Page 30 of Theirs for the Holidays

I nod. “Maple sugar, yes, ma’am. It’s in the candied nuts.”

“Delicious. I’ll have a dozen of those, please. And then three of the red velvet cupcakes for my grandchildren. The ones with teeth, anyway.” She laughs, and I start boxing up her purchases.

“I hope you all enjoy everything.”

“I know we will. You know, I don’t understand why this place is so empty right now. Your baking is amazing, and you should be getting much more business.”

I laugh wryly. “Well, be sure you tell your friends and family about me,” I say. “We’re not too far from Cartersville.”

“I will do that,” she says. “And I’ll be back.”

She leaves with her boxes of treats, and I let out a pleased sigh. I might not always be overrun with customers, but at least the interactions I have with the ones I do get are always positive.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and I handle a last minute rush, handing out the last of the nut cookies and gougères. As the last customers of the day leave, I feel lighter than I have in a while.

I lock up and go into the back, flipping through the notebook where I keep notes about each day. I write down what sold well and what didn’t, what comments I got that I can learn from going forward. And then I put a gold star next to the date with a smile. It was a very good day. I might not be the most popular bakery out there, but I know it’s important to celebrate the small wins. One day, I’m going to make this bakery everything I dreamed of, and I want to remember how I got there when it happens.

It’s just after four when I start closing up, and my thoughts turn back to the guys. I haven’t seen them all day, but they’ve been on my mind while I worked.

Yesterday felt like a learning experience with them, seeing them after so long, and figuring out what’s at the heart of the rift between them. Clearly selling their business did more for theirwallets than it did for their relationship with each other, and I wonder how things got so bad.

The rest of the night was tense, with the three of them emerging from their respective corners to use the bathroom and get things out of the kitchen, and then retreating right back into their distance. They didn’t speak to each other, and barely spoke to me, other than to say goodnight.

I have no idea what they’ve been doing while I’ve been at the bakery, and it makes me a bit nervous to go back home and see them. The air there is probably going to be just as chilly and bitter as it was last night.

On top of that, they still put me off balance a bit. All of them are so handsome and intense. Not to mention hard to read. It’s weird navigating that in my own home, where I’m used to being completely comfortable.

At the same time, there’s a part of me that’s excited to see them again. They make me feel exhilarated in a strange way, and the nerves and anticipation have my stomach doing somersaults.

I start heading for my car, and my phone rings. I frown down at the screen when I see it’s my mom.

Her calling while I’m leaving work is what got me into this situation in the first place, and I’m so tempted to just ignore it and get on with my evening.

But then I sigh and answer it anyway.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, going for peacefully neutral.

“It’s me, actually.”

Isabelle. Wonderful.

“Hi, Isabelle. What’s up?”

“I’m in the middle of a crisis, and I need your help.”

I bite back the words that want to spill out of my mouth, that Isabelle wouldn’t know a crisis if it bit her in the ass because she’s never had to struggle for anything. Instead, I just take a breath. “What happened?”

“Andrew found a caterer on social media who does all these beautiful desserts, and we hired them for the wedding. And now they’ve bailed on us! Something about getting a better contract for that weekend. So now we don’t have anyone doing desserts, and we need to find someone else.”

“It’s last minute to get a replacement, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Obviously!” Isabelle says, going so shrill it makes me wince. “Which is why I’m freaking out. We’re going to test out a new place this afternoon to see if they’re good enough.”

“Okay? I’m confused why you’re calling me.”

“Because you’re my maid of honor, Vi. And because you know a little bit about baking, so will you please come with me? I’m desperate, but I don’t want to get taken advantage of by some baker using, I don’t know, shit ingredients.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead as I get into the car. I didn’t want to be Isabelle’s maid of honor in the first place. I wanted to turn it down because I thought it would be really weird to stand there with her, watching her marry my ex-boyfriend. But she’d gone on and on about how we’re twins and she wanted me to be there next to her while she takes this step, and it was easier to just give in than make it a whole big thing.