Stuffed (Sugar & Spice #2)

Prologue

TESSA-THREE MONTHS EARLIER…

I sit cross-legged on Ivy's apartment floor, surrounded by rejection letters from banks. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the scattered papers. I pick up the most recent one, from Chicago First National, and read the familiar words again: "While your business plan shows promise…"

"Stop torturing yourself," Ivy says, grabbing the letter and crumpling it. "We knew traditional funding would be a long shot."

"Seven banks." I pull out my meticulous spreadsheet. "Seven rejections. Maybe we're crazy to think we can do this."

"Not crazy." Ivy opens her laptop, showing our savings tracker. "Look. My catering side gigs brought in another two thousand dollars this month. And our online bakery orders are steadily increasing."

I glance at my own numbers—the overtime at my accounting job, the weekend wedding cake orders, the consultation fees from helping other small businesses with their books. Every penny carefully tracked and saved.

"Fifty-eight thousand," I say softly. "We're still forty-two thousand short of what we need."

"But closer than we were six months ago." Ivy pulls out our vision board—photos of our dream bakery space, sketches of interior designs, magazine clippings of the kind of community hub we want to create.

"Remember why we're doing this," she continues. "Not just for us. For everyone who needs a place to belong."

I think of the homeless teenager I met last week whom I'd bought breakfast for. How his eyes lit up at the simple kindness of warm food. I think of our plans to partner with local shelters, to offer job training and second chances.

My phone buzzes—another wedding cake inquiry. Next to it, a notification from my investment app showing the small returns on our careful savings.

“Another wedding cake order.” I hold up my phone. “I can help decorate.” I’ve actually become quite the baker’s assistant for Ivy when it comes to decorating cakes. In fact, it’s something I’ve grown to really enjoy perfecting over the last few years.

“Did Suzette say anything more about letting us use that bakery place we’re looking at since it’s been on the market so long?”

"Yeah, she said it’s fine. The owner agreed to a short lease she wants us to look over.”

“Good.” Ivy sighs, her shoulders sagging. I can see the stress on her face and it kills me that we’re still struggling this hard after everything we’ve sacrificed to get here.

“We're doing this the hard way because it's worth doing right," I finally say. "No cutting corners, no compromising our vision."

"Exactly." Ivy starts pinning our latest profit projections next to the vision board. "And even if we can’t get the money together before our deadline, we always have investors. I know we’ve wanted to do this purely on our own, but you never know. There could be the perfect investor out there, just waiting to meet us."

I nod. "You’re right, and if that person is out there, when they meet us, they’ll see we're not just dreamers." I straighten my shoulders. "We're fighters."

The sun sets as we work, updating spreadsheets and refining projections. On my phone, another notification pops up—this time from my parents' RV blog, showing them at the Grand Canyon. I ignore it, focusing instead on our growing savings total and not on the fact that sometimes, I selfishly wish my parents had a huge secret savings account squirreled away for me. But I know that’s not the case and I remind myself that I’ll appreciate it more knowing Ivy and I did this on our own.

Because some dreams are worth the struggle. And some fighters are worth betting on… Even if we have to bet on ourselves first.