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I can’t deny that I like that.
He protected me, stood up for me, defended me. It’s sweet. For all the doubts I had last week, he fucked them out of me. Smiling, I continue to whisk, then pour the batter into the prepared pans already lined with parchment paper.
The bell above my door rings just as I slip the pans into the oven. Before I opened the doors, I made sure to bake a few dozen cupcakes and cookies. It is not a full case by any means, but for a shop that has zero customers, it’s good.
Making my way into the front of the shop, I call out a hello before I arrive. There is a woman with a small child standing in front of me. Curving my lips up into a smile, I ask how I can help them.
I wait for her to ask directions to the play place a few doors down, but she doesn’t. “We had some of your vegan cupcakes at the farmers’ market, and I promised my son another one.”
Smiling, I can’t believe that this is happening. My heart slams against my chest in an exciting way. I could scream with joy in this exact moment. I don’t, though. Instead, I show them which options I have.
“These are vegan but also gluten and grain-free,” I explain as I point to the chocolate ones with peanut butter frosting and little chocolate sprinkles on top.
“Are you serious?” the mother asks. “No corn?” she asks.
“No corn and no soy.”
I don’t know what’s happening because she bursts into tears right here in the middle of the store. I move around my counter as quickly as I can and wrap my arms around her, instinctually giving her a hug of comfort and support.
She lifts her arms and wraps them around me as she sniffles, then we release one another, and I watch as she wipes her tears away. Her toddler stands quietly beside her, and I can’t help but smile at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. I’m crying about a cupcake.”
“Hey, I’d rather you cry over cupcakes than men,” I say with a wink.
She laughs, shaking her head a couple of times. “It’s just that, since being diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and being on an anti-inflammatory diet, I haven’t been able to buy much in a shop, let alone a dessert.”
“I use honey for the sweeter, too,” I whisper.
Her tears flow now. “I just can’t believe it. My son can’t have dairy, so I just came here for him, but…” she pauses, then her gaze flicks to the case. “I want a dozen cupcakes and a dozen cookies.”
I almost laugh, but my heart slams against my chest with excitement. I can’t believe she’s just ordered two dozen items from me. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I decide that I can’t take advantage of her.
“I make fresh every day. You don’t have to order that many,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “I want them. I’m going to take them home for dinner and just eat the whole box myself.”
Laughing, I make my way back around the case and collect six dairy-free cupcakes and then six of the grain, gluten, and soy-free. Then, I package up thirteen cookies. When I ring her up, I give her a discount and tell her it’s because she came from the farmers’ market.
“Will you be there next month, too?” she asks.
“I will,” I reply with a smile because there is no way in hell I’m missing out on that kind of income again… ever.
“Then we’ll see you there,” she says, picking up her treats.
I thank her and watch as she walks out of the bakery. For the first time since opening, I feel a newfound sense of hope. Sure, the farmers’ market helped, but this is different. This is someone coming into my bakery and buying something without looking horrified. This is someone who wept because I had something that she could eat.
My world is finally starting to look up. Instead of feeling dismal depression as I always have. I think that for the first time in my entire life—I’m happy.
I know it isn’t just the farmers’ market or the bakery. It’s Elvis, too. I have fallen for that man even though I know it’s risky. Not just risky; it’s downright dangerous, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t help myself.
I’m falling in love with him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
KING
