“He's busy with foundation things,” I'd said.
The words came out flat. Wrong. But Marie just nodded and went back to practicing her pirouettes in the kitchen.
I'm reaching for another cookie when my hand slips. Icing smears across the snowflake's perfect edge.
I stare at it. The first imperfect cookie all morning.
For a second I consider leaving it. Putting it in the case anyway, letting one thing be less than perfect.
Instead I scrape off the icing and start over.
* * *
My phone rings while I'm boxing pastries in the back room.
Mabel Bellamy.
“Mrs. Bellamy? Is everything alright?”
“Perfectly fine, dear. But my nephew Will is planning an enormous event for some dog adoption charity or another. Spring timeline. Out of his depth, poor thing.”
“Dog charity?”
“You remember Yappy Hour, of course.” Mabel's voice warms with amusement. “Well, I have a weakness for anything with four legs, and Will's exploiting it shamelessly.”
I reach for my phone's notes app, already thinking logistics. “Where is this?”
“The city for now, but he’s planning to move it all to some tiny town a few hours from here after the event. Riverside? Riverside Falls? Something with water. Says that’s where the dogs need him most. Tech money, you understand. Sold some app about dogs.”
“An app. About dogs?”
“Don't ask me to explain technology, dear. All I know is he's rich enough to fund this rescue nonsense and sweet enough that I can't say no. Will you help him? Consider it a personal favor.”
I should ask for details. Timeline, budget, scope. I should ask if this conflicts with my existing commitments. I should think about whether I have the bandwidth for a project this size.
Instead I say, “Of course. Please send me his information.”
“Wonderful. Oh, and Holly?” Mabel pauses. “Don't let his down-to-earth charm fool you. The boy's worth billions. He just doesn't like people knowing.”
After we hang up, I stand in the back room surrounded by pastry boxes and the lingering smell of cinnamon.
Filling my calendar. Stacking projects for spring. Keeping myself busy enough that I don't have to think about the fact that Evan hasn't called.
That I haven't called him either.
* * *
Upstairs in my room, I open Mabel's email with Will's information. The project is massive, complex. I skim the details—spring timeline, huge scale, the kind of challenge I love.
My phone buzzes. Emma.
Emma
How are you doing?
Fine. Busy. Got another project for the spring. Something to dive into.
That's great! Want to come over for dinner tomorrow? Tom's making his famous chili.
