Knotting With A Stranger (Whispering Grove #1)

5

LILY

T he January morning rush finally ebbs around eleven, leaving the bakery smelling of vanilla and fresh coffee, dusted in flour like the snow outside. Our little shop sits quiet now after the chaos of post-holiday customers desperate for comfort food in the bitter winter cold. The industrial mixer hums as I work on a batch of Italian buttercream, trying to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of sugar and egg whites coming together. But every few minutes, my attention drifts to my phone, dark and silent on the counter for another message from James. He’s been quiet for the past week. Again.

Hannah’s been watching me all morning, wearing that expression I know too well—the one she’s worn since Mom died, as though she has to be both sister and mother now. I see her reflection in the polished display case as she approaches, her steps measured.