Pinch Perfect (Spice Spice Baby #4)

Chapter 1

Liam

Most people imagine a bakery in the morning as peaceful, calm, and cozy. They’re wrong.

Mine starts with my six-year-old knocking over her backpack and waking the dead.

“It’s heavy,” she complains as it hits the floor with a thud that echoes through the place.

“It has two crayons in it,” I tell her, flipping on the front lights.

“And a snack,” she replies sassily.

“Which you’re not supposed to pack.”

“Daddy, can I sit at my table?” she asks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hair’s a mess. She looks like she slept upside down.

“Yes,” I say, locking the door behind us. “Please. That would be great.”

She wanders to the small corner table we’ve unofficially claimed as hers, pulling out crayons that spill across the wood. She doesn’t seem to care, she rarely does.

I walk to the pastry case, mentally reviewing the morning checklist. The festival starts in three days, which means everything is already behind.

I’m already behind. I barely slept thanks to a late-night equipment issue and Maisie insisting on sleeping in my bed because the wind sounded like a ghost trying to blow our house down.

I told her ghosts weren’t real, she didn’t believe me and thus ensued an hour-long discussion on why ghosts aren’t real.

Right now, I'm running on fumes.

I’m halfway through assessing the front display when I notice it. A gap. A very specific gap where a muffin should be.

I take a slow breath. “Maisie.”

She hums, not looking up.

“Did you take a muffin last night?”

There’s a pause, and I see that heat starts to spread through her cheeks. “No,” she says without looking up at me.

It’s a terrible lie.

“Try again.”

She glances up at me, her cheeks flaming red at this point. “Maybe I took one. A little one.”

“Muffins are one size.”

“Well… I took one size.”

I approach her table and crouch down. “Where is it?”

Her tiny hand slides into her backpack, and she pulls out the muffin like a guilty criminal handing over stolen goods. The wrapper is crinkled and the top is half flattened.

“It was my emergency food,” she says quietly, like that excuses the crime.

“What emergency were you preparing for?”

“A hungry one.”

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Laughing will make her think she can get away with this again.

“Next time you want something,” I say gently, “you ask me.”

She nods solemnly. “Okay, Daddy.”

I kiss the top of her head, stand, and head to the counter. Behind me, she immediately starts humming again, crisis forgotten.

The back kitchen door swings open and Mark steps into the front with a tray of dough. He looks awake. Too awake.

“Morning,” he says, then spots the mangled muffin in my hand. “Oh. Rough start.”

“I’m living the dream.”

He grins. “At least she didn’t get into the macarons this time.”

“Why would you say that out loud?”

“Manifesting positivity.”

“That’s not what manifesting is.”

He shrugs and goes back to the kitchen. I shake my head and return to the display, checking for further signs of Maisie’s midnight snack spree.

So far, the rest is intact. A miracle.

I’m adjusting the angle of a tray when Maisie speaks again.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

She’s drawing a picture of… something. A blob. A stick person. A heart. I’ll decode it later.

“Do you think the festival lady will like cookies?”

“I assume so.”

“What if she doesn’t?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Then she’ll be wrong,” I say. “But we’ll be polite about it.”

Maisie rests her chin on her palm and stares at her drawing like she’s working through something. “I hope she’s nice.”

I touch her hair. “Me too.”

She leans into my hand for a second, then goes back to coloring, humming rather off-key but still adorable.

I return to prepping for opening, moving through the familiar motions.

Checking labels, running through inventory notes, setting out the morning coffee carafes.

The early customers will come soon, especially with the festival pulling tourists into town.

People are already walking around outside despite the wind still howling.

I’m wiping down the counter when the bell above the front door rings.

I look up.

And everything inside me tightens.

A woman steps in, brushing hair from her face as she glances around. She smiles, it’s a small, warm smile like she’s happy to be here. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, she’s wearing a pale blouse tucked into dark pants, and she’s holding a clipboard.

She scans the bakery and nods, like she’s pleasantly surprised. Usually that look only shows up when someone’s already eyeing the cupcakes with the extra frosting.

Maisie sits up straight in her chair, watching her with cautious fascination. That’s my first clue this woman is about to complicate my morning.

My second clue is my pulse picking up.

“Daddy,” Maisie whispers, tugging my sleeve. “She’s really pretty.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. I can see that.”

The woman spots us and walks toward the counter. There’s a calmness to her movements, like she’s used to stepping into places where she doesn’t know anyone and finding her footing fast. She stops in front of me and smiles again.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m looking for Liam O’Sullivan?”

Her voice is warm, confident, and a little breathless, like she walked here quickly. It hits me low in my stomach.

“That’s me,” I say.

She shifts her clipboard to her other arm and offers her hand. “I’m Charlotte Renner. I’m the new event coordinator for the Heart-to-Heart Festival.”

Her grip is soft but confident, and the moment our hands meet, a quiet shock runs through me. Sharp enough to make my stomach clench.

“Thanks for coming by,” I say, trying to sound like a man who didn’t just feel something over a handshake. “I know it’s early.”

“I figured bakery hours start before I’m fully functional, so showing up early seemed respectful.”

I huff out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

Maisie stands next to me now, holding her crayon like she’s ready to fight for my honor if needed.

Charlotte notices and crouches slightly, giving Maisie space. “Hi there. I’m Charlotte.”

Maisie steps half behind me, then peeks out. “Hi.”

Her voice is quiet, a little shy. That alone tells me she likes Charlotte. When Maisie dislikes someone, she makes it extremely obvious.

Charlotte smiles kindly. “I like your drawing.”

Maisie looks down at it like she forgot she was holding it. “It’s Daddy and me.”

“Well,” Charlotte says softly, “you did a great job.”

Maisie tucks her chin down and presses into my side. She’s not embarrassed, she’s assessing, and she’s gentle when she likes someone. Something she didn’t get from me.

She stands and her gaze hooks onto mine, it’s warm and curious, like she’s drawn in too. The hit of it tightens something in my chest.

“I wanted to go over the gala details with you,” she says. “If now works.”

“Now works,” I tell her. “I’m up, the bakery’s awake, and the coffee’s already running through my bloodstream.”

She laughs, and it’s soft and lyrical. “Good. I’ll try not to make this painful.”

“Appreciated.”

She glances up at the menu behind me, and her lips twitch. “Okay, so I have one very small suggestion before we get into the serious stuff.”

I raise a brow. “Which is?”

She points her pen at the chalkboard. “Your menu item names. They’re… very practical.”

“They’re descriptive,” I correct her.

“They’re boring.”

“They tell you what you’re buying.”

She grins. “Sure. But it’s the Heart-to-Heart Festival. People want romance. Something warm, and something sweet.”

“They want food,” I say. “They want it fast. They want it to taste good, and they don’t care what it’s called.”

“Or,” she counters, stepping closer, “they want a Caramel Heartburst Muffin.”

I stare at her. “That’s not real.”

“It could be.”

“It won’t be.”

She laughs under her breath and looks at me with a sparkle in her eyes that, unfortunately, makes my pulse do something I’m not prepared for at six in the morning.

“Alright,” she says softly. “We’ll revisit that later.”

“You can revisit it. I’ll supervise.”

“I look forward to that.”

I feel the pull between us, it’s strong enough that I know she feels it too

Maisie tugs my sleeve again, leaning close. “Daddy,” she whispers loudly. “She sounds nice.”

I nod. “She does.”

The way she looks at Maisie puts a pressure in my chest I can’t ignore

“So,” Charlotte says, pulling her clipboard up. “Want to walk me through the space you’ll be using for the gala tasting? I’d love to get a feel for the flow of things.”

“Sure,” I say. “Follow me.”

I guide her toward the side prep area, aware of the warmth of her presence beside me.

She doesn’t hover close, but she doesn’t keep too much distance either, to me, it’s very noticeable.

As is the way she looks around like she already cares about this place.

Like she’s trying to understand it instead of just getting through the meeting.

“Your bakery has good energy,” she says lightly.

“Energy?” I ask, amused.

She shrugs. “I notice things. People. Places. It’s part of the job, I guess. But this place feels… welcoming.”

I glance at her. “We try.”

“You succeed.”

There’s sincerity in her voice. No flattery, just truth, and for some reason, it hits harder than I expect.

I clear my throat. “So, the tasting. You were saying?”

“I was saying,” she teases gently. “That I think your chai cookies would be a perfect signature item, but you’re going to hate my name suggestion for them.”

“I already hate it,” I say.

“You don’t even know it.”

“I have a sense.”

She laughs again, and my body reacts like I’ve known her for more than three minutes, which is concerning.

We talk through the logistics, scheduling, tasting quantities, and serving order. She takes fast notes, asks smart questions, and actually listens. She’s steady, put-together, and easy to work with.

At one point she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I catch myself staring at the motion like an idiot.

Get it together, Liam.

She finishes her notes and closes her clipboard. “Thank you. This is really helpful.”

“No problem,” I say, leaning one hand on the counter to ground myself. “Anything else you need?”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to my mouth before she looks away. It's quick. So quick I almost convince myself I imagined it.

Almost.

“No,” she says softly. “I think that’s it for now.”

“Good.”

Her eyes stay on mine a heartbeat too long, and the heat in them hits and my gut clenches.

And then she steps back. “I’ll let you get back to opening.”

Maisie bolts to her side before she can make it to the door. “Will you come back?”

Charlotte kneels and smiles gently. “Yes. I’ll be here a lot this week.”

Maisie glances up at me. “Daddy, she’s coming back.”

“I heard,” I say.

Charlotte laughs, stands, and gives me one last look. “See you soon, Liam.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “See you.”

The bell rings as she leaves, and I watch her walk down the sidewalk, clipboard against her chest, hair swinging with each step.

She disappears around the corner.

Maisie sighs dramatically. “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“I like her.”

I swallow. “Yeah,” I say. “I think I do too.”