Chapter 3
Gracie McBride set the tasting forks on the tray with a satisfied sigh. “So, we’ve landed on the chocolate espresso with the hazelnut cream, right? That will be the bottom tier. Then lemon with raspberry in the middle, and red velvet with vanilla bean at the top.”
The bride, a petite brunette with a dazzling smile and nerves so frayed she trembled when she took a bite of cake, clutched her fiancé’s arm.
“Yes, yes, that’s it! Oh, my gosh, three cakes in one. I don’t know why I panicked earlier about the lemon. This is perfect. It’s so Christmas.”
“Crisis averted,” Gracie said, as relieved as the bride. These last-minute flavor freak-outs were part of the job, but they could throw off the kitchen. “Don’t worry. You’ll have a beautiful, delicious cake. Everything will be just right for your big day.”
The groom, who had eaten more frosting than cake during the tasting, nodded emphatically. “This is the best cake I’ve ever had. She’s not going to second-guess again.”
The bride gave him a look that said, “Don’t bet on it,” but she was beaming again, so Gracie counted the session a win.
She walked them to the door, wrapping them in a light hug, feeling as much therapist as baker. “You’re going to have the best cake and a beautiful wedding, I promise.”
When the couple stepped outside, Gracie let her shoulders drop as she glanced around Sugarfall.
She had customers, yes. But no line out the door. No busy counter with a slew of staff bustling to fill orders. Just one person working today, and the tables were only half full.
Reluctantly, she glanced across the street to the green-and-white awning and crisp, contemporary lines of Craving Clean.
Oh, Marshall Hampton, how much I despise you and your healthy, pure, sugar-free, holier-than-thou, age-defying, energy-increasing, utterly guilt-free desserts.
No, she corrected her wayward thoughts. She didn’t despise him. Just his competitive baking. The man himself she…
She gave a grunt and pushed the thought away. She never let herself go there except in her loneliest and most vulnerable moments. Otherwise, she was no better than a teenage girl nursing a debilitating crush on the single cutest guy she’d ever seen.
Because no matter how hard Marshall competed with her, no matter how much of her customer base he stole, no matter how he—and that pretty marketing guru named Ashleigh—worked to smear her products as toxic waste…she still got weak in the knees at the thought of the man.
Every darn time she caught sight of him—tall, fit, confident, with that easy smile that could melt glaciers—her brain short-circuited. She could barely string a sentence together. She avoided him whenever possible, because functioning in his presence was almost impossible.
Which was…pah-thetic.
“Hey, Mom.”
At the sound of Benny’s voice, she turned and smoothed her apron as she headed to the back of the shop where her son and the enemy’s daughter had set up camp to work. Yes, she may have a love-hate war in her heart over Marshall, but Olivia?
Nothing but adoration for the kid who’d done what few others had ever succeeded at—she’d become Benny’s good and trusted friend and had brought joy into their lives.
Gracie adored Olivia Hampton with her whole heart. She never got tired of seeing the two of them together.
“You are the only kids in America voluntarily doing schoolwork over Thanksgiving break,” she teased, sliding into the chair that was already pulled out.
Benny playfully pointed the eraser side of his pencil in her direction. “It’s not for school, Mom. It’s for the Summit County Science Fair. Big difference. Huge competition. Cash prize. And we’re going to win.”
Gracie held up her hands in surrender. “Of course you are. I should’ve known better.”
Olivia grinned. “We might come in second.”
Benny choked and Olivia trilled a laugh. “I just say that to get a reaction from him.”
Gracie chuckled at that. Olivia may match Benny IQ point-for-IQ point, but she had a whimsical sparkle and a dry wit that was purely irresistible. So that made both members of the Hampton family—father and daughter—irresistible.
She rested her chin on her hand. “So, what’s the latest? Are we levitating cookies yet?”
Benny sighed. “Not yet. But we will. We just need to stabilize the polarity.” He flipped a page in his notebook with authority.
“How was the wedding cake meeting?” Olivia asked.
“Long and full of second-guessing,” Gracie answered. “Has it been busy out here?”
“Kinda. The events lady came by,” Benny said. “For their festival thing.”
“Eleanor Locke?” Gracie closed her eyes. “I knew she would.”
“They’re planning Mistletoe on Main,” Olivia said, sounding far more enthusiastic than Benny.
“I know,” Gracie said. “It’s on my calendar for December sixth. I’m supposed to make a gingerbread house for that, aren’t I?”
“Well,” Benny said slowly, glancing at Olivia, “yes. You and—”
“My dad,” Olivia cut in, sharing an unreadable look with Benny.
“He’ll make one, too?” Of course he would, Gracie thought. With granola and monk fruit and icing full of self-righteous healthiness.
“Actually, you’re making it together,” Olivia announced.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, like group projects in school,” Benny said. “Only I bet Mr. Hampton won’t miss a deadline and will be on time for every team meeting.”
“Of course he will,” Olivia said. “He’s totally dependable like that, Miss Gracie.”
Dependable and…gorgeous.
Gracie swallowed, unsure how she felt about this bombshell. Well, her stomach knew how it felt. Like it just got thrown down a rollercoaster and invaded by hummingbirds. And, of course, she felt blood rush to her cheeks like a billboard announcing her innermost feelings to the world.
Because no one blushed quite like a strawberry blond with freckles and a crush on the father of her son’s best friend.
“I just don’t know about this,” she said, looking down.
“You’re not still mad about the Snack Stats, are you?” Olivia asked, true concern in her eyes as she no doubt observed Gracie’s pink cheeks.
“Oh, of course not,” she said. “I loved having my ingredients plastered all over town and social media with actual devil faces next to my top-selling pastries.”
Olivia bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Miss Gracie. So is my dad. He said Ashleigh Borrell will never darken his door again.”
She laughed softly at the expression, suspecting those were Olivia’s words, since she had a flair for the dramatic and a vocabulary that was lifted straight from Red’s New York Times crossword puzzle.
“It’s fine,” she assured Olivia. “I’m just surprised we’d be paired, since our approach to baking is so different.”
“Well, Mrs. Locke really only wanted one gingerbread house on this block, so you’re doing it together,” Benny said.
Gracie sighed. “That will be…challenging.” Also thrilling and terrifying, and the blushing might actually give her a heart attack.
Olivia’s eyes sparkled. “You can blend your styles.”
How could they do that? First, she hated…chia seed sprinkles. Second, she melted like a truffle over a double boiler every time they were in the same room.
“My dad will be at the shop later today,” Olivia told her. “You should go talk strategy or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Benny agreed. “The festival’s soon, so you need to start planning now. That’s how we approached our science project. You’ll see, Mom. It’ll be fun.”
“And good for business,” Olivia added. “Plus, you and Dad should…” She gave a meaningful look that Gracie took to mean they should be civil like normal adults who worked on the same street and whose kids were friends. Not competitors.
“I know,” Gracie said. “Embrace our differences.”
“Or each other,” Olivia muttered. Gracie jerked backwards, not sure she’d heard right. “In the spirit of Christmas, of course,” the little girl added.
Before she could respond, a small group of tourists walked in. “I’m going to run the counter for this rush. I’ll talk to your dad,” she added to Olivia. “Is he cool with this idea?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Mrs. Locke was going to see him but he’s out until this afternoon. So you better tell him.”
“I will,” she said with all the enthusiasm of a skydiver about to jump for the first time.
As she headed behind the counter, she thought about making a gingerbread house with the man who made her stomach swoop. A blush-fest, that’s what it would be. He’d see through her crush in five minutes and…then what?
She dreaded the whole thing.
And kind of couldn’t wait to get started.
Gracie stood on the sidewalk a little longer than necessary, rubbing her mittened hands together while she stepped back to take in the sight of Sugarfall bathed in golden afternoon light.
Her precious little bakery was so homey, from the leaded glass windows frosted with snow, to the glittering sign above the door, all the way to the adorable red mailbox for “Santa letters” that she put out every year in front of the shop.
Her bakery was the embodiment of downtown Park City—quaint and historic, inviting and alive. Nestled beneath stunning mountain peaks, the old mining town never looked more beautiful than when it was covered in snow and holiday lights.
Turning to look across the street, she noticed how Craving Clean pulsed with an entirely different kind of energy, but still somehow fit in with Park City. A younger, healthier, more fit, and fantastic Park City.
Under the green-and-white awning, the glass storefront gleamed, spare and sleek and, well, clean. Everything about the place he so proudly described as the “anti-bakery” said discipline over decadence. It was hip where hers was sweet, crisp where hers was gooey, and pure where hers was…poison.
At least if you consulted one of the Snack Stats comparison cards that she hoped had all been trashed by now.
She crossed the street quickly, putting all that out of her head. There was room in this town for both of them, and she had to be the bigger person in all of this.