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And that’s when it hits me. Like a sharp smack to the forehead.
Thatis why I’ve been so gloomy all evening—Mason.
I miss Mason.
Fuck.
Fuckety-fuck.
I miss Mason.
This is bad.
22
MASON
The smell of my Grammy’s famous coffee lures me through the side door of the Wildberry Bakery at the butt crack of dawn. I yank the door open, eager to fuel up on a cup of the good stuff.
The moment I walk inside, my cousins start giving me shit.
“Who the hell is that guy?” Jasper mumbles, looking asleep on his feet as he shoves a tray ofsomethinginto the industrial oven.
“Dunno,” Harry mock-glares, trudging into the room with a twenty-five pound bag of flour in each arm. “Grammy should get herself some security. We’ve got squatters wandering in off the streets.”
Cash smirks from where he’s cracking eggs into a mixing bowl the size of a swimming pool. “I think I recognize the guy, but I’m pretty sure he got uglier.”
“I’ve only been gone a couple weeks, assholes. Y’all are more dramatic than my six-year-old patient who just learned she won’t be able to swim all summer.”
I head straight for the sink to wash my hands. In a heartbeat, I’m pouring myself a large cup of coffee.I haven’t been able to find anything like it in Starlight Falls. All that town has is tea and herbal stuff at every turn.
“Broken bone?” Davis asks, nudging me out of the way to add more beans to the espresso machine.
“Arm,” I confirm.
“Poor kid.” He flinches, probably thinking back to that summer when he fell out of a spruce tree in Grammy’s backyard and suffered a similar fate. He was a whole lot whinier about it though.
The guys get their teasing and ribbing out of the way while we fall into our usual routine, opening the bakery. Stocking. Cleaning. Mixing. Prepping. Everything’s business as usual.
Well except for the fact that there are helpers everywhere I turn. My cousins are still training the new workers who all got hired to assist at the bakery in the short time that I moved away.
Cash dusts his hands down the front of his apron then guides me out of the prep area with a palm on my shoulder. “Come, cousin. Let’s catch up.”
I glance over my back as we file into the tiny office just off the kitchen. “Not gonna lie. It’s weird as hell to see outsiders here in Grammy’s kitchen,” I say out the side of my mouth as we go, my untrusting gaze following the workers buzzing in and out of the prep area.
“Tell me about it,” Davis responds. “None of us are thrilled to see strangers here at the family bakery, but Grammy’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”
Throughout the over fifty year history of the Wildberry Bakery, our grandmother has always been fiercely protective of her trade secrets and her recipes. She never hired outsiders because she was dead-set on keeping her prized recipes within the family. My cousins and I used to all have a nice morning rotation worked out, and my sisters used to run the kitchen in the afternoons.
But with kids and work and relationships rapidly coming into the fold, running the bakery as a family-only endeavor was starting to become unmanageable. Grammy eventually had to accept that she needs more consistent help with us all becoming busier with our own lives.She recently hired a slew of apprentices.
“Don’t worry,” Harry assures me. “These recipes won’t leave the family. Grams may be losing her eyesight, but she’s no push over.”
Nadia, Harry’s gorgeous wife, happens to be an intimidating hotshot lawyer. She made the workers all sign ironclad NDA agreements before they ever set foot in Grammy’s kitchen.
“I know, I know.” I release a sigh, dropping into a seat and taking a chug of my coffee. “I still feel guilty for bailing on Grammy. I mean—it doesn't help that I moved clear out of town.”
“Grams understands. She wants us to live our lives. Not be beholden to the bakery until kingdom come.”
