“And that’s because of the retreat.” A sinking feeling pulled at Sarah’s stomach, like a heavy anchor tossed overboard and dragging her under.
“It could be due to a lot of things, sweetie. We don’t know.”
“But we do.” Sarah discarded her half-eaten cookie to the island counter, no longer hungry. “Why hasn’t Lance said anything?”
“He spoke with your father about it for a bit this evening.”
“He talked toDadabout it, and he hasn’t mentioned a word to me?” There was a sense of betrayal in the act that Sarah wasn’t even sure she was entitled to feel. She was the one hurting his business. She was the one occupying the space where his customers typically stayed. She was contributing to his current predicament, and she knew she was the one who had to ultimately make it right.
Finding a solution for Major Hart Mountain Sports clients was about to become Sarah’s next chapter, and it was solely her responsibility to mend the discord she’d unwittingly introduced into Lance’s business.
Only she didn’t have the foggiest idea where to begin.
CHAPTER 22
Lance had gotten to Summit Sweets a half hour early, hoping to catch Sarah before she showed up with her crew of writers, but he was still the first to arrive.
“Come on in.” Faith, the baker, waved him inside from behind the counter as Lance vacillated in the doorway. “Your girlfriend should be here any minute.”
It still felt so strange to hear Sarah referred to as that, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. It made his stomach feel warm, like that first delicious bite of a sugar cookie. But maybe that had a little to do with the spread before him. Faith had pushed all of the bakery’s tables toward the center of the room, and set out cookies, piping bags, and sprinkles at every individual workstation.
“Anything I can help with?” Lance asked if only for pleasantry’s sake. It seemed like Faith had a good handle on things.
“I’ve got it all covered.” Her head lifted up and down almost imperceptibly as she counted the spaces. “And it looks like I’ve got an extra station in case you want to join us.”
“Oh, I was just planning to be here for moral support for Sarah. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You’re telling me you don’t want to decorate your own cookie?” She gave him a dubious look. “I find that very hard to believe.”
He relented quickly, his mouth already watering. “Only if you’re sure you have enough.”
“There’s a reason they call it the baker’s dozen.” Her right eye winked and a big smile burst onto her face. “That thirteenth spot is going to be empty unless you take it. And if youdon’t, then I’ll be forced to, and you do not even want to know how many cookies I consume in a day. Believe me, you’ll be doing me—and my waistline—a favor.” She gently patted her flat stomach. “Seriously, take a seat.”
Lance scooted out one of the chairs and lowered onto it. There was a blank sugar cookie cut into the shape of a stack of books on a napkin in front of him, as well as five piping bags filled with the primary colors, along with black and white. Next to it was a notecard with what Lance assumed to be instructions.
“You know what would be a big help? If you got started while we’re waiting for the others to arrive,” Faith said. “Then I could use yours as a demo.”
The baker had an unlikely confidence in his creative skills, seeing that she’d never witnessed them.
“I’m happy to get started, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be anything you’ll want to use.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Lance,” she snickered. “And don’t worry. It’s just a cookie.”
She was right. If he made a complete mess of things, he could easily wipe the icing off. And if it was a true disaster, he could always eat the evidence.
Lifting one of the piping bags into his hand, he followed Faith’s instructions written out on a little notecard at the place setting. He adjusted his grip to squeeze a dollop of yellowfrosting onto the top book in the stack, then alternated between the remaining colors to fill in the books beneath it.
“Looking good,” Faith said over his shoulder as she wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “You’re a pro.”
“Definitely not a pro.” Lance chuckled.
“Then a natural, at least.”
The little bell above the entrance door chimed suddenly, pulling Lance’s attention away from his cookie creation and toward Sarah and the group of authors that trailed behind her like a mama with her ducklings. They were chattering happily away like old friends as they stepped into the bakery, bringing with them a contagious buzz of excitement.
“Well, hello there, writers!” Faith clapped loudly in welcome. “So happy to have you all at Summit Sweets this afternoon. Go ahead and find an empty seat and we’ll get started in just a few.”
Sarah splintered off from the others, and when she glimpsed Lance already seated at one of the tables, deep in his work, she gave him the most genuine grin.
