Chapter Sixteen
There was a queue.
An actual, honest-to-goodness actual queue of people waiting to buy pastries from Sweet Oakhaven, and Julia had to resist the urge to take a photo and send it to her mother with the caption "See? Not completely useless."
She wouldn't, of course. Gabby would find something wrong with it.
The queue wasn't long enough. The customers weren't prestigious enough. The lighting was unflattering. Or, God forbid, the shop wasn’t big enough. That was the last thing she needed, her mother launching a chain of patisseries for her to run. She couldn’t fake-date every baker in the country.
But still. A queue.
"Mrs. Monmouth!" Julia beamed as the elderly woman reached the counter. "Your usual? And how's the grandson? Did he pass his driving test?"
Mrs. Monmouth’s face lit up. "He did! Third time lucky. Though between you and me, I'm not getting in a car with him anytime soon."
"Wise woman. One almond croissant and a coffee, coming right up."
Julia moved through the morning rush with an efficiency that surprised even herself.
She remembered that Mr. Peterson took his coffee black with two sugars.
That the woman with the red coat was allergic to nuts.
That the vicar's wife always wanted her pastries boxed separately so that the donuts didn’t touch the cream slices.
It was strange, really. She couldn't bake to save her life, but this part, the talking, the remembering, the making people feel welcome, this part she could do. This part she liked doing.
By eleven, the queue had thinned, and the display cases were looking pleasingly depleted. Elliott emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and surveyed the damage.
"Busy morning," she said.
"Busy week." Julia couldn't keep the grin off her face. "We're nearly sold out of the raspberry tarts. Again."
"Mmm." Elliott's expression was carefully neutral, but Julia had learned to read the slight softening around her eyes. That was Elliott-speak for pleased.
"Oh, and Mrs. Ellenson wants to know if you can do a three-tier cake for her daughter's engagement party. I told her I'd ask."
"When?"
"Next month. She's flexible on design but very particular about the sponge. Apparently her daughter has opinions about crumb density."
Elliott's eyebrow rose. "Crumb density?"
"Her words, not mine. I wrote it down." Julia held up her notebook, where she'd been keeping meticulous records of every custom order, every special request, every preference mentioned in passing.
"Also, the delivery driver said the flour order came in, and I've reconciled the books for last week.
We're up twelve percent on the previous week. "
Elliott stared at her.
"What?" Julia felt her cheeks warm. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." Elliott's voice was odd. "You did something right. Several things, actually."
Before Julia could respond, the door chimed, and Tara came in, looking harried.
"Sorry I'm late. Bus broke down." She was already pulling on her apron. "What did I miss?"
"Julia turned into a competent businesswoman while you were stuck on the A36," Elliott said dryly.
"I did not."
"You reconciled the books. Voluntarily. Without being asked." Elliott's mouth twitched. "I think that qualifies."
Julia ducked her head, but she couldn't stop smiling.
THE REVIEW APPEARED that afternoon, just as they were about to close.
Julia was restocking napkins when her phone buzzed with a Google alert. She'd set one up for the bakery name, mostly out of anxiety about what Candice might be saying about them online. She didn’t trust that woman. But the notification had nothing to do with Candice.
Sweet Oakhaven: A Hidden Gem, read the headline.
This charming bakery has quietly become one of the best-kept secrets in the county.
The pastries are exceptional, flaky, buttery, and clearly made with skill.
But what truly sets Sweet Oakhaven apart is the service.
The woman behind the counter remembered my coffee order from a previous visit and asked after my cat, who I'd mentioned was unwell.
In a world of impersonal transactions, this kind of genuine warmth is rare. Five stars.
Julia read it three times.
Then she burst into the kitchen, nearly colliding with Elliott, who was carrying a tray of scones that were going to rise overnight.
"We got a review!"
"Careful!" Elliott steadied the tray with the reflexes of someone who'd clearly dealt with kitchen chaos before. "What kind of review?"
"A good one. A really good one." Julia thrust her phone at Elliott. "Look. Five stars. They mentioned the service. They said I had a wonderful smile."
Elliott set down the tray and took the phone. Her eyes moved across the screen, and Julia watched her face for any reaction. A twitch. A quirk. Anything.
"Huh," Elliott said finally.
"Huh? That's all you've got? Huh?"
"It's a good review."
"It's an amazing review! We should celebrate. We should…" Julia cast around for ideas. "We should open a bottle of wine. Do we have wine? We must have wine somewhere. Everyone has wine."
"It's only half past six."
"It's a celebration! Time is irrelevant when you're celebrating." Julia was already heading for the stairs. "I'm sure I saw a bottle in the flat. Stay there. Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go?" Elliott called after her. "I live here."
Julia found the wine, a perfectly decent red that she'd bought weeks ago and forgotten about, and two glasses that didn't match. When she came back down, Elliott had finished arranging the éclairs and was leaning against the counter.
"You're really excited about this," Elliott observed.
"Aren't you?" Julia poured two generous glasses. "This is validation. This is proof that we're doing something right. That I'm doing something right. For once."
She handed Elliott a glass. Their fingers brushed.
"To Sweet Oakhaven," Julia said, raising her wine. "And to not burning it down."
"Yet," Elliott added, but she clinked her glass against Julia's anyway.
They drank in companionable silence. The evening light slanted through the kitchen windows, turning everything golden. Julia felt warm, and it wasn't just the wine.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Depends what it is."
"The cookbook. You're always working on it. Early mornings, late nights. What's the story?"
Elliott's expression flickered. "There's no story. I just want to write a cookbook."
"But why? I mean, you could work anywhere. With your talent, you could probably get a job at any restaurant in the country. Why a cookbook?"
For a moment, Julia thought Elliott wouldn't answer. She had that closed-off look she got sometimes, the one that said the drawbridge was up and visitors weren't welcome.
Then Elliott sighed.
"When I was seventeen and sleeping on Milly's couch, I used to read her old cookbooks.
" Her voice was quiet. "They were falling apart, held together with tape and hope.
But they had these little notes in the margins.
'Add more vanilla.' 'Mum's favorite.' 'Made this for Sarah's wedding.
'" She took a sip of wine. "I wanted that. Something that would outlast me."
Julia's chest felt tight. "That's beautiful."
"It's practical. I want to leave something behind on my own terms." Elliott shrugged. "So I work on it every day."
"You'll finish it," Julia said. "And it'll be brilliant."
"Maybe." Elliott's eyes met hers. "You know, you're not useless."
Julia laughed. "That's very generous, but…"
"I'm serious." Elliott set down her glass. "Don’t get me wrong. You’re useless at baking.
Genuinely, impressively terrible. But this…
" she gestured at the shop, at Julia's notebook, at the phone with its five-star review "This you're good at.
Really good. You've just been forced into the wrong role your whole life. That’s all. "
The words landed somewhere deep in Julia's chest.
"I flunked out of culinary school," she heard herself say.
Elliott blinked. "What?"
"First year. First month, actually. I set fire to the teaching kitchen.
Twice." Julia stared at her wine. "The second time, they asked me to leave.
My mother was furious. She'd pulled strings to get me in, and I'd embarrassed her in front of people she respected.
" She laughed, but it came out hollow. "That's when I became her assistant.
It was supposed to be temporary, just until I 'got my head straight. ' That was six years ago."
Elliott was quiet for a moment. "Julia…"
The kitchen door crashed open.
"EMERGENCY!"
Shay burst in, red curls flying, eyes wild. She was clutching her stomach with one hand.
"The door was unlocked!" Elliott said accusingly, glaring at Julia.
"I was carrying wine! I only have two hands! Also, I might have forgotten to close the shop. There was wine."
"I'm dying," Shay announced. "Actually dying. Tell my three lovers I loved them all equally."
"What happened?" Elliott cut in.
Shay collapsed onto a stool. "I made a terrible mistake."
"Which one? You make several daily."
"I double-booked." Shay groaned. "I just had dinner with Sam.
A massive dinner. She took me to that Italian place in Bath, the one with the portions designed for giants.
I ate approximately seventeen courses. Except I messed up.
I double booked. And now…" she checked her phone and whimpered "…
in forty-five minutes, I'm having dinner with Jo.
At Jamie's restaurant. I can't cancel, they′ll think I'm not interested.
But I can't eat another meal. I'll explode. Literally."
Julia was already reaching for her phone. "I'll call Jamie."
"You can't tell him about Sam and Jo! He'll judge me!"
"Jamie doesn't judge anyone. It's pathological." Julia was already dialing. "Jamie? Hi, it's Julia. Listen, I need a favor…"
She explained the situation in rapid, hushed tones while Shay made increasingly desperate faces and Elliott watched with barely concealed amusement.
"Really? You're a lifesaver." Julia hung up. "Sorted. He's going to serve you the smallest meal you've ever seen. A meal for ants, he said."
Shay's face transformed with relief. "Julia Richardson, you absolute star." She grabbed Julia's hands. "A star. An angel. A goddess among mortals."
"It was just a phone call."
"It was salvation." Shay squeezed her hands, then turned to Elliott. "She's a star, El. I hope you know that. An actual, genuine star."
Elliott's expression was unreadable. "So I'm learning."
"Right, I need to go. I need to change. I need to somehow make room for whatever tiny mouse-sized dinner Jamie's preparing." Shay was already heading for the door. "Thank you thank you thank you!"
And then she was gone, leaving silence in her wake.
Julia turned to Elliott, a laugh bubbling up. "Did that just happen?"
"That was actually quite restrained for Shay." Elliott's mouth curved. "A couple of months ago she needed me to pretend to be her cousin from Sweden to get her out of a date with someone who turned out to be married."
"Did you do it?"
"I don't speak Swedish."
"That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either." But Elliott was properly smiling now, and something warm unfurled in Julia's chest.
"She called me a star," Julia said. "Twice, actually."
"Shay's prone to hyperbole." Elliott picked up her wineglass. "But she's not wrong."
Julia's heart stuttered. "What?"
"I told you. You're good at this." Elliott gestured vaguely. "The people part. The making-things-work part. The calling Jamie and solving problems in thirty seconds part." She took a sip of wine. "I couldn't do it. I'd have told Shay to cancel and deal with the consequences."
"That's because you're terrifying."
"I'm efficient. There's a difference."
Julia laughed. "Is there, though?"
They were standing closer now. Julia wasn't sure when that had happened. Elliott's eyes looked darker in the dim light of the kitchen, and there was something almost soft in her expression.
"I'm sorry," Elliott said.
"For what?"
"For agreeing with Candice. About you being a fake." Elliott's jaw tightened. "I was angry. About the mixer, about… other things. But I shouldn't have said it. It wasn't fair."
Julia felt something shift between them. The air felt different. Charged.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For saying that."
Elliott held up her glass. "To the star of Sweet Oakhaven."
"To the baker who actually makes things people want to eat."
They clinked glasses. Drank.
And if their fingers touched again, if they stood there a moment longer than necessary, if something new and fragile hung in the air between them…
Well. Neither of them mentioned it.
But Julia thought about it for a very long time afterward.