“I can’t wait to show you the place, come!” she waves us over to one of the shops. The windows have paper behind them so you can’t see in, but when she opens the door, I’m greeted with green walls.
Nearly the same green as Amara’s rug.
Her eyes light up as she looks around, and my sister stands back, beaming with pride.
“Yep. This is my baby.”
“This is so gorgeous,” Amara says with a smile.
“Isn’t she? God, I love it so much.”
“Are you almost done with it, do you think?”
Instead of the traditional seating, her bakery has comfy couches and a wall with smaller tables and chairs. It does look cozy, though I’m not quite sure it’s my scene.
“I think I need to add more wall décor, but other than that, I think it’s nearly done! I’m so excited for it.”
“You should be!”
The girls start talking about my sister’s event they’re planning, and my brain starts to spin.
It’s a lot, being back here. Seeing my sister stuck here. She’s happy, thank God. But back then, it always felt like she secretly wanted to get out, and I was stopping her.
I just wish things were different.
“So, I think that having food over here at the smaller tables will be really great, mostly because it’ll force people into this middle section to mingle, and then you’ll have a DJ over here, and someone making coffee behind the counter, right?”
“Yes. And espresso martinis.”
“Perfect.”
Amara takes out her phone and films the whole bakery, the focus on her face pulling at my heartstrings.
I haven’t actually gotten to see her in her element. I know she took some time off to do the show, only taking calls to make sure the few events she had booked were going smoothly.
From what I heard from the guys before all of this, she worked pretty much around the clock to make this happen for her. She’s always had a crazy work ethic.
Once you work hard enough, you start paying other people to do the work for you, and you can take a bit of a backseat. And while I know from our conversations that she’s itching to get back to work here soon, it’s also been good for her.
When she finishes up, the two women sit on one of the couches, coffees in their hands, and discuss a little more about the party. What kind of food she’s going to want, what catering places are around, because Amara can’t bring her kitchen, which she rents for her business, all the way here, and other small details they have to get nailed down before moving forward.
When they’re done, my sister sends us off with an absolutely ginormous box of baked goods.
“Lord knows I don’t need them,” she tells us. “I’ve been testing out different recipes, trying to see if I can come up with something really fun for opening week. I’m buried under baked goods.
Amara has her mouth full the second her seatbelt is buckled. “These are so buttery,” she moans, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
I chuckle, reaching for the box. She allows me to pick one before yanking it back.
“Were we supposed to film today?” Amara asks, eyeing the vans waiting at the house as we pull in.
I park, getting out. We both round the house, trying to see where everyone is.
“What the hell?” Amara murmurs.
I’ll be honest, I completely forgot that I asked them to set this up. It was a surprise for me too.
I grab her hand, leading her onto the beach. It’s chilly and a bit windy, but everything feels special when Amara is giving me the time of day.
