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“Dreams can come true, sunshine,” he winks. I melt. “Come on, let’s check this place out.”
When we walk inside, my eyes go wide. It’s like walking into cake heaven. Cupcakes, pies and cakes line the display cases. Shelves are stacked with oven mitts branded with the bakery’s logo, cookie cutters and homemade chocolate sauces wrapped in pretty pink ribbons. There are cloches lined up in rows on top of the glass cases filled with pastel-coloured macarons and mini-Bundt cakes decorated with frosting and sprinkles. My mouth waters. I want two of everything.
“It’s impossible to decide,” I tell Grayson, peering into the glass case.
“Who said you need to? We can try it all,” he says, like he means it. And he probably does. I’m learning there isn’t much he won’t do to put a smile on my face.
“I doubt we could walk out of here if we did, but maybe we share a few things?”
“Whatever you want, babe. You choose. I’m just here to look good next to you.”
I roll my eyes at him, secretly loving his cocksure attitude. On any other guy it would be a turn-off, but Grayson somehow manages to make it seem charming. It’s not arrogance, it’s confidence. He’s also sweet and kind and funny and thoughtful. And he has my heart in the palm of his hands.
We end up settling on a slice of strawberry champagne cake with fluffy pink icing and one perfectly red raspberry placed on top, and a slice of Limoncello cake because the woman behind the counter recommended it. We add an espresso for Grayson and a cup of Earl Grey tea for me and then take a seat at the bench seat in front of the window that’s stacked full of blush pink pillows.
“Did I just die and go to bakery heaven?” I ask, swooning a little.
Grayson sits across from me, laughing. He’s wearing a plain white T that is stretched across his impressive frame, his muscular arms taunting me like arm porn—all smooth, corded, and lean. For a moment, I just stare at him and wonder how he’s mine.
“I had a feeling you’d like it here,” he says as a waitress delivers us our order. She sets the cakes and hot drinks down in front of us, then whisks away to help a couple at the counter. “Tell me whatyourbakery looks like,” Grayson says, digging his fork into the Limoncello cake first.
I sigh, happily transporting to the place I’ve imagined so many times. “Well, if I were to design one it would probably be similar to this. Something small and quaint with vintage pieces, antique mirrors… you know… a space that feels welcoming and cozy.”
“If you could do anything in the world, would opening a bakery be it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I have a good job at The Seaside. I love the people I work with. The Bennetts treat me like family and pay me very generously and I’d miss Jules if I didn’t get to work alongside her every day. So, I’d say I have it pretty good.”
“But is it your dream job?”
I pause a long moment before answering him truthfully. Working at The Seaside checks my boxes—I make good money, I get to travel, and my boss and the people I work with genuinely care about me. It’s challenging, but am I fulfilled? Not really.
Itismy dream to open a bakery, but that isn’t easy for me to admit. Sure, I’ve been saving, but opening a business costs a lot of money and requires a ton of work. I’m embarrassed to tell anyone about my dream in case it never comes true. But I trust Grayson enough to share it with him.
I know what brings me the most happiness. I know what makes me feel inspired. I love creating recipes, getting a buttercream just right, designing cakes and cupcakes and other treats that not only taste good but make people smile. I love baking for people, and I would love to make a career out of my passion.
But right now, it’s a pipe dream. It probably always will be.
“I’m not sure,” I finally answer, giving Grayson the short answer. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s okay, sunshine.” He shrugs. “It’s very okay to not know right now. You’re young and have lots of time to figure it out. Hell, you can make a career change at any age.”
I nod, then take a bite of the strawberry cake, “God, this tastes so good. The frosting actually tastes like pink champagne.”
“It’s definitely good, but it has nothing on your apple pie.”
I blush. “You’re just saying that.”
Grayson sets down his fork. “You really have no idea how incredible your baking is, do you?” Grayson says, as his warm brown eyes pierce mine. “Sierra, I’m not just saying it because you’re my girl.”My girl.“You have what it takes. I believe that.”
His words spark something in me. And I wonder if maybe Grayson is right.
NINETEEN
COUNT THAT AS A WIN.
Sierra
Later that night, while Grayson and I are in his bed watching TV, he gets a text from his mom. He goes silent when he picks up his phone to read the message, running his hand over the scruff on his face.
