Chapter 3
The momentI stepped into my apartment, the unmistakable sound of Chantel’s laughter bounced off the walls. “Kenzie! You’re home.”
Despite the age difference, Chantel and Bree had always gotten along, forming a bond since my parents died in a car accident six years ago, and I had to finish raising Bree.
My sister sat cross-legged on the other side of Chantel. “Back so soon?”
I squeezed in next to my bestie on the sofa. Mochi lounged beside Bree, her fluffy white and tan coat contrasting starkly against the dark fabric. She lifted her head and wagged her tail.
“Yep.” I stretched out my legs.
Chantel sat up straighter. “Give us all the juicy details. How was the date?”
“Yeah, was it fun?” Bree paused the show.
“It wasn’t much of a date because I never actually met the guy.”
Bree’s mouth dropped open. “For reals?”
“Instead, I ended up with a job as an assistant baker.”
“That’s so random!” Chantel blurted. “How did that even happen?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I thought he was my date, and the owner of the Bakery, Bishop Caine, assumed I was there for a job interview.” I sighed at the memory of the gruff baker—his strong jawline, beautiful brown eyes, and oh-so-serious demeanor.
Chantel frowned. “But you don’t have any real baking experience.”
True. I was an expert at creating logo designs, marketing ads, crafting websites, and designing signage and graphics for businesses. As a freelancer, I’d worked with a diverse range of clients, from small businesses and startups to larger corporations and non-profit organizations. But lately? The design world had been playing hard to get. Over the past four months, my online work had dwindled. I’d applied for in-house positions, but hadn’t secured any job offers. And accepting one meant buying a car or hopping on several buses to the nearest major city.
I’d even resorted to checking the community bulletin board daily at the town hall, hoping a small business was in desperate need of a social media manager or someone to walk dogs. At this point, I was ready to stand on the sidewalk dressed as a giant hot dog if it meant a steady paycheck. But not even the two fast-food joints in town would hire me. Apparently, my Liberal Arts degree didn’t translate to efficient drive-thru window operation.
Who knew adulting could be such a challenge?
I shrugged. “I’ve watched enough baking shows to get by. Plus, I can learn as I go.”
Bree frowned. “Are you crazy? They’ll notice you don’t know anything and then you’ll get fired.”
“Hey, a girl’s got to pay her bills.” I settled into the cushions. “My graphic design work has been nonexistent, and this opportunity will give me a chance to pay up the overdue rent. It’s a win-win, if you ask me.”
Bree bit her lower lip, her eyebrows drawn together. Next to her, Chantel’s shoulders tensed and she frowned.
“There’s no need for those worry faces. I’ll either end up covered in flour and regret, or become a master imposter baker,” I said. “I couldn’t say no. I need the income. You know how hard it’s been for me to find jobs. And who knows? Maybe I’ll discover a hidden talent for baking.”
Bree shook her head. “You’ll never be able to pull this off.”
I scowled at my little sister. “Hey, I’ve got some skills.”
The rational part of me agreed I was way out of my depth, but a small voice whispered I just might be able to do this.
“Sure you do. If you mean reading the instructions on a box.” Bree lifted the remote in her hand and hit ‘play’ on the next episode.
While our budget allowed for just a single streaming service, it was a necessary splurge for sanity’s sake, so onto my credit card it went.
“Meeting Bishop was serendipity. I’m convinced you weren’t meant to meet Walter,” Chantel said.
“You set me up with a man named Walter? How old is he—eighty?” I grabbed a throw pillow and lightly smacked her with it.
“Um, he’s fifty-ish, I think.” She smirked. “What’s age have to do with true love? More to the point, he’s sweet, and he has a hefty retirement fund and savings.”
“How do you know all this?”
She fiddled with her long braid. “Walter takes my salsa dancing class every Thursday night.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m only twenty-six years old, Chantel. I don’t need a sugar daddy.”
Chantel shrugged. “Well…he does have a fabulous wine collection from before you were even born. But fine, no more setting you up with vintage models.”
We were quiet a moment while Bree texted a friend. Mochi pranced around the room with Bree’s sock in her mouth, her clothing thievery making me smile.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains cast a golden hue over my work desk. My laptop, design drafts, and colored pencils were strewn about haphazardly. From the kitchen, the aroma of the peanut butter dog treats I’d baked for Mochi last night wafted throughout the apartment.
I’d always had this insatiable urge to create. Whether it was baking for fun or designing. I mean, from the splashy mood boards I’d doodle during midnight inspiration strikes to the oh-so-extra designs I dreamed up for company logos, graphic design was my creative outlet.
But then, there was the tactile enjoyment of baking— relaxing and grounding. Where design was all about symmetry and aesthetics, baking was about warmth and love.
Chantel picked up a treat from the coffee table, waving it in front of Mochi, who wagged her tail. “Kenzi, you should sell these if you need money.”
“It’s only a hobby.”
Bree, her face illuminated by the light of her phone, glanced up. “Why not? Your design skills are awesome—and these treats? Mochi loves ’em.” She leaned back. “Sis, you could totally redefine animal treats.”
Could I really combine my two passions? I could almost see it—the blend of baked goods and digital art. The idea seemed random at first, but the more I mulled it over, the clearer the vision became. Creating gourmet pet treats with my own brand of trendy packaging lit a creative fire within me.
“It’s not a bad idea. This might just be the recipe for success I’ve been looking for.”
Chantel smiled, tossing Mochi another treat. “Only you could concoct a plan to mix pet treats with pixel art. You should go for it.”
Bree gave a supportive thumbs-up. “Absolutely! Plus, Mochi is all the endorsement you need.”
With their encouragement, perhaps I could be both a graphic designer and a baker. Who would’ve thunk it?
Mochi barked and friskily tugged at the hem of my dress.
“Stop it, silly dog. No more treats for you until after dinner.” I gently swatted her away.
“Was your new boss nice?” Bree asked.
Chantel wiggled her eyebrows. “And was he cute?”
I blew out a breath. “What he looks like hardly matters.”
“He must’ve been good-looking if you mistook him for your date.” Chantel squeezed my hand. “So?”
“He was sort of nice…” My body temperature rose every time I thought about Bishop. “He’s tall, muscular, and drop-dead gorgeous.”
I wondered what Bishop’s views on dating employees was—a firm no or a hopeful possibility? Oh, no. What was I doing? I needed to focus on learning how to bake, not swooning over a modern-day Mr. Darcy.
“I’m not even sure if Bishop’s single. Besides, he’s my boss.”
“Oh, come on, Kenzi,” Chantel teased. “Who says you can’t knead the dough and enjoy the eye candy at the same time?”
I laughed, then frowned as a thought occurred to me. “Chantel, there wasn’t anyone else at the bakery when I was there. Did Walter stand me up?”
“He could’ve got cold feet. What time did you get to Sweet Sensations?”
“Oh, no.” I clamped a hand over my mouth. “I went to Doughy Desires.”
“You dork! Well, like I said, I think meeting the baker was fated, instead of amiable sixty-year-old Walter.” Chantel winked.
I swatted her on the arm. “What? You said he was fifty!”
She shrugged. “Age is just a number.”
“Sixty is so old,” Bree mumbled.
I elbowed my teenaged sister. “You think I’m old.”
Bree lifted a brow. “Because you are.”
“Please tell him I’m sorry,” I said to Chantel. “And if my bakery career doesn’t work out, I guess I can always marry Walter.”
As we indulged in a reality TV binge, I couldn’t wait to work alongside Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody.