Chapter Fourteen
Julia had apologized fourteen times.
She knew this because she'd been counting, partly out of habit and partly because Elliott's responses had become increasingly monosyllabic with each attempt.
The first apology had earned her a grunt.
The fifth had received a door closing. By the fourteenth, Elliott had simply walked past her as though she were a particularly uninteresting piece of furniture.
It had been three days since the mixer incident.
Three days of Elliott starting work before Julia woke and disappearing upstairs and into her room the moment the bakery closed.
Three days of conversation limited to "the croissants are ready" and "we're low on butter.
" Three days of Julia lying awake on the uncomfortable couch, replaying the moment over and over, trying to understand what she'd done that was so unforgivable.
She'd offered to replace it. That was the right thing to do, wasn't it?
When you broke something, you replaced it.
That was basic human decency. Basic manners.
The kind of thing her mother had drilled into her since childhood, right alongside "Richardsons don't slouch" and "presentation is everything. "
So why had Elliott looked at her like she'd suggested something obscene?
Julia was wiping down the already-clean counter for the third time when Tara emerged from the back, carrying a tray of scones that smelled delicious and looked like something from a magazine.
Elliott's work, obviously. Everything beautiful in this bakery was Elliott's work.
It was disconcerting and yet weirdly made her proud at the same time.
Proud that Elliott could do something so clearly incredible.
"You're going to wear a hole in that counter," Tara said.
"Sorry." Julia put down the cloth. "Lost in thought."
"Mmm." Tara slid the scones into the display case with practiced ease. Her movements were efficient, but she just didn’t seem… happy. God, Julia hoped she didn’t want to quit. Having Elliott’s help with the baking was great, but she needed Tara too. Actually, she needed all the help she could get.
Julia cleared her throat. "Everything okay?"
"Fine."
"You seem distracted."
"I'm not." Tara straightened, not meeting Julia's eyes. "Just tired."
It was a lie, and not a particularly convincing one.
Julia had spent years reading people, figuring out what they needed before they asked for it.
It was her one genuine skill, honed through decades of trying to anticipate her mother's moods.
And right now, Tara was radiating the particular energy of someone carrying something heavy.
"If you want to talk…" Julia started.
"I don't." Tara's voice was sharper than usual. She caught herself and softened. "Sorry. I just… there's nothing to talk about. Really. It’s not… I’m not ready."
Julia bit her lip. "Is it the secret? About me and Elliott? Because if keeping that is stressing you out, I completely understand. We never should have put you in that position…"
Tara actually laughed at that, though it came out more like a snort. "Trust me, keeping your fake relationship secret is the least of my worries." She rolled her eyes. "I'm very used to keeping secrets."
The words hung in the air, weighted with something Julia couldn't quite identify. Before she could probe further, the bell above the door chimed.
Candice came in wearing a smile that could curdle milk.
"Good afternoon!" Her voice was bright and false. "I thought I'd pop over and see how things are going. Neighborly concern, you know."
Julia summoned her customer service smile. "How kind. Can I get you something?"
"Oh, just browsing." Candice was already circling the display cases, examining their contents with the intensity of a health inspector looking for violations. "My, my. These do look… professional."
"Thank you."
"Almost too professional, really." Candice's eyes glinted. "For someone who's only been baking a few weeks."
Julia's smile stayed fixed. "I've had good teachers. And as you know, I’m a Richardson." It wasn’t often she got to use the family name like that, and, truth be told, she sort of liked reminding Candice of the fact.
"Mmm." Candice picked up a sourdough loaf, turning it over in her hands.
"You know, it's funny. When I started my bakery, I spent years learning my craft.
Years of early mornings and burned fingers and failed experiments.
But I suppose when you're just playing baker, you can just skip all that unpleasantness. "
The words landed like small, precise knives.
"I'm not playing anything," Julia said, though her voice came out weaker than she'd intended.
"Of course not, dear." Candice's smile widened.
"I'm sure having a famous mother and unlimited resources has nothing to do with your sudden success.
Some people are just naturally talented, aren't they? Born with silver whisks in their mouths. Though I don’t see many burns on those fingers of yours. "
Julia opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. What could she say? Candice wasn't entirely wrong. Julia hadn't earned any of this. The bakery, the flat, even Elliott's help, all of it had been handed to her or arranged through circumstances rather than merit.
"I'll take this." Candice held up the sourdough. "Though I'm sure it can't compare to bread made by someone who actually trained for the work."
Julia rang her up in silence, her face burning.
Candice collected her change with a satisfied expression. "Lovely chat. We must do this again."
The bell chimed her exit.
Julia stood behind the counter, her hands trembling slightly, and tried to remember how to breathe.
"She's a snake."
Julia spun around. Elliott was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. How long had she been there? How much had she heard?
"Yeah," Julia said, thinking maybe they were on their way to a detente. Maybe Elliott was done being angry with her for no discernible reason.
Elliott raised an eyebrow. "But she’s not exactly wrong."
Julia swallowed.
"I mean, you didn't train for this. You don't know what you're doing. You're only here because your mother bought you a bakery and I happened to be living in it." Elliott's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Candice is a snake, but that doesn't mean she's lying."
"Not like we are," Julia said, then regretted saying it.
"Right. Not like we are." Elliott turned back toward the kitchen. "I've got dough rising."
The door swung shut behind her.
Julia stood frozen, alone in the empty shop, and felt something crack inside her chest.
THAT EVENING SHE lay on the couch and could hear Elliott working in the kitchen below her.
She wished that she knew how to fix things.
She wished that she knew just what exactly she’d done wrong.
One minute they’d shared something. Something warm and tingling that made Julia’s stomach turn somersaults and her fingers and toes feel funny.
The next minute they were back to the beginning again.
She’d been clumsy, but that was all, wasn’t it?
She pulled out her phone and opened her nursing education app. The familiar interface greeted her like an old friend. New video available: "Hygiene Protocols in Emergency Settings." She pressed play, letting the instructor's calm voice wash over her.
In emergency situations, rapid assessment is crucial. But hygiene must remain a priority...
This. This was what she was supposed to be doing. Not pretending to run a bakery. Not fake-dating a woman who could barely stand to look at her. Not disappointing everyone who expected something from her.
She could leave.
The thought crystallized with sudden clarity. She could pack her bags tonight, get in her car, and drive away. Find a nursing program somewhere far from here, far from her mother's expectations, far from the bakery she was failing to run. Start over as someone new. Someone real.
The fantasy was seductive. Julia let herself sink into it, imagining a life where she wore scrubs instead of aprons, where her skills actually mattered, where she wasn't constantly pretending to be someone she wasn't.
But even as she pictured it, something snagged.
Elliott.
The thought of leaving Elliott behind felt wrong in a way Julia couldn't quite articulate. Which was ridiculous, because Elliott clearly hated her. Elliott had been avoiding her for days. Elliott had just agreed with Candice that Julia was a fraud.
And yet.
There had been that moment in the kitchen, before the mixer fell. Elliott's hands guiding hers through the dough, warm and patient. Elliott's breath against her hair. The way Elliott had said "you're getting it" with something almost like pride.
Julia closed her eyes.
It was time to admit it, if only to herself.
She was falling for someone.
For someone who could barely tolerate her existence. Someone who ran hot and cold, who built walls higher than Julia could climb, who looked at her like she was both fascinating and infuriating but mostly infuriating.
Maybe it was appropriate. Her mother didn't particularly like the real Julia either, and Julia loved her anyway. Perhaps Julia was simply drawn to people who found her disappointing. Perhaps that was her type: emotionally unavailable and perpetually dissatisfied.
At least Elliott's coldness meant they weren't touching anymore. Weren't standing too close, hands brushing, electricity crackling between them. That was probably for the best. Whatever Julia was feeling, it was clearly one-sided, and the distance gave her space to get over it.
She should be grateful, really.
She wasn't.
She also couldn’t run away. Apart from anything else, she was fairly sure that the press would find her eventually. Gabby Richardson’s Runaway Daughter, not a headline she wanted to see.
As for Elliott, well, she’d just need to get over it all, wouldn’t she? And maybe there was one thing she could do to help soothe the problem.
She opened her browser and navigated to the kitchen supply website. She found Elliott's mixer model, a professional-grade stand mixer in brushed steel, and added it to her cart. Express delivery. Gift wrapping not necessary.
It wouldn't fix things. She knew that. Elliott's anger clearly went deeper than a broken appliance. But it was something. A gesture. The smallest possible attempt to make things right. Maybe it would be enough to get them through the next couple of weeks.
And then what? The small voice in her head asked her the question. But she wasn’t going to engage. She couldn’t think any further ahead than that. Just… just make everyone happy with her and that would be enough. It was all she wanted.