Chapter 16
The first lightof dawn was filtering through the bakery windows, turning the tops of the golden pastries a rosy hue as I walked into the kitchen.
Bishop, tall and solemn, was standing at the counter, his attention absorbed in adorning a cupcake with intricate frosting swirls.
“You’re here early.” He didn’t look at me or turn away from his cupcake decorating.
“One must seize the day, after all.” I lifted my apron off the rack and slipped it on.
“Can we talk?” he said suddenly, setting down his frosting bag.
“Um, yeah.”
He led me to the rear of the kitchen and paused beside the staircase to the rooftop. “The thing is…I feel we need to discuss us.”
Was this really happening? Was he ready to confess his undying love for me?
My stomach did somersaults worthy of an Olympic gymnast. The evening spent together on the rooftop had been magical. I started planning our wedding guest list in my head, feeling my heart flutter. We’d honeymoon in Bora Bora, sipping mai tais on the beach. Then I mentally engraved our names on shared monogrammed towels and imagined our children Brad and Sabrina. They’d have his smile and my eyes?—
“Last night was nice. Talking and sharing. except we need to be practical.” His voice sounded gruff yet tender, like sandpaper dipped in honey. “This isn’t the right time to pursue anything romantic.”
Wait...what? I blinked, my throat constricting.
“W-what do you mean? What about Brad and Sabrina?”
His forehead scrunched. “Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Doughy Desires is at a crucial point in its marketing campaign, and I can’t afford any distractions,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Which means the whole dating-an-employee thing...”
There it was. The ‘E’ word. Employee. That’s all I was to him. How had I misread the signs? Here I was, scripting our Austen-esque climax, and instead, I’d stumbled into a Bront? level tragedy.
A lump formed in my throat, my dreams dissolving like sugar in hot tea. “Oh.”
“I just can’t get involved with anyone.” He braced himself on the counter, avoiding my gaze. “We just finished updating the bakery, and your support on the rebranding has been instrumental, which I appreciate, but there’s a long way to go before we achieve financial stability.”
“Okay, yeah,” I said slowly, trying to process his words. “I get that.”
Bishop finally looked at me. “It doesn’t seem right to mix work with...other things. It complicates matters. My focus has to be on the bakery for now.”
My chest hollowed out. “The rooftop was...what, a footnote?”
He was quiet, then said softly, “No, not exactly. I just hope you understand.”
But I didn’t, not at all. Not one bit. We had shared a special moment and now he was dismissing it like it meant nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Yeah, no, you’re completely right,” I said, inching backwards. “Work should be your priority.”
“I don’t want it to be awkward between us.”
I mustered a grin, brittle as a burnt cookie. “No one wants that.”
He patted my shoulder. “Just cause the timing’s off doesn’t mean I don’t care about you as a person.”
A vendor entered the bakery, requiring Bishop’s attention. He excused himself, leaving me standing there with my heart aching.
Maxwell Turner had offered me a graphic design gig, a lifeline to help pay for Bree’s music school. And with the Bishop chapter ending on a not-so-fairytale finale, why not take it? Although working for Bishop’s rival felt wrong, perhaps it was time to put on my big girl apron and move on.
Taking a deep breath, I made a hasty decision. I seized a piece of paper from the counter and scribbled a note. After thanking my boss for everything and apologizing for complicating things at work, I ended it by saying I was going to take the job with Maxwell.
I scurried out the door as quickly and quietly as possible. Outside, I hopped on my bicycle, feeling the wind tussle my curls. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow on the town.
“Perhaps it’s for the best.” I pushed my legs harder on the pedals.
Once I started my new job, I could tell Bishop the truth, and drop the pretense of my pastry prowess before it crumbled like a poorly made pie crust. Honesty seemed not only necessary, but strangely freeing—I owed him, and myself, that much. We wouldn’t be working together anymore and I could shrug off the guilt I’d being carrying for months.
I glanced over at a couple holding hands, my heart throbbing. My would-be romance with Bishop had wilted before it ever bloomed. We weren’t meant to have an Emma and Mr. Knightley moment. No, we were more like Catherine Morland and John Thorpe—a doomed relationship from the start.
When I reached Sweet Sensations, I locked up my bike, then opened the bakery door. I crossed the threshold, soft jazz playing overhead. Within the showcase, miniature cakes in every color huddled together. The interior was awash in bright, clashing rainbow hues—even the walls, tables and chairs.
I squared my shoulders. “Hello?” I called out, stepping up to the counter. “Maxwell? Are you here?”
“Ah, Miss Middleton. How nice to see you again.” Maxwell slunk out from the kitchen with the grace of a cat who’d just heard the can opener. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”
“I’m here to take you up on that offer. Graphic design and marketing extraordinaire at your service.”
His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “I didn’t expect you to visit so soon.” He rested his hands on the counter. “However...”
I could practically hear the ‘dun dun dun’ of dramatic music.
“I’m afraid the position is no longer available, Miss Middleton.” Maxwell’s voice took on a cruel pitch. “In the high-stakes world of bakery competition, you snooze, you lose.”
My face burned, but I held his gaze. “But...I thought...but you said...are you serious?”
He gave me a solemn nod. “As a fruitcake at a birthday party.”
“I...I see.” The realization settled in like a weight. We held each other’s gaze, a silent battle of wills, before I allowed a slight, defiant tilt of my head. “There never was a job for me here, was there?”
His laugh, devoid of warmth, punctuated the air. “Ah, well, you are most perceptive, Miss Middleton.”
“In light of your revelation, I declare there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything other than of a book. And in this case, I find the unfolding story of your character far less enjoyable and far more tiring than any novel. Good day, sir.”
With my head held high, I turned toward the door, tears blurring my vision.
What am I going to do now?
As soon as I stepped outside, the floodgates opened. Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. Every ounce of hope I’d had for Bree and me evaporated.
I gripped my bike’s handlebars and gave them a hard yank to wheel it around. The bike wobbled in my sweaty grasp, teetering before crashing to the ground.
Sighing, I stooped to haul my bike upright, and a bird perched on a tree above me let out a squawk. I glanced up as it released a giant, white blob that landed splat on my shoulder.
“Are you kidding me?” I shrieked as the warm poop oozed down my shirt.
It was as if the Universe had used me for target practice.
A man jogging past snorted, and I wanted to disappear down a manhole. I pushed my bike forward, the chain drooping limply.
“Kenzi...?”
I whirled, startled by the sound of my own name. Blinking through my tears, I looked up to see Bishop, standing a few feet away, eyebrows knitted together.
“Kenzi, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle.
Feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, I couldn’t believe he was here, seeing me like this—teary-eyed and splattered with bird poop.
“Everything,” I choked out, turning away to wipe my eyes on my sleeve.
“Here, let me help you.” Bishop stepped closer and righted my bike.
I hiccupped. “Thanks.”
He sighed, his forehead creasing. “Why did you quit?”
Sniffling, I watched a line of ants marching across the sidewalk. “After our talk, I felt like I had to consider other options—make things less difficult at work. So, I decided to accept Maxwell’s offer, but he lied. There was no job.” I sniffled again. “Now I can’t afford Bree’s tuition...you were right, I shouldn’t have trusted Maxwell.”
Bishop placed a hand on my other, thankfully clean, shoulder. “Kenzi, I’m sorry things didn’t work out. Trust me, you’re better off not working for my cousin.”
His touch sent a swarm of butterflies through my stomach.
“Listen,” Bishop said. “I want you to work at Doughy Desires. I can’t deny that I have feelings for you, but I need to focus on getting the bakery back on its feet.”
My heart pounded as I processed his words. He liked me, too!
But wait…did I just get friend zoned again?
“Oh, don’t worry. Dating’s overrated.” A small grin lifted my lips. “Besides, who else would put up with your stubbornness?”
“Only you. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
As we walked back to Doughy Desires, I tried suppressing the roller-coaster of emotions churning inside me. Yes, it hurt that Bishop couldn’t be with me romantically, but the fact that he cared meant something, too.
“I might’ve been a bit rash quitting like that.”
“Rash decisions happen to the best of us.” Bishop paused, turning to me with an expression that carried both concern and affection. “You have to know that you’re more than an employee to me. You’re one of my closest friends. And honestly, one of the few people I trust.”
Feeling a swell of emotion at his words, I smiled. “Your friendship means a lot to me, too.”
“You leaving like that was a wakeup call.” He ran a hand through his hair in a rare display of vulnerability. “Your laughter, your unique takes on Jane Austen have become a part of Doughy Desires. A part of my...routine, and you know how I don’t like change.”
I grinned wider, knowing how much that admission meant coming from him. He was a man of habit, and I’d managed to sprinkle a little unpredictability into his life. We made an unlikely pair, the rigid baker and the quirky designer, but somehow we just clicked.
Gratitude for still having my job filled me. “Then it’s a good thing I’m staying, because it sounds as though I’m as essential as sugar in your kitchen.”
“And,” he said, a slight hitch in his voice, “if I’m honest, one of the best parts of my day is our debates on whether Persuasion is superior to Pride and Prejudice.”
My heart did a clumsy pirouette. Who knew debating the finer points of 19th-century literature while baking could forge such a bond?
“Elizabeth and Darcy will always have my vote.”
He looked away, the stain of a blush on his cheeks. “Friendship with you, well, is something I don’t take lightly. It’s...it’s something I need.”
That last word sent a flurry of butterflies into the pit of my stomach. I slowed my steps, not trusting my voice. His candid admission floated in the air between us, fragile and tentative. I glanced at his profile, taking in the rugged lines of his face and the endearing hint of color on his cheeks. Something profound shifted inside me, like tectonic plates realigning. My fingers, tingling with the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to somehow anchor myself in the reality of this moment, curled into the fabric of my shirt instead.
Navigating the delicate balance between employee and boss, especially with Bishop, felt akin to walking a tightrope. I couldn’t ignore the professional lines Bishop and I still needed to heed. Him signing my paychecks did rather complicate matters when it came to acting on that heart fluttering attraction that had me doodling cartoon hearts in notebooks.
We arrived at the bakery and paused near the door.
Bishop stopped me for a moment, his hand resting on my arm. “I hope you realize how important you are, both to the bakery and to me personally. Your passion and devotion over the past few months have made all the difference. Doughy Desires wouldn’t be the same without you, and I don’t want to lose you.” His fingers gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “I can’t offer much, but I’ll increase your wages if that will help you and your sister.”
“Really?” I asked, my heart swelling.
“Really.” He cleared his throat, kicking at a pebble. “For ages now I’ve kept up this wall, shutting people out and focusing on the bakery, pretending that was all I needed. But the truth is, I haven’t been happy in a long time. Somewhere along the way I forgot what it felt like to have real connections in my life. Kenzi, working with you all these months, sharing our lives and those Austen debates, it’s made me realize what’s missing in my life.” He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “Your beautiful smile and selfless kindness has gotten under my skin. You did that. So, thank you. And I think, no, I know I’m finally ready to let down my guard and let real friendships into my life.” He blew out a breath, his gaze steady on mine. “Just promise me before you ever think about walking out that door again, that you’ll come find me first, okay?”
His heartfelt confession made me feel warm and gooey. It was as if he’d unlocked a part of himself that had been hidden away, and in doing so, I’d caught another glimpse of the man behind the baker’s apron. I blinked back my own rising tide of emotion. He was allowing himself to be vulnerable, trusting I wouldn’t hurt him. Whatever this was between us, we were at least friends.
Reaching out, I clutched his forearm. The touch sparked an almost electric sense of connection, and I wanted this closeness; I wanted him. We froze and locked eyes for a long moment, as if every emotion we’d carefully held at bay was now weaving itself around us, drawing us closer.
“Bishop, I understand. And I’m not going anywhere.”
While romance with my boss seemed unlikely, nestled somewhere between the flour bags and cookie sheets, I was someone who had made a difference to Bishop.
And I was determined to show him I was more than just a peculiar girl doused in bird droppings. Perhaps in seeing the real me—competent, caring, and yes, a little quirky—he would realize that we were meant for each other.