Page 101 of Frosted Fakes

Elliott nearly dropped her spatula. "Milly? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting."

"Saw the commotion online. Margaret from the home showed me how to use TikTok." Milly settled herself onto the stool by the prep table as if she owned the place. Which, Elliott supposed, she sort of used to. "Wanted to see how you were handling it."

"I'm fine."

"Mmm." Milly watched her fold dough with those sharp, knowing eyes that had always seen straight through Elliott's nonsense. "You came back."

"Someone had to. Have you seen the shelves? It's criminal."

"You came back to help Julia."

Elliott's hands stilled on the pastry. "I came back because it was the right thing to do."

"You came back because you love her and you couldn't stand the thought of her facing this alone." Milly's voice was matter-of-fact. "Which is sweet. Also, somewhat ironic."

"How is it ironic?"

Milly just looked at her. One eyebrow raised. Patient as always.

And then it hit Elliott like a bag of flour in the face.

She was here. Helping Julia. Without being asked. Without discussing it first. Just showing up because she couldn't bear to watch someone she cared about struggle alone.

Exactly like Julia had done for her.

"Oh," Elliott said weakly.

"There it is." Milly chuckled, reaching over to pat Elliott's flour-dusted hand. "Sometimes helping people is just what we do, isn't it? When you love someone, you don't always wait for permission. You just show up."

Elliott stared at her dough. "I was an idiot."

"You were scared. There's a difference." Milly stood, brushing off her cardigan. "I'm proud of you for coming back, Elliott. It takes courage to admit you might have been wrong."

The kitchen door swung open and Tom appeared, took one look at Elliott covered in flour, and rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. "Oh, for God's sake," he muttered. "You two are going to be the death of me."

"Nice to see you too, Tom."

"I've been dealing with Candice's social media meltdown and Mrs. Monmouth demanding scones and Julia looking like a sad penguin all morning, and now you just waltz back in and start baking like nothing happened?" He threw his hands up. "Do either of you know how to communicate like normal human beings?"

"Apparently not," Elliott admitted. "Um, sad penguin?"

"Have you ever seen one?" Tom asked. "They’re pathetic. And kind of cute."

Milly patted Elliott's shoulder. "Figure things out, dear. Before that boy loses the will to live." She shuffled out, leaving Elliott alone in the kitchen with her half-finished pastries and the uncomfortable weight of her own hypocrisy.

She'd been so angry at Julia for helping without asking. So determined to see it as a betrayal rather than an act of love. And here she was, doing exactly the same thing, showing up, helping, not discussing it first, because when you cared about someone, sometimes you just couldn't help yourself.

Maybe that was what love actually looked like. Not grand gestures or perfect communication. Just showing up, even when you didn't know what to say.

Elliott finished the batch of croissants. Then she made a tray of pain au chocolat and three dozen of the lemon tarts Julia loved, the ones with the torched meringue tops that Julia always pretended not to steal from the display case. She filled the display cases until they looked like something worth photographing again.

And then, because she still didn't know how to fix things, because she still didn't have the words, she slipped out the back door without seeing Julia again.

It wasn't a solution. It wasn't even close to a solution.

But it was a start.

Chapter Thirty-Two