“No, but like”—she presses her lips together and looks around the empty booth—“as you were bakingthesethings, did you taste them?”
I feel like she’s coming at me with kid gloves when I need her to sock me in the face and tell me what’s going on.
“What’s wrong, Zo?” Miles asks calmly.
“This.” Ava holds out her phone, and Miles clicks on a paused video, moving beside me so I can watch it too.
On the screen, there’s a video by a girl whose social media account is Shannon in Chicago. She’s standing in the midst of thefoot traffic of this very farmers’ market, and now that I look at her, I remember her buying a sampler box.
“Good morning, Shan-fans, we are here at the Lincoln Square Farmers Market, and we’ve just stumbled across a brand-new bakery coming to the neighborhood in just a couple weeks. You know we are all about supporting small-business owners here at Shannon in Chicago, and we were super excited to hear the concept of a small-town, Midwest-inspired bakery right here in the heart of the city. It’s called The Porch, and the whole idea is that you come in, and you feel like you’re spending time relaxing on the big, cozy porch of an old farmhouse.”
My stomach sinks because I know there’s a “but” coming—a “but” that’s going to feel a lot like an anvil being dropped on my head.
Zoey turns away, and Ava chews her thumbnail.
“So I was excited to try it. You guys know I love my sweets. But... something is really off with this stuff. We ordered the sampler pack, a box of six signature treats that are going to be featured at The Porch. The Scotcheroo, Porch pecan bars, snickerdoodle scones, oatmeal cream pie sandwiches, lemon bars, and your traditional sugar cookie.
“They all look amazing.” She holds them up to show the camera. “But I took a bite of every single one, and I can tell you, without hesitation, that these are”—she walks over to a trash can and tosses the whole box inside—“garbage. I’m pretty sure that the baker at The Porch needs to get back to basics and learn the difference between salt and sugar.” She laughs. “Now I’m going to go find something to drink to get the horrible taste out of my mouth.”
The video ends, and I stand there unmoving, my vision cloudy and out of focus.
“Claire,” Miles says.
My mind races. What went wrong? What did I do?
“That can’t be right,” I say, hands shaking. “I need to get back to the bakery. I need to check on this.” I look around. “There’s no way I made such a basic, simple mistake.” I look at Miles. “Are we sure this woman isn’t just trying to sabotage me? Maybe she’s another bakery owner or something?”
“She’s not the only one talking about it,” Zoey says softly.
My eyes fill with tears. “No.”
She looks at me. “I’m so sorry, Claire.”
“Let me see,” I say.
Zoey’s holding her phone, but Miles puts a hand on it before she can show it to me. “No.”
“I need to see what they’re all saying.”
“You don’t,” he says firmly. “We’re going to break everything down, and we’re going to come up with a plan.”
“What kind of plan could possibly make this okay?” I ask, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I sank everything into this business! Everything! This was supposed to work out, this was supposed to show everyone that I—” I can’t even finish.
I know how negativity travels on the internet. And I also know that launching in two weeks in the wake of this mess is going to be an absolute disaster.
And there’s no one to blame but myself.
A single, horrible, unwanted thought drops into my mind.
John was right.
Chapter 28
“Claire, it’s going to be okay.” Lennon is outside my bathroom at The Porch, and I’ve locked myself inside. I’m doomscrolling through the comments on videos I’ve been tagged in.
And I’m crying.
After we packed up the booth, I refused to go home without inspecting my kitchen. And Shannon in Chicago was right.
