I kiss her again before she can say anything else.
Because I’ve waited long enough.
And this time—I’m not letting her go.
EPILOGUE: TAYLOR
ONEYear Later
The sky is barely light when I unlock the front door, the bell chiming softly overhead as I step inside. The bakery smells faintly of yesterday’s citrus tarts—another take on my favorite lemon-blueberry pairing.
I flip the lights on one by one.
Warmth fills the space slowly—glowing against glass display cases, polished counters, the black-and-white tile I once stood on in disbelief, trying to convince myself it was real.
Even a year later, it still feels a little unreal.
Just surreal and dreamy in the best way.
“Morning, boss.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Kara slipping in behind me, already halfway through tying up her freshly dyed, bubble-gum pink hair, a coffee balanced in one hand and her phone in the other.
Now that she’s no longer under The Trunch’s dictatorship, she shows up with a different hair color every other month.
“You’re late,” I say, not even trying to hide my smile.
She scoffs. “I’m three minutes behind schedule. That’s not late, that’s fashionablydelayed. Besides, I came in right behind you.”
“And I’m also late. Plus, you literally made the schedule.”
“Exactly,” she says, pointing at me like I’ve proven her point. “Which means I get to interpret it however I see fit.”
I shake my head on a laugh, turning back to the counter as I reach for my apron.
Kara moves through the shop with practiced confidence, like she belongs here now—because she does. Six months ago, she signed the lease on the apartment next door to the one Alex and I share, and somehow, between that and taking over the logisticsside of the business, she’s become just as essential to this place as the ovens themselves.
She handles orders, inventory, staffing, customer inquiries; everything I used to try to juggle on my own until I was one minor inconvenience away from a full breakdown.
Which means now, I just get to do what I do best.
Bake.
Well… mostly, anyway.
The day side ofTaylor’s Treatsruns like a proper storefront with customers in and out, display cases filled, a steady hum of business that still makes something in my chest swell every time I step back and take it in.
And at night, the other half of the dream kicks in.
Northern Flame’sdessert menu is all mine with my vision feeding into Alex’s. Our individual businesses are still very much their own things, but connected and deeply intertwined.
Just like we are.
“Okay,” Kara says, snapping her fingers as she examines our detailed agenda on her phone. “We’ve got three custom pickups before noon, a last-minute cupcake order for some kind of corporate thing, and…” She pauses, squinting at the screen, “Gladys asked if we could recreate her dog in cake form again.”
I freeze mid-reach for a mixing bowl. “No.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” she replies immediately with a laugh. “I’ll just tell her we respect animals too much for that, and that one time was more than enough.”
