Epilogue
The grand opening was an unbelievable success.
We ran out of almost everything, and the stuff we had left over, Miles ate.
I’ll have to add a line item in the budget just for that man’s metabolism.
All day he was there—in my space but not crowding me. He let me be the star of the day, and it felt amazing to know he was
in my corner, not the least bit threatened by the idea of me succeeding.
In the following days and weeks, I’ve baked more than I ever have in my entire life. I’ve given away hundreds of samples,
and it hasn’t hurt my profits one bit. Zoey and I have filmed content for my social media accounts, sharing the whole process
of starting this business. She told me to be honest about my feelings, to talk about the thoughts and fears and excitement—the
good and the bad—reminding me that the world is craving connection and honesty. Sometimes those things are so hard to find.
And now, three and a half weeks in, I’m still floored that every day has brought a line of people outside, cheering when I
flip over the sign and swing open the door.
It’s become its own tradition at this point.
And today, in the quiet hours of the evening, after the sun and the people and the craziness have subsided, I prop up my phone
and hit Record.
“I’m sitting in the middle of the most surreal dream ever,” I say, looking at the tiny version of myself on the screen. “At
a table. In the middle of my bakery.”
I look around the room, then back at the camera.
“I still can’t believe it.”
I pick up the phone and move around the space slowly.
“This was a dream of mine, on a page in my notebook, and now it’s here. And it’s succeeding in a way I never even hoped or
thought possible.” I pause and smile. “And now that it’s been a couple of weeks, I thought it would be appropriate to ask
you to join me for a porch talk. Kick off your shoes, gaze up at the stars, and share secrets until we’re too tired to keep
our eyes open.”
I turn the camera around and head to the Back Porch, where the twinkle lights are on but dim, the air is crisp, and the sounds
of the city are alive but faded.
I sit, point the camera forward, and lift my feet, kick off my shoes, and then cross my ankles on the bench of the table in
front of me.
I swing the camera back around and say, “I didn’t think before I did that. I hope you don’t think my feet are gross.”
I settle back into the chair. “These are the kinds of nights I had growing up on my grandparents’ farm. The kind of nights
that inspired this business in the first place. My gram was a kindred spirit right from the start. She was the one who taught
me how to bake.”
I pause to look around. “I wonder what she’d think of all this.”
I smile back at the camera. “I was challenged by my therapist a little over a year ago to ask myself a very simple question:
What do I really want?” I shift in my seat, then lean in a little. “And I couldn’t answer it. At that time, I didn’t know.
All I knew was that my whole world was collapsing around me, and I was perfectly fine letting life pass me by.”
I catch my own sad smile on the screen. “It’s a strange thing to be a human, isn’t it? Contradicting emotions and layers of
feelings? You can be ready to conquer the world one day and just want to hide in your bed the next.”
I look up, and even through the lights I can see a clear sky.
“There’s a lie that we’re told,” I say, looking back at the camera. “That we have to have everything figured out. That we have to have all the answers, and even if we don’t, we should ‘fake it ’til we make it’ and pretend we do.”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t disagree with that more.
“What happens when the best possible outcome turns out not to be so great? Or when someone else decides you aren’t their best
possible outcome? A very important person once told me that life has a funny way of showing us what we’re made of. I understand
what he meant now. It’ll push you to your limits, then shove you off a cliff. Sometimes life is a schoolyard bully daring
you to get back up.
“But sometimes . . . it’s so beautiful it’ll take your breath away.” I go still.
“I used to really resent getting pushed off that cliff—” I pause. “And then I realized that it’s the only way you can soar.”
I pause to think about all the beauty in my new life. From springtime cherry blossoms and skyline views to the many, many
people who’ve come into my life since I moved here.
“And I guess that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” I look into the camera, feeling the excitement, the energy of this new life
seeping in at my edges. “The world is always changing. Just when you get comfortable, it changes again—shakes things up—just
to see if you’re paying attention.
“It’s going to stretch you and challenge you and try to make you think you can’t do the things your heart is telling you to
do. That if you pick yourself up and move forward, you’re going to fail.
“It’s going to terrify you because that’s what life does. But what I’ve learned is that bravery feels a lot like fear.” I
smile right into the camera. “And it’s never too late to begin again.”
I pan around the space just as Miles appears in the doorway holding a bag of takeout and looking like a whole other dream
come true. He must’ve come in through the front.
Caught in the frame, he freezes, lifts a hand in a slight wave, and smiles.
I turn the camera back on me. “Oh, look. A very good-looking man has brought me dinner.”
“It’s good too,” he says from off-screen. “Chicago-style hot dogs from Vinnie down the block.”
I make a face at the screen.
“I’ve never had a Chicago-style hot dog before. There’s ketchup on it, right?”
He turns to leave and calls from the other room, “Forget it, I’m eating it all. You can’t be trusted.” He walks away muttering.
I hear the words “ketchup” and “sacrilegious” but then he’s gone. And all I can think about is how much I want to be wherever
he is.
I stand. “So no matter where you are in your journey . . . if you feel like you’re too old or too young or too unqualified
or too whatever, just know that the only thing stopping you from changing your life . . . is you.” I lean in. “Beautiful things happen when
you get out of your own way.”
After I film my video, I add captions and post it. If I’m going to be on social media, I’m going to share all of it—unfiltered.
I just don’t have room in my life for anything phony anymore.
I tuck my phone away and meet Miles near one of the tables. He’s smiling.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just . . . you’re incredible.”
I try—and fail—to hide a smile. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around here all week?”
“Yes.” He sets the bag down on the table and takes me in his arms. “I have a confession to make.”
I try to push him away. “For the love of all that is holy, that is not how you start a conversa—”
He plants a kiss on my lips mid-word.
I stop talking.
He pulls back and says, “Sorry, I stopped listening. What were you saying?”
I roll my eyes and pull him close, resting my head on his chest.
I feel him draw in a breath. “I love you, Claire.”
“Oh, is that all?” I look up at him.
He laughs. “Is that all? That’s, like, huge.”
“Oh, right.” I grin up at him. “I love you too.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah. I tried not to, but you wore me down.”
“I’m pretty persistent.”
“And it’s a shame you have no personality.”
He smirks. “I could ask Roger for some tips.”
I laugh at that.
He takes my face in his hands, and I close my eyes and close the gap between us, pausing for a beat to capture this moment
in my memory, where I know it will live for the rest of my life.
And whatever else that life decides to bring me, I know now I can handle it. And during the downs, I’ll remember how I discovered
what I really want. I’ll remember how I decided to take a chance on myself.
And I’ll never forget the people who helped me along the way.
I’ll sit.
I’ll sip.
And I’ll stay awhile.
Meet Harley
I want a dog.