Nerves settle deep in my gut, but excitement rises in my chest. Honestly, I feel like I’m going to puke, but I push myself to my feet. “Okay. Okay. I have to get some things in order, but then I’m coming to visit.”
“Yes!” she squeals.
“Thank you, Juliet. Now I gotta go pack.”
I’m about to end the call when I hear her voice yell, “Make sure you plan some grand romantic gesture!”
37
SUMMER
I love working at the bakery.The early hours will work perfectly with my afternoon classes, and I’m happy to let Juliet spend the mornings with her daughter. I can tell how much it means to her to get that time back. And even though it can get a bit lonely when she’s not here with me, Diem usually comes over in the morning with coffee before she opens her tattoo shop for the day. She’ll hand me a chai latte and update me on the latest town gossip—today’s is that Mrs. Roarke, who owns the flower shop down the street, got caught with Mrs. Cooper’s husband. In the Coopers’ house. In the Coopers’ bed.
Small towns are crazy, and everyone is in everyone’s business—though I have kept personal details close to my chest. No one needs to know I came running here because I’d had a relationship with my professor and basically got kicked out of my program.
But every person that I’ve met in this town has been nothing but welcoming, gossipy, and nosy, sure, but welcoming, nonetheless.
Juliet comes in around ten in the morning, after the breakfast rush but before anyone comes in for lunch. She is all smiles as she enters. “Hey!” she calls, as she snags an apron from a hook in the back, where I’m frosting a birthday cake that Rachel Hallaway ordered for her twins. She volunteers at the local library, and her kids are honestly adorable.
Juliet ties her apron with deft hands and leans against the counter as she watches me work.
“Anyone out there?” I ask, biting my lower lip as I try to make a perfect red balloon.
“Nope,” she sighs, pulling her dark hair into a high ponytail. “Seems like it might be a slow day.” She washes her hands and raises her voice over the rush of water. “How’s the morning been?”
I nod. “Pretty normal. The same regulars stopped by. We sold out of croissants within the first few hours. I was thinking maybe we should up the quantity we bake in the mornings.”
“Good idea,” she says with a satisfied smile as she approaches me. “What else do we need to get done for the day?”
“Carol wiped us out of cinnamon rolls—something about book club?”
Juliet gives me a joking salute. “On it.”
She starts pulling out different bowls and utensils before moving on to the ingredients. The delicious smell of cinnamon wafts toward me as she starts measuring out various spices and sugars. We work in comfortable silence; the only sounds are the soft music playing at the front of the store and the clinking of our utensils against the metal counter and glass bowls.
Juliet makes the cinnamon rolls in record time and quickly moves on to frosting cupcakes I’d pulled out earlier but had beenwaiting for them to cool. I stick the tray of cinnamon rolls into one of the free ovens and set a timer while Juliet grabs frosting and piping bags, giving me a grateful smile.
“Remind me what time you’re out of here today?” she asks suddenly.
“I have a meeting with my advisor at three, so I’ll need to head out no later than two-thirty,” I let her know.
“Perfect!” She beams. Someone enters the shop, sending the bell poised at the front door ringing. Juliet’s head turns toward the sound, her eyes lighting up.
My brow furrows. “Perfect for what?” I ask, but she’s already pushing the blue door of the kitchen open and heading back into the front of the shop. I hear her give a cheery greeting to the customer. I shake my head and get started on a new frosting balloon.
One of the ovens chirps to let us know the batch of cupcakes in there is done. I wipe my hands on my apron, grab an oven mitt, take the tray out of the oven, and rest it on a cooling rack.
“Summer?” Juliet calls from the front. “Can you bring those frosted cupcakes out here? We need more for the display case!”
“Sure!” I yell back as I snag the finished tray. I push the door open from the kitchen to the main part of the bakery with my back so as not to drop the freshly baked cupcakes.
Juliet is still chatting with a customer, so I didn’t ask her for help, which was my second mistake. My first mistake was not looking out the small window in the door between the kitchen and the bakery’s main room.
The tray of cupcakes clatters to the ground and skitters on the bleached wood floors, scattering crumbled pieces of vanilla cake everywhere.
“Oh dear,” Juliet giggles, not at all upset about the ruined cupcakes or the mess. She daintily steps over the mess and headsfor the back, ignoring the look I send her, pleading for her help. “I’ll just leave you alone for a moment while I get a broom.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me.
