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“Jessica, you here?”
Unfortunately.
She pushed through the swinging door and wiped her hands on her apron, forcing her best smile. “Good morning.”
“I received another one,” Mrs. Barnett said, waving a letter from Not Just Desserts.
“What does it—”
“Jessica Lynn Connolly, tell me you haven’t sunk us all,” her aunt Frankie interrupted, entering the bakery with an identical letter in her hand.
“Dramatic much, Aunt Frankie?” Jessica said with a heavy sigh.
Her aunt winked at her and shot a side-long glance toward Mrs. Barnett, letting Jessica know she was overreacting for the other woman’s sake.
Mrs. Barnett huffed her approval, missing the gesture and feeling justified in the solidarity.
“You’re not really selling the bakery, though, are you?” Frankie asked, her tone less dramatic, but slightly concerned as she studied her.
Looking at her aunt was like looking in a mirror. They were often mistaken for sisters. The fifty-seven-year-old didn’t look a day over forty and had more energy than anyone Jessica’s age. With just one employee, she’d operated the fabric store on Main Street for thirty years.
“No. I’m not. At least, I haven’t made my mind up yet.” Jessica pointed to the letters. “Those are completely premature. I can’t believe they sent those to both of you without my answer.” Someone was getting an earful today.
Other than her.
“But you’re thinking about it?” Mrs. Barnett said, folding her arms across her chest.
“I’m notnotthinking about it.” No sense lying to them. It would be far worse if she then did decide to sell. “But whether I do or not doesn’t matter. You don’t have to.”
“Actually, we might,” her aunt said, climbing onto a stool at the counter.
“Why?”
“It’s called progress,” Mrs. Barnett said. “If Not Just Desserts can convince the town’s committee and Mayor Rodale that it’s better for the economy to have a large, eat-in-bakery and café instead of two semi-lucrative businesses, they can push us out.” She toyed with the rings she wore on each finger and Jess could see the mood-revealing, color-changing stone around her neck was a deep, dark blue. She’d once explained the different colors to Jessica and she couldn’t remember if dark blue meant annoyed or murderous.
She shook her head, forcing her voice to sound confident. “The town would never decide that. Barnett’s Bottles and Frankie’s Fabrics have been here for like…a million years.”
“Watch yourself, girlie,” her aunt said.
“You know what I mean. No one’s going to push you out. And besides, I haven’t told them I’m selling.” Yet. One minute she thought there was no way she could. Then the next, especially after finishing a wedding cake that wasn’t her own, she thought it might be the right decision.
But selling the bakery was just one step.
Then what? Where would she move? What would she do? She could get a job anywhere working as a pastry chef and she might be just as happy. But how would she decide where to go?
So far, fate hadn’t helped her find Mr. Right, and flipping a coin or pointing to a random spot on the map didn’t seem like it would be any surer of a bet than staying right where she was and lettinghimfindher.
A memory of Mitch’s kiss made her cheeks flush.
Had he already found her?
“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” Mrs. Barnett ripped her letter in half and stormed out of the bakery, her patchouli-scented perfume lingering in her wake.
Jessica sighed. “Sorry, Aunt Frankie. I had no idea they were going to pressure you.” They’d mentioned expanding, but Jessica hadn’t let it bother her, not having made up her own mind yet.
This made the decision much harder. Other livelihoods could be affected by it. Not to mention Not Just Desserts would charge her friend a fortune to provide baked goods to Dove’s Nest. She’d be an awful friend if she bailed on Sarah now.
Her gut tightened into a knot.
