Chapter 17
The next morning,while I sipped coffee on my break at the bakery, the front page of the Serenity Sentinel glowed with praise. The headline read: “Doughy Desires: A Serenity Gem Polished to Perfection!” The article raved about our scrumptious pastries, Bishop’s dedicated ownership, and the bakery’s stunning rebranding.
Well, if this didn’t bring in more customers, I didn’t know what would.
The once quiet corner bakery now had the electric buzz of a big city café, like we were serving a slice of fabulous with every order. Patrons nibbled croissants, drank hot chocolates, or ordered sweets to go.
The kitchen was a cacophony of clanging pans, whirring mixers, and the grating sound of Lucia’s voice as she bragged about her latest baking triumph.
“Would you believe it took me only one try to perfect my new snickerdoodle recipe?” Lucia dusted powdered sugar on a batch of muffins. “And you should’ve seen the wedding cake I created last weekend. Five tiers, each one a different flavor, draped in fondant as smooth as porcelain.” Lucia glanced my way with a patronizing smile. “Keep practicing, Kenzi, even if you never achieve my skill level.”
I resisted the urge to toss a handful of flour at her, forcing a polite smile instead.
While I shaped the dough with far more force than necessary, I once again contemplated Maxwell’s claims that Bishop had cheated him out of his inheritance when their grandfather died. My gut tangled into knots tighter than a double-knotted shoelace, and I feared that pulling at the loose threads of Bishop’s past could untangle the delicate rapport we were building.
Did I confront him or keep my mouth shut?
I reminded myself it wasn’t my concern to meddle in their family affairs. But darn if I wasn’t as curious as Catherine Morland at the mention of a real-life Gothic mystery.
“Everything okay over there?” Lucia’s voice disrupted my thoughts.
“Absolutely. Just trying to work out the kinks in my kneading technique. You know how it is—always room for improvement.”
“Then keep at it.” Lucia returned to her own work.
I resumed my kneading, feeling the supple dough yield under the pressure of my fingertips, and gazed at Bishop across the room. He moved with calculated precision, meticulously following his baking routine as if he’d been programmed to do so. It was almost hypnotic to watch.
Once I finished beating the dough into submission, I went to the front area to stock more pastries.
Bree burst through the door. “Kenzi!” she exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in her hand like a kid with the golden ticket. “Guess what? I got a full scholarship to the music conservatory.”
My mouth dropped open, and I came around the counter. “How did this happen?”
She shrugged “All the school principal would tell me was that an anonymous benefactor convinced the board to sponsor my education.”
“That’s amazing, Bree.” I stood beside her. “And now we don’t have to worry about the tuition?”
“Nope. It’s all been taken care of. I can start school next week.”
“We obviously have a guardian angel.” I hugged Bree.
“Whoever they are, they must really believe in me.”
“And they have exceptional taste in violinists. I wish we could thank this person. They deserve to know how grateful we are for their help.”
“I’m just happy I can attend school now.” Bree shuffled back a few steps. “I need to practice.”
“I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll celebrate then.”
Bree waved goodbye and pranced out the door.
My boss emerged from the kitchen. His presence filled the room, and I was hyperaware, attuned to his every movement. He moved over to me. The afternoon sunlight slipping through the windows kissed his dark brown hair with golden highlights.
“Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could chat.”
“What’s on your mind, Kenzi?”
A tangle of emotions bottlenecked in my throat. I was grappling with a new layer of Bishop, one tainted with Maxwell’s resentful narrative and I had to know the truth before I made an unfair judgment.
I inhaled sharply, wrestling with the right way to breach the topic. “I heard something involving you and Maxwell...” I trailed off, feeling like I might be crossing a boundary, but wanting the doubts to go away.
He blew out a breath, as if he had been waiting for this confrontation. “What did my cousin say?”
“That Doughy Desires should’ve been his inheritance, and you stole it from him...and he claims he lost his dream because of your indifference.” I swallowed hard. “Is it true?”
The muscles in his jaw worked silently, as if considering his words. “I won’t deny that there were disagreements and disputes that marred our relationship over the years.” His hands spread out on the table. “But I wouldn’t take what wasn’t rightfully mine. The bakery was bequeathed to me in my grandparent’s will, but not out of deceit. Before my grandfather passed away, he believed in the vision I had for this place.” He paused, a fervent glimmer of truth in his voice. “I never wanted it to come at the cost of family, but Maxwell...well, he has a way of seeing things through a lens of bitterness, twisted to fit his narrative. Maxwell did receive money from my grandparents’ estate, but he gambled it away within a year.”
I studied Bishop’s face, searching for any hint of deception, but all I saw was sincerity and conviction shining through. How could I have doubted his honor, even for a moment? Bishop was a man of principle, and a pang of shame struck me for questioning his integrity.
He frowned. “You should form your own judgments based on what you see, what you feel, and not only what you hear.”
My shoulders slumped. “Sorry if I misjudged you.”
“Now that I’ve answered your questions. I have something to say.” He tugged at his collar, his scent a blend of woody bergamot, eucalyptus, and sandalwood swirled around me. “Kenzi, ever since you walked into Doughy Desires, things have...well, my business is thriving again, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“Oh, stop it.” I smiled. “I simply added a sprinkle of Kenzi magic.”
“And I can’t thank you enough. How would you like to get out of here for a few hours? Care to join me at the farmer’s market? I want to pick up some fresh ingredients,” he said, his voice smooth like dark chocolate melting over a low flame.
“That sounds fun.”
“Shall we proceed to the town square, my lady?” He extended his arm with a flourish.
“Lead the way, good sir.”