Page 9 of Merry Fake Bride

“Oh, you.” Mom laughs and moves around the corner. “It was Devon who persuaded me to even enter a competition. I was so convinced I could never compete with my mother. And she was the one who saved the tarts when the roux started to spoil. The win was all hers.”

I roll my eyes and duck away from the conversation to store the perishables Mom brought.

There’s enough ice cream to feed more than a few children’s parties, but she does tend to over purchase.

Since I came back, I’ve yet to get an answer on what happened to our regular delivery company.

By the time I finish unpacking, Faith is gone.

“She seems sweet,” Mom says from the floor behind the cash register. She’s cleaning up the icing stain I forgot about.

“Sweet, sure. Very young. Inexperienced.”

“Remind you of anyone?” Mom stands and balls up the tissues. “Do you like her?”

I glance at the door and Faith flits through my mind. “I think she applied for the wrong reasons, but she’s the best I’ve seen so far. She also mentioned Silver Canopy.”

Mom’s face falls immediately. “What I would give to never hear that name again.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but she’s right. I heard yesterday that Mr. Bishop finally sold the hardware store on the corner. We’re the only ones left on the block.”

“Are you trying to persuade me to sell?” Mom snaps, tossing the paper into the trash.

“Not at all!” I follow her through to the kitchen. “But you have to see how a lack of foot traffic will affect us. I don’t want to sell at all, believe me. But I think we really need to come up with some decent marketing ideas.”

“Devon.” She pulls her apron from behind the door and slips it over her head, then she approaches me while tying the string behind her back.

“We’re going to be okay. I know you came back here looking to fix yours?—”

“I’m not looking to fix,” I interrupt quickly before this dissolves into a conversation I’d rather avoid. “I’m just looking to help.”

“I know, sweetie. And it’s just like you to try.”

She reaches for my shoulder and touches me very gently, smiling until I pull away. “I’m just saying that you need to take time and focus on yourself. What you went through is?—”

“Customers!”

I’m saved by the tell-tale ding of the door and dart away from her before she can fully drown me in motherly affection.

She means well and I don’t hold it against her, but I can’t face it yet.

I ran for a reason, and until I can think about that reason without feeling like a black hole is opening in my chest, I don’t want to deal with it.

To distract myself from that and my raging hangover, I throw myself into work.

We’re as busy as I expect and then some because Halloween is next week and nothing sells better than spiderweb cupcakes, pumpkin pie, and our orange and cinnamon tarts.

Being surrounded by the sweet scents of baking, the overwhelming stink of icing sugar and butter, and the heat from the ovens ends up turning my stomach again, not long after lunch, so I duck away on break and hide in the coat closet for a moment of respite.

Searching through my bag, my heart sinks when I can’t find the painkillers I’m sure I packed.

Did I forget them?

As I rummage, I remember seeing them on the kitchen counter at home and I think I forgot to grab them. Shit.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”