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“Are you serious? I told you the situation in Calamity. There’s no space available in Wild Wolff Village.” She couldn’t bear the idea of running into Jaime and Kinny. He would heal. At some point, with such a loving family and great friends, he’d finally conquer his demons. And then, he’d allow himself to love and be happy.
And it won’t be me.
No. She couldn’t do it. It would kill her to see him with another woman. But she couldn’t let herself think about it. “Besides, now that I have the money, I’m not going to waste it on a food truck. No, this is fine.” Decided, she headed for the door. “Let’s buy me a building.”
She made it all the way to the realtor’s office. The hot August sun would’ve been sweltering if not for the ocean breeze. Water lapped against hulls and sailboat sheets banged against masts.
These were the sounds of her childhood. The briny smell in the air, families biking the seven-mile loop, and the sense of endless summer were everything she’d ever known.
Until Calamity.
The mountains and meadows, glacial lakes and wild animals. The bison preserve, the bike paths that cut through forests, cowboy boots and pearl button western shirts. It was a whole other world. She’d barely begun exploring the trendy shops downtown, the living museum of Owl Hoot, the upscale ski resort—
Wild Wolff Village.
A sense of rightness swelled inside her. That’s it. That magical, European-style town was the only place in the world for her bakery. “I don’t want fine.”
“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”
“I don’t have to settle for anything. I’m the Singing Baker, and what I make is special.”Maybe it’ll hurt to see Jaime with someone else but that can’t stop me from living the life I want.
“Damn right.” Her brother threw an arm around her shoulder and gave her a shake. “That’s my big sister.”
Right there on Anchor Street in the middle of the busiest time of day, she pulled out her phone. Stepping under the realtor’s awning, she did a quick search for Wild Wolff Village’s leasing office.
Once she found it, she hit Call. As it rang, a group of college-age girls walked by—loud, laughing, and very clearly checking out her brother. One of them slipped a phone number into the pocket of his shorts.
Grace rolled her eyes, but he just grinned. “Who’re you calling?” he asked.
“The only place in the world where I want to open my own bakery.”
“Paris?” His eyes went wide. “You’re callingParis?”
Used to his teasing, she smacked his muscular chest.
And then, right before she gave up, a woman answered. “This is Marni. How can I help you?”
She’d expected a more formal reply. “Oh, I thought I was calling the Wild Wolff Village leasing office.”
“You are. I’m the manager. No one’s at reception, and the phone was ringing, so I picked it up. What can I do for you?” The woman sounded in a hurry.
Well, she got the manager. She had to shoot her shot. “My name is Grace Giordano.” She went with the best angle she had. “The Singing Baker.”
“No kidding? Idevouredyour pastries this summer. And your voice, my God. You’re really something.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I’m standing outside a realtor’s office on Duff Island, ready to buy a building for my bakery, and the truth is, I don’t want to open it here. I want to be in your village.” Marni started to speak, but Grace wasn’t ready for rejection. “I know you have a long wait list for your shops, but I’d be willing to start with a kiosk. With the momentum from the festival, I think it’d be beneficial for me and the village.”
“Are you done?”
She gazed up at her brother, so scared of hearing they had seven thousand people on their waitlist or that there was an ordinance for the number of food sellers or some other excuse.
“You got this,” Romeo whispered.
“I’m done if the answer’s yes. If you tell me no, then I’m going to have to keep trying to convince you.”
