Page 9 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

NOELLE

Ican be a raging bitch when I want to be. And, unfortunately, even when I don’t want to be.

Like now: sitting beside Shay fucking Harland in a production trailer, across from three people from the network whose job titles I’ve already forgotten.

They’re all perfectly nice, they’ve been surprisingly forthcoming with information, and they’re going to pay us each a small fortune.

But I can’t seem to stop myself from snapping at everything they say.

And like she’s trying to piss me off, Shay couldn’t be nicer to them.

“We’re going to be splitting our trailers across the town—the park, the grocery store parking lot, a bunch of empty fields, et cetera—so we’re not disrupting any one area too much,” the redhead in the middle explains, and I immediately question her on traffic controls.

Environmental concerns. Wildlife. It’s like Rora has taken over my body, and I half expect the words “fuck Christmas” to slip off my tongue at any moment.

They meet my questions with the patience of saints, smiling the whole damn time. God, I need to get more sleep. Or maybe Rora’s right and I need a good orgasm or two to de-stress. Clearly, I’m not taking good enough care of myself.

I jump as Shay lightly touches my arm. “Noelle? You still with us?”

My instinct is to snap at her, but I push it down. Growth. Sort of.

“Yep, sorry.” When I look back at the network folk, they’re watching me warily.

Shit. “Look, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I usually act, especially to strangers.

I’m just really protective of this town and worried about how this is going to impact my business.

I promise I’m usually pretty nice—ask anyone.

Well, maybe not anyone,” I tack on, thinking about the woman beside me.

I shouldn’t have bothered; Shay is a better person than I am and immediately jumps in to back me up.

“She really is. Everyone loves Noelle,” Shay says, and it doesn’t sound like she’s forcing herself.

Which, of course, makes me feel worse. “But you have to understand how important Wintermore is to everyone here. This town means so much to everyone who lives here, and we just want to make sure the town and the people are respected.”

It’s a perfect answer that has the network people relaxing, and me more tense than ever.

Why is she, of all people, defending me?

Being tired and stressed isn’t an excuse to be an asshole, though it is the reason I’m acting like I have been to the people working on the movie.

To Shay, though? That’s how I always am.

She’s either an incredible liar, or this is just another example of her managing everything better than me.

At this point, I have to pick my battles, and I’ve already agreed to the movie, so I may as well stop being so difficult about that.

Besides, I do believe that this will be good for Wintermore as a whole.

My family’s businesses might be doing well, but I owe it to the town to do whatever I can to make sure everyone is thriving—even if I have to work myself to the bone to do it.

As for Shay being so nice… I can unpack that later.

I take a deep breath and make my shoulders relax. “I’d love to hear your plans for splitting your time between the two bakeries, and what kinds of things you’d like me and Shay to work on.”

Relief shines from the faces of the network people, and I force a smile onto my own.

The redhead in the middle claps her hands. “Well, let’s get started, shall we? The plan is simple…”

The plan is anything but simple.

I walk away from the meeting more exhausted than when I went in. Shay walks quietly beside me, and I have no idea what she makes of everything.

They’re going to film in épices et Sucré first, since Shay is happy to close completely and work on her orders from my basement kitchen, like we discussed.

The Enchanted Bakery will operate as normal and close for one week right before the movie wraps so they can film whatever they need to film.

I think the appeal of having a fully operational café and bakery in town for the crew, and the 25 percent discount I offered for anyone working on the movie, was the main driver there.

My team will continue to work in the main kitchen, and I’ll work there until lunchtime, when I’ll move to the basement to work on the ridiculous list of things the network wants for the movie.

The list they’ve given us ahead of time is only the items they know they want in advance.

We’ve been warned that they’ll likely double the amount while filming, and they’ll need duplicates of most things.

The baking itself should be relatively straightforward; I half expected them to ask us to decorate Styrofoam cakes and fake cookies to make filming easier, but they want the real thing for “authenticity.” At least the crew will eat well.

Since the movie features two bakers, they want to see both my decorating style and Shay’s reflected, which is a relief. I really don’t want to have to learn a whole new style overnight if I don’t have to.

Technically, as long as we stay on schedule—or get ahead—we should be able to take one day off a week, but I don’t remember the last time I actually managed a full day off, so I doubt it.

We have a dedicated contact on the crew to help us coordinate everything, free rein to request whatever we need to make things work, and exactly six days until they start filming. Six days to prepare myself to spend over a month stuck in a kitchen with Shay.

I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

“The plan is simple.” Liars.

There’s a tension headache sinking its claws behind my eyes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Are you okay?” Shay’s voice is softer than usual, like she’s deliberately lowering it because she realizes my head is sore.

“I’m fine.” There’s no heat left in me to put behind my words, which is just as well. “It’s just… What the fuck were they talking about, calling the plan simple?” I groan.

Shay sucks in a breath. “I know, right? Simple plans don’t usually require ten pages of instructions.” She brandishes the bundle of papers they gave each of us after we signed the contracts. “Do you think we can make it work?”

I glance over at her. She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, her gray eyes ever so slightly wide, like she’s stressed about this all, too.

“Yeah,” I answer, finally. “I think we can make it work. It’s going to be exhausting, but we can do it.”

My words seem to reassure her, tension I didn’t notice leaving her shoulders with one deep breath. The setting sun swathes her in a golden glow, catching the brighter strands of her blonde hair and making them sparkle.

I look away, focusing on the crispy leaves on the sidewalk instead.

“I’ll set up a calendar and add you so we can both access it on our phones and we can keep track of the bakes for the movie,” I suggest, hugging my arms to my chest. “We can check in at the end of every day to see how we’re getting on, and if we need to move anything around as they add more things to the list.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you,” Shay answers, sounding grateful.

“What’s your number?” I ask, pulling out my phone and starting a new contact.

Shay recites her number, then her email address, and I fill in her contact information.

It only takes a few taps of my screen to set the calendar up and send the invite, and I spend every second wondering what kind of parallel universe I’ve stepped into where I now have a shared calendar with Shay Harland. Wild.

“Thanks,” she says, accepting the calendar invite just as we reach her door. “I’ll go through the list tonight and add everything they’ve given us to the calendar, then maybe we can find a day to go through it and decide who’s working on what?”

“That would be helpful,” I answer.

She leans against the brick wall, pocketing her phone. I don’t know why I expect her to say goodbye and rush off. I’ve spent enough time around Shay recently to have learned that she never seems to be rushing, not like I am.

On a logical level, I know Shay’s a nice person.

I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about her, other than that she keeps to herself.

But I’ve never given her the chance to be nice to me, because I’ve refused to spend any time around her.

The past week is shaking the, admittedly made-up, impression of her I’ve been clinging to.

“I know this is all last-minute and stressful, but I’m excited to get to work with you, Noelle,” she says with a blinding smile. It feels a little like staring straight at the sun, and I struggle to hold her gaze.

I have no idea what to say to that, or what to make of the way it makes my stomach dip, so I just lift a hand, turn on my heel, and walk away.