Page 80 of Frosted Fakes

"Because we have eyes." Jamie leaned on the counter. "So. When's the wedding?"

"Jamie."

"I'm serious. You should lock it down before one of you gets cold feet. Elliott's got very cold feet. Literally. She wears socks to bed."

"How do you know what Elliott wears to bed?"

"Shay told me," Jamie grinned. "She's very informative after two glasses of wine."

Elliott emerged from the kitchen, took one look at Jamie's face, and groaned. "You've heard."

"The whole town's going to hear. The legendary ice queen Elliott Sinclair had finally met her match."

"I’m not an ice queen."

"Mmm, are we sure? Either way, you’ve met your match. You’ve been thawed by Oakhaven’s warmest sunshine bakery owner." He straightened up. "Anyway, I'm happy for you both. Genuinely. Just don't mess it up."

"Thanks," Elliott said dryly.

"I try." He headed for the door. "I'd stay and tease you more, but I've got a delivery coming. Try not to be too disgustingly cute today. It's bad for my digestion. Oh, and can I borrow some flour? I’ll send a kitchen hand to get some later."

The bell chimed his exit.

Elliott came to stand beside Julia, their shoulders brushing. "He's insufferable."

"He's happy for us."

"Same thing." But Elliott's hand found Julia's under the counter, their fingers intertwining. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"The teasing?"

"The being happy." Elliott's voice was quiet. "I'm not good at it."

Julia squeezed her hand. "Better get used to it"

The morning rush came and went. Customers commented on Julia's smile, on the warmth between her and Elliott when they passed each other. Mrs. Monmouth declared that she'd known they were suited from the moment she'd seen them together. Old Mr. Peterson asked if they'd set a date yet, which sent Julia into a coughing fit.

Throughout it all, Tara worked quietly in the background, arranging pastries and restocking shelves. But Julia noticed that she seemed distracted, her usual dry commentary absent. More than once, Julia caught her staring into the middle distance, chewing on her lip.

After the last of the morning customers had gone, Julia found Tara in the back, methodically wiping down surfaces that were already clean.

"Hey," Julia said gently. "Everything okay?"

Tara's hand stilled on the counter. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Privately, I mean." Tara's voice was barely above a whisper. "Not here."

Julia's chest tightened. Whatever this was, it was serious. "The storeroom?"

Tara nodded and led the way.

The storeroom was cramped and smelled of flour and cardboard boxes. Tara closed the door behind them and stood with her back against the shelves, arms wrapped around herself.

"I don't know how to say this," Tara began. Her voice was shaking slightly. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks, and I keep chickening out, and I know that's stupid, but I just…"

"Take your time," Julia said. "Whatever it is, I'm listening."