Chapter 10
Charlotte
Two weeks after the festival, Valentine feels different, it’s quieter and more settled. The booths are gone, the banners are packed away, and the grass has mostly recovered from being trampled by thousands of enthusiastic feet.
But the people? They haven’t stopped smiling at me since the stage kiss.
Everywhere I go, someone gives me a knowing look. And today, the bakery is buzzing again, not with festival chaos, but with the first ever Sweetheart Saturday couples baking class. Something Liam and I came up with together over breakfast in his kitchen.
Inside Spice Spice Baby, couples fill every table. Newlyweds, older couples, and a few brave daters who definitely lied when they checked the box that said skill level: comfortable in the kitchen.
The air smells like sugar and cinnamon.
Liam stands behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up, explaining cookie dough, he talks with his hands, he mutters when he’s thinking, and he glances at me every few minutes like he’s checking that I’m still here.
Maisie sits at her tiny table in the corner, her crayons spread out in a colorful explosion. She is wearing her new Spice Spice Baby Junior apron.
When Liam nods at her to begin the class, she hops up with a seriousness no six-year-old should have.
She walks right to the front and announces proudly. “Welcome to Sweetheart Saturday! We’re making cookies. If your dough gets messy, that’s okay. Mine always does. Daddy fixes it.”
Liam closes his eyes like he’s trying not to laugh, or cry, out of secondhand stress.
I whisper, “She’s not wrong.”
“She’s not supposed to advertise it,” he whispers back.
The class begins and there’s an excitement from everyone, there’s a lot of accurate or inaccurate measuring of cups of flour, and couples debating whether they should follow the recipe exactly or wing it. Which has Liam intervening quickly whenever he hears the word wing.
I move through the room, helping people level flour, Liam shadows the other side of the room, adjusting dough textures, answering questions, and preventing Mark from igniting anything for fun.
And every time our paths cross, he touches me. Just lightly, a hand on my back, a brush of fingers on my arm. A small, warm connection that sends little sparks across my skin even though we’re standing in a bakery full of people.
I don’t mind the audience.
When the dough finally goes into the ovens, couples drift around the room chatting, sipping drinks, and admiring their future cookies. Maisie shows a couple how she presses heart shapes into hers, completely unaware of how charmed everyone is.
“She’s really in her element,” I say to Liam.
He stands beside me, his arm brushing mine. “She loves this stuff. She likes watching people be happy.”
“She gets that from you.”
He laughs under his breath but doesn’t disagree.
“You did well today,” he says a while later.
“So did you.”
Before he can say anything, Maisie darts over and grabs my sleeve.
“I have an announcement,” she says.
Liam stiffens instantly. “Oh no.”
“I’m retiring from matchmaking,” she says with a dramatic little sigh.
I kneel. “Retiring, huh?”
“Yes, because it worked. You like each other. Daddy smiles are all squishy. My job is done.”
Liam groans, I laugh, and Maisie beams.
“What are you going to do with your retirement?” I ask.
“I’m going to draw pictures and help Daddy bake, but not with the oven because he says it’s dangerous and maybe be a teacher. And eat cookies.”
“A full career,” I say.
She nods proudly and runs back to her drawing.
Liam exhales slowly. “She’s too observant.”
“She’s honest. That’s all.”
He steps closer, sliding one hand to my waist. The room is still noisy, but the second he touches me, everything else fades a little.
“You staying?” he asks softly. Not nervous, just wanting the words.
“Not just for the class?” I tease.
“Not for the class,” he says, his fingers brushing my hip. “For real.”
I hold his gaze. “I’m staying,” I say. “With you and Maisie and this bakery that somehow adopted me.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips, and I melt into it, kissing him back because nothing has ever felt more right. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Good,” he murmurs.
“Good?” I echo.
He smiles. “Perfect.”
The oven timer dings loudly, and the room erupts into applause. Couples swarm back to their stations, laughing and bumping hips as they pull out trays of imperfect, lopsided, absolutely wonderful cookies.
Maisie returns to us with a drawing in hand, another picture of the three of us. This time I’m wearing a tiara, Liam has a chef hat, and she’s still in glitter.
“I made a new one,” she says proudly. “This one is for the bakery wall.”
Liam lifts her up. “We’ll put it right in the front.”
She nods solemnly. “Because we’re a team.”
I look at the two of them, this man who fought so hard to stay closed and opened anyway, and this little girl with frosting on her cheek and too much love to hold in her tiny body, and I’ve finally found my way home.
Liam meets my eyes over Maisie’s shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to.
Some things don’t need words. Some things are just a promise. And this sweet beginning is ours.
A pinch of perfect. Exactly enough.