21. Brie
TWO YEARS, TWO MONTHS LATER
“Can I run something by you?” Ezra asked me and my sister, pulling me up short.
I was halfway out of my seat, desperate for some clean, Ezra-free air after he, Delia, and I spent the past few hours discussing the winery’s contribution to the Apple Blossom Bay Fall Festival, which started in two weeks. Every year, we set up booths inside the barn near the corn maze and pumpkin patch to serve snacks and treats. As Ezra was the winery’s head chef and I was the resident pastry girlie, we’d been forced to work together on it for the last two seasons since I moved home from Chicago and opened the bakery.
Truthfully, I wanted to be anywhere else.
I’d done my level best to maintain a professional and amicable relationship with Ezra since that night . I didn’t go out of my way to avoid him, but I also wasn’t making it a point to spend any extra time in his presence. He’d made it clear what he wanted from me when he left my apartment that morning—which was nothing , for the record—and I’d been a foolish, naive girl to think one night of incredible passion, a connection I hadn’t found with anyone else before or since, would be enough to change his mind.
The worst part was, I couldn’t even fault him for it. Hansen had to be his top priority. I’d done what I could to move on and make our working relationship as smooth and tension-free as possible.
“What’s up, Ez?” I asked, dropping back onto my chair.
My gaze darted across the table to Delia, who also sank back into her seat. She gave me a reassuring smile, and I resisted the urge to reach for her hand, to ground myself when my heart was beating out of my chest.
Call it woman’s intuition, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like whatever happened next.
“I want to get more involved in the community, beyond all of this,” he said, gesturing to the winery. “So I was thinking about ways I could give back, and I thought perhaps hosting a fall dinner of sorts at the community center would be fun. I’m thinking a ticketed event with five to seven courses, each cooked by me and paired with a Chateau Delatou wine. I could do fall-inspired dishes with a Swedish flair.”
Instantly, I perked up. In all my years of living here, I could say with confidence that neither the community nor the winery had ever hosted anything remotely similar. I gaped slightly at Ezra. For the last few years, he’d been…withdrawn. The bags under his eyes had practically been designer, and everything about him had seemed haunted. Maybe I was delusional, but I couldn’t help thinking it had something to do with me. But now, he was present. His eyes were bright, dancing with excitement, and his normally flattened mouth was tipped up into a heart stopping smile.
I’d missed that smile—missed being the one who put it there.
“And Brie,” Ezra continued, startling me into closing my mouth and relaxing my posture, forcing myself into pretending I wasn’t hanging on his every word. “I was hoping you’d contribute to the dessert course. Maybe you could come up with something to pair with the CD ice wine?”
“I—” I started, choking on that single letter, then cleared my throat. “That sounds wonderful, Ez. Count me in.”
After all, this was my community too. I was more than happy to participate.
I tuned out Delia and Ezra discussing marketing logistics and running through ideas of where to donate the proceeds. Already, my mind swirled with ideas, and I couldn’t wait to get home and consult Granny’s recipe book for some more inspiration. I’d definitely be doing something with apples, but maybe I could also whip up some sort of sweetened pumpkin concoction…
Distantly, I clocked Ezra mentioning needing to figure out where he’d cook everything, but I was still lost in my head.
Until my sister quipped, “You should use the bakery’s kitchen! It’s only a few storefronts up from the community center, and there’s plenty of workspace and storage.”
I gritted my teeth and said, “Storage I use for my shop.”
My sister had a habit of doing stuff like this. I was no stranger to what she referred to as her “inner chaos demon,” I’d just never been on the receiving end of the shit-stirring until now.
Unperturbed, she shrugged and pressed on. “You can use that industrial sized fridge that takes up ninety percent of the kitchen in your apartment. After the hell you put Dad and Logan through to get it up there, it’s really the least you could do.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she added, “Unless you want Ezra using that one instead.”
I glared daggers at my sister, wishing I had the ability to nuke people with a simple look. Over my dead body would Ezra Wendt step foot in my apartment ever again, and Delia knew that.
I’d never gone into specifics with my sisters about what happened between me and him. They knew about the first hook up at the winery, but nothing else. The phone calls—those were too precious to me. Meant to be kept safe in that moment of time for only him and I to remember, preserved like a dragonfly in amber.
Ella had been there in the aftermath, holding me together enough to pick up the pieces and get the bakery open, but even she wasn’t privy to the full story.
That was between me, Ezra, and the past. I preferred it stayed there.
I definitely hadn’t told them I’d had sex with him. I loved them dearly, but Chloe, Amara, and Delia all had huge mouths. My parents would know right away because they’d never be able to keep it to themselves, and I hadn’t wanted Ezra to get fired. That would’ve only made a bad situation worse.
Although now that Amara was his boss, I supposed it didn’t matter so much.
“I really wouldn’t want to impose…” Ezra said slowly, pulling me from plotting all the ways I could get back at Delia for this.
Both of them stared at me expectantly, clearly anticipating my rejection. Ezra had curled his shoulders inward, as though protecting himself from the blow he thought I’d deal.
But that wasn’t my style. The only one of us who handed out rejections was him.
Unfortunately, Delia knew me better than that, knew I’d never turn down someone in need—even if they were my ex… whatever who had broken my heart.
“No, no,” I said at last, waving my hand. “It’s fine. You’re more than welcome to use the bakery.”
Ezra’s eyes widened, a smile halfway unfurling before he bit down on it, offering me a closed-lipped one instead.
“Thank you, Brie. I’ll…text you to sort out the details.”
I blinked in surprise, shocked he hadn’t immediately deleted my number in the aftermath of our ill-fated fling. I wondered if he’d held onto our text thread as well. I had, and in my weakest moments—usually several glasses of wine deep—I’d scroll through them. Torturing myself with how happy I’d been during those months.
Before I could say anything else, my sister was saying goodbye and rising out of her chair, power walking into the winery and down the hall toward the parking lot.
She had another thing coming if she thought I was letting her get away that easily.
After a quick apology to Ezra for running off, I raced behind her.
“Delia!”
She stopped quickly and turned to me, her arms folded over her chest, feigning innocence.
“Yes, baby sister?” she asked, tone saccharine.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? ”
Delia stepped back, eyes widening in shock. I rarely swore, and the fact that I did now showed how upset I was.
Quickly regaining her composure, Delia said, “Do you want the short answer or…”
I huffed out a laugh, equal parts amused and irritated. “What were you playing at back there?”
“Remember last Memorial Day when I forced Amara and Cal into making out in front of all of us with that dare?”
“Yes…”
She shrugged. “This is your dare.”
Dumbstruck, I watched in silence as she pushed outside. Fuming, I returned to the patio to gather my things, grateful Ezra had already disappeared.
If Delia thought her meddling would accomplish the same for me as it had for Amara and Cal, she was delusional.
I stewed the whole way back into town, though my mood lightened significantly when I stepped foot inside my bakery and wrapped myself in the soothing scents of pastries.
“Hey, Bee!” Celia said brightly as I walked through the door, instantly putting a smile on my face.
Celia was one of three Brie’s Bakery employees in addition to myself. The operation wasn’t that big, so during the slower months, I tended to either run the shop alone or have one other helper. Celia was a student at Northwestern Michigan College in Traverse City, and she’d been working for me since she began there three years before. I honestly wasn’t sure what I’d do in the spring when she graduated and inevitably left me, but that was a problem for Future Brie.
“Hey, Cee!” I parroted back, and we devolved into a fit of giggles like we normally did. “How has the morning been?”
“Steady,” she said, gesturing to the empty shelves behind the counter. “But you’re going to have to make more take-and-bake mixes, because, as you can see, we sold out.”
Internally, I lit up like the Fourth of July, but outwardly, I only gave Celia a broad smile.
The take-and-bake mixes had been one of my more ingenious ideas, aided by Delia and some social media strategies we were working on one night in the early days of the bakery. The first two months had been nothing short of madness as the summer traffic to the area kept me so busy, I barely had time to leave the building. But once fall rolled around and things cooled off—both figuratively and literally—I began thinking of ways I could keep the lights on in the cold winter months. As the marketing whiz kid in the family, Delia had been helping me with my Instagram, TikTok, and Pinterest accounts. When she pointed out that people frequently commented about their desires to live closer so they could try my treats—particularly my scones—I pitched the idea of creating premade dry mixes customers could purchase and make at home.
A month later, and with the help of Amara this time, I had an online store up and running. As soon as I announced it on my socials, the orders began pouring in, and I quickly realized I didn’t have enough product on hand to satisfy them all. My sisters, Mom, and I spent an entire weekend filling as many orders as we could.
Since then, it had been a steady revenue stream. I loved getting tagged in daily videos of people and their families enjoying my creations, and I continued to ship my muffin and scone mixes all over the globe.
I’d never expected my small-town bakery to gain me recognition on an international scale, but a few weeks ago, I’d received an email from a very popular—as in over two million combined TikTok and Instagram followers—food blogger about doing a segment on me, my bakery, and Apple Blossom Bay. Naturally, I’d jumped at the chance, both to celebrate myself and help promote the town that had given me and my family so much over the years.
The blogger, a guy named Damian, had been in and out of the shop all week, trying something new from the menu each time, asking me questions as we worked through my process and interviewing my customers. The exposure was going to do wonders for me and the town, and I couldn’t wait to see it all come to fruition.
As though I’d conjured him, a bright blond head appeared over the sign hanging on the door, the bell tinkling as Damian pushed inside.
Today, he wore an aqua blue Polo that turned up the vibrancy of his similarly colored eyes and tan Chinos, a crease perfectly pleating the front, a pair of loafers on his feet. He wasn’t anything like I expected. In his videos, he gave off a laid back but enthusiastic vibe, so his country club style came as a bit of a shock.
Still, he was a nice guy who seemed genuinely interested in learning about my business and the town.
“Oh, look,” Celia said dreamily as he approached, though low enough he wouldn’t hear. “Your new boyfriend is here.”
“He’s not my new boyfriend,” I hissed, playfully smacking her arm. I straightened and offered Damian a large smile when he approached the counter.
“Good afternoon, Damian,” Celia said. “What can we get started for you?”
Damian’s eyes never strayed from mine as he ordered a turnover and strawberry lemonade. Celia rang him up quickly, and Damian still didn’t look away as he paid. When Celia moved away to prepare his meal, he leaned his elbows on the counter, propping his chin up in a palm.
“I hope you love the turnover as much as you’ve enjoyed everything else,” I said with a smile. Then I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, in the direction of the kitchen, and added as I turned away, “I should get started on prep for tomorrow.”
As I turned to leave, he blurted, “Go out with me.”
I stopped so fast, my shoe squeaked against the floor.
Damian wore a soft smile when I faced him again, and from the corner of my eye, I clocked Celia frozen at the counter, pretending to be preparing his drink when I knew she was eavesdropping.
“Are you sure?”
Damian chuckled lightly. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve been wanting to ask you out since I met you, but it felt like a bit of a conflict of interest. Now that my videos are all shot and with my producer, my job here is done. I’m ready to…play. And my first order of business is taking you out.”
His blue eyes twinkled with promise at his last statement, and I couldn’t help grinning in response.
It had been a long time since a man had pursued me, and even longer since I’d been asked on a date. The last few years had been spent building my business, leaving me little time for a personal life. I was fine with that. I was, after all, only twenty-five.
Of course, there was also the Ezra of it all.
But I didn’t want to think about him right now, not with this gorgeous, sunkissed man in front of me giving me the attention I’d spent the last three years so desperately craving from the one man who refused to give it to me.
Ezra had tried to satisfy me with crumbs.
I deserved the whole damn meal.
“So what do you say?” Damian prompted, flashing his perfect white teeth in a wide grin.
“I’d love to go on a date with you.”
“Great!” Damian said excitedly, straightening to his full height. “Since I’ve been staying in the city, there’s one place up here I haven’t had the chance to visit, and it’s so highly rated that I thought we could check it out together. Have you been to the winery restaurant? Chateau Delatou?”
Behind me, Celia made a choking sound, and I cut her a glare.
For the sake of my safety—not that it was something I concerned myself with too much, given I lived in the smallest town in America—I kept my personal details, including my last name, close to the vest when it came to what I shared with my social media followers. To the public, I was simply Baker Brie. Given how much I’d come to dislike the nickname, the irony wasn’t lost on me. Damian not knowing who I was wasn’t entirely surprising, but it was refreshing.
In the area, I’d spent my entire life as “one of the Delatou girls” or “a Delatou daughter.” I loved my family legacy, and I wouldn’t begrudge my parents or my ancestors any of their success when it provided me the life I had today. Still, I wanted to be something more than just “that Delatou girl” or “Leon and Lena’s youngest.”
Who I was to my core was a woman who liked making people happy, and the way I accomplished that happened to be through pastries and sweets. That was how I wanted to be known.
Damian getting to know me without my family legacy shaping his opinion was a breath of fresh air, and I wasn’t above taking advantage of it.
“Chateau Delatou sounds perfect,” I assured him.
“Great. How about tonight?”
I gave him a sly grin. “Eager, are we?”
“To be seen with you? Absolutely.”
“In that case, tonight is great.”
“Perfect,” he said with a wide smile, accepting his order from Celia. “Where do you live? I’ll pick you up.”
I pointed toward the ceiling. “Upstairs.”
“Then I already know where to find you,” he said. “See you at seven.”
With a wink, he was gone.