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Chapter six

Naomi

Pulling my grocery cart to a stop, I fish my phone out of my purse and check the incoming message.

Mom: Your father mentioned you have a boyfriend? That’s lovely, dear! Let’s get a date on the calendar for dinner soon!

I’ve been waiting to hear from her. I push my lips together, fighting the urge to spill the beans and confide in her the truth behind the dating announcement.

We don’t have a bad relationship, my mother and I, but we’re definitely not as close as we could be.

What—or rather, who—holds me back from delving into a deeper connection is the person she’s married to.

My father. She’s comfortable living under his rule—a place I’ve been desperate to flee for some time now.

Naomi: Sounds good to me!

Hopefully, that can keep her at bay for a little while.

I’m not exactly chomping at the bit to schedule a dinner with my parents, let alone face the reality of this ridiculous fake-dating scenario I’ve found myself in.

I huff under my breath at the reminder, but once again, I push the notion out of my head to process later.

I’ve had far too much going on this week to appropriately address Robbie’s idea yet.

I slide the phone back in my purse and continue down the aisle in search of flour.

It's the second time this week that I’ve been back to the store to stock up on baking supplies.

Robbie was right—I’ve had three people reach out about baking orders since Gabby’s mom’s shower.

I’ve been up to my eyeballs in flour and eggs for the past few days, much to my slightly overwhelmed delight.

A few of them have even already inquired about recurrent weekly donut orders.

It’s happening. What I’ve dreamed about for so long. It feels exciting yet cautiously scary. Like I’m caught in a whirlwind, not entirely sure how to grasp onto the reality of it all or how I’m supposed to handle it. I should probably get an official booking calendar to start.

“Naomi, honey,” a voice calls out from behind me.

I turn to see my fourth-grade teacher pulling her shopping cart to a stop next to mine. In a town as tiny as ours it’s a regular occurrence to have small talk in everyday places such as the baking aisle.

“Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Hello. How are you?”

“Well, I’m certainly glad I ran into you, I’ll tell you that much! Listen, I was at Ana’s house the other day for a bridal shower…”

My smile falters, my confidence slipping because I know exactly where this is going. Immediately my mind races, questioning how many more orders can I squeeze in and still stay sane.

“...and those cupcakes you made were just heavenly. That whipped caramel frosting? Absolutely to die for! Any chance you’d be interested in baking the cake for my Susie’s wedding next weekend?”

“A wedding cake? Next weekend? Oh, um…” I visualize my schedule in my head, knowing that it’s already filling up.

At the same time, the last thing I want to do is complain, given this is my actual dream scenario come true.

I might need to work until the wee hours of the night to get it done, but there’s no way I could turn down an order right now even if I wanted to.

“I know it’s super last minute, but you know how that bakery closed down off Main Street.

You heard about that, right? That gal from Minneapolis was running it—super cute place.

We had her booked for making the cake, but she just up and closed her doors without a word and without giving our deposit back.

Terrible, right? Now we’re out a cake, and the wedding is almost here! Poor Susie is in shambles.”

“That’s horrible.” Of course I’ve heard about the bakery closing. Things like that don’t happen in this town without every last resident knowing about it. In fact, I’m sure that’s part of the reason why I’ve had so many inquiries.

Obviously, I’ve already had an obnoxious amount of fantasies about taking it over and running it myself, kickstarting a wonderfully successful baking career.

But alas, I’ve crunched the numbers and don’t have quite enough money for the rent they’re asking for.

Nor am I ready to take the leap to launch a full-fledged business quite yet, if I’m honest. I may be a dreamer, but I’m not a careless one.

Maybe someday.

“It really is. So, what do you say? Are you able to make one? Susie wanted a simple chocolate cake with a raspberry tart filling and fondant icing. Just a few burgundy roses cascading down the side, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble.

What do you think?” She looks at me expectantly with hopeful eyes.

“Um, sure, I can make that work,” I tell her with a reluctant smile.

I can’t not help them out. What else would they do?

Surely most other bakeries in neighboring cities would be unable to commit on such short notice.

I can’t let a bride be cake-less on her big day.

I can squeeze that in somehow—I’ll have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.

This is my dream, after all.

“Are you sure?” she asks cautiously.

“Absolutely. Why don’t you have Susie call me tomorrow morning, and we can work out the details.”

“You are the absolute best, Naomi. Heaven sent, I tell you. Oh, I can’t wait to tell her!” Mrs. Fitzpatrick scurries away with a final wave, already pulling her phone out to deliver the message.

Feeling increasingly overwhelmed with the amount of work in my future, I quickly gather the rest of my ingredients—granulated sugar and two more cartons of eggs—before rushing home.

When I pull into my driveway, I notice Mrs. Pelinski lifting a watering can over her head, straining to reach a pot of hanging geraniums that adorn her front stoop.

“Hi, Mrs. P!” I call out while opening the trunk of my car. She turns her head in my direction and smiles.

“Do you need help with that?” I ask, pointing to the flowers.

“Oh, that would be great, actually.” She lowers the watering can and steps aside in obvious relief while I cross the grass in her direction. “Thank you, Naomi.”

The way she says my name always brings a warmth to my heart. I never mind all the times I find myself over here helping her with tasks, as I genuinely enjoy her company. But today, I’m finding myself feeling a bit anxious to get back to baking given the work I keep adding.

“No problem.” I smile at her while I water the pots. “I can’t stay and chat tonight, though. I’ve been busy with baking orders. Did I tell you that?”

“Orders from your convention?”

“No, that was just for me, to learn about the business and get a feel for the industry. These are all actual orders that people are paying me for.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” She beams, settling onto one of her wicker chairs. “Just like I always told you—you’re a natural.”

“Oh, stop.” I wave a hand, blushing.

“I’m serious. There’s a certain amount of instinct that goes into baking that can’t be learned, dear. A touch of magic. You have that.”

“Well, I owe a lot of it to you, honestly.” I have a seat on the opposite chair, wanting to soak in her company for a little while longer.

“You were always my best student.”

I can’t even count how many evenings we’ve spent together in either her kitchen or mine since I moved in. I caught a lot of heat from Gabby when I bailed on plans to hang out with my elderly neighbor, but every single second of it was worth it. I’m proud to call her my friend.

“I just hope I’m living up to everyone’s standards. What if somebody doesn’t like something I made?” I allow the insecurity to come through as I look down at my fingers. I can feel the weight of her stare as she peers over at me.

“My dear,” she says softly. “You can’t please everyone in this world.”

I simply nod, letting her words sink in.

“But if they don’t like your creations, then they must be stupid—or have no taste buds,” she says bluntly.

I snort. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t make everyone happy.”

Her smile is reassuring as she nods patiently at me.

“Thank you. Listen, I’d better get back to work.”

“Remember to enjoy the process, dear,” she calls as I descend her porch stairs and walk across the grass back to my car.

“I’ll try,” I say with a wave.

I grab my grocery bags and head in through the garage door.

As I did this morning, I once again observe how clean and orderly everything in my house is.

There are no stray clothes on the floor, the blankets are neatly folded on the standing ladder next to the fireplace and hanging over the basket on the floor, and the furniture is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Not a thing is out of place now that Robbie is gone.

He left last week—along with his ridiculous notion to pretend that we’re a couple.

I get to putting the groceries away and take the quiet moment to finally ruminate on his absurd idea—the one that came out of nowhere.

I may have randomly imagined us frolicking down the Amalfi Coast together, but him—or anyone for that matter—standing up to my dad like that for me has never been part of any vision I’ve ever had.

I guess it’s something that has been out of the realm of possibilities, even in my daydreams.

Not to say I don’t appreciate it. I know he has my best interest at heart. But I’m not convinced that he fully understands what he just signed up for. You can’t just decide to put on a facade like this in a town where everybody knows your business. There’s no room for error here.

Although, I’m not sure why I’m even worried about it. If I know Robbie, I’m guessing he’ll probably forget about this whole idea before he ends up rolling back into town. He said he'll be back in a few days, but I’ll believe that when I see it. I’ve never known him to be one to stick to a schedule.

My eye catches on a bird as it flutters outside my window to land on the big oak tree in the middle of my backyard.

With a smile, I’m reminded yet again of why this kitchen is one of my favorite spots in my whole house.

From where I stand, I have a perfect view of both my firepit and the long dock that stretches out into the glistening lake.

While it doesn’t have a boat in the lift—maybe someday it will—it does have a quaint wooden bench at the very end of it where I spend most of my evenings.

My favorite part of the view is the way that most of the houses on the other side of the lake are hidden behind rows of large trees, with random docks jutting out into the water serving as the only signs of life.

I know who lives in each one, of course, but there’s enough of a veil of mystery about each property to keep me hooked.

Give me a glass of wine and a picturesque sunset, and my daydreams know no limits.

That’s not happening tonight, however. There’s no rest for this burgeoning small business owner. With a contented sigh, I tear my gaze from the backyard, refocus my energy, and get started making frosting.