“No.”
“Stickers?”
“No.”
She tilts her head, considering the remaining possibilities. “A hug?”
My mother is shaking silently with laughter now.
“No hug,” I say, and it is the least convincing lie I have ever told.
Maisie accepts it with a smile. “Okay. But if she hugs you later, can I have a donut?”
I sigh. “We’ll see.”
She grins, satisfied, and hops out of my arms. “I’m gonna get waffles.”
When she runs out of the room, Mom turns to me fully.
“So. Charlotte.”
I rub my face. “Please don’t.”
“It’s okay to be happy,” she says gently. “You make it harder than it needs to be.”
I don’t argue because she’s right.
At the bakery, I realize immediately that my staff need new hobbies.
Mark looks up from kneading dough, takes one long look at my face, and grins like he has blackmail material.
“Morning,” he says. “You seem well rested.”
“Don’t.”
Chris pops up from behind the pastry case. “So, hypothetically, if a certain general manager disappeared last night and returned today looking like he survived a pleasant natural disaster, should we assume?—”
“No.”
“Interesting,” he says, as if I confirmed something.
Jonah walks by sipping his coffee. “Congrats.”
I glare at him. “On what.”
He sips again. “Stuff.”
“I’m firing all of you.”
“You won’t,” Chris says, grabbing a macaron. “We know too much.”
Charlotte walks in around midmorning. The second I see her, something tightens in my stomach in a way I’m not prepared for. She’s in jeans and a festival staff shirt, hair pulled back, cheeks slightly flushed from running around. She looks incredible.
She spots me and gives me a smile that hits straight in the chest.
I smile back, too small, too controlled.
Charlotte notices immediately. Of course she does.
