Page 17 of Win a Date with a Baker

The early mornings. The burns. The aching back. The batches that fail for no clear reason.

The constant pressure of knowing one bad day can wreck a week’s profit.

“I got a business degree because it made sense.”

The way she says it makes me frown. “And baking didn’t?”

“Not according to anyone around me.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice. That somehow makes it worse.

“They all said I was too smart to spend my life in a kitchen.”

My jaw tightens. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

“I know that now.”

“You didn’t then?”

“I was a kid.” She gives a small, self-conscious laugh. “I thought everyone else knew more about life than I did.”

I know that feeling.

“So you took the safe job,” I say.

She nods. “Corporate operations.”

I wince. “That sounds painful.”

“It’s not terrible.”

“That’s not the same as good.”

“No.” Her gaze drops again. “I sit at a desk. I answer emails. I make spreadsheets. I sit through meetings about meetings.”

“Horrifying.”

She laughs. “It pays well.”

“Still horrifying.”

“It has benefits.”

“Elizabeth.”

She sighs. “I know.”

The bakery falls quiet around us. The mixers are off for once. The ovens hum softly behind me. Somewhere in the front, the refrigeration unit kicks on.

I watch her trace a fingertip through the flour on the table.

“I always wanted to own a bakery,” she says.

The words are soft enough that I almost miss them.

My chest tightens. “You did?”

“Since I was sixteen.”