“Oh, it was worse than that,” Bunny says, her voice dropping. “These were people who’d worked for our family for decades. Some of them had been there since Dad started the company. Duncan called it ‘streamlining operations,’ but really he was just padding his own bank account.”
She pauses, clearly struggling with family loyalty versus honesty. “And then there were the ingredient substitutions. Dad always insisted on the finest Belgian chocolate, pure vanilla extract, and real butter. Duncan started using artificial flavoring, cheaper chocolate blends, even some questionable preservatives that I’m pretty sure aren’t fit for human consumption.”
“Did anyone confront him about these changes?” I ask.
“Oh, we tried,” Bunny sighs. “My brother Fairbanks and I both talked to him multiple times. Even some of the long-term business partners expressed concerns. But Duncan would just say we didn’t understand modern business practices, that sentiment doesn’t pay the bills.”
“He was burning bridges faster than a pyromaniac at a matchstick factory,” Lenny adds with obvious disgust. “Even had the nerve to cancel the annual company picnic because it was ‘an unnecessary expense.’”
I gasp. “The company picnic?”
Bunny nods my way. “Funny you should mention it. Dad started that tradition thirty years ago,” Bunny explains. “It was this huge celebration every summer where all the employees brought their families. Dad would rent carnival rides, hire a live band, and provide all the food. It was his way of saying thank you to the people who made our success possible.”
Her voice grows sad. “Duncan replaced it with a generic email thanking everyone for their ‘continued dedication to excellent chocolate.’ I was mortified.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it.”
The mention of chocolate gives me another opening. “Speaking of chocolate, I have to admit, I’m fascinated by your dessert display. As someone who bakes for a living, I’m curious about your approach to, well, making things that actually taste good while being healthy.”
Bunny practically bounces with excitement. “Oh, I’m a big believer in the power of cocoa! It’s loaded with antioxidants, magnesium, and compounds that actually improve brain function. The problem isn’t chocolate—it’s all the sugar that gets dumped into it.”
She gestures toward the refreshment table where mysterious brown lumps sit on doily-covered plates. “I have lots of recipes and desserts on display that have cocoa mixed with monk fruit. You would never know they weren’t purchased at some fancy bakery where all the desserts are designed to send you to an early grave.”
I wince, realizing I’m about to confess to being part of the grave-sending bakery industry. “Actually, that’s... kind of ironic. I own theCutie Pie Bakery and Cakery here in Honey Hollow. So I’m basically part of the sugar-pushing establishment you’re trying to reform.”
Both of us burst into laughter, and I have to admit, there’s something refreshing about her sense of humor. Thankfully, the twins keep chugging on. I nearly unlatched them both with that hearty guffaw.
“Well, that’s perfect!” she exclaims. “You could add some desserts with monk fruit instead of sugar. I bet you’d be surprised at how well they sell. People are craving healthier options—they just don’t want to sacrifice taste.”
“She’s always been the nurturing one,” Lenny adds warmly. “Even tried to restore me to health when I was sick near the end. Brought me herbs and special teas.”
That is very sweet and kindhearted.
“Healthy sugar alternatives?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. There are so many. Where do I even start with sugar alternatives?” Bunny exclaims, her eyes lighting up with the fervor of someone who’s about to share some serious secrets. “First, throw everything you think you know about baking out the window. The food industry has brainwashed us into thinking we need mountains of white death crystals to make anything taste good.”
She starts counting on her fingers. “Monk fruit sweetener is your best friend—it’s three hundred times sweeter than sugar, so a little goes a very long way. I once made the mistake of using a full cup in a batch of brownies and nearly sent my neighbor’s blood sugar into orbit. Poor woman thought she was having a spiritual experience.”
I snort despite myself, already imagining my customers’ reactions to accidentally hallucinogenic baked goods.
“Then there’s stevia, but you have to be careful with that one,” Bunny continues. “Too much and everything tastes like you licked a packet of artificial sweetener. I’ve learned to blend it with a touch of raw honey or pure maple syrup to round out the flavor.”
She leans in a notch. “And here’s a secret—applesauce can replace sugar in most recipes. Your customers will never know their chocolate chip cookies are getting a fruit makeover. I’ve been sneakingpureed dates into my granddaughter’s birthday cake for years. She thinks I’m a baking genius.”
“What about flour substitutions?” I ask, genuinely curious despite my growing concern about customer revolt.
“Almond flour, coconut flour, even ground flaxseed are wonderful to bake with,” Bunny lists enthusiastically. “Though I’ll warn you about coconut flour—it’s thirstier than a camel in the desert. You need about four times the liquid, or you’ll end up with hockey pucks that could double as home security devices.” She grins. “And don’t get me started on adding vegetables to desserts. I’ve put zucchini in chocolate cake, sweet potato in muffins, and black beans in brownies. The trick is not telling people until after they’ve cleaned their plates and asked for seconds.”
“Black beans in brownies?” I ask, horrified and fascinated in equal measure. “I’m not sure my husband would forgive me if I did that to his favorite dessert.”
“Trust me, they add the most incredible fudgy texture,” Bunny insists. “Plus fiber, protein, and antioxidants. Your digestive system will thank you, even if your taste buds are confused at first. I call them my identity crisis brownies. They don’t know what they are, but they know they’re delicious.”
“Thank you for that.” I pause for a second. “And what about the rest of your family?” I ask, steering the conversation toward more investigative territory. “I heard your brother Fairbanks just bought a mansion on the lake.”
“Oh yes, Fairbanks and Gina.” Bunny’s expression sours a bit. “We were all excited when they bought that place. I guess Fairbanks is finally living up to the family name, making investments that would last generations.” She shrugs with a sigh.
From across the tent, I hear Carlotta’s voice rising above the general murmur. “This date ball tastes like someone chewed up cardboard and rolled it in false hope!”
