escape back to this sleepy town on the outskirts of New York terrifying.

I was sure my parents would slam the door in my face as punishment for vanishing for five years, but instead, they welcomed me with open arms and my heart broke.

But I know the effect my disappearance had on them, especially now as Mom constantly shoots me sidelong glances while we drive as if she expects me to disappear right from this very seat.

She fills me in on the bakery and how poor Faith has been thrown in the deep end with my absence, but she’s doing an amazing job.

She insists I stay home and rest, but I need to keep myself busy or I’ll dwell too much on Kairo and this strange predicament I’ve ended up in.

So, after a long, hot shower, some of my father’s stew, and a long debate about whether to tell my parents the truth about Kairo after my father voices his concerns about hospital bills, I head to the bakery.

I keep my fake engagement a secret for now.

There’s no need to scare them like that, and if Kairo’s insurance is taking care of the bills, then assuring them that they’re taken care of is all I need to do.

The bakery is buzzing with customers, several of whom voice their sympathy as I pass.

Weaving through them, I flash Faith a bright smile as she gazes at me from the register with a slightly frazzled look in her eye and find Mom busy in the kitchen.

“Oh, Devon,” she mutters behind a giant vat of dough. “I wish you would go home and rest.”

“I told you, I can’t focus on resting. I need to be busy and there’s work to be done, so please put me to work.”

She squints at me and rubs a dot of flour from her cheek. “Alright. I need to go and meet a client about a Thanksgiving banquet. We’re working on pastries right now. Do you think you can handle them while I pop out?”

“You know I can. One arm won’t slow me down,” I tease her, eager to get back into the familiar craziness of this place. “Trust me, Mom. With Faith out front, all my focus will be here and on these…” Pausing, I glance at the whiteboard hanging on the wall near the back exit. “Ooh, cranberry? We’re doing that this year?”

“The testers were a hit last year, so I’m hoping people remember.” Mom grins as she unties her apron. “Okay, if you need anything, give me or your dad a call. I’ll only be an hour. Two, tops.”

“Go,” I insist with a laugh. “Show them that we’re the only place in the entire state that can cater that banquet.”

She pecks me on the cheek and leaves in a flash.

A comfortable silence falls, broken only by the gentle music of the machinery stirring the dough and mixing icing and the light hum of the ovens.

Between this and the light murmur rising from the front of the store, I feel at peace for the first time since the accident.

Cooking with one arm has its difficulties, but within twenty minutes, I’m in my element.

Nothing works out stress better than beating dough into submission and rolling it out to line twenty-five pastry cases.

It’s like a dance that soothes my mind, and peace settles across my shoulders at being able to do something again.

Peace that vanishes when Faith rushes into the kitchen.

“Okay, that’s the last customer right now and I am bursting for a pee, so I’m going on break!”

She throws her hands up in the air. “These people are crazy! They act like their entire meal will be ruined without one specific slice of pie!”

“Welcome to the holidays,” I call after her with a laugh as she bolts for the bathroom.

The sound of the door closing has barely reached me when a ding rises up from the front of the shop.

So much for the last customer.

Finishing with the dough, I quickly wash my hand and hurry through to the front of the bakery while removing the protective glove I placed over my cast.