Chapter 26
twenty-six
. . .
Structure, but Make It Horny
WARREN
Halston texts me early the next morning. I’m already awake, making coffee in the shitty hotel kitchen, my lack of sleep settling into my shoulders.
My phone sits face-up on the kitchen table.
HALSTON
Can you come by Bitter Bloom this morning?
I read the message three times.
For the relaunch. Systems only. No surprise fixing, please.
My heart squeezes.
And no cute smiling. I still want to be mad at you.
That makes me smile.
Of course. What time would you like me there?
Nine.
The morning is gray and damp. Bitter Bloom glows pink and blue under the clouds, bright in a way that should be impossible before nine in the morning.
The chalkboard outside reads:
FULL BLOOM—FRIDAY
COME FOR THE PASTRIES, STAY FOR THE CHAOS.
SWEETNESS IS NOT A WEAKNESS,
IT’S HOW WE SURVIVE.
It’s too many words for a chalkboard.
Which means it’s perfect.
The relaunch post was completely Halston. Full color, full volume.
The exact thing Barrett had tried to make sound unserious. The thing Grant failed to understand. The exact thing I almost damaged by becoming another person who tried to manage her life before asking what she wanted.
I get out of the car with only a notebook and a pen.
Inside, I find everyone flying around. Marley is at the counter with her laptop open while Lisa arranges trays. Dev is holding a cookie shaped like an irregular country as Oliver stands in the doorway, arms crossed, already looking offended by something.
Halston is at the prep table with a piping bag in one hand and a blue ribbon in her hair.
She looks over her shoulder, her gaze catching mine.
I lift my hand.
She tips her chin.
I take a breath. “How can I help?”
Halston stares at me from the table, one hand still resting near the piping bag. For a moment, she almost looks as if she’ll cry.
“I need help producing all of these,” she says finally.
“Okay.”
“Batch scaling for the relaunch menu. A schedule that doesn’t turn it into a crime scene. We definitely need help with the Receipt bars because Lisa and I disagree on the strawberry layer.”
“I can do that.”
Dev stops next to her and whispers, “This new version of him is unfortunately hot.”
“No,” Oliver grumbles.
“I said unfortunately!”
Halston’s cheeks pinken.
Her hand lands on her stomach and she winces. For the first time, I really, really look at her. She’s exhausted.
Her shoulders slump, and her eyes look far away.
“And Warren?”
“Yes?”
“I need you to believe me. If I say I’m fine, it means that I’m fine to work through it, okay? You need to trust that I know myself well enough.”
Her gaze holds mine for a moment, and I nod.
“Then get over here and get started.” There’s a small, tired smile at the corner of her lips.
I follow her through the bakery, listening to her point out new things and explain new recipes.
The prep table is covered in order estimates, a draft of a menu, a description of what she’s looking for in a cookie, and a diagram of a pastry, blue, pink, and yellow sticky notes, plus one aggressive orange one.
There’s a calculator, a half-eaten banana, a roll of ribbon, and a plastic dinosaur standing beside the highlighters.
I look at him.
“Emotional support velociraptor,” Halston says.
“Oh.”
“His name is Steve.”
Marley brings her laptop over. “Current numbers. The relaunch post is still gaining traction. People love drama, especially local drama. We have to capitalize on that and turn it into something. There are thirty-eight preorder inquiries for map boxes, twenty-two for Vanilla Proof dozens, sixteen for Coconut Bloom concentrate, and four Vipers players have reposted. There’s an inquiry from a local art gallery for almost fifty pastries for an event hosted by a Baltimore Cobras player’s wife, and Leo Warner posted about us on his story because he apparently has some particular beef with Barrett Whitaker.
” Her gaze flicks to Oliver. “The Vipers are extra excited and several of them have written in asking me to make sure Oliver is smiling in promotional photos.”
Oliver’s eyes narrow. “They’re getting banned.”
“One of them bought twelve Victory Twists last time,” Halston says before she looks back at me. “Capacity?”
I take in the numbers, the menu, the prep space, the current staff, and the pickup windows Marley has color-coded aggressively in her spreadsheet.
“First impression or conservative estimate?”
She blinks. “Both.”
“First impression is that demand is strong enough that you can use the excitement without trying to satisfy all of it immediately. My opinion? Limit pre-orders, use the pickup windows, sell bundles, don’t let people customize, and scale map cookies in set boxes.
I’d also reduce your standard pastry variety on launch day by about twenty percent.
Focus on what people are excited about now and only keep the things you really want people to try and come back for. ”
“Reduce variety?” she says, her hand at her chest.
I wince. “You asked for my opinion.”
She looks down. “No, you’re right.” She chews on her cheek.
“Make limited quantities of what you like, but we have to scale up the recipes a ton. I can help with that if you want me to. It fits your brand. High energy, no apologies when something sells out.”
Marley types faster. “Scarcity but make it whimsical.”
“That sentence is exhausting,” Oliver complains.
Halston grabs the blue marker and starts writing. “Okay. Schedule restocks. Four p.m. bakery case reset. Seven p.m. late-night menu launch with Saints you check it off.
But they’re rigid and don’t allow for much editing.
It occurs to me that this is a structure that allows Halston to make room for herself.
“Halston,” I say softly.
She shakes her head. “Don’t be nice.” And then she smiles. “You emotionally constipated cinnamon roll.”
I blink.
Marley laughs and Dev gasps from out front.
“I’m not constipated,” I argue.
Halston looks up, tears spilling from her eyes. “That’s the part you’re fighting me on?”
I don’t really understand why it wouldn’t be. “Cinnamon rolls use an enriched dough. They’re not really emotionally relevant.”
Oliver sighs. “He always finds a way to ruin it.” But he smiles.
Halston swipes a paper towel under her eye. “I can’t believe this is the man I’m in love with.”
The room goes quiet.
You can tell that it was an inside thought that wasn’t supposed to come out of her mouth by the way she stops, her eyes going wide and panic gripping her chest.
The words sit between us, unplanned and unprotected under the bright overhead lights.
I don’t move toward her, no matter how much I want to.
“I’m in love with you too,” I say, quietly enough that it can stay partly ours.
Her face crumples. “I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“We need to have a talk later.”
“Absolutely.”
“And I’m not emotionally stable enough for you to be this hot in my bakery.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Marley wipes her eyes. “This is disgusting.”
Halston laughs. For real this time. It’s full, bright, and messy. The sound hits me and warms me through.
I begin the list under the title.
Latte special names, provided the base recipe remains unchanged.
Garnish color.
Chalkboard wording.
Ribbon placement.
Map-cookie road shapes, provided the boxes retain their assigned counts.
One emergency pastry name per hour.
Background music, but no country. You’re welcome, Oliver.
Emotional support velociraptor Steve’s location.
Halston reads over my shoulder. “You included Steve.”
“He’s on the table.”
“He’s part of the team.”
Halston beams, happy as ever to have a choice.
She takes my marker, crosses out my title, and writes:
WARREN’S CHAOS PERMISSION LIST
“That’s not the title,” I mumble.
“It’s the spirit.”
We return to work, but the space feels different.
Halston lets me help with scaling the Vanilla Proof recipe again.
We increase the banana-vanilla cream by eight percent, then reduce the filling per pastry to keep the structure firm.
She argues for more cream, but I argue that it must be stable.
The words “pastry tyrant” may have been thrown around, but we decide to make both.
Hers tastes better. Mine holds up better. We make a third and it’s perfect.
The Receipt Bar causes a commotion.
Lisa thinks cherry will work best, while Halston wants strawberry. Dev thinks something darker will work best, like raspberry mixed with blueberry, but Halston argues that all raspberries taste like dirt and sadness.
Marley says that as long as it’s visually striking but not too sweet, it will work.
I suggest a cranberry-cherry reduction with orange peel.
Halston’s eyes widen. “Say that again.”
Oliver heaves a sigh. “Can we not flirt over jam?”
“I’m not flirting with jam,” Halston defends.
“You absolutely are.”
She looks at me. “Are we flirting with jam?”
I smile. “Your eyes suggested you were flirting over jam.”
Oliver points to the door. “Out.”
The reduction works. It’s bright, tart, sharp beneath the caramel and dark chocolate. Sweet. With teeth.
I hold the spoon out for Halston. Her mouth softens around it, her eyes closing, and for one terrible second, my mind goes somewhere else entirely.
She catches me staring.
“Careful, King.”
“I’m being careful.”
“You’re staring like the jam has some compromised values.”
“No,” I say. “Not the jam.”
Marley makes a strangled sound by the counter.
“This is a family establishment,” Oliver mutters.
Halston smiles.
By midday, the bakery looks less like chaos and more like an organized festival run by someone with a vendetta against beige.
The board has three columns: BAKE, BUILD, BLOOM. Halston named them.
Under BAKE: Base pastries, cookie rounds, shortbread slabs, twists.
Under BUILD: Icing roads, map-cookie boxes, coffee concentrate jars, cherry reduction, cream fillings.
Under BLOOM: Chalkboard, ribbons, Vipers specials, late-night bar launch, emotional support snacks, Oliver containment.
Oliver sees his name and mumbles a profanity.
Halston writes beside it, HIGH PRIORITY.
He looks at me. “You allowed this?”
My hands are in the air. “I didn’t approve or disapprove.”
“You’re a coward.”
At two, I ask Halston what she wants to eat. She asks for toast and eggs.
With Oliver’s permission, I head to the small kitchen in his bar to make them.
“You’re doing really well,” he says as he stands at the entrance watching me. He has both hands braced above his head on the doorframe.
“Don’t sound so pleased,” I tell him, cracking an egg.
“I’m furious.” He pauses. “Are you staying?” His voice is quieter.
I go still. “If you’re asking me if I’m looking for work in Maryland, the answer is yes.”
He stares at me. “You’re not going to work at the bakery?”
“I haven’t been asked.” I shrug. “We’re practicing not assuming, remember? She’s the boss.”
The pan hisses quietly.
“I want a life here,” I confirm.
Oliver waits long enough that I look over. “With her?”
“Yes.”
“What if she says no?”
My hand tightens on the spatula. “Then I still need a life here.”
I have Marley. I have things I still want to do here. It may be painful, but I’m done running away from things.
“You should tell Marley that,” he says. “She needs to know you’re not running from her, too.”
Sadness settles inside me. “I’ll tell her.”
At three, we build the final schedule. She sits beside me at the prep table, close enough that her shirt brushes my arm when she reaches for the marker.
Dance Badly if Alive, she adds.
I look at it.
“It’s spiritually required,” she says softly.
I take the marker and draw a little checkbox next to it.
Halston presses her hands over her face, and her shoulders shake. For one moment, I think she’s laughing.
She’s not.
Marley goes still, and Oliver narrows his eyes.
Halston drops her hands, but she looks more overwhelmed than sad. “I’m fine,” she says, but I don’t think anyone believes her.
By four, we have our final relaunch system. Not mine, not hers. Ours, in the safest way possible: Halston’s menu, brand, and choices. My support.
The page in my notebook includes three important lists:
Production schedule
Prep assignments
Things Halston is Allowed to Change Last Minute Because Apparently Joy Requires Chaos
Halston takes a photo as evidence.
When things slow down, Halston tells me she wants me at the reopening.
I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.