Chapter Fifteen
The bell above the door chimed, and Elliott knew before she even looked up that it would be Gabby Richardson.
The woman had a particular way of entering a room that announced her presence like a fanfare, all sweeping coat and jangling bracelets and the faint scent of expensive perfume.
She was also making a habit of checking in on her investment every couple of days.
"Julia, darling!" Gabby's voice carried through the bakery. "I was in the neighborhood."
She was always in the neighborhood. Elliot was beginning to wonder if the woman actually worked, or if her TV shows were all AI.
Elliott set down her piping bag and counted to five. She'd been in the middle of decorating a batch of éclairs, and her hands were steady, her focus absolute. Now that focus was about to be shattered by the world's most inconvenient mother-in-law. Fake mother-in-law. Whatever.
She emerged from the kitchen doorway just as Gabby was surveying the shop with her normal critical eye.
"The display looks better," Gabby announced. "More professional. Though those croissants could use more color. A proper croissant should be golden, not blonde."
"They're perfect," Elliott said flatly.
Gabby's head swiveled toward her. "Ah. The girlfriend."
"That's me." Elliott forced herself to cross the shop floor toward Julia, who was standing behind the counter looking like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Right. They were supposed to be a couple. Deeply in love. Comfortable with each other. Shame that they couldn’t hold down a conversation for more than three words.
But her housing, and potentially her cookbook, depended on this. So she slid an arm around Julia's waist. Julia went rigid.
Brilliant. Very natural. Very romantic.
"How are you, Mrs. Richardson?" Elliott's voice came out stiffer than she'd intended.
"Gabby, please." Though her tone suggested Elliott should absolutely not call her Gabby.
"And I'm wonderful. The filming is going splendidly.
We're doing a segment on local producers next week.
" Her eyes drifted toward the window. "Is that the restaurant next door?
I keep meaning to pop in and say hello to Jamie. "
Of course she did.
The door chimed again, and there was Jamie himself, as if summoned by the mere mention of his name.
He was carrying a container and wearing a smile that suggested he knew exactly what he was walking into.
He dropped a wink in Julia’s direction. Huh.
She sure had him charmed. Mind you, Jamie was a teddy bear, and he loved a damsel in distress.
"Gabby!" He set down the container with a flourish. "I thought I saw you through the window. Brought you some of my new parsnip crackers. I'd love your professional opinion."
Gabby practically glowed. "How thoughtful." She gave him a leonine smile and, to give him his due, Jamie’s hand only shook slightly.
Elliott watched Jamie work his formidable charm and felt a reluctant admiration. The man was leading Gabby away from Julia like a sheepdog with a particularly troublesome ewe. Except Julia wasn't breathing. Not really.
She’d had been so focused on her own irritation that she hadn't noticed how small Julia had become.
The woman who chattered endlessly about nothing, who smiled at every customer and remembered their children's names, who filled every silence with nervous energy, that woman had disappeared.
In her place stood someone hunched and apologetic, shoulders curved inward, voice barely above a murmur.
"The pastry cases need restocking," Julia said quietly. "I should probably…"
"They're fine." Elliott tightened her grip on Julia's waist. "Stay."
Julia looked at her with something like surprise.
Elliott wouldn’t have this. She wouldn’t let this… this harridan make Julia want to take up less space in the world. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. She pulled Julia closer, properly close, until Julia's hip was pressed against hers. Julia made a small sound of surprise.
"Relax," Elliott murmured against her ear. "You're supposed to like me, remember?"
"I do like you," Julia whispered back. "When you're not being horrible."
"I'm never horrible. I'm honest. There's a difference."
But she found herself softening anyway, some of the ice in her chest thawing. Julia was warm against her side. Soft. She smelled like croissants and chocolate icing, and it was all very distracting and thoroughly unhelpful.
Gabby glanced over from her conversation with Jamie, and Elliott smiled. Actually smiled, not just the grimace she'd been managing for the past few days. She pressed a kiss to Julia's cheek, quick and light.
Julia's breath caught.
"Those scones look a little wonky," Gabby said, finally tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s and scowling at the display case.
Elliott was about to snap at her, but Julia astonishingly got in first. "They’re perfect," she said firmly. She was standing straighter now, her shoulders back, and there was something almost defiant in the way she met her mother's eyes. Elliott's chest did something she didn′t understand.
"Mmm," Gabby said, though her attention was clearly now more back on Jamie than her daughter. "I thought you might be just the man to introduce me to a few of the farmers in the area, for research, you understand."
Jamie opened his mouth, but was rescued by the buzzing of a phone.
Gabby sighed dramatically. "No rest for the weary." She answered with a clipped "Yes, what is it now?" and her expression shifted into something sharp and professional. "No, we discussed this. The lighting needs to be softer. I'm not going to look washed out on my own show."
She was already moving toward the door, phone pressed to her ear, barely pausing to wave at Julia. "Must dash, darling. Jamie, I'll call you."
And then she was gone, leaving silence in her wake.
Jamie caught Elliott's eye and mouthed "you're welcome" before gathering his container and heading back to his restaurant.
Julia sagged against Elliott like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"Hey," Elliott said. "She's gone."
"I know." Julia pulled away, not meeting her eyes. "I should check on the kitchen."
"Julia."
"The éclairs probably need—"
"Julia." Elliott caught her arm. "Stop."
Julia stopped.
They stood there in the middle of the empty shop, the silence stretching between them.
Elliott should let go. Should walk back to her kitchen and her éclairs and her careful distance.
Should remember that she was still angry about the mixer, about the casual assumption that money could fix everything.
Instead, she said: "Why do you let her treat you like that?"
Julia blinked. "Like what?"
"Like you're something she's disappointed in. Like you're not good enough just by existing." The words came out sharp. "You practically disappeared when she walked in."
"She's my mother."
"That's not an answer."
Julia's laugh was hollow. "She terrifies me.
Is that what you want to hear? My own mother terrifies me.
" She pulled her arm free and wrapped both arms around herself.
"You've seen what she's like. Can you imagine growing up with that?
Every meal was a test. Every family gathering was a competition. "
"I can't imagine," Elliott said quietly. "No."
"Wolfgang's a molecular gastronomy chef in Seattle.
Loads of James Beard nominations. Marcella runs a two-Michelin-star restaurant in Paris.
" Julia's voice cracked. "They're exactly what Mum wanted.
And then there's me. The family disappointment.
The one who can't make toast without setting off the fire alarm. "
Elliott thought about her own family. The silence. The door closing behind her.
"At least you have a family to disappoint," she said.
Julia looked up. "What do you mean?"
"I'm no contact with mine." Elliott kept her voice flat, matter-of-fact. "Have been since I was seventeen. So that's one problem I don't have."
"Elliott…"
"Don't." She held up a hand. "I'm not telling you for sympathy. I'm telling you because it's relevant. I know what it's like to feel like you're never going to be enough. I just dealt with it differently."
The bell over the door chimed, a delivery driver carrying a large box.
"Delivery for Elliott Sinclair?"
Elliott frowned. She hadn't ordered anything. "That's me."
She signed for it and carried the box to the counter. When she opened it, her heart stuttered.
A stand mixer. Professional grade. The same exact model as the one Julia had broken. But new and shiny and perfect. She looked up. Julia was watching her with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and terrified.
"I know it doesn't fix things," Julia said quickly. "I know you're angry, and I know money can't actually solve problems. But I didn't know what else to do. It's the only thing I'm good at, throwing money at problems, and I know that's pathetic, but I just wanted to do something to make it better…"
"Julia."
"I'm not trying to buy your forgiveness, I swear, I just couldn't stand the way you've been looking at me."
"Julia."
Julia stopped talking.
Elliott looked at the mixer. Looked at Julia, with her nervous eyes and her bitten lip and her arms still wrapped around herself like armor.
She thought about what it must have cost Julia to order this. Not the money, that was nothing to someone like her. But the vulnerability of it. The admission that she didn't know how to fix things except in this one fumbling way.
Julia wasn't spoiled. That wasn't the right word at all. She was just lost. Rich and lost and so desperate to please everyone that she'd never learned how to please herself. And Elliott couldn’t hold it over her anymore.
"Thank you," she said.
Julia's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"It doesn't fix everything." Elliott ran her hand over the mixer's smooth surface. "But it's a start."
"Okay." Julia's relief was palpable. "I mean, um, thank you. For accepting it."
"For what it's worth," Elliott said, "I don't think you need to prove yourself. At least not to me."
Julia huffed a laugh. "You’re probably the only person I know that thinks that."
"Eh, you might be surprised. Jamie feels protective over you. I bet he doesn’t think he’s in competition with you."
"Right. Mind you, by the looks of things, he’s going to be occupied fighting off my mother for the foreseeable future."
"The things he does for you," Elliott said. "I’d better put this mixer away."
She was halfway to the kitchen door when Julia spoke again.
"Elliott?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For earlier. When my mum was here." Julia's voice was soft. "You didn't have to do that. Hold me like that. Make it look real."
Elliott paused, her back still to Julia. She thought about the way Julia had felt against her side. The weight of her. The warmth. The way Elliott's arm had tightened instinctively, protectively, when she'd seen how small Julia had become.
"It's what fake girlfriends do," she said.
She didn't mention that it hadn't felt fake. Not entirely. Not in the ways that mattered.
"Right," Julia said. "The deal."
"The deal."
Elliott pushed through the kitchen door and set the mixer on the counter. Her old mixer. Her new mixer. It wasn't the same, and it never would be. But as she plugged it in and watched the beaters spin, she found that she didn't mind as much as she'd expected.
Julia Richardson was impossible. Clumsy and wealthy and chronically apologetic. She didn't belong in a bakery, didn't know the difference between bread flour and all-purpose, couldn't be trusted near an oven without supervision.
But she was trying. Really trying, in her own fumbling way.
And Elliott was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, she liked having her around.
Not that she'd ever admit it out loud. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
But alone in her kitchen, with her new mixer humming and the smell of éclairs in the air, Elliott let herself smile.
Just a little.