15. Chapter 15
Gigi
The conversation with my mother went better than expected—which is to say, no one yelled, no one hung up, and for once, we both actually listened.
We talked for over an hour. I told her how much I love what I’ve built here—how the bakery isn’t just a job, it’s home.
She told me she’s proud of my success, even if she doesn’t always understand it.
We talked about expectations, disappointments, and the complicated business of loving someone who doesn’t want the same things you do.
It wasn’t perfect. She’s still not exactly pro-sugar. But it was honest. And that’s more than we’ve had in years.
“I owe Phoenix an apology,” she said before we hung up. “I put him in an impossible position.”
“You’re not the only one who owes him one,” I admitted.
Now, three hours later, I’m in the bakery kitchen creating what might be the most emotionally fraught dessert of my life. “I think I’ll call you Lemon-Raspberry & Regrets.”
The lemon cake is tangy with a bit of a bite—like the words I threw at Phoenix. The raspberry filling is sweet but complicated, like my feelings for him. The buttercream? That’s sweet perfection… what I hope we can still have.
I don’t even know if he’s still in town.
He’d have every reason to leave after the things I said. After the way I didn’t let him explain. He probably thinks I’m just another Hart Health executive-in-training, too closed off to trust something real.
But I had to bake this cake. Even if he never sees it. I had to do something with all this regret and longing that’s been bubbling in my chest since he walked out that door.
I smooth the last layer of pale yellow frosting across the top, pipe delicate raspberry swirls, and add a final touch of candied lemon zest—bright and glossy like a fresh start.
The bell over the front door chimes.
"Be right there," I call, focused on getting the placement just right.
"I’ll wait as long as it takes," says a husky voice. "Forever, if necessary."
I freeze.
I know that voice.
I turn, slowly, my heart already racing.
Phoenix is standing in the doorway—wrinkled shirt, messy hair, and a truly ridiculous number of flowers. Bouquets spill from his arms in every size and color. Roses, sunflowers, wild things with spikes. I think I even spot a cactus.
"Phoenix?" My voice cracks. "I thought you left."
"I was going to." He steps inside, setting flowers on every surface he can find. “But Joe gave me a pep talk. Something about not quitting when the big game’s on the line.”
I blink. "You’re comparing me to a football game?"
“No. But if you were a football game, you’d be the Super Bowl.” He growls with frustration. “This isn’t coming out right.”
I’d be the Super Bowl. It’s ridiculous, but the sentiment is sweet, and it hits me right in the heart.
"Gigi, I screwed up,” he continues. “I came here with the wrong motives. I kept a secret. I’ll never do that again, I swear.”
"Phoenix—"
"Please, let me finish." He steps closer, careful but determined. "I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know what I’ll do now that football’s over, or where I’ll live, or how any of it’s supposed to work. I don’t know what the future holds.”
My chest tightens.
"But I do know one thing—I want you in it. In every next chapter. You’re the key to my happiness.”
I’m crying now. Big, messy, mascara-smearing tears. And I don’t even care.
"I called your mom," he says. "Told her I’m not taking the bonus. That I’m not interested in Hart Health, or any arrangement that involves convincing you to be someone you’re not."
"You didn’t have to do that."
"I did. Because this— us —was never supposed to be about a paycheck. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with a woman who bakes her feelings into cake. And I couldn’t leave without telling her."
He looks at me, vulnerable and open, like he’s handing me his whole heart and praying I don’t drop it.
I wipe my eyes with the hem of my apron.
"I made you a cake," I blurt, because apparently I’ve lost control of my mouth.
His brows lift. "You made me a cake?"
I gesture toward the creation behind me. "Lemon-Raspberry & Regrets. It says I’m sorry for not listening. For assuming the worst. For being scared."
He walks around the glass case of desserts, joining me behind the counter. He looks at the cake. Then at me. Then back at the cake.
"Lemon-Raspberry & Regrets," he repeats.
For a second, he just looks at me.
Then he bursts out laughing.
Full-on, head-tipped-back, joy-in-his-bones laughing . It bubbles out of him and fills the room, and suddenly I’m laughing too, the way people do when they’ve been holding in too much for too long.
“We’re both idiots,” he says.
I glance around the flower-covered bakery. "That’s a lot of flowers."
“I wanted to make sure you got the message.”
"What message is that?"
He steps closer, brushing a curl behind my ear.
“That I love you, Georgina Hart. I love that you stand your ground, bake your heart out, and show up for people when it counts. You’re it for me.”
I don’t hesitate this time.
"I love you too,” I whisper. “And for the record? You’re it for me too.”
He leans in. “So… do I get to try the cake?”
“Only if you help me figure out where the heck we’re putting all these flowers.”
He laughs again, and when he kisses me, it’s everything I hoped it would be—sweet, certain, and just the beginning.
And somewhere in the middle of all the buttercream and blossoms, I know we’re going to be okay.