Chapter 10
The sun glareddown on me as I pedaled through Serenity Falls toward the home of Maxwell Turner. I had called his bakery before heading out and they had told me he had the day off.
The pretty scenery was almost enough to make me forget I had a boxed piece of cake balanced precariously in my bike’s basket. I biked past the majestic waterfall that frothed and bubbled down the jagged rocks of the embankment, its soothing roar filling the air like nature’s own white noise machine—only free and with fewer buttons.
Zipping past residents engrossed in their daily routines, a couple strolled arm-in-arm, while families enjoyed picnics under the comforting shade of oak trees in the park.
“Watch out!”
I swerved in time to avoid a collision with Miss Jenkins, who was power-walking her poodle as they crossed the street. I hit the brakes and stopped beside the crosswalk. Her dog barked and jumped up onto my leg.
“Sorry!”
Miss Jenkins huffed, tugging her dog’s leash. “You should be, young lady.” She looked around and leaned closer. “Have you heard the talk regarding Doughy Desires?”
“That it serves delicious baked goods?”
“No, honey. Someone has been saying they use cheap ingredients.” She appeared genuinely concerned.
“I wouldn’t believe the rumors, Miss Jenkins,” I said. “I know for a fact that it’s only bakery rivalry.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” Miss Jenkins replied, though she still looked troubled. “It would be a shame if those rumors were true. Doughy Desires has always been my favorite bakery in town.”
With a wave, she continued on her way, the little dog eagerly leading her down the sidewalk.
I pedaled off, and as I approached Maxwell’s house, I gaped at the glaring contrast between his home—a dark-gray with black trimmings—and the rest of the houses in Serenity Falls. While the other residences radiated quaintness and charm, his home resembled an ominous fortress. The perfectly manicured lawn might as well have been a moat, and the towering wrought-iron fence screamed ‘keep out’ louder than any sign ever could, and yet a flowerbed near the porch held a patch of daisies.
Taking a deep breath, I removed the box from the basket on my bike and flicked a glance around me. No one was about. Not even a bee buzzed the flowers.
I walked to the front door, then raised my hand to ring the doorbell, except the door swung open.
“Hi. I’m looking for Maxwell Turner.”
“I am he,” Maxwell said. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Kenzi Middleton and I work at Doughy Desires.”
His brows lifted. “I’ve heard of you. You’re that graphic artist in town. Belinda told me you worked magic with the marketing for her hair salon. Seriously impressive stuff.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” I forced a smile and handed him the cake. “I’m delivering this slice of cake made from all natural, high-quality ingredients courtesy of Bishop.”
Maxwell stepped onto the porch, his hair slicked in a side-part and his hawkish brown stare raked over me. He wore a sharp business suit that looked more appropriate for a corporate meeting than hanging out at home.
He eyed the box in his hands. “Oh?”
“Only the best for our esteemed competition.”
Maxwell set the box down on a wicker table next to the door, then opened the lid and peeked inside. I cringed. The piece of cake looked somewhat smooshed and lopsided.
He read the note and smirked. “Bishop’s feeling competitive, I see. Is he still a stickler for tradition?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“So, he hasn’t changed. Doesn’t surprise me. He’s always been stubborn.” Maxwell leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “I’ve always found it fascinating how someone so talented could be so resistant to change.”
I lifted my chin. “Or it could be a strong sense of integrity. He values heritage and consistency. So, it’s not about being stuck in the past, but honoring where you came from.”
“If you say so.” His lips puckered. “Sometimes I can’t help wondering if his reluctance to embrace new ideas might be holding him and his bakery back from reaching its full potential. Could be why those rumors are spreading.”
A breeze played with the ends of my hair, sending loose strands into my eyes, and I yanked them back. “Excuse me?”
Maxwell held up his hands in mock surrender. “I find it interesting, that’s all. It’s not every day you see someone so talented remain so...stagnant.”
I wanted to defend Bishop without sounding too attached, but teeny, tiny seeds of doubt took root in my mind. Was Maxwell right? Was Bishop’s stubbornness hurting both himself and Doughy Desires?
I squinted up at him. “Why do you dislike him so much?”
“Who, me? No, no, I have nothing but admiration for Bishop’s work. It’s just that I’ve heard a few unflattering stories concerning his bakery.” He looked around before lowering his voice. “About cutting corners on ingredient quality.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Of course, I can’t confirm any of this,” Maxwell said. “It’s merely what people are saying.”
The way the sunlight bounced off Maxwell’s too-polished smile gave me that same unsettling feeling as realizing my shirt was on inside out.
I reminded myself to take everything he said with a grain of salt—or in this case, maybe a whole tablespoon. Still, the fact that these rumors even existed troubled me. Was there any truth to the gossip, or was Maxwell really good at stirring the pot?
“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for any substandard flour in the storeroom.”
“Good to hear,” Maxwell replied smoothly.
“But you didn’t answer my question. What has Bishop ever done to you?”
A frown tugged at his lips. “If you must know, we were practically raised together, more like brothers than cousins,” Maxwell said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “And when our grandfather passed away, Bishop cheated me out of my inheritance. He received the bakery that should’ve been mine, forcing me to open my own.”
I stepped back, the force of his revelation grounding me to the porch. “Bishop never struck me as the conniving type. Why would he do that?”
Maxwell shrugged. “It’s really about control. Bishop has always wanted complete autonomy over everything in his life, including his relatives.” He shook his head before continuing, “Not that he even cares how cheating me out of my birthright hurt me and my family.”
“Sounds like you two have a complicated past.”
He raked a hand through his hair with a hesitant nod. “We certainly do. After losing my inheritance, I had to take out a loan to pursue my dream of opening my own bakery. And Bishop? He hasn’t a smidgen of remorse.”
“Wow,” I murmured, trying to reconcile this version of Bishop with the honest man I knew. “I never would’ve guessed he’d do something so horrible.”
A part of me wanted nothing more than to rush to the bakery and confront Bishop, but this was between him and his family and none of my business.
Maxwell studied me for a moment, then said, “I could really use someone with your creativity and design expertise at my bakery. I’d like to offer you a full-time marketing position, and I’ll double your pay.”
“That’s very generous…but I don’t know. I mean, I want to get back into design, but I feel like I’d be betraying Bishop.”
It would solve all of my problems. I wouldn’t have to lie to Bishop anymore, and I could afford to pay for Bree’s school tuition. Though tempted by the idea of financial security, I hesitated.
I groaned. “I don’t think I can accept your offer.”
“Think it over,” Maxwell pressed. “I doubt Bishop appreciates your talents, not like I would. And I know money has been tight for you since your parents...” He left the implication hanging.
I bit my lip, feeling conflicted. The chance to use my design skills and earn more money was extremely appealing. Could I really abandon the bakery and work for Bishop’s rival? Then again, the pay increase would support my family. But, but I liked working for Bishop. My stomach churned with indecision.
“I should discuss it with my family first.” I backed away. “Enjoy the cake, Mr. Turner.”
“Good day, Miss Middleton,” he said. “Do give my regards to Bishop. And remember, if he ever needs any advice on how to keep up with the times, my door is always open.”
I climbed onto my bicycle and pedaled away from Maxwell’s house. Despite the mild breeze, a coldness settled around me. As much as I liked Bishop, he could be incredibly stubborn.
Suddenly, I questioned not only my loyalties but also my own feelings toward the man I was friends with. Yet, the doubts over Maxwell’s story left a bitter taste in my mouth that not even the sweetest chocolate could wash away.