Page 41 of Frosted Fakes

"Isn't that sweet," Gabby said, in a tone that suggested she might be thawing slightly to the idea of Julia having a girlfriend.

The door chimed again, and Julia's stomach dropped further. Candice swept in wearing a pink tweed jacket and an expression of pure calculation.

"Gabby Richardson!" Candice's voice went up an octave. "I thought I saw you through the window. What an absolute honor. I'm Candice Green. I own The Sweet Spot across the street." She thrust out her hand. "I'm such a tremendous fan of your work. I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done."

Gabby shook Candice's hand with the enthusiasm of someone handling a damp flannel. "How nice."

Julia looked at Elliott and Elliott pulled a face. If anyone was going to blow things now, it was going to be Candice.

"I simply had to come and say hello. And try one of these croissants, of course." Candice's smile turned pointed as she looked at Julia. "I've heard such interesting things about the baking here. Everyone's saying how much it's improved since Elliott arrived."

Julia felt Elliott's arm tighten around her waist.

"The croissants are exceptional," Gabby said, and Julia nearly fell over from shock. "I had one yesterday. Perfectly laminated. Excellent butter distribution."

Candice's smile flickered. "Oh. Well. That's… lovely."

"Mmm." Gabby was already looking toward the window, clearly bored with Candice's existence. "Julia, darling, I really can't stay. I've just remembered I have a fitting after all. The chartreuse crisis has apparently been resolved."

"Of course, Mum." Julia couldn't quite keep the relief out of her voice.

Gabby leaned in and air-kissed both of Julia's cheeks. "We'll have dinner soon. All three of us." She shot Elliott a look that promised interrogation. "I just can’t deal with the adoring public today, darling."

Julia fought back a smile and determinedly did not look in Candice’s direction.

Gabby swept out as dramatically as she'd arrived. And Candice, looking thoroughly deflated at being dismissed so quickly, muttered something about checking on her own shop and followed.

Julia and Elliott stood frozen, still pressed together, until the door closed behind them both.

"Well," Elliott said. "That was something."

"That was a disaster." Julia stepped away, immediately missing the warmth of Elliott's arm. "She's going to want dinner. She's going to ask questions. She's going to—"

"We'll figure it out." Elliott's voice was calm, steady. "We've got our story straight. We just need to sell it better."

"Sell it better how?"

Elliott looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable in her dark eyes. "Practice. Tonight, after closing. I'll teach you some baking basics so you can at least sound like you know what you're talking about. Hopefully, that’ll help put Candice off the scent as well."

"I thought you said I was hopeless."

"You are." The corner of Elliott's mouth twitched. "But even hopeless cases can learn theory."

✽✽✽

The kitchen was quiet after closing, the kind of peaceful silence that Elliott usually treasured. No customers, no fire alarms, no chaos. Just her and the familiar hum of the refrigerator and the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights.

And Julia, standing at the counter looking at a ball of dough like it might attack her.

"It's just flour and water," Elliott said. "It's not going to bite."

"You say that, but I've had dough do unexpected things before." Julia poked it gingerly. "It's sticky."

"That's because you haven't worked it enough. Here." Elliott moved to stand beside her, close enough that she could smell Julia's shampoo. Something citrus. Distracting. "Put your hands in."

Julia complied, her fingers sinking into the soft dough with visible reluctance.

"Now push the heel of your hand forward. Fold it back. Push again." Elliott watched Julia's awkward attempts and sighed. "You're not kneading bread, you're fighting with it. Relax your shoulders."