Chapter Nine
She glanced at the screen, saw "Mum" glowing, and seriously considered letting it go to voicemail. But Julia Richardson had never let a call from her mother go to voicemail in her entire life. It was probably hardwired into her DNA at this point, right next to the gene for disappointing everyone.
"Hi, Mum. I'm just in the middle of—"
"Darling, wonderful news!" Gabby's voice was the particular kind of bright that meant Julia was about to hate whatever came next. "I'm going to be filming in your area. Isn't that exciting?"
Julia's hand slipped. The bowl of almost-batter wobbled dangerously. "What?"
"A new special. 'Gabby's Country Kitchen'.
Eight episode run, all filmed just down the road from you.
How perfect is that?" To be fair, Gabby did sound quite excited about it.
"And I thought, well, since I'll be so close, I can just pop in whenever. You know, check on how you’re doing and give you a few words of advice.
We could have breakfast every day even."
The bowl crashed to the floor.
Julia barely noticed. Her brain had short-circuited somewhere around "pop in" and was now playing a highlight reel of every disaster she'd caused since arriving in Oakhaven. The burned scones. The collapsed bread. The smoke alarms. Elliott living in the flat that Gabby had paid for.
Elliott living in the flat that Gabby had paid for.
Oh God.
"Julia? Are you there? What was that noise?"
"Nothing! Just…um, dropped something. You’re coming here? To Oakhaven?"
"Mmmm. There’s a delicious little boutique hotel that is going to put me up.
So I’ll be just down the road." Which meant Gabby would show up whenever she felt like it, probably at the worst possible moment.
"I can't wait to see what you've done with the place.
And to meet this team of yours. You do have a team, don't you? "
"Yes, I have Tara. She's wonderful."
"Just the one? Hmm." The disappointment was audible. "Well, we'll discuss staffing when I arrive. Must dash, darling. Kiss kiss."
The line went dead.
Julia stood frozen, phone in hand, batter pooling around her feet. This was fine. Everything was fine. Her mother was coming to inspect the bakery she couldn't run, to judge the life she hadn't wanted, and to discover the woman illegally squatting in the flat upstairs.
Completely fine.
"Julia?" Tara appeared in the kitchen doorway, took one look at Julia's face, and immediately grabbed a mop. "What happened?"
"My mother is coming."
"Oh." Tara's eyes widened. "The Gabby Richardson?"
"The one and only." Julia's voice came out slightly strangled. "She's filming nearby. She wants to 'pop in.' She's going to see everything. She's going to see how terrible I am at this. She's going to find out about—"
She cut herself off. Elliott. Gabby was going to find out about Elliott, and then there would be lawyers and evictions and Julia would have to watch Elliott get thrown out of her home because Julia was too spineless to tell her mother the truth.
The front door jingled. Jamie appeared, carrying what looked like a homemade quiche.
"Thought you could use some—" He stopped. "Why does Julia look like she's seen a ghost?"
"Her mother's coming," Tara said.
"Ah." Jamie set down the quiche and immediately moved to Julia's side. "Right. Deep breaths. When?"
"I don’t know. She wasn't specific." Julia was definitely not hyperventilating. She was breathing in a perfectly controlled, absolutely normal way that just happened to be very fast. "She's going to see everything, Jamie. The empty display cases. My complete inability to bake. The…"
She glanced at Tara and stopped herself again.
"The general chaos?" Jamie supplied diplomatically.
"Yes. That."
The back door opened and Elliott walked in, carrying shopping bags. She took two steps into the kitchen, surveyed the scene, Julia wild-eyed and covered in batter, Tara mopping, Jamie looking concerned, and raised an eyebrow.
"What's all this about then? Another disaster?"
Before Julia could answer, the front door burst open again.
And there she was.
Because obviously she’d called when she was just down the road. Not impolite enough to show up unannounced, but just rude enough to give Julia not even a full minute during which to prepare herself.
Gabby Richardson swept into the bakery like she owned the place.
Which, technically, she did. She was wearing a cream cashmere coat that cost more than Julia's car, and her dark hair was immaculately swept back so as best to show off her cheekbones.
She looked like she'd stepped directly out of a photoshoot, which, Julia thought, was highly probable.
"Surprise!" Gabby spread her arms wide, bracelets jangling. "I simply couldn't wait another moment. Julia, darling, why is there batter on the floor? And who is this?"
She was looking at Elliott.
Elliott, who was standing frozen in the kitchen doorway, shopping bags dangling from her hands, staring at Gabby Richardson with an expression of absolute awe.
Her mouth had actually fallen open. Julia had never seen Elliott look anything less than completely in control, but right now she looked like a teenager meeting their favorite pop star.
In fact, she didn’t look like she was going to be able to speak any time soon. Which might just be in their favor.
"Mum." Julia said. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"Yes, I gathered that from the state of things." Gabby's gaze swept the kitchen with the precision of a health inspector. "I asked you a question, darling. Who is this?"
Julia's brain went into overdrive.
Elliott was still staring. Gabby was waiting. Tara had frozen mid-mop. Jamie was looking between everyone with the expression of someone watching a car crash in slow motion.
If Gabby found out Elliott was living upstairs, she'd have her removed within the hour.
Julia knew her mother. Gabby was practical, ruthless, and extremely good at getting her way.
She'd call a lawyer, cite trespassing, and Elliott would be out on the street before sunset.
Elliott, who had nowhere else to go. Elliott, who…
hated her and monopolized the bathroom. Elliott who occasionally, just occasionally, smiled at her.
Elliott who complained about the smoke alarms.
And for some reason, Julia just couldn't let that happen.
Her mouth opened before her brain could catch up.
"My girlfriend."
The words hung in the air like a particularly stupid grenade.
Gabby's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot upward. "Your what?"
"My… girlfriend." Julia heard herself say it again and wanted to die. "Elliott. This is Elliott. My girlfriend. We're… together."
She risked a glance at Elliott.
Elliott was still staring at Gabby, but something had shifted in her expression. She looked like someone who'd just been handed a script they hadn't read but was expected to perform anyway.
"Yes," Elliott said slowly. "That's… yes. I'm the girlfriend."
"You're Julia's girlfriend." Gabby's voice was flat with disbelief. "Since when does Julia have a girlfriend? Since when does Julia have anyone? She's never mentioned you once."
"It's new," Julia said quickly. "Very new. Practically brand new. We wanted to keep it private."
"I see." Gabby's eyes narrowed, moving between them. "And you live…?"
"Uh, here," Elliott said, finally seeming to regain some of her composure. "With Julia. Upstairs."
"How convenient."
The silence that followed was excruciating.
Jamie cleared his throat. "Mrs. Richardson, it's such an honor to meet you. I'm Jamie Spencer, I run the restaurant next door. Would you like a tour of the area? There's a lovely tea room just down the street, and I could show you where the local hidden spots are…"
He was already moving, gently steering Gabby toward the door with the smoothness of someone who'd spent years managing difficult customers. Gabby let herself be steered, but her eyes lingered on Elliott with an expression that promised further interrogation.
"We'll talk more later," she said to Julia. "About everything." Then she turned and appeared to see Jamie’s strong jaw and blue eyes for the first time and a smile spread over her face. "Tell me everything about the town, darling," she drawled.
The door closed behind them.
Julia's knees gave out. She grabbed the counter for support. "I'm so sorry. I panicked. I didn't know what else to say. I just thought if she found out you were living here without her permission, she'd—"
"Get me thrown out." Elliott's voice was unreadable. She set down her shopping bags slowly. "Which she could definitely do."
"Yes." Julia risked a look at her. "I shouldn't have said it. It was stupid and impulsive and now everything's worse—"
"Actually." Elliott held up a hand. "Wait."
Julia waited.
Elliott was quiet for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. Julia watched her process, saw the exact moment something shifted behind her dark eyes.
"Your mother," Elliott said carefully, "is Gabby Richardson."
"Yes?"
"Gabby Richardson. The Gabby Richardson. Three Michelin stars. Six James Beard awards. Author of sixteen cookbooks, including 'The Richardson Kitchen' which is basically the bible of modern British cuisine."
"You’re literally the only person in town that doesn’t know that," Tara said. She rolled her eyes, dropped her mop, and went out to pretend to sort the rubbish.
Julia blinked. "You… know her work?"
"Know her work?" Elliott let out a short laugh. "I learned to bake from her books. Her croissant technique changed my entire approach to laminated doughs." She paused. "I may have watched every episode of her show at least twice."
"Oh." Julia didn't know what to do with this information. Grumpy, antisocial Elliott was a secret Gabby Richardson fangirl. The universe had a strange sense of humor.
"Your mum is the Gabby Richardson," Elliott continued, sounding disbelieving.
"My mother is also your unknowing landlady," Julia said. "I just… I didn’t want to get you thrown out. I just…" She sighed. "I just wasn’t thinking."
"And now I’m your girlfriend."
"A girlfriend with a home," Julia pointed out. She’d done the right thing, after all, hadn’t she? Not the lying, obviously. But the saving part, that part was good.
"Gabby Richardson’s daughter’s girlfriend," Elliott said, like she was trying it out for size. She didn’t exactly sound angry. In fact, she sounded… interested?
Julia's brain caught up slowly. "You want to... keep pretending?"
"I want to make a deal." Elliott crossed her arms, back in familiar territory now. "We've been going about this all wrong. You and me, I mean. This awkward cohabitation, the arguments about the bathroom, all of it. It should have been a business arrangement from the start."
"A business arrangement."
"Exactly." Elliott began to pace, her mind clearly working.
"Here's my proposal. I stay in the flat.
Your mother thinks we're together, so she doesn't ask questions about the living situation.
In exchange, I help with the bakery, actual baking, not just dealing with your smoke alarm disasters.
I can do that stuff in my sleep. I'll use the big kitchen downstairs for my cookbook recipes, which is better equipped anyway.
You run the business side. Your mother sees a functioning bakery with a competent baker, I get access to a professional kitchen and can keep my home. "
Julia stared at her. "You'd do that? Help me?"
"I'd be helping myself." Elliott's tone was practical, but something in it had softened. "And you did just lie to Gabby Richardson's face to protect me. That took guts."
"It took panic."
"Same thing sometimes." Elliott almost smiled. Almost. "So. Do we have a deal? Fake girlfriends, business partners, mutual benefit all round?"
Julia thought about it. She thought about the empty display cases and her terrible baking and her mother's inevitable disappointment. She thought about Elliott's perfect pastries and sharp competence and the way she'd looked at Gabby like she was meeting a legend.
She thought about how nice it had been, for just a moment, to see her mother caught off guard.
"One condition," Julia said.
Elliott raised an eyebrow.
"You have to actually teach me something. I can't just stand there looking pretty while you do all the work. She'll notice."
"Looking pretty?" The corner of Elliott's mouth twitched. "Is that what you think you do?"
"Shut up." But Julia was smiling. "Do we have a deal?"
Elliott studied her for a long moment. Then she held out her hand.
"Deal."
Julia took it. Elliott's grip was firm and warm, her palm slightly rough from years of kitchen work. They shook once, twice, and Julia felt something settle into place. A plan. A partnership. A completely insane fake relationship with her grumpy flatmate.
What could possibly go wrong?