Chapter Thirty-One
If she was going to be publicly humiliated, of course it was going to happen on a day she hadn’t washed her hair.
Julia was behind the counter, trying to work out whether she could pass off yesterday's croissants as "rustic" when the bell above the door jingled and Candice Green strode in.
"Good morning, everyone!" Candice announced to the mostly empty shop.
Mrs. Monmouth was looking at the doubtful croissants.
A young couple by the window was obviously trying to leave both without offending Julia and without buying anything.
Tom froze halfway through restocking paper bags.
"I have something terribly important to share! "
Julia's stomach dropped. What was Candice up to now? "Candice…"
"Did you all know," Candice continued, pulling out her phone with theatrical flourish, "that this woman is a complete and utter fraud?"
The shop went very quiet.
"All of it’s posted online. Screenshots, testimonies, the works.
" Candice's smile was razor-sharp. "Elliott Sinclair did all the baking here.
Every single item. Julia Richardson can't bake to save her life.
She's only here because her famous mummy bought her this place.
And their relationship? Perfect little Elliott and Julia?
" She let out a high, brittle laugh. "Completely fake. All of it. A lie from start to finish."
Julia felt the blood drain from her face.
This was it. The moment she'd been dreading since the day she'd blurted out that ridiculous lie about Elliott being her girlfriend.
The moment everything fell apart. She braced herself for the gasps, the accusations, the cold shoulders.
Braced herself for Oakhaven to finally see what she really was: a fraud, a failure, a people-pleasing disaster who couldn't even make toast without setting something on fire.
Mrs. Monmouth gave a sniff. "As if we didn’t already know," she said.
Candice's triumphant expression flickered. "You… what?"
"I've known for weeks, dear. Anyone with eyes could see Elliott was the baker." Mrs. Patterson picked her teacup back up. "That girl has flour permanently embedded in her fingernails. Julia here could barely even work the till properly for the first month."
"But… the deception…"
"What deception?" The young man by the window shrugged. "Julia always remembered my girlfriend was lactose intolerant. Made sure we knew which pastries to avoid. That's not nothing."
"She helped me pick out a birthday cake for my mum," his girlfriend added. "Spent twenty minutes making sure it was perfect. I don't care who actually made it."
Julia stood frozen behind the counter, her mouth hanging open in a way that was almost certainly unflattering.
"Their relationship is fake," Candice pressed, her voice climbing. "They lied to everyone!"
"None of my business," Mrs. Monmouth said firmly. "Never was."
More customers had filtered in, word traveled fast in Oakhaven, and they were all nodding.
Someone Julia vaguely recognized from the post office gave her a sympathetic smile.
Jamie appeared in the doorway, took one look at the situation, and immediately positioned himself between Julia and Candice like a very tall, very handsome shield.
"Think you've made your point, Candice," he said mildly.
"But she… they…" Candice looked around the room, her carefully orchestrated exposure crumbling around her. "You're all just going to let them get away with it?"
"Get away with what, exactly?" An elderly man Julia didn't recognize had appeared from nowhere. "Making good pastries and being friendly? Lock them up, clearly."
A ripple of laughter went through the shop.
Candice's face had gone an alarming shade of puce. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then stormed out with a slam that made the windows rattle.
The silence that followed lasted approximately three seconds.
"Well," Jamie said cheerfully. "That was dramatic. Anyone want some tea?"
And just like that, the shop returned to normal. People went back to their conversations. Mrs. Patterson asked if there were any scones left. Someone mentioned the weather.
Julia stood behind the counter, still processing.
They knew. They'd known. And they just… didn't care.
All those months of anxiety, of lying awake at night terrified of this exact moment, of building the consequences up in her head until they'd become this enormous, insurmountable disaster, and the reality was Mrs. Monmouth shrugging and asking about scones.
The truth hadn't destroyed everything.
The truth had been met with kindness, understanding, and a vague request for baked goods.
Julia laughed. It came out slightly hysterical, but she couldn't help it.
All this time, she'd been so convinced that being honest would ruin her life that she'd tied herself in knots trying to avoid it.
And maybe, just maybe, she'd been wrong about what the consequences of honesty actually looked like.
Tom appeared at her elbow. "You alright?"
"I think so?" Julia wiped at her eyes. "That was… not what I expected."
"People surprise you sometimes." He shrugged. "Most of them don't actually care about the stuff you think they care about. They just want to be seen. Remembered." He paused. "You're good at that part, Julia."
She looked around the shop, at Mrs. Monmouth contentedly sipping tea, at the young couple sharing a pastry, at the steady stream of customers who had come to support rather than condemn.
Maybe that was worth something after all.
???
"You need to see this."
Shay shoved her phone in Elliott's face before Elliott had even managed to open both eyes properly. The screen was blindingly bright, and Elliott squinted at it with the enthusiasm of someone being asked to identify a body.
"What am I looking at?"
"Candice Green having a complete meltdown. She's exposed everything. The baking, the fake relationship, all of it. Posted it everywhere."
Elliott sat up so fast she nearly head-butted Shay's phone. "She what?"
"Look, there's video of her in the shop, and honestly, it's kind of embarrassing for her more than anyone… the community is roasting her in the comments… but still…"
Elliott was already out of bed.
"Where are you going?" Shay called after her.
"The bakery."
"What? Why? Elliott, you walked out. You moved out. You can't just—"
But Elliott was already pulling on her jacket, jamming her feet into trainers, her body moving before her brain had fully caught up. Julia was facing this alone. Julia was dealing with the fallout of their shared deception while Elliott hid at Shay's place feeling sorry for herself.
That wasn't right. They'd done this together. They'd face it together.
Twenty minutes later, she pushed open the bakery door.
The shop was busier than she'd expected. Julia was behind the counter, looking shell-shocked but somehow still standing. Her eyes went wide when she saw Elliott.
"What are you—"
"We both made this mess," Elliott said. Her voice came out rougher than intended. "We both face the consequences. Not just you."
Julia's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
Elliott looked around the shop. The shelves were… depressing. Shop-bought croissants still in their cellophane, sad little bread rolls that clearly came from a packet, pastries that looked like they'd given up on life somewhere around Tuesday.
Without another word, Elliott walked past Julia, pushed through the kitchen door, and started pulling out mixing bowls.
She didn't know what she was going to say. Didn't know how to fix things between them. But she knew how to bake and right now, that seemed like enough.
Behind her, she heard Julia follow her to the kitchen doorway. Could feel those eyes on her back, uncertain and afraid. But neither of them spoke. Elliott just measured flour, cracked eggs, began the familiar rhythm of creation.
Muscle memory took over. The feel of dough beneath her hands, the precise timing of the oven. This was a language she actually understood. This was how she'd always expressed things she couldn't say out loud.
She'd been baking for about an hour when the back door opened and Milly walked in.
Elliott nearly dropped her spatula. "Milly? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting."
"Saw the commotion online. Margaret from the home showed me how to use TikTok." Milly settled herself onto the stool by the prep table as if she owned the place. Which, Elliott supposed, she sort of used to. "Wanted to see how you were handling it."
"I'm fine."
"Mmm." Milly watched her fold dough with those sharp, knowing eyes that had always seen straight through Elliott's nonsense. "You came back."
"Someone had to. Have you seen the shelves? It's criminal."
"You came back to help Julia."
Elliott's hands stilled on the pastry. "I came back because it was the right thing to do."
"You came back because you love her and you couldn't stand the thought of her facing this alone." Milly's voice was matter-of-fact. "Which is sweet. Also, somewhat ironic."
"How is it ironic?"
Milly just looked at her. One eyebrow raised. Patient as always.
And then it hit Elliott like a bag of flour in the face.
She was here. Helping Julia. Without being asked. Without discussing it first. Just showing up because she couldn't bear to watch someone she cared about struggle alone.
Exactly like Julia had done for her.
"Oh," Elliott said weakly.
"There it is." Milly chuckled, reaching over to pat Elliott's flour-dusted hand. "Sometimes helping people is just what we do, isn't it? When you love someone, you don't always wait for permission. You just show up."
Elliott stared at her dough. "I was an idiot."
"You were scared. There's a difference." Milly stood, brushing off her cardigan. "I'm proud of you for coming back, Elliott. It takes courage to admit you might have been wrong."
The kitchen door swung open and Tom appeared, took one look at Elliott covered in flour, and rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. "Oh, for God's sake," he muttered. "You two are going to be the death of me."
"Nice to see you too, Tom."
"I've been dealing with Candice's social media meltdown and Mrs. Monmouth demanding scones and Julia looking like a sad penguin all morning, and now you just waltz back in and start baking like nothing happened?
" He threw his hands up. "Do either of you know how to communicate like normal human beings? "
"Apparently not," Elliott admitted. "Um, sad penguin?"
"Have you ever seen one?" Tom asked. "They’re pathetic. And kind of cute."
Milly patted Elliott's shoulder. "Figure things out, dear. Before that boy loses the will to live." She shuffled out, leaving Elliott alone in the kitchen with her half-finished pastries and the uncomfortable weight of her own hypocrisy.
She'd been so angry at Julia for helping without asking. So determined to see it as a betrayal rather than an act of love. And here she was, doing exactly the same thing, showing up, helping, not discussing it first, because when you cared about someone, sometimes you just couldn't help yourself.
Maybe that was what love actually looked like. Not grand gestures or perfect communication. Just showing up, even when you didn't know what to say.
Elliott finished the batch of croissants.
Then she made a tray of pain au chocolat and three dozen of the lemon tarts Julia loved, the ones with the torched meringue tops that Julia always pretended not to steal from the display case.
She filled the display cases until they looked like something worth photographing again.
And then, because she still didn't know how to fix things, because she still didn't have the words, she slipped out the back door without seeing Julia again.
It wasn't a solution. It wasn't even close to a solution.
But it was a start.