Chapter Twenty-Five
Gossip travels fast in a small town. By the time Elliott arrived down in the bakery the next morning, half of Oakhaven apparently already knew that Tara was now Tom.
She'd expected problems. What she hadn't expected was Mrs. Monmouth, seventy-three years old and built like a disapproving wardrobe, to be the first customer through the door.
"I heard about young Tom," Mrs. Monmouth announced, setting her handbag on the counter with the air of someone preparing for battle.
Elliott braced herself. "Did you?"
"I did." Mrs. Monmouth fixed her with a steely gaze. "And I want you to know that if anyone gives that boy trouble in this bakery, you send them to me."
Elliott blinked. "Right. I'll do that."
"Good." Mrs. Monmouth nodded sharply. "Now, I'll have two of those almond croissants and one of the raspberry tarts. And tell Tom I said hello."
She left with her pastries and her dignity, and Elliott stood behind the counter feeling slightly blindsided.
She'd prepared herself for bigotry and instead got fierce solidarity. It was disorienting. She scolded herself for judging a book by its cover and hurried off to give Tom Mrs. Monmouth’s greetings, only to find that his shift hadn’t started yet.
The morning continued in much the same vein.
Most customers were either supportive or simply didn't care, more interested in their coffee and pastries than anything else.
Old Mr. Struggs asked what "trans" meant, nodded thoughtfully when Elliott explained, and then asked if they had any of those scones with the orange bits.
There were a few uncomfortable moments. A woman Elliott didn't recognize made a pointed comment about "knowing what's what" and left without buying anything.
A man muttered something under his breath that Elliott chose not to hear, mostly because she was fairly certain she'd throw a croissant at his head if she did.
But for every sidelong glance, there were three customers who made a point of being kind.
The vicar's wife ordered a cake for her book club and asked Elliott to pass along her best wishes.
Jamie popped in twice, once to check on them and once to steal a pain au chocolat, which Elliott pretended not to notice.
When Tom finally arrived for his shift, he looked like he hadn't slept enough, dark circles under his eyes and shoulders hunched with anxiety. He paused in the doorway, scanning the shop like he expected an ambush.
"Mrs. Monmouth says hello," Elliott said. "Also, she wants you to know that she'll fight anyone who gives you trouble."
Tom's face brightened. "Mrs. Monmouth? The scary one with the handbag?"
"That's the one."
"Huh." Tom blinked rapidly. "That's… unexpected."
"Most people are." Elliott handed him an apron. "The difficult ones are easy to spot. Everyone else is just trying to buy pastries."
Julia appeared from the back, immediately gravitating toward Tom like a concerned mother hen. "How are you feeling? Did you sleep? Have you eaten breakfast? Elliott made those scones you like."
"I'm fine." But Tom was smiling now, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Really. This is better than I expected."
"I’m glad." Julia squeezed his arm. "You're one of us now. Officially. We've got your back."
Elliott felt something warm settle in her chest, watching them.
This strange little family they'd begun to build. Julia, with her sunshine optimism, Tom, with his quiet courage, even Jamie, hovering protectively next door. It was more than Elliott had ever expected to have. More than she’d thought she’d ever have.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
Candice Green swept in wearing a smile that could curdle milk and a pink jacket that made her look like an aggressive flamingo.
"Good morning! I just wanted to pop in and see how everyone's doing. I heard there's been some excitement around here."
Elliott's jaw tightened. "Can I help you with something?"
"Oh, just browsing." Candice's eyes swept the shop, lingering on Tom with an expression that made Elliott want to punch something. "It’s always so quaint in here. Very… cozy."
"Thanks," Julia said, not sure how exactly ‘cozy’ could sound like an insult. "Can I get you anything?"
"Not today, I think." Candice picked up a croissant, examined it, set it down again. "I've just been doing some thinking, you know. About small businesses. About authenticity. About how important it is to be honest about what’s what."
The words made Elliot’s stomach tighten. She stepped forward, positioning herself between Candice and the counter. "Is there something specific you wanted to say?"
"Just that I know things." Candice's smile sharpened. "Interesting things. About arrangements and agreements and the like." She let that hang in the air for a moment. "But I'm sure it's nothing. I'm sure everything here is exactly as it appears. Isn’t it?"
Julia's face had gone pale. Tom was staring at the floor.
"I think," Elliott said, her voice dangerously level, "that you should probably leave now."
"Of course." Candice smoothed her jacket. "I've got my own business to run, after all. A legitimate business. With proper credentials." She paused at the door. "Lovely to see you all. We should do this more often."
The bell chimed her exit.
Silence.
"Well," Julia said finally. "That was terrifying."
"She doesn't know anything." Elliott's hands were shaking slightly, which annoyed her. "She's fishing."
"Are you sure?"
No. Elliott wasn't sure at all. Candice had been watching them for weeks, poking around, asking questions. It was only a matter of time before she put the pieces together, if she hadn't already.
"We'll deal with it," she said. "Whatever happens."
Julia nodded, but her eyes were worried.
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of customers and croissants, and Candice's veiled threats echoing in Elliott's head. By noon, she was so tightly wound that when the bell chimed again, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Easy there." Milly stood in the doorway, leaning on her walking stick and looking thoroughly amused. "It's only me."
"Milly." Elliott rounded the counter before she could think better of it, pulling the older woman into a careful hug. "Why don′t you call? I can come and pick you up."
"I like taking the bus." Milly patted her back. "Besides, I wanted to see the old place. See how you're really getting on."
"I'm fine."
"Mmm." Milly's eyes, sharp as ever despite her age, swept the shop. "You look… happy. And slightly terrified."
"I'm not terrified."
"You're always terrified. You just hide it well." Milly allowed herself to be led to the counter. "Now, where's Julia?"
As if summoned, Julia emerged from the back, carrying a tray of scones. She spotted Milly, and her face lit up. "Milly! You’re back!"
"Like a bad penny," Milly smiled warmly. "Now, get an old lady to a chair. That old one in the kitchen will do. I want to hear all your news."
Elliott busied herself making tea while Julia chatted with Milly, watching them from the corner of her eye. Julia was animated, laughing at something Milly said, and Milly was looking at her with an expression Elliott recognized. Assessment. Approval.
She brought over a pot of tea and a plate of pastries, then hesitated.
"Sit," Milly said. "Tom can manage the front for a few minutes."
"I'm fine!" Tom called from behind the counter. "Stop hovering and drink your tea."
Elliott perched on the edge of the kitchen table. For a while they chatted about everything and nothing, then Julia went to the front to serve a customer and Elliot knew what was coming.
"Right." Milly sipped her tea, her eyes twinkling. "How are things between you two? Really?"
"We're figuring it out," Elliott said carefully. "Things, um, got a bit more serious. I bit more… real."
"I know." Milly set down her cup. "I could tell the moment I walked in. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The look of someone who's found something worth keeping." Milly reached across the table and took Elliott's hand. "I'm happy for you, love. Really. You deserve this."
Elliott's throat went tight. "Milly…"
"No, let me say this." Milly squeezed her hand.
"You've spent so long building walls. Keeping everyone out.
Telling yourself you're better off alone.
" Her voice softened. "But humans aren't meant to be islands, Elliott.
I told you. We're meant to connect. To love. To let ourselves be loved in return."
"I know." Elliott's voice came out rough. "I'm trying."
"I can see that." Milly smiled. "Don't let fear get in the way. Don't let pride convince you that needing someone makes you weak."
"I won't," Elliott said quietly, her heart beating in her throat, feeling warm and cold all at the same time.
"Promise me."
She took a breath. "I promise."
Milly nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, tell me about the cookbook. When do I get to see the finished article?"
The conversation shifted to easier topics, but Elliott's mind kept circling back to Milly's words. Don't let fear get in the way.
She was afraid. Terrified, actually, of how much she'd come to feel for Julia. Of needing someone this much. Of having something to lose.
She saw a flash of Julia through the open door to the shop.
But… maybe that was okay. Maybe fear was just the price of admission for something worth having.
After Milly left, promising to visit again soon, Elliott found herself alone in the kitchen while Julia handled the afternoon customers.
She was supposed to be working on bread dough, or perhaps another set of photos for the yuzu cake, the first ones weren’t quite yellow enough, but mostly she was staring at her hands and thinking too hard.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Jamie leaned in the doorway, wearing his usual easy grin.
"They're worth more than a penny," Elliott scoffed.
"Fine. Fifty pence. Final offer." He came in and leaned against the table. "You look suspiciously like someone who's having an existential crisis. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Elliott picked up her whisk, set it down again. "Milly came by."
"I heard. How is she?"
"Good. Better." Elliott paused. "She gave me advice. About Julia."
"Advice is Milly's specialty." Jamie studied her. "What kind of advice?"
"The kind where she tells me not to sabotage my own happiness."
"Solid advice." Jamie grinned. "You have a habit of that, you know."
"So I've been told." Elliott crossed her arms, she really didn’t want to talk about it. "Speaking of sabotage, how’re things with Gabby?"
Jamie's grin faded. "She's been texting me. Constantly. I think she wants to have dinner again."
"Do you want to have dinner with her?"
"I want to hide under my restaurant until she forgets I exist." Jamie ran a hand through his hair. "She's terrifying, Elliott. Gorgeous, yes, but terrifying."
"Then tell her you're not interested."
"It's not that simple."
"It is, actually." Elliott met his eyes. "You tell her the truth. That you're not interested. That's it."
Jamie laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's rich, coming from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you spent weeks fake-dating Julia because you couldn't just tell her mother the truth about living here.
" Jamie's voice was gentle but pointed. "It means you've built an entire life around avoiding difficult conversations.
It means you're the last person who should be lecturing me about honesty. "
Elliott opened her mouth to argue. Closed it again. He wasn't wrong. That was the infuriating thing. He wasn't wrong at all. "Fine," she said finally. "Point taken."
"I'm not trying to be harsh." Jamie softened. "I'm just saying, maybe we're both works in progress. Maybe we both need to get better at saying the things that scare us."
"Maybe."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"I do like her, you know," Elliott said quietly. "Julia. It's not just the arrangement anymore. It's real. Terrifyingly real."
"I know," Jamie said. "But does she?" He gave her a crooked grin. "Honesty is a wee bit terrifying, isn’t it?"
Elliott didn’t have a reply to that. Jamie gave her a quick hug, stole a cooling croissant, and left. Elliott stood alone in her kitchen, surrounded by flour and sugar and the lingering scent of fresh bread.
Milly was right. Jamie was right. Everyone, apparently, was right.
She was in love with Julia Richardson.
Actually, properly, terrifyingly in love.
And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop being afraid of it.