Just Desserts in Pelican Point

Chapter 1

Julie

T he scent of sugar, cinnamon, and fresh-baked bread wraps around me like a warm hug the moment I push through the swinging door from the kitchen. The soft clink of coffee cups and the low hum of chatter swirl around Seaside Sweets like the tide rolling in on the beach. Morning sun spills in from the oversized front windows, glinting off the glass pastry case and making the marble countertops gleam. It’s barely eight, and we’re already packed.

"Julie! These chocolate croissants are sinful. You trying to ruin my swimsuit season before it starts?"

Emma Murphy Dawson grins at me over the rim of her to-go coffee cup, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She's perched on one of the high stools at the counter, her leather work tote beside her and a legal file spread out that she’s clearly ignoring.

"It's my civic duty to keep everyone in Pelican Point well-fed and slightly squishier," I shoot back with a wink, sliding another tray of golden croissants into the display case. "Besides, swimsuit season is subjective. You look amazing as always."

Emma gives me a mock glare. "Flattery won't get you out of game night at the winery. You promised."

"Ugh, fine. But only if Sophie promises not to use wine varietals as questions again on any trivia game."

"No promises for next time, but this week is Monopoly," Sophie calls from the booth by the window where she's sitting with her fiancé, Alex, sharing a cinnamon bun that could probably qualify as obscene. "You have to earn your wins."

"That’s a dangerous philosophy for a woman who makes alcohol for a living," I tease, drawing a snort from Alex.

Joselyn breezes in next, balancing a phone to her ear and a stack of folders in the other. She mouths "Hey!" at me and slides into the booth across from Sophie, dropping a folder overflowing with color swatches and seating charts onto the table. Candace follows behind her, dressed in sleek workout gear that costs more than my oven.

"Morning, boss ladies," I greet them, wiping my hands on my apron.

"This place smells like heaven," Candace sighs, accepting the green tea I slide her way without asking. "If you ever want to franchise, I know a girl… it’s me. I’m the girl."

"Let me get through tourist season first," I mutter, though the idea of Seaside Sweets in more towns is tempting. Someday… maybe.

The bell over the door jingles again, and I glance up in time to see Mrs. Waverly step inside.

A collective softening moves across the room.

She's wearing her usual pale pink cardigan and pearl earrings, her white curls tucked neatly under a straw sunhat. In her arms is a bouquet of fresh-cut tulips, stems wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Her florist shop, Waverly Blooms, sits next door and has been a fixture on this street for over forty years. Everyone calls her Violet, but to me, she’s always been Mrs. Waverly—part mentor, part grandmother, and one hundred percent heart.

"I brought sunshine to match the pastries," she says, holding out the flowers to me.

Emotion pinches my chest as I take them. "They're beautiful. Thank you. Do you want your usual table?"

"Unless you finally have that cherry scone ready," she teases. "I’m gonna take the window seat."

"Today’s your lucky day. One fresh batch of cherry almond scones, just out of the oven."

She settles at her corner table, the one with the best view of the street, and I deliver her tea and the scone with a flourish.

"Now tell me,” She says as I sit across from her, "how are you holding up with everything? Still running yourself ragged?"

I laugh softly. "Only slightly. The ovens haven’t revolted yet."

She gives me that look—the one with the arched brow and the unspoken ‘I see more than you're saying.’

"You’ve built something incredible here, Julie," she says gently. "Your father would be so proud of you."

I swallow hard and nod, looking down at my hands. "I just want to make it work. Make it last."

"You will. And if you ever need help, you ask for it. Pride doesn't pay the bills, dear."

I grin. "Is that another one of your flower shop mantras?"

"It's from experience. Trust me, after forty years of business and three broken refrigerators, I know what I'm talking about."

The rest of the morning flies by in a blur of lattes and laughter. Candace helps me restock napkins while Joselyn tries to convince me to host a pastry decorating class for one of her winery events. The whole place hums with the kind of energy I dreamed about when I was kneading dough in the back of a chain café and saving every tip.

It isn't perfect, not yet. The floor creaks, the coffee machine hisses like it's perpetually annoyed, and the back counter still needs replacing. But it's mine. All mine.

Mrs. Waverly lingers longer than usual, sipping her tea slowly, watching the world outside with a soft smile.

Before she leaves, she pulls me into a hug that smells like lavender and rose water. "You’re doing a beautiful job, sweetheart. Don’t forget to live in it while it lasts." It’s something she tells me every time she leaves.

I nod, heart full. "You too."

She walks out, the bell jingling behind her, and I don’t know it yet, but it’ll be the last time she ever says those words to me.