Chapter 14
From the momentI stepped into the refurbished Doughy Desires that morning, customers old and new were lined up to order their favorite sweets. Even the bell above the door seemed to chime with an extra zest, announcing another customer.
The bakery had transformed into the town’s hotspot—and I was here for it.
Perhaps Maxwell’s job offer wouldn’t be necessary anymore, and before long, Bishop could provide pay raises for me and the rest of the staff.
Alice Norton walked inside and up to the counter. “I’ve been coming here for years, and ever since you’ve been here, Kenzi, the atmosphere has been livelier, friendlier...just brighter. And I like the new color scheme.”
“Thanks, Alice. That’s kind of you to say. We worked hard on the updates.”
She nodded. “I’d like a blueberry muffin and black coffee, please.”
I served her order, and she took her items to a table by the window.
Bishop came out of the kitchen with fresh tarts and placed them in the display case.
The door chimed again. “Hello, hello!” Vivian Lark, the local reporter, sashayed inside, clad in a burgundy blouse and white slacks. Her oversized glasses sat on a dominant nose, and her bright red hair was styled into a gravity-defying beehive. “I’m here to do an article on your bakery, Bishop Caine. Ready for your close-up?”
Bishop gave her a polite nod. “Ms. Lark, welcome to my establishment.”
“Heard you implemented major changes and thought to myself, ‘self, you need to write a story on these new digs,’ to see what all the fuss is about.” Vivian didn’t waste time. She made a show of inspecting the bakery, and every once in a while she let out an exaggerated, “Mmm!” or “Aha!”
She zeroed in on a plate of croissants on the counter. “May I?” Without waiting for a reply, she took a bite, and her eyes fluttered closed. “This is a flaky piece of heaven.”
“We take pride in our ingredients and techniques,” Bishop replied.
“And what do you think of our new look?” I gestured at the surrounding décor. “Isn’t it just fabulously retro chic?”
Vivian laughed, a high-pitched and infectious sound. “Oh, darling, it screams, shouts, and belts out a ballad. So loving it!” She scribbled in her glittered notepad and snapped a few pictures with her equally bedazzled camera.
She left, and I crossed my fingers that the article would be favorable.
* * *
During a brief respite that afternoon,I wiped down the display case. The door opened and Chantel entered, wearing a flowy dress and sandals. Her dark-brown skin contrasted beautifully against the colorful fabric, and she’d styled her ebony hair into a long braid.
“Ah, my daily dose of happiness has arrived!” I waved at my best friend.
Chantel strutted up to me. “Hey, Kenzi. How’s it going?”
I smirked. “Living my best life, one sprinkle at a time.”
She glanced at Bishop, who was busy refilling the espresso machine with fresh grounds, and ignoring us.
“My shift just ended, so wait while I grab my stuff.” I untied my apron and hung it up on the hook by the door, then snatched up my purse and sweater. “See you tomorrow, Bishop.”
“Bye,” he said, not looking up.
Chantel and I strode into the midday sunshine and began ambling through town, taking in the quaint shops and charming boutiques. I slipped into my button-up sweater and swung my purse strap onto one shoulder.
Chantel lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “So, how do you like working for Mr. Too-Hot-to-Handle Baker?”
“His skills with a whisk are unparalleled. And beneath that occasional gruff exterior, there’s...well, a heart of gold or possibly a hidden talent for interpretive dance.”
We both giggled.
“Or an affinity for bowties and a fondness for Austen novels?” Chantel looped her arm through mine.
“In fact, he does like Austen’s works and watches the movie adaptations with his mother.”
She laughed. “It makes sense you’ve got a thing for your boss. But really, you barely know the guy.”
I shrugged. “Seven cookies would be insufficient to make some bakers acquainted with each other, and seven cupcakes are more than enough for others.”
She shook her head. “I love you, girl, and your Austen misquotes, crack me up.”
We walked in silence for a block.
Chantel glanced at me. “Don’t you think it’s time you confessed to Bishop that you’re not a trained baker? It would be better to tell him now, rather than later. Or before he finds out from someone else.”
“I’ve thought about it.” I swallowed hard, giving a half-nod. “Daily…in the shower…while brushing my teeth, during the burnt croissants saga, while contemplating the complexities of butter. But how do I admit I never baked on my own other than from a box? I mean, I let him assume I was a professional baker?—”
A loud gasp sounded from behind us and I whirled around, then Chantel followed my lead. The sidewalk was empty. Only a couple window-shopping two blocks away.
“What’s wrong?”
I gave a slight shrug. “Nothing. I thought I heard something.” I brushed my windblown hair from my face. “What if I tell Bishop the truth and he fires me? Or worse, never looks at me the same way again? Just a few of the many reasons I haven’t told him yet.”
“I think it’s better to be honest. Besides, your dedication and passion for this bakery proves that you’re more than qualified to work there, even if you’re not a skilled baker. Just be truthful. He might surprise you.”
I released a resigned sigh. “Perhaps after the grand bake-off, I shall nobly lay down my farcical charade and engage in an honorable conversation with Bishop.”
She gave me a nod. “So, that means no affair with the hot bakery owner until then?”
“Nope, and I’m pretty sure I’m only an annoyingly cheerful employee to him.” I bit my lip. “But…we did almost kiss, I think.”
“Shut up!” Chantel grabbed my arm and tugged me along. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, and I haven’t even told you everything.”
She let go and lowered her hand. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, girl.”
We turned a corner onto a narrow street, the sun casting dappled light through the trees. Honeysuckle floated on the breeze, while the town’s lush flower gardens buzzed with the busy hum of bees.
I fidgeted with the sleeve of my shirt. “Maxwell Turner, the guy who owns the other bakery in town and happens to be Bishop’s cousin, told me troubling things about our dear Mr. Caine.”
“Like what?” Chantel asked, sounding intrigued.
“Maxwell said Bishop totally screwed him over when their grandpa died and Bishop stole his inheritance.”
We crossed the street and passed by Sweet Sensations. Stopping, I peered inside Maxwell’s bakery. The interior was quiet, with a lone customer sipping coffee at a corner table.
Walking again, I tapped my chin. “And that’s not all. Maxwell offered me a design and marketing job—doubling my pay. But if I take it, I doubt Bishop and I would stay friends, the betrayal would hurt him too much.”
We turned onto a tree-lined street, the sunlight dappling through the branches.
Chantel’s brows knitted. “And there would be no chance of dating your boss then.”
I kicked a pebble, and it skittered along the pavement. “That about sums it up.”
“So, you’d give up a great opportunity for love?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “I’m not in love with Bishop. Do I think he’s gorgeous? Definitely. Deep like? Certainly. But I’m not at the L word stage.”
Chantel shifted her bag to the other shoulder. “Girl, I think you’re already halfway there.”
“Enough about my brooding boss. Let’s talk pets and pastries. Now that’s a love story I can get behind.” I quickened my pace, eager to change topics.
“Ah, yes, your latest culinary adventure.”
“I’m telling you, Chantel, this could be a game-changer for the bakery. If we add my pet treats to the menu, it could really make Doughy Desires special.” I spread my hands as if envisioning the marquee.
She gave me a thumbs-up. “I’m all for it. And if anyone can bring creative ideas to that place, it’s you.”
We paused under an oak tree, shedding red and gold leaves.
“Besides all the bakery drama, there’s some good news, too. Bree got accepted to a prestigious music conservatory.”
Chantel’s mouth dropped open. “No way, that’s amazing!” She did an impromptu celebratory dance right there on the sidewalk, then faced me. “Your sister must be thrilled. What an accomplishment.”
“Bree’s had her heart set on attending for years. But it’s expensive, and even with the partial scholarship she secured, there are other expenses, supplies, textbooks...you get the idea.”
Chantel nodded. “I can only imagine. Have you figured out how you’ll pay for it?”
We resumed walking along the sidewalk. We passed a hair salon, the fragrance of hairspray and bleach wafting on the breeze.
“Not yet, and Bishop promised me a raise. But if that doesn’t happen, I’m going to do whatever I can to support my sister.” I sighed. “If only life were like a cheesy movie where I’d trip over a suitcase brimming with cash, or discover I’m the long-lost heiress of a rich uncle.”
She giggled. “Well, there’s always Plan B. Wooing Walter, the millionaire octogenarian.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. I’d rather date my coffee mug than court Walter for his bank account.”
She shrugged. “But think of the perks. Luxury yachts, fancy dinners, and all the denture cream you can dream of.”
I laughed. “Oh, sure. Nothing screams romance like a sunset cruise with a side of arthritis. I’d have to trade in my heels for orthopedic shoes.”
“Don’t forget the early bird specials. You’d be done with dinner before nightfall,” she said, barely containing her laughter.
“True. I’d gain a fortune and become the queen of bingo at the next church gathering…” I blew out a breath. “All joking aside, Walter sounds like a nice guy, and he’s deserves a nice widow. We should fix him up with Miss Jenkins.” Smiling, I bumped her shoulder with mine. “So, I’ll stick to my ramen and reality.”
She touched my shoulder and her voice grew somber. “Look, I’m always here if you need help financially. I don’t have much, but it’s yours if you ever want it.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t ask for more than your friendship, and I’m determined to figure this out on my own.”
“And soon you’ll be the queen of pet treats, alongside the king of pastries. You’ll be rolling in the dough. Pun intended.”
“Yeah, but Bishop’s not completely convinced. I bet he thinks my baking is more comedy than culinary, but hey, he hasn’t fired me yet.”
“First off, your baking? Far from a joke. I’d say it’s improving.” Chantel’s expression flashed with indignation. “And secondly, that handsome baker just needs a nudge to see life goes beyond crafting the flawless croissant.”
I appreciated Chantel’s unwavering support, yet a whirlwind of emotions churned within me. Working at the bakery was more than just a job; each day presented a new opportunity to prove myself—not just to Bishop, but to my own skeptical heart. The thought of becoming the ‘queen of pet treats’ alongside the ‘king of pastries’ brought a flicker of excitement, a glimpse into a future I wanted very much. But for now, I would persevere, one batch of cookies at a time.
“Despite everything, I’m grateful for the job and it’s helping me get caught up on my bills.” I gave her a big smile. “Thanks, Chantel, for listening. You’re the best.”
“Of course I am.” Smiling, she linked her arm through mine again, and we continued our stroll. “Karaoke tonight?”
“Yes, please!”
With the capricious spirit of a Jane Austen heroine, I was ready to sprinkle a little enchantment over the gourmet pet treat scene, regardless of the inscrutable Bishop Caine.