Page 25 of Frosted Fakes

She wondered, briefly, if there was some sort of agency she could report Julia to. A government department for people who posed a clear and present danger to baked goods. A hotline for those victimized by chronic kitchen incompetence. Maybe a place that would come and take Julia away for being a danger to humanity.

Probably not.

But it was nice to imagine. And it would at least be a way of getting rid of Julia and getting her apartment back.

Chapter Nine

The phone call came at 9:47 a.m., right in the middle of Julia's fourth attempt at mixing something that was supposed to be sponge cake but that looked suspiciously vomit-like.

She glanced at the screen, saw "Mum" glowing, and seriously considered letting it go to voicemail. But Julia Richardson had never let a call from her mother go to voicemail in her entire life. It was probably hardwired into her DNA at this point, right next to the gene for disappointing everyone.

"Hi, Mum. I'm just in the middle of—"

"Darling, wonderful news!" Gabby's voice was the particular kind of bright that meant Julia was about to hate whatever came next. "I'm going to be filming in your area. Isn't that exciting?"

Julia's hand slipped. The bowl of almost-batter wobbled dangerously. "What?"

"A new special. 'Gabby's Country Kitchen'. Eight episode run, all filmed just down the road from you. How perfect is that?" To be fair, Gabby did sound quite excited about it. "And I thought, well, since I'll be so close, I can just pop in whenever. You know, check on how you’re doing and give you a few words of advice. We could have breakfast every day even."

The bowl crashed to the floor.

Julia barely noticed. Her brain had short-circuited somewhere around "pop in" and was now playing a highlight reel of every disaster she'd caused since arriving in Oakhaven. The burned scones. The collapsed bread. The smoke alarms. Elliott living in the flat that Gabby had paid for.

Elliott living in the flat that Gabby had paid for.

Oh God.

"Julia? Are you there? What was that noise?"

"Nothing! Just…um, dropped something. You’re coming here? To Oakhaven?"

"Mmmm. There’s a delicious little boutique hotel that is going to put me up. So I’ll be just down the road." Which meant Gabby would show up whenever she felt like it, probably at the worst possible moment. "I can't wait to see what you've done with the place. And to meet this team of yours. You do have a team, don't you?"

"Yes, I have Tara. She's wonderful."

"Just the one? Hmm." The disappointment was audible. "Well, we'll discuss staffing when I arrive. Must dash, darling. Kiss kiss."

The line went dead.

Julia stood frozen, phone in hand, batter pooling around her feet. This was fine. Everything was fine. Her mother was coming to inspect the bakery she couldn't run, to judge the life she hadn't wanted, and to discover the woman illegally squatting in the flat upstairs.

Completely fine.

"Julia?" Tara appeared in the kitchen doorway, took one look at Julia's face, and immediately grabbed a mop. "What happened?"

"My mother is coming."

"Oh." Tara's eyes widened. "The Gabby Richardson?"

"The one and only." Julia's voice came out slightly strangled. "She's filming nearby. She wants to 'pop in.' She's going to see everything. She's going to see how terrible I am at this. She's going to find out about—"

She cut herself off. Elliott. Gabby was going to find out about Elliott, and then there would be lawyers and evictions and Julia would have to watch Elliott get thrown out of her home because Julia was too spineless to tell her mother the truth.

The front door jingled. Jamie appeared, carrying what looked like a homemade quiche.

"Thought you could use some—" He stopped. "Why does Julia look like she's seen a ghost?"

"Her mother's coming," Tara said.