Chapter 12
Alex
Iknow something’s bothering Emma. I want to go to her and ask her. Maybe I can help her somehow. I want to help her. I want to see her smile. The kind she gives when she doesn’t have a care in the world. Not the kind she gave me moments ago—forced. Something must have happened with Mrs. Marlow, the owner of Elmwood Falls Heritage Bakery. I’m hoping it’s nothing terribly serious.
When she disappeared around the corner, heading home, I stayed for some time watching after her, but now I’m walking toward Heritage Bakery. Through the glass, I see an older woman behind the counter. Her hair is pulled into a bun, and she’s expertly working the oven in between kneading dough in a bowl. She has an elegance about her that screams money, her apron spotless amidst the floury chaos of the bakery.
A sign in the window that wasn’t there before catches my eye as I reach for the door handle: Help Wanted. My heart does a flip-flop as I stare at it. Did Emma quit? That’d be such a shame for this place. She has so much potential. The small bell above the door jingles as I enter, the scent of freshly baked bread greeting my nostrils.
“Welcome to Elmwood Falls Heritage Bakery.” The woman chirps out her greeting before she looks up. And when she sees me, her eyes widen with recognition. “You’re Alex Carter, the food critic! I’m so happy you’ve come back to give the bakery a second chance!” She quickly wipes her hands on a towel as she steps out around the counter. “I’m Christine Marlow, owner of this fine establishment.” She extends her hand to me, her nails impeccably manicured, a stark contrast to the rustic charm of the bakery.
I accept it. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Marlow.” The warmth from the ovens battles the chill of the air conditioning.
“What can I get you, Mr. Carter? Whatever you’d like is on the house. I’m just so happy you want to give me a second chance. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.” Her enthusiasm is overwhelming, her eyes sparkling.
A second chance? I blink at her, confused. She seems to have noticed. “I’m incredibly sorry that I wasn’t here to overlook things when you first came to town. Elmwood Falls Heritage Bakery is the heart of Elmwood Falls.” She says it with full pride, as if she’s solely responsible for all the good things that happen in this small town. I must admit, I’m not in the slightest impressed.
“This bakery was built many years ago, and I’ve worked extremely hard to turn it into what it is today. My only regret is that I wasn’t here when you arrived in town and wrote your first article. Had I been, I surely would have pleased your exquisite palate.” She winks at me before turning to see the freshly baked goods in the glass. “Ah! Brownies. I think you’re a brownie kind of man.”
Without waiting for a response, she walks around the counter, grabs a tissue paper and pulls out a brownie to set it on a paper plate. She puts it on the counter and waits, obviously expecting me to give her bakery a “second chance.” I choose to indulge her and I walk up to the counter, take the brownie, and bite into it. I chew it slowly. I’m reminded of my statement to Emma weeks ago on the night we first met. I had shamefully snubbed her, commenting that brownies were hard to mess up.
Well, today, I stand corrected. Mrs. Marlow’s brownie is a bit on the dry side. It makes me wonder if she only gave Emma a recipe book, asking her to bake the goods while Mrs. Marlow sits in her office filing her perfectly shaped nails.
I have to give Emma credit. Even going by the book of the owner’s request, she still tweaks the recipes. I’m definitely pleased to say while Emma can do much better and be more innovative, she has talent that goes beyond words.
And it’s thoughts like this that make me wonder if I’ll make an impartial judge when the bake-off time arrives.
“What do you think, Mr. Carter?” Mrs. Marlow says with a bright smile.
“The brownie is well made, but it’s a bit on the dry side for my taste,” I begin, setting the brownie down, ensuring my tone carries a constructive edge. “Baking, as I’ve come to appreciate, is not just about following a recipe to the letter. It’s about the subtle adjustments, the small touches that can elevate a good dessert to something unforgettable.”
Mrs. Marlow frowns as I turn to glance at the help wanted sign in the window. I turn back to her to see she’s staring at the brownie as if she’s unsure of what to do with it. “I see you’re looking for more help?” I ask. “I’m surprised. All the times I’ve been in here, I’ve seen Emma handle rather large crowds from opening to closing.”
Mrs. Marlow’s eyes meet mine. “She’s no longer with Heritage Bakery,” she says simply. The light from the bakery’s windows casts a soft glow on her face, revealing more than her words say.
I raise a brow, but make no comment. Now I know why Emma’s so upset. She must have been fired for reasons I can’t understand. I choose not to implore Mrs. Marlow for information. Instead, I nod at her. “Thank you for the brownie. Have a good day, ma’am.” The wooden floors creak under my weight as I turn to leave, my heart feeling heavy with each step I take. The small bell jingles again, as I walk outside.
I consider what Mrs. Marlow said to me. She apologized for not having been around to oversee things. Suddenly, I’m feeling guilt edge its way inside of me. I must have been the reason Emma was fired. Or, more specifically, my article in The Traveling Taste was the reason.
Part of me wants to go to Emma and tell her I’m incredibly sorry that this happened. But I also know that she likely wouldn’t want anything to do with me now. I kick a rock in the path of where I’m walking and sigh. The sky overhead is a deep blue, a beautiful day that contrasts sharply with my mood.
“Looks like you’ve got some frustration welling up inside of you, young man,” a voice says. I look up to see Walter McCarthy walking in my direction. He’s wearing sweats, despite the heat, and a gray headband. I look at him curiously.
He looks down at himself with a chuckle. “The wife’s been on me about living a healthier life,” Walter says. “I figured I’d try the jogging thing.” His shoes are clearly not made for running, yet there he stands, determined.
“How’s it going?” I ask, amused by his attire and effort.
“I took two steps from the door and wanted to go back to my rocking chair.” Walter laughs.
I smirk at him. “Well, good for you for pushing yourself, Mr. McCarthy.”
Walter puts his hand next to his mouth and cranes his neck as if he’s going to tell me a state secret. He whispers, “I’m heading over to Heritage Bakery. The thought of Emma’s Raspberry Tarts is enough to get me moving.”
“I see. Well, I suggest you try Emma’s apartment. She’s no longer working at the bakery, apparently.”
Walter widens his eyes. “Say what now? This is my trick ear. I coulda sworn you said she’s not working at the bakery.”
I nod. “It’s true. I just left there. There’s a help wanted sign in the window. Seems the owner’s back.”
Walter frowns. “Did Emma quit?”
I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“Well, that’s a darn shame, if I say so myself,” Walter says with a whistle. “I suppose I’ll change my direction for the diner and go back to eating apple pies.” His decision carries a hint of disappointment.
“What do you think of Mrs. Marlow?” I ask, curious about his perspective.
“She’s nice. Does things for the community. But she’s a little…” Walter sticks his nose in the air and puts his hand on his hip, walking as if he owns the world—a perfect impression for the owner of Elmwood Falls Heritage Bakery.
I laugh at him. “I admit she gives me that impression as well.”
“Did you taste Christine’s pastries?” Walter asks, his curiosity evident.
“She gave me one of her brownies. I’m not a fan of brownies,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But there’s a difference between her brownies and Emma’s.”
Walter gives me a knowing smile. “I’ve watched you together. You look like a well-fitted couple.”
“Oh, we’re not a couple,” I correct, the notion both amusing and unsettling.
“But you’re sweet on her,” Walter says, sticking a finger at me, smile widening. “Don’t you deny it, young man. Your eyes light up when you say her name.”
“Well, Emma’s a good person,” I admit. And I certainly don’t mind her company, even when she’s angry with me. But I don’t dare admit that out loud. As it is, this turn of conversation is making me both giddy and embarrassed—two emotions I’m not comfortable with.
I search my mind for an excuse to get away, but eventually I decide just to tell him I needed to get going.
“Very well, young man,” Walter says. “I’ll see you around.”
“Enjoy your apple pie,” I say. I give him a friendly smile, then start heading toward the inn.
I’m only a few steps away from the inn when my heart drops. Georgia’s car, unmistakable in its familiarity, is parked right out front. The confrontation I’ve been dodging seems unavoidable now. The refuge I sought in Elmwood Falls feels breached.
I push the door open, and there she is, chatting away with Madison at the desk. She turns, her smile freezing slightly as our eyes meet. “Alex,” she greets, a hint of everything we’ve left unsaid hanging between us.
“Georgia,” I manage, forcing my emotions to the back of my throat. We dated, on and off, until I ended things. It wasn’t right, and deep down, I think we both knew it. Unfortunately for us both, I didn’t summon up the courage to tell her to her face.
I lead her to a secluded place to talk. Georgia breaks the silence, her voice softer than I remember. “You didn’t say goodbye, Alex.”
She’s right. I left things messy, running away under the guise of doing what’s best for us. Thinking about it now, I realize I was in the wrong. I care for Georgia still, even though I wasn’t in love with her. I never wanted to hurt her. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” I admit, “but I’m sorry, Georgia. You deserved better.”
She studies me, a thoughtful expression taking over. “You look…different. Happier, maybe. Elmwood Falls suits you. Who would have known Alex Carter would find happiness in a place that’s not even remotely like Paris?”
I chuckle, surprised by her observation. “I’ve been told this place changes people.” I smile at Georgia. The image of Emma fills my mind. I’m having trouble wishing it was her standing in front of me, and instead of wishing each other a good life, I’m wishing she would be in my life to make it good. It’s definitely a struggle to focus on Georgia.
“And have you figured out what you want?” Georgia’s curiosity feels genuine.
“I’m getting there.”
Georgia smiles, a touch of sadness lacing her expression. “I do care for you, Alex. I hope you know that. I always did.”
“I do know,” I tell her. I take her hand gently in mine. “You’re a good person, Georgia Masterson. You deserve more than I can give you.”
“I can honestly say the same about you, Alex Carter.”
“Forgive me for not being straightforward before. I should have.”
She shrugs. “You know me. I’ll bounce back. I hope she gives you a happy life. Whoever she is.”
“Whenever I find her,” I add with a smile.
“Something tells me you have, Alex. And let me tell you something.” She steps closer to me, so close, I can smell her perfume. “Make sure she knows it. Don’t do that thing you do. You know? Run away.”
She stands on her toes and leans in close to my ear. “Goodbye, Alex.” After planting a kiss on my cheek, she walks away. Slowly, I turn to follow her, and as Georgia gets into the car, I wave goodbye. Her white BMW pulls out of the parking lot, heading out of town.
That’s twice now that someone in no direct way tells me to follow my heart. I want to. I really do. But as I stand outside in front of the inn, I think about the turn of events. Emma lost her job at the bakery, and I’m likely to blame. When the bake-off competition comes, I’ll be judging her along with others. And I must remain impartial, even if I don’t give her my vote.
We’ll never be together. Even if I can admit it to myself. There is too much at stake that’s pulling us apart even before we can have a fighting chance.
Pushing out a sharp breath, I turn on my heel and go back inside. Madison’s on the phone. She gives me a smile. I nod once in return, then head to my room. I shut the door and walk to the window, looking out at the quiet town of Elmwood Falls, a world that has unexpectedly become a part of me.