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Penelope’s mother died when she was young, which left the brunt of domestic responsibilities squarely on her father’s shoulders. They’d gone years subsisting off of microwaveable meals and soup from a can. It wasn’t until Penelope was a little older that she took over as the family chef. Still, her repertoire had not extended to bread. She had yet to turn down a loaf of sourdough, a baguette, or a batch of garlic knots.
My phone pinged, so I checked the screen and sighed.
“What? What’s wrong?” Penelope asked in alarm.
“Nothing. It’s just . . . do you mind if we make a pit stop at Batter and Bake before the movie?”
“Sure thing. Everything alright?”
I nodded, typing a reply to my mother. “Yeah,” I hit send and clicked the phone off. “She just left a contract for a wedding cake on the kitchen counter, and she needs me to bring it by. Can’t afford to lose clients now.”
P glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand. “Which means we should probably get going.”
We collected our plates and stood, then headed down to the kitchen. By the coffee pot, I found the folder with the contract on it and grabbed it before we headed out the door.
Twenty minutes later, we burst into Batter and Bake together, where the sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air.
Today was cinnamon roll day. My favorite. Which eased the sting of the inconvenience of our impromptu stop. With any luck, Mom would pay us for our service with one of Dad’s infamous rolls the size of our heads.
My stomach grumbled as I headed past a couple ordering from the display case to behind the counter where my mother currently waited to take their order while they decided between the lemon crème cupcakes or the strawberry shortcake.
“You want the strawberry. Definitely,” I told them, and Mom shot me a dark look, to which I shrugged and mouthed “what,” even though I knew darn well she hated it when I offered unsolicited recommendations on people’s orders. In my defense, I figured if they were that indecisive, I was going to offer a rec. Besides, it got the customers in and out quicker. Wasn’t that better? Cranky Lady stuck around, and look where that got us. One lodged bolus of cookie later, and we were getting sued.
The couple immediately ordered the strawberry shortcake cupcakes, to which I offered Mom a smug grin while she packaged them in a pastry box. A quick nod for P to join me and she scurried behind the counter. Finding an empty space next to some supplies, I set the folder down with the full intention of scoring some snacks to sneak into the movie.
My gaze drifted over the remaining pastries in the case when Mom turned to me in question. “Here ya go,” I said, tapping the file folder that contained the contract. “Signed, sealed, and delivered. We’ll take something sweet as payment, preferably something with cinnamon and sugar and extra cream cheese frosting,” I joked.
But Mom didn’t laugh. Instead, she exhaled and grabbed the folder, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. “Thank goodness you were home. Felicia called off today, so I had no one else to work the counter while I ran home myself. Lord knows we need this contract. It’s a very elaborate cake, plus they want us to cater the desserts at the shower too. It’ll bring in a nice chunk of change, and all the business we can get right now helps. Anyway,” she said, with a nod to the swinging door that led to the kitchen, “your father’s back there working, and he usually holds a tray of cinnamon rolls. Go on.”
She waved us on, clearly indicating she heard me after all. Still, I hesitated as worry gnawed on my stomach, my appetite gone. Mom didn’t exactly sound like a woman confident we’d win our lawsuit.
But before I could comment, a customer behind the counter cleared their throat, and Mom turned to greet them. Only she did a double-take. Eyes bright, she smoothed a hand over her hair as her cheeks turned crimson, and I frowned.
Beside me, Penelope’s jaw dropped, mouth agape. The cookie she’d been holding fell out of her hand to the ground.
I pointed and opened my mouth to scold her about the waste when a deep, vaguely familiar voice, rumbled behind me.
“Hi.”
One simple word. Yet it gave me chills, sunk hooks in my veins, and shimmied down my spine.
I swiveled around, curious at what had made Mom so flustered and Penelope go all googly-eyed, when the sight of him struck me.
My eyes rounded, and my traitorous heart did a little skip in my chest. Never had I seen a celebrity in the flesh, and now that I had, it was . . . unsettling. Like seeing a unicorn in the wild or diving in the ocean looking for fish, only to come face-to-face with a mermaid. Thorne Roberts was every bit as heartbreakingly handsome off the screen as he was on, and it took a full minute before I could find the ability to breathe again.
“Oh my goodness.” My mom’s hands fluttered somewhere between her chest and her heart while her cheeks turned a deep shade of red. I’d never seen her react like this before, and for a moment, I feared she might have a heart attack.
“Thorne Roberts, right?” she asked, and I turned my gaze to her, slightly annoyed.
I wanted to roll my eyes.Of course it was Thorne Roberts! Who do you think it is, Super Man?But instead of saying this, I kept my mouth shut. Mostly because I understood the shock of seeing him, right here in Lakeview, inourbakery.
Thorne, however, must be used to this shell-shocked reaction from most people because he simply flashed her his signature smile in return. The slightly crooked one that curled the corners of his lips and somehow appeared both smug and endearing at the same time.
“To what pleasure do we owe this visit?” Mom asked, slightly breathless. “Anything you want, it’s on the house.”
At that, my head jerked toward her before I slowly shook my head. Certainly I misheard her, because she did not just offer anything in the shop for free to one of the richest men in the country.
“Mom,” I ground out, staring a hole through the side of her head, but she just kept on staring at him with doe eyes.
