“That’s wonderful, Deke,” I said, smiling at him. “I hope you like the movie, and I’m sure Connor will love the platter.”
“Thanks, Ivy,” he replied, his eyes shining with happiness. “I can’t wait to give it to him. He said he had peanut brittle at his store, and he’ll give me a bagful. That’s my favorite.”
We walked together toward the bakery, chatting about the gallery and Deke’s ceramics. Mom’s enthusiasm was infectious,and it was clear how much she valued Deke not just as a friend but as a fellow creator of beautiful things. With a last hug and a wave at Deke, I watched as they crossed the street and disappeared into The Sweet Shoppe.
And I silently swore an oath toendmy across-the-street competitor if he ever did anything to make Deke unhappy in any way. I’d dip him headfirst into his own vat of boiling hot chocolate, if I had to.
And that thought kept me smiling all the way back to the bakery.
15
“Thanks, Mrs. Peterson.” I handed Fran’s best friend a cranberry bagel and a cup of coffee. I was sure her request was a pity order, because word had gotten around about the bakery’s sagging sales, but I’d take it. Things hadn’t gotten better on Monday. If anything, they were worse, the echoingly quiet interior of my place haunting me day after day. We’d even turned off the coffee machine at one point since no one was ordering.
By the time Thursday arrived, I was almost in full-blown panic mode. Not that the customers who did come in would know it. I’d become a master at hiding my real feelings, something I’d been good at before… but now carried to epic proportions.
The only comforting thought I’d had was Mom had told me Connor hadn’t gone to the movie with Deke. He’d apologized to Deke and said he had a meeting that night he couldn’t get out of, and that suited me fine. The mental image of him doing some sort of bonding with Deke really bugged me, and the thought of him being unkind to Deke in any way was nerve-wracking, I knew Marigold wouldn’t have let anything happen, butstill…
“Come again, Mrs. Peterson.”
“You know I will, Ivy,” Connie Peterson said, patting my hand. “You make the best bagels in town.”
“Thanks.” Her praise was pretty hollow, considering I was the only person in town who made bagels—except for the deli. They made their own bagels for their sandwiches.
When Mrs. Peterson walked out the door, Bell’s Bakery was once again empty.
Was this going to be the story of my life? I felt my whole body shiver as an image passed through my mind. Connor MacDowell sweeping in, buying my bakery out from under me when I failed and making me work for him, his empire of sweets sweeping over Jingle Junction in a plague of sugar and Scottish accents.
“Maybe it’s time we close down the coffee portion of the bakery,” I said to Ella as the sense of defeat settled around me. “For good. We can’t compete.” I waved off her protest with a smile I hoped looked brave. “I never wanted to focus on coffee, anyway. Obviously, people are enjoying Connor’s coffee instead, so why not just let him have it?” Fighting had only turned him into an enemy who was clearly better at this competition thing than I was. “It’s not a big deal to me.” Oh, was I getting good at lying, or what? “In fact, I realize if we take down the coffee area, we’ll have more room for baked goods.”
Baked goods no one is buying, Ivy.
Ella shook her head. “We arenotshutting down the coffee section of the bakery. Nowayare we letting him win.”
I shrugged, truly exhausted from the daily stress and worry. This wasn’t how I wanted to live, or how I wanted my business to affect me. I’d been so happy. How had everything gone downhill this fast? “He’s kind of won already.”
Maybe it was time to admit that I really wasn’t that good at what I did, and the only reason I’d been busy was because I’d been the only bakery spot in town. That thought hurt way morethan anything else, since it meant I was letting down the women who came before me. But what other explanation could there be?
Ella stalked over to the window and glowered across the street. A line was still prevalent most days, though it was shorter than it had been previously. Still, there were people standing in the February cold, waiting to get in the door. “Look at him with his fancy lights around his sign,” Ella said, an edge of disapproval in every syllable. “It’s like he’s purposely taunting you. Trying to say he outshines you in everything he does.”
“I’m sure that’s not his intent.” Truth was, I hadn’t seen Connor MacDowell since he’d stormed into my bakery last week and caused us to be the talk of the town.
Dad had stopped by Monday night at my house and tried to talk about what had happened, but I waved him off, saying I had a headache and was tired. The whole confrontation was still too fresh at that time to discuss me being the gossip on everyone’s lips. He’d finally relented and gone home.
I spent the next few hours working on the last of the heart-shaped sugar cookies I was making for the Blair-Fitzpatrick wedding. It was only two days away, and seeing as how I obviously wasn’t going to be selling out of heart-shaped cookies for Valentine’s Day now that the town had a candy shop, I planned on taking some of the cookies I’d foolishly made yesterday, thinking we’d have a push on Valentine’s Day orders on Thursday and Friday.
“And we’re done,” Ella said, stretching out her back as we wrapped up the order, work done in record time since neither of us had to leave to staff the counter for customers very often. Silver linings and all that. “Two hundred cookies finished two days before the wedding!” she said with a weary smile. “That has to be a record for us.”
I smiled. “I think you’re right.”
The jingle of the bell overhead made us both perk up. In fact, the two of us headed toward the door to the public part of the bakery at the same time, running out to see who our customer was. I stopped in my tracks, absolutely stunned when Gracie, our sixteen-year-old weekend helper, waved to me from where she stood hesitantly by the front door.
“Hey, Gracie,” I said, surprised to see her. “What’s up?”
She cleared her throat and looked over my shoulder at the wall. “Uh, Ivy. Hi. Well, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to look as nervous as I felt. The tone Gracie was using wasn’t her normal, cheerful demeanor, and the knot in my stomach that had never quite gone away tightened further. “What’s did you need?”
Her eyes darted to me, then to Ella, then back to the wall. “Uh, see. It’s like this. I’m going to quit. Okay? Quit working for you on the weekends, I mean.” She fidgeted with the doorknob behind her. “No hard feelings, okay?”
