Chapter Twenty-Six
Elliott was staring at her laptop. Julia watched from the doorway, tea going cold in her hand, as Elliott's fingers hovered over the keyboard, typed three words, deleted them, and started again.
"Everything alright?" Julia asked.
Elliott's shoulders tensed. "Fine."
Which was Elliott-speak for absolutely not fine. Julia had learned to translate in the past few weeks. "Fine" meant frustrated. "I'm good" meant leave me alone. And when Elliott said "whatever you want," it usually meant she was approximately three seconds from murder.
"Right." Julia set the tea down next to Elliott's elbow. "Well, if you need—"
"I don't."
Julia bit her lip. The cookbook was finished.
She'd watched Elliott photograph the last recipe yesterday, a ridiculous thing involving saffron and white chocolate that had made Julia's mouth water just looking at it.
The manuscript was done. Complete. Ready.
She knew that. But she wondered if Elliott did.
What she did know was that Elliott had absolutely no idea what to do with the finished manuscript.
"You know," Julia said carefully, trying again, "if you want some help…"
"I said I'm fine." Elliott snapped the laptop shut. "I'll figure it out."
But Julia could see her getting more and more frustrated. She bit her lip and went over to the kitchen table, putting her hands on Elliott’s shoulders and bending down to kiss the top of her head. "Okay, " she said.
But it was still there. The Wall. Capital W. Elliott had built it up over months and years, and Julia really understood why. And she understood why it would take time to dismantle the wall. But it didn’t mean that she had to like it.
"I'm here if you need me," she murmured into Elliott’s hair.
Elliott turned to her and stood, taking Julia in her arms. "I know. I do know." And then they were kissing and there wasn’t time for more thinking.
THE BAKERY CLOSED, Tom locked the door, waved goodnight, and headed off to meet friends. Jamie had been mysteriously absent all day. Julia hoped that her mother hadn’t eaten him. The town was quiet and comfortable, pretty outside.
Julia went up the stairs slowly. There was no hurry. Shay had taken Elliott out, and Julia had nothing to look forward to other than an oven pizza. But as she took crinkly plastic off the rock-hard pizza, all she could think about was Elliott.
Maybe what Elliott needed was someone to be on her side. Someone to just… show her the way. Someone to show her that she wasn’t alone and didn’t have to be.
She took the pizza out when it was ready.
Ate it alone. Watched the sky turn purple through the kitchen window.
And the whole time, her mind kept circling back to Elliott.
Back to the cookbook that was her dream.
Back to the idea that Elliott needed someone to prove to her that someone was on her side.
In the end, she sighed. There was only one thing she could think of to do.
Elliott needed that cookbook published.
And Julia… Julia knew exactly who could help.
She waited until she’d washed the dishes. Until she was absolutely certain she couldn’t come up with another idea. Then she picked up her phone, went into the bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Just in case Elliott decided to come home at the most inconvenient of times.
Her mother answered on the second ring. "Julia. It's rather late."
"I know. Sorry. I just..." Julia took a breath. "I need to ask you something."
There was a pause. Her mother didn't do requests. She didn’t do favors, and she didn’t do autographs. Julia had spent twenty-nine years watching Gabby give orders, make demands, and expect immediate compliance. The idea of Julia asking for something must have been novel enough to warrant silence.
"Go on," Gabby said finally.
"Elliott's written a cookbook." Julia's words came out in a rush. "It's brilliant. Really brilliant. Traditional recipes with modern twists, beautiful photography, the whole thing. But she doesn't have an agent or a publisher or… or any of the connections she needs to get it seen."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"And you're asking me to help." It wasn't a question.
"Yes." Julia closed her eyes. "A foreword, maybe. Or just... just introducing her to your publisher. Someone who'll actually read it. Please."
"Julia." Her mother's voice was careful. "Does Elliott know you're calling?"
"No."
"I see."
"She wouldn't ask," Julia said quickly. "Her pride won't let her. But she's worked so hard, and it's genuinely good, and she just needs someone to give her a chance."
"And you think I should be that someone."
"You could be." Julia's throat felt tight. "You could help her. You have the connections. One word from you and…"
"And Elliott would be furious with you for going behind her back."
Julia's hand tightened on the phone. "Maybe. But at least she'd have a shot. At least someone would read her work."
Gabby was quiet for a long moment. Julia could hear her breathing, could picture her in the fancy boutique hotel, probably with a cocktail in her hand.
"This matters to you," Gabby said finally. "Elliott matters to you."
It wasn't a question, but Julia answered anyway. "Yes."
"Alright." Her mother's voice was crisp, decisive. "Send me the manuscript. I'll read it. If it's as good as you say, I'll write the foreword and introduce her to my publisher."
Julia's heart lurched. "Really?"
"Really." There was something in Gabby's tone that Julia couldn't quite identify. Surprise, maybe. Or approval. "Though I should warn you, Julia. Elliott might not appreciate the interference. Pride is a dangerous thing. Especially in people who've had to fight for everything they have."
"I know." Julia did know. She just… she had to do something. She couldn't watch Elliott give up without trying to help. "But she deserves this. And if she's angry with me, I'll deal with it."
"Mmm." Gabby didn't sound convinced. "Well. Send me the manuscript. I'll be in touch."
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate. "Really. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Gabby said dryly. "Wait until we see if this blows up in your face."
She hung up.
Julia sat in the bathroom for a long time after that, phone clutched in her hand, heart racing. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. For the first time in her life, she'd asked her mother for something. Not for herself, but for someone else. Someone she…
Someone she loved.
The thought settled in her chest like a stone. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but heavy. Significant.
She loved Elliott Sinclair.
She loved her grumpy silences and her sharp edges and the way she made pastry like it was art.
She loved how Elliott pretended not to care about anything but really cared about everything.
She loved the softness Elliott hid behind all that armor, the vulnerability she only showed in unguarded moments.
Julia was in love with her.
And Elliott was going to be furious when she found out what Julia had done.
But that was fine. Julia could handle furious.
She'd been raised by Gabby Richardson, she'd survived worse than one angry baker.
And if Elliott's pride was wounded, if she felt like Julia had overstepped, well, Julia would explain.
She'd make her understand. This wasn't charity.
This was someone finally standing up for Elliott the way Elliott deserved.
This was love.
Even if Elliott didn't see it that way yet.
JULIA WOKE THE next morning to find Elliott already gone. That was the problem with bakers. They started early in the morning. There was a vaguely warm dent in the bed where Elliott had been at some point.
Julia made herself coffee and tried not to think about the phone call. About Gabby reading the manuscript right now, forming opinions, making decisions. About Elliott's face when she found out.
She'd done the right thing. She had. Elliott deserved this chance.
The thought should have been comforting. It wasn't.
Julia was halfway through her second cup when she spotted the figure across the street.
Candice Green was standing in the alley behind the bakery taking pictures, her phone held at an angle in front of her face. Julia was a hundred percent sure she knew what Candice was doing. Her stomach lurched.
Even as she watched, Candice lowered her phone, tucked it into her bag, nodded in satisfaction, and walked away.
Julia's stomach leaped again.
Evidence. Candice was gathering evidence. It was the only explanation. Candice wanted the bakery to close. Without the competition, without Elliott’s beautiful pastries right across the street, Candice would be the only game in town.
Julia set her coffee down with shaking hands.
She wanted to tell Elliott. Warn her. Wanted to think that they'd figure out what to do together. Except... except Elliott was already dealing with enough, wasn’t she?
The cookbook, the uncertainty, the stress.
Adding Candice to that list felt cruel. And besides, what could they do?
Stop baking? Admit everything preemptively?
Julia didn't have answers, and she suspected Elliott didn't either.
So she did what she always did when things felt overwhelming.
She opened her laptop and pulled up a nursing video. Something about emergency pediatric care, calm and clinical and completely divorced from the mess of her actual life.
The lecturer's voice was soothing. Professional. The kind of steady competence Julia wished she possessed.
She could do this. She could be this person, the one who knew how to help, who stepped up in emergencies, who made a difference. She could see herself in scrubs, in a hospital, part of a team that mattered.
But that thought didn’t exactly make things better. Because as much as she might be able to picture herself in the hospital, there was one thing that she couldn’t do.
She couldn't see herself here. In this bakery. Forever.
The thought was unwanted and unwelcome, but once it was there, Julia couldn't shake it. She thought about the kitchen, the ovens she barely knew how to use, the flour-dusted surfaces, the business she'd never wanted, and felt the weight of it settle on her shoulders.
She loved Elliott. She could see them together. Marriage, even. The whole domestic fantasy. Okay, so it was early, but in her head, she knew that they had something special. She knew that there was something about Elliott that made her want to stay.
But could she see herself living here? Running this bakery? Playing at being something she wasn't, day after day, year after year?
The answer sat heavy in her chest.
No.
She couldn't.
And that felt like a betrayal. Like she was already planning an exit before they'd properly begun. But the truth was the truth, and Julia had spent too long lying to herself about what she wanted.
She wanted Elliott. She wanted the life they could build together.
She just… didn't want it here. And yet here was the only place Elliott would ever want to be. It was the place she belonged.
Julia groaned, closed the laptop, and pressed her hands against her face. One problem at a time. First, Elliott's cookbook. Then Candice and whatever vendetta she was planning. Then the future. Then everything else.