Chapter Twenty-Four
Julia woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and spent three blissful seconds wondering why the bed was so comfortable before remembering she wasn't on the couch.
She was in Elliott's bed. Because she'd slept with Elliott. Actually slept with her, not just slept beside her.
The space next to her was warm but empty, and Julia could hear movement in the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifted through the flat, rich and dark and perfect. She stretched like a cat, feeling muscles she'd forgotten she had, and smiled at the ceiling like an absolute idiot.
This was real. Whatever this was, it was actually happening.
She found one of Elliott's t-shirts on the floor and pulled it on, padding barefoot into the kitchen. Elliott was at the counter, hair still damp from a shower, wearing an apron over her jeans and nothing else underneath, as far as Julia could tell.
"Morning," Julia said.
Elliott turned, and something in her expression softened. "You're wearing my shirt."
"You're wearing an apron and apparently nothing else. We all make choices."
"I'm wearing jeans."
"Disappointing, but I'll survive." Julia crossed to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. "What time is it?"
"Half six. I was going to let you sleep."
"And miss watching you cook in an apron? Never." Julia leaned against the counter, cradling her mug. "What's for breakfast?"
"Croissants. Pain au chocolat. The usual."
"For the shop?"
"For you." Elliott's ears went slightly pink. "I made extras."
Julia's heart bounced. Elliott Sinclair, grumpy perfectionist, prickly loner, had woken up early to make her breakfast pastries. If that wasn't love, it was at least a very convincing imitation.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Don't make it weird."
"I'm absolutely going to make it weird." Julia set down her coffee and wrapped her arms around Elliott from behind, pressing her face between her shoulder blades. "You made me breakfast. That's disgustingly romantic."
"It's practical. You need to eat. You're useless when you're hungry."
"Still romantic."
Elliott turned in her arms, looking down at her with an expression that was trying very hard to be stern and failing completely. "You're impossible."
"You like it."
"Mmmm."
They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the morning light turning everything golden. Julia thought she could get used to this. Mornings in a warm kitchen, coffee and fresh pastries, Elliott's hands resting on her hips like they belonged there.
"We should get downstairs," Elliott said finally. "The shop won't open itself."
"Five more minutes."
"Three."
"Four."
"You're negotiating cuddle time now?"
"I'm a businesswoman. It's what I do."
Elliott kissed her forehead. "Three and a half. Final offer."
Julia smiled against her shoulder. "Deal."
THE BAKERY FELT different that morning.
Julia couldn't quite put her finger on it at first. The same display cases, the same smell of fresh bread, the same worn wooden counter. But something had shifted, some invisible tension she hadn't even noticed was there until it was gone.
"You're in a good mood," Tara observed, appearing from the back with a tray of scones. Then she stopped, really looked at Julia, and her eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, that's why."
"What's why?"
"You've got that look. The look."
"I don't have a look."
"You absolutely have a look. You look like someone who…" Tara glanced toward the kitchen, where Elliott was visible through the doorway, and lowered her voice. "Someone who had a very good night."
Julia felt her face heat. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Mmmhmm." Tara was grinning now. "Good for you, honestly. I’m happy for you. And even happier that I didn’t walk in on anything this time."
Before Julia could formulate a response, the bell above the door chimed and Jamie walked in.
"Morning, lovebirds," he said cheerfully. "Can I borrow…" He stopped. Looked at Julia. Looked at the kitchen door. Looked back at Julia. "Finally."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Because we have eyes." Jamie leaned on the counter. "So. When's the wedding?"
"Jamie."
"I'm serious. You should lock it down before one of you gets cold feet. Elliott's got very cold feet. Literally. She wears socks to bed."
"How do you know what Elliott wears to bed?"
"Shay told me," Jamie grinned. "She's very informative after two glasses of wine."
Elliott emerged from the kitchen, took one look at Jamie's face, and groaned. "You've heard."
"The whole town's going to hear. The legendary ice queen Elliott Sinclair had finally met her match."
"I’m not an ice queen."
"Mmm, are we sure? Either way, you’ve met your match. You’ve been thawed by Oakhaven’s warmest sunshine bakery owner." He straightened up. "Anyway, I'm happy for you both. Genuinely. Just don't mess it up."
"Thanks," Elliott said dryly.
"I try." He headed for the door. "I'd stay and tease you more, but I've got a delivery coming. Try not to be too disgustingly cute today. It's bad for my digestion. Oh, and can I borrow some flour? I’ll send a kitchen hand to get some later."
The bell chimed his exit.
Elliott came to stand beside Julia, their shoulders brushing. "He's insufferable."
"He's happy for us."
"Same thing." But Elliott's hand found Julia's under the counter, their fingers intertwining. "This is going to take some getting used to."
"The teasing?"
"The being happy." Elliott's voice was quiet. "I'm not good at it."
Julia squeezed her hand. "Better get used to it"
The morning rush came and went. Customers commented on Julia's smile, on the warmth between her and Elliott when they passed each other.
Mrs. Monmouth declared that she'd known they were suited from the moment she'd seen them together.
Old Mr. Peterson asked if they'd set a date yet, which sent Julia into a coughing fit.
Throughout it all, Tara worked quietly in the background, arranging pastries and restocking shelves. But Julia noticed that she seemed distracted, her usual dry commentary absent. More than once, Julia caught her staring into the middle distance, chewing on her lip.
After the last of the morning customers had gone, Julia found Tara in the back, methodically wiping down surfaces that were already clean.
"Hey," Julia said gently. "Everything okay?"
Tara's hand stilled on the counter. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"Of course. Anything."
"Privately, I mean." Tara's voice was barely above a whisper. "Not here."
Julia's chest tightened. Whatever this was, it was serious. "The storeroom?"
Tara nodded and led the way.
The storeroom was cramped and smelled of flour and cardboard boxes. Tara closed the door behind them and stood with her back against the shelves, arms wrapped around herself.
"I don't know how to say this," Tara began. Her voice was shaking slightly. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks, and I keep chickening out, and I know that's stupid, but I just…"
"Take your time," Julia said. "Whatever it is, I'm listening."
Tara took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. "I think…" she said. "No, I know. Not think. I know. I know that I would like it from now on if you could call me Tom." He let out another long breath. "If that’s alright," he added.
"Tom," Julia said gently.
He nodded, face pale and stretched tight with anxiety. "My name is Tom." His eyes glittered with tears that he didn’t shed. "I get that this is probably really weird for you to hear, and if you want me to leave or if this makes things awkward, I understand, I just—"
"Tom," Julia said firmly, and watched his face transform at the sound of his chosen name. "You're not going anywhere."
"But…"
"But nothing." Julia moved closer, keeping her voice soft but certain.
"I spent years trying to be someone I'm not.
Pretending to be a baker when all I want is to be a nurse.
Pretending to be happy when I was miserable.
Pretending my mother's dreams were my own.
" She met his eyes. "I know what it's like to feel like you're wearing someone else's life.
" She knew better than he might understand.
The difference was, Tom was brave enough to say something, do something.
Tom's lip trembled. "You're not… you don't think…"
"I think you're brave." Julia reached out and squeezed his arm. "And I think Tom is a good name. Strong, like you."
The tears spilled over then, tracking down Tom's cheeks. "I was so scared to tell you. It’s stupid. I thought you'd fire me or think I was weird or…"
"Never." Julia pulled him into a hug, and he clung to her for a second. "You're part of this bakery. Part of this weird little family we've built. Nothing changes that."
The storeroom door opened.
Elliott stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. "Everything okay in here?"
Julia looked at Tom, "Shall we tell her?"
He nodded, biting his lip, not trusting himself to speak.
Julia grinned. "Elliott, I’d like you to meet Tom."
Elliott's expression didn't change. "Right. Tom it is, then."
"That's it?" Tom looked stunned. "You're not going to say anything else?"
"What else is there to say?" Elliott leaned against the doorframe.
"You know, I got kicked out of my house at seventeen for being gay.
My family decided who I loved was more important than who I was.
" Her voice was matter-of-fact, but Julia could hear the old pain underneath.
"I know what it's like to have people reject you for being yourself.
I'm not going to do that to you. I wouldn’t do that to anyone. "
Tom's face crumpled. "I didn't know. About your family."
"Not many people do." Elliott's expression softened slightly.
"Coming out is terrifying. I remember thinking the world was going to end.
But it didn't. It just… changed. Got smaller in some ways, bigger in others.
" She met Tom's eyes. "It's hard. I won't lie to you.
But being yourself, actually yourself? It's worth it. "
"How do you know?" Tom's voice was barely a whisper.
"Because pretending to be someone you're not is exhausting. I tried it for years." Elliott glanced at Julia, something warm passing between them. "Eventually you realize that the people worth keeping are the ones who love you for who you actually are. Not who they want you to be."
Tom was biting his lip again. He sniffed. "Cheers. Thanks. I… I appreciate it."
"You don't have to explain anything," Julia said. "We've got you."
"Whatever you need," Elliott added. "Different name at work, time off for appointments, whatever. Just say the word."
Tom laughed wetly. "I think I need to sit down."
"Storeroom floor's clean," Elliott offered. "Mostly."
They ended up sitting among the flour sacks and cardboard boxes, the three of them, an open bottle of wine between them.
And later, once Tom had gone home, Julia stood in the middle of her bakery, surrounded by the smell of fresh bread and the warmth of people who felt like family, and thought that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.
Actually, maybe better than okay. Maybe perfect. Maybe her life was finally becoming what she’d always wanted to be.