January 28
Taylor
T he weather has been extra cold the past couple days, keeping foot traffic to a minimum in the shop, so I sent Geneva home early, leaving just me and Mags to helm the ship. No one has given her a treat for hours, a rare occurrence around here, so I reach in her jar and hand one down to her.
Then, as daylight fades to dusk, I wipe down the counter, cleaning up some crumbs, and pull a business card from the valentine box.
After which I reach for my phone. “Hank, it’s Taylor from the Sweetheart Bake Shop. You’re my weekly winner for a cake or pie of your choice.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he says. But he sounds like a man parked under a perpetual black cloud whose given up hope of ever seeing the sun again. “Only good news I’ve had today, in fact. I’m on pins and needles wondering what Luke Montgomery is gonna do about that drywall plant? You heard anything?”
Poor Hank. “No,” I say. I haven’t heard from Luke at all, in fact, but I’m sure he’s busy dealing with that and everything else. “It’s only three days until the deadline, though, so we’ll find out soon, one way or another.”
“Fingers crossed I’ll be using that cake to celebrate my retirement to Hawaii when we sell to Northcutt.”
The very notion of the factory makes my stomach churn. “Would you really go to Hawaii, Hank?”
He lets out a resigned sigh. “Oh, probably not. Not sure what I’d do,” he admits. “But the weather today sure makes it tempting. And it’d be nice to have the option.”
“Well, you just order your cake whenever the urge strikes,” I tell him.
He thanks me and we hang up—but the conversation puts me on pins and needles, too. For more than one reason. Sweetwater’s fate. And mine—with Luke. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to Geneva’s advice. And if I could really take it. Would it be worth it, knowing whatever happens between us is temporary?
Deciding I might as well close up for the night, I break my own rule and bend down to nuzzle my dog. “What do you think, Mags? Is some romance worth it if I end up broken-hearted afterward?” When she leans into my hand, it warms my heart. “At least I know you’ll still love me no matter what.”
When the shop door opens, I look up, then flinch. I couldn’t be more stunned to find Jasmine Dupree standing before me wearing a sophisticated butter yellow pantsuit and her usual look of disdain.
She actually winces at the sight of me. “Oh, it’s you.”
My stomach shrivels at the awful greeting. “Nice to see you too, Jasmine.”
“I didn’t know you worked here.”
“I own the place,” I inform her.
“Oh,” she replies, not sounding particularly impressed. One more put down, this one just slightly more subtle.
And to my utter surprise, my docile little dog who can’t see a thing bares what are left of her teeth and begins to emit a low growl. I’ve never been so amused by Maggie’s keen senses as in this moment, but if Jasmine notices the elderly poodle snarling at her from a few steps away, she doesn’t let it show.
And as she studies the display case, that’s when I ask myself: What if…? What if I weren’t the girl Jasmine bullied for years? What if I were closer to being that person who stood up to her the one time I really had to, the day the valentine box was at stake? What if I didn’t cower inside at her meanness? What if I just let it roll off me? What would that look like?
“Did you want something?” I ask her pointedly. “Or did you just come in to be rude?” It sounds as undaunted and self-assured as I hoped. And I feel a little tougher inside.
She, however, appears taken aback. Good. “My mother asked me to pick up some cupcakes for an open house tonight. I’ll take half a dozen white and half a dozen chocolate,” she says.
While boxing them up, I grow so bold as to ask, “What brings you back to Sweetwater?” Just to see what she says. Will she dare be honest, real, authentic? Especially since everyone in town seems to know the truth anyway? Or will her answer be Instagrammable?
“Just an extended Christmas visit home,” she answers, smiling a fake smile now, like we’re fake friends. Which we most certainly are not.
As the plate-glass door closes behind her a minute later, it occurs to me for the first time ever that maybe I do feel sorry for her.