I crouched and picked it up, my gaze scanning the page.
A blueberry crumb bar was sketched with soft pencil lines, shaded in like she’d spent hours perfecting the details. There were notes in the margins—ingredient tweaks, texture observations, baking temp tests. It looked like something out of a high-end culinary school.
I blinked. “You made this?”
She flushed. “It’s nothing.”
I turned the page. Another dessert. A cupcake, with flavor notes scribbled in neat handwriting. Cinnamon honey cake, fig filling, and whipped mascarpone topping.
Flipping through the notebook, I found mini pies. A lemon lavender shortbread. Chai sugar cookies with browned butter icing. Pages and pages of hand-sketched designs, notes, test batches, and flavor combinations.
“You came up with all of these?” I asked, still stunned.
She shifted on her feet. “I play with recipes when I have time. It’s just a hobby.”
I looked up at her. “Baby…”
Her eyes darted away. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”
On the next page was a title in bold block letters across the top.
Sideline Bars. A sweet pastry with a buttery crumble on top, apple-cinnamon filling, and a honey glaze.
I read every line. Burned it into my head. My brain didn’t forget shit, and I knew without a doubt I’d need to remember every damn detail of this.
“This isn’t a hobby. This is talent.”
She reached for the notebook again. I didn’t let her take it.
“I’m serious.” I straightened slowly, keeping my eyes on hers. “I own a restaurant, Rylin. We had help, but Raiden and I created every dish on our menu. I know food. This isn’t something you hide in the back of a drawer.”
Her cheeks went red, and she shook her head, trying to brush off my compliment. “I’ve never really shown anyone. I don’t even know what I’d do with it. It’s just for fun.”
My eyes never left her face, seeing through her facade to the passion beneath. “Do you bake these? Or just come up with the recipes?”
“Both.” She shrugged. “I like testing things out. But I don’t have the right equipment or?—”
“I can get you the right equipment,” I cut in. “But that’s not really what you need. You need the right audience. The right launchpad.”
She blinked, her head canting to the side. “What are you talking about?”
Gently, I closed the notebook and held it between us. “This is your future, baby. And I want to help you build it.”
Her breath hitched. “Micah…”
I pressed the notebook back into her hands, hoping it would help her feel more in control of the situation. “I don’t want to pressure you. It just…kills me to think about you hiding this like it’s not fucking brilliant.”
She hugged the notebook to her chest and shook her head.
But I wasn’t about to be deterred. I was serious about not pushing hard, but that didn’t mean I was going to back off, either. “I’m not letting you hide this. Not anymore.”
Her expression crumpled, not in a tearful way, but like panic had started crawling under her skin. Taking a step back, she shook her head. “You don’t understand. If I say yes—if I try—and it goes to hell…” A sharp exhale burst from her lips. “I don’t want to be a charity case. Some project you’re trying to fix. But what would be even worse is you looking at me like I failed you. I couldn’t handle that.”
Well, fuck.
She meant it. That fear wasn’t a throwaway line. It was real. And heavy. Sitting right there on her shoulders and dragging her down. Crushing her dreams before they ever had a chance to take flight.
I didn’t know how yet, but I wasn’t going to let it happen. I just had to find a way that wouldn’t send her running or give her an excuse to rebuild the walls I’d been slowly knocking down.
