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“Ian. This isn’t a spat. I’m not throwing a tantrum.”He doesn’t get it at all. “My parents don’t have much time left to build a retirement fund. You understand that, right? How many more years do you think they can stand on their feet all day running a bakery? And if you include the wedding, you just wiped outtwenty-two thousand dollarsof it. So, trust me when I say this has nothing to do with you.”Nothing has anything to do with you anymore. “It’s all about paying back what you stole from them.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“I hope you are. But either way, it doesn’t matter. What you’ve done is unforgivable. You betrayed my trust, and that’s not something you can ever earn back. I’m only returning your call because I don’t want to spend my summer seeing your name pop up on my screen. This is goodbye.”
ChapterSeven
I want a tall man
A rich man
An absolutely fine man
I want the car
And the money
And the kisses just like honey
I want the world on a plate
Diamonds and a date
I want to drink the wine
And tell you that you’re mine
Is this real life?While dipping sweetened dough into the fryer, Grace belted out a sassy, fun Lorelei Calloway song. Since opening the pass-through window at noon, her singing had drawn a constant flow of business.Yay!
Everyone seemed happy to be outdoors on this gorgeous June day. And the biggest bonus—they’d come to her truck for a doughnut or a churro but the minute they saw her pastries, their eyes lit up, and their hands were allgimme.
Day one: having the time of my life.
Loads of people wandered the lawn of the amphitheater, going from one white tent to another. She hadn’t taken a break yet to check out the vendors, but she could see stalls selling jewelry, metal sculptures, paintings, and topiaries.
The bands were scheduled every four hours during the day with the main show scheduled for seven o’clock on weeknights and eight on weekends. Tour buses parked behind her truck, so she had a chance to see the surprising number of famous musicians who came all the way out to this charming mountain town to play their music.
“Hey, Singing Baker,” a customer called. “Save a chocolate macaron for me.” The woman wore a baseball cap low on her forehead. She was pretty far down the line, and Grace had no doubt she’d be sold out by the time the woman reached the window.
“I’ll make more tomorrow,” she called.
The next customer came forward, a man in a large black cowboy hat. “Can I get two maple bacon doughnuts, please?”
“You got it.” Grace didn’t have a lot of experience with fried foods, but she’d gotten in touch with the truck owner, and he’d sent her his recipes.
“And can you please keep singing?” the man asked.
Grace laughed. “You bet I can. You got a favorite song?”
“Do you only sing Lorelei Calloway?”
“Pretty much, yeah. But that’s because I used to be in a tribute band.” She and Lorelei were both lyric mezzo-sopranos, so even as a teenager, she’d noticed how her voice aligned perfectly with the famous singer’s.
“I can see that, seeing as you look just like her.”
“I hear that a lot.”
The woman whose arm linked through his, asked, “Can you sing ‘Heart of a Woman?’”
