She paused, then asked softly, “Are you jealous?”
2
Iretreated back to the baking area, realizing her question hit harder than it should. Ella walked in behind me, not saying a word. I pulled a bag of frosting out of the small fridge and started piping swirls of pink royal icing onto an oversized sugar cookie to hide my discomfort. I knew Ella would never intentionally do anything to hurt me. It was hardly her fault I was single, and she was happily married, so why make her feel bad?
“Maybe I am just a little jealous,” I finally whispered.
Okay, more than a little.
“Look at me being silly and distracting you,” Ella said, talking a bit too fast, as though she wanted to put that question behind her as much as I did. “You have the Blair-Fitzpatrick wedding to focus on. Isn’t it romantic they’re getting married on Valentine’s Day?” She beamed at me then, and I admit I was grateful she’d shifted the conversation to something that made me happy.
“I think so. I’ll be starting the sugar flowers soon,” I said. “I’ve given myself three days to complete those.”
“Between the sugar flowers and hand-piped lace decorations, you’ll have forty hours into that wedding cake, no problem.” Ella loaded up plates into the dishwasher, then washed her handsand joined me in decorating cookies. The bakery was quiet for the moment, and I was happy for the help. “I’ve never seen such delicate sugar work on a wedding cake,” Ella commented. “You know, you could have charged more.”
She was right, of course. I should have charged more, but Junie Blair’s parents were friends with my dad and stepmom, and I didn’t want to cause hard feelings. Still, it was true that if they’d ordered the cake from a bakery in the city, they’d have paid thousands for what I was making.
Not even Ella knew, however, that making the cake for a lower price had a motive—I was hoping it would result in me landing on some pretty influential lists once the towering cake creation hit social media.
“I’m going to go change out the Valentine’s Day cookie Santa is holding in the front window,” I said, “and then take out the trash. Can you finish up here?”
Ella nodded, wiping icing from her fingertip. “You bet, Ivy.”
The bell jingled over the front door, interrupting the love song playing through the speakers. Nothing sounded as satisfying to me as hearing that joyful tinkle. It meant someone wanted to buy one of my creations, and I couldn’t fight the pride that rose every time a new person walked through my door.
“Welcome to Bell’s Bakery!” I said to the two bundled-up women who approached the counter, peering down into the glass case. “Please let me know if you need any help.”
“Thank you,” a middle-aged woman with short brown hair said. Her petite companion was bent over, scanning the goodies on the other side of the display case. “This is our first trip to Jingle Junction, and the way you all have blended Valentine’s Day and still maintain the Christmas theme is amazing.”
I smiled at her. “Why, thank you! A lot of that has to do with my sister, Joy. She’s the city planner.”
I worked hard, but Joy was the hardest working one of us all, hands down.
“Well, hats off to her,” the woman said as she peered down into the display case. “Now, Betty, what should we get?”
As the two women discussed the pros and cons of each item in the display case, I changed out the oversized cookie the Santa mannequin was holding in the front window. When three more customers came in after the ladies, who still hadn’t made up their minds but now were chatting with Ella about the origin of Valentine’s Day, I got my new guests seated. A quick chat to take their orders, and I started delivering the pastries they requested and cups of fresh, hot coffee.
When the first pair of ladies finally decided on their order, I rang them up and left them to eat in peace. Ella stayed out front as I strolled into the kitchen, grabbed two bags of trash, and headed out the bakery’s back door. I’d just deposited the garbage in the large bin in the alleyway, when I heard loud voices echoing down the narrow space between my building and the next. The lid thudded closed as I brushed my hands together and headed toward the street to see what was happening.
A large yellow moving van that hadn’t been there moments before was now parked directly across the street from my bakery. A zing of excitement shot through me at the thought that someone was going to reopen the pizza place. The previous owners had retired a few months back, and since their two children were grown and moved from Jingle Junction, Milo and Theresa Bernardi had no one to pass the pizza shop down to. So, to the disappointment of citizens and tourists alike, Bernardi’s Pizza had closed and been vacant ever since. Now, it looked like it would once again be surging back to life, and my mouth actually watered at the thought. The memory of pepperoni and olives on perfect, hand-tossed crusts danced in my memory.
“I wonder who bought it,” I murmured to myself as I strained to get a glimpse of someone I might know from town. Funny, I hadn’t heard even a single rumor of the place opening back up again. “Show yourself, neighbor.”
A few seconds later, a deep male voice boomed out, giving directions to someone. I turned my head to hear better. Between the cacophony on the street from passersby and the clang of movement inside the truck, it was hard to hear the details, but I could swear I detected the faintest trace of a foreign accent.
When a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders jumped down from the back of the moving truck and pulled out a ramp for unloading, the zing of excitement that shot through me this time wasn’t just because I was excited to see someone opening the pizza place. This guy was by far the most attractive man I’d seen in Jingle Junction since… well, since Max Hill came to town. But he was Holly’s guy, so I couldn’t think about him too much. The stranger across the street spoke to a thin, blond man who was backing a hand truck down the ramp, maneuvering the tall stack of boxes with caution.
The dark-haired stranger was seriously hot. I hadn’t realized I had a type, not until just then. When the stranger suddenly looked up and turned to stare at me, I caught my breath. Yes, totally and completely my type.
The trouble was, it almost felt like I had been caught spying on him, but I didn’t know why. I hadn’t been doing anything wrong. For some reason, I felt like I had. Gazing at him head-on was even more thrilling and intimidating, though, so no matter how I felt about it, I couldn’t seem to look away even if I wanted to.
Even when it seemed like he was scowling, his dark brows pulled together, making the handsome lines of his face appear almost angry. He was still a good distance away, but I couldn’tseem to tear my gaze from him. My heavens, the man was as delicious as one of my pastries.
Or Bernardi’s pizza.
Embarrassed by my reaction to him and wanting to look at least friendly and not as if I was staring at a total stranger like a lunatic, I lifted my hand, smiled, and waved enthusiastically—a little too enthusiastically, if I was being honest.
He continued to stare at me for a few more seconds before nodding once and then turning back around to direct the workers. I was now waving at no one in particular in the most awkward way possible. I dropped my hand, feeling ridiculous and humiliated and like everyone was staring at me.
