Chapter 11
On my day off,my sister and I baked in our small kitchen, the counters cluttered with mixing bowls and baking sheets. The rich aroma of cinnamon, chocolate and nutmeg enveloped us, seeping into our hair and clothes as we shuffled around each other, maneuvering in the cramped space. Bree, with her freckled cheeks and curly brown hair tied in a ponytail, was elbow-deep in a mixing bowl. Mochi sat nearby, watching every move we made.
“What else do we need for Grandma’s chocolate chip cookies?” I turned my attention to the cookbook sprawled open on the kitchen table. I flipped the pages, halting on a healthy pet treat entry, before backtracking to the cookie recipe.
Bree bounced on her toes. “More vanilla extract.”
“Check the top shelf of the cabinet.”
“Found it,” she said, retrieving the small bottle.
I took a moment to survey the chaos, sighing at the disarray. Dirty mixing bowls, glazed wooden spoons, and half-empty ingredient bags cluttered the counters. Then I glanced down at myself and groaned. My T-shirt and yoga pants were battle-scarred with flour and batter splotches, plus a smear of butter. Barefoot, I stood in striking contrast to Bree in her eye-catching purple shirt, jean shorts, and adorable fuzzy cat slippers.
“How is it your clothing doesn’t have any stains?”
She shrugged. “Guess I’m a better cook.”
Mochi barked, her fluffy white and tan coat bristling as she wagged her tail.
“But just look at you now, sis. Totally killing it as a baker. So proud.”
“Thanks,” I replied, touched by her words. “Are you excited about the music conservatory?”
“Well, duh, but…” Bree stilled and hung her head. “Do you think you’ll have enough money to cover the tuition that my partial scholarship won’t?”
My heart clenched. “I’ll find a way to pay for it, I promise.” I hugged her and stepped back, tapping the end of her cute nose with my finger. “No worrying. That’s my job.”
She faintly smiled. “Okay.”
While I stirred the cookie dough, my mind wandered to Maxwell, replaying the way he had bitterly told me Bishop had cheated him out of his inheritance. He had appeared so sincere, so genuinely hurt. Yet his accusations were contrary to the Bishop I knew. But how well did I actually know the man?
Then I recalled Maxwell’s generous job offer, no doubt an attempt to lure me away from Doughy Desires. The offer was appealing—I could pay off bills and give Bree the opportunities she deserved. Still, a twisting anxiety churned in the pit of my stomach.
While taking the job felt like a lifeline, it would also mean destroying my friendship with Bishop. I wavered between my dreams and my heart versus security and affection. I didn’t know what choice was right—the one that saved us financially, or the one that preserved my relationship with Bishop?
“Earth to Kenzi,” Bree said, snapping me back to the present. “You’re daydreaming again.”
I hesitated, then said, “Maxwell Turner offered me a full-time graphic design job at his bakery. Much better pay and benefits than I’m getting now.”
Bree’s eyes widened. “Whoa, for real?”
I nodded. “I think it would be more than enough to cover your tuition. But...”
“But you’d have to leave Bishop’s bakery,” Bree finished.
“Maxwell is like Bishop’s arch-nemesis in the baking world. Imagine if I started working for him—Bishop would probably take it as a stab in the back.” I let out a sigh, my shoulders dropping. “I’m really torn about what to do.”
Bree shrugged. “I mean, it’s just some guy. This job sounds awesome, and I’d get to go to my dream school! You can always get another boyfriend, sis.”
I blinked, reminded of her youthful priorities. With a faint smile, I turned to the mixing bowl. Bree was right, but my heart ached at the thought of leaving Doughy Desires.
“I know, and Maxwell’s offer is amazing but I also kinda want to see where things go with Bishop. And taking Maxwell’s job would definitely mess that up.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “Ugh, relationships are so complicated! I mean, you’re right, Bishop and I aren’t even dating.”
“Hate to say it, but Maxwell’s offer might be our best bet right now. I know you’re crushing on Bishop, but we need financial security.”
She was much too wise to be only thirteen.
I nodded. “Why don’t you play for us while I finish baking, Bree?”
Mochi yapped and circled around us.
She left the room and returned with her violin. Soon the apartment was filled with the rich, harmonious tones of her music, evidence of hours devoted to practice. Her bow moved deftly across the strings, producing notes that were crisp and clear, occasionally melting into tender, lingering vibratos that resonated within the walls and within me.
As I resumed baking, I realized how much my skills had improved since I started working at Doughy Desires. My hands moved with a newfound self-assurance, measuring ingredients and mixing them together with ease. Being around Bishop had made all the difference—watching him work had instilled a sense of pride that carried over into my own techniques.
Bree finished her concert for two—me and Mochi—and lowered her violin. I applauded as she set her violin on the table. The last batch of cookies went into the oven, then a finished tray was removed and set to cool on a rack near the sink.
Bree grasped a spoon, licking the batter off.
I grimaced. “You’re going to get salmonella.”
“Nah.” Bree lightly smacked my arm.
“You know what? I think I enjoy baking as much as I love reading Jane Austen.” From the cooling rack, I transferred several cookies to a plate. “Okay, Bree.” I set the plate on the table. “Get ready to taste the best cookies we’ve ever made.”
We each seized a cookie, still warm and gooey, and took a big bite.
“Kenzi, these are amazing,” Bree said, around a mouth full of cookie.
I savored the taste. “Yeah, they’re pretty good.”
Bree grinned. “We should send a batch of cookies to the landlord to say sorry for being late on the rent once we’re caught up.”
“Good idea.” I patted her shoulder. “Thanks for having faith in me.”
“That’s what sisters are for.” She pulled me in for a hug. “I’ll always be here for you, Kenzi. You’re my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister.” I laughed.
Bree released me. “Even if I had a hundred siblings, you’d still be my favorite. Now, hand me another cookie.”
We settled at the table, and the indecisiveness over Maxwell’s job offer continued plaguing me. I had to talk to Bishop. I glanced at the clock—he would still be at the bakery. If I hurried, I could catch him before he left for the day.
“Bree?” I stood and walked across the room to slip on my jacket and grab the house keys. “I need to see Bishop. I’ll be back soon.”
I dashed out the door and biked over to the bakery. After locking up my bicycle in the rack, I walked in and spotted Bishop at the counter, closing out the register.
“Hey, Bishop,” I called softly, not wanting to startle him.
He looked up. “What brings you here? Everything all right?”
“Not really.” I took a deep breath, exhaling. “I need your advice.”
“Sure.” He leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his broad chest.
My hands fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, and I hesitated, trying to gather my thoughts. “When I delivered the cake, Maxwell asked me if I wanted to join his team as a graphic designer to market his bakery, and the pay would be double what I’m making here…”
The hurt in his eyes stabbed at my heart like a thousand tiny daggers. “Kenzi,” he said, his voice tight. “Why would you even consider working for Maxwell? You know how much I loathe the guy. How his insidious rumors have hurt my business.”
“I know…but I have bills to pay, Bree to support, and our rent is overdue. This job could make a big difference for us.”
Bishop stared at me, his face inscrutable, his jaw muscles working as if he were chewing on something unpleasant.
“I understand your situation, but there has to be another way,” he said finally, still not looking at me. “You can’t work for my biggest competitor. And besides, you’re doing great things here. We need you.”
But do you need me? I wanted to ask, but swallowed the question.
His kind words made my decision that much harder. Accepting employment from Maxwell might sever ties with Bishop, which pained my heart. Except I couldn’t ignore the financial strain I was under.
“I’m confused and don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “But I knew I had to tell you.”
“Thank you for being honest with me, Kenzi.”
“There’s more—my sister was accepted to the local music school, and the tuition is astronomical.” I wrung my hands together. “This job might be the solution we need.”
Silence wrapped around us, heavy and awkward. I was dying to know what was going on in his head, what he felt about all this. Part of me wanted to laugh it off, make a stupid joke, but the words just wouldn’t come.
Finally, he blew out a breath. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened. “I came here because I wanted your opinion and I needed a friend.”
He was quiet, staring out the windows. I caught a certain softness in Bishop’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, making me wonder what he was really thinking.
“My bakery is struggling and I can’t afford to pay you more right now. As for Maxwell...” he said, his voice lowering slightly.
“What about him?”
He massaged his forehead as if he had a sudden headache. “Be careful. You shouldn’t trust him or his offer.”
But how could I refuse the chance to lift my family out of hardship? My heart and mind warred, twisted by sense and sensibility.
“I’m sorry, Bishop. I didn’t come here to upset you,” I said, my voice cracking.
“I know. It’s just complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Of course I want you to stay. You’re important to me, Kenzi. More than you know, but I can’t—I won’t—stand in the way of what’s best for your family.”
The job offer from Maxwell loomed over me like an ominous thundercloud, threatening to shatter the fragile world I had built at Doughy Desires. If I took the position, I could provide for Bree and myself. We wouldn’t have to worry about overdue bills or tuition fees anymore. But at what cost?
I inhaled sharply. “Then tell me not to go. Give me a reason to turn him down.”
Bishop’s jaw tightened. “I care about you too much to influence you one way or another.” He looked away, his voice thick with emotion. “But...don’t rush into anything.”
I shuffled my feet. “It’s just...it’s so hard.”
Bishop stepped closer, his gaze searching mine. He took my hand and squeezed it, his touch igniting my skin. “I only want you to do what’s right for you and your family, even if...” His words trailed off, and he released my hand. “Give me a week to think about this.”
I nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. “Okay.” He wanted me to stay. My heart soared, feeling a little lighter.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled for now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Bishop.”
I left, the door jingling closed behind me. The evening breeze tousled my curls as I unlocked my bike, the handlebars cold beneath my trembling fingers. No matter what I chose, it felt like I would be giving something precious up and the realization tore at my heart.
As I pedaled home, the streetlights cast flickering shadows on the pavement, mirroring the uncertainty that clouded my thoughts.
I reached the familiar corner leading to my apartment, my chest heavy with indecision. Leaning my bike against the railing, I sighed. There had to be a way to balance my responsibility to my family and my desire to stay with Bishop. But how?