Page 44 of Frosted Fakes

"I'm not." Tara straightened, not meeting Julia's eyes. "Just tired."

It was a lie, and not a particularly convincing one. Julia had spent years reading people, figuring out what they needed before they asked for it. It was her one genuine skill, honed through decades of trying to anticipate her mother's moods. And right now, Tara was radiating the particular energy of someone carrying something heavy.

"If you want to talk…" Julia started.

"I don't." Tara's voice was sharper than usual. She caught herself and softened. "Sorry. I just… there's nothing to talk about. Really. It’s not… I’m not ready."

Julia bit her lip. "Is it the secret? About me and Elliott? Because if keeping that is stressing you out, I completely understand. We never should have put you in that position…"

Tara actually laughed at that, though it came out more like a snort. "Trust me, keeping your fake relationship secret is the least of my worries." She rolled her eyes. "I'm very used to keeping secrets."

The words hung in the air, weighted with something Julia couldn't quite identify. Before she could probe further, the bell above the door chimed.

Candice came in wearing a smile that could curdle milk.

"Good afternoon!" Her voice was bright and false. "I thought I'd pop over and see how things are going. Neighborly concern, you know."

Julia summoned her customer service smile. "How kind. Can I get you something?"

"Oh, just browsing." Candice was already circling the display cases, examining their contents with the intensity of a health inspector looking for violations. "My, my. These do look… professional."

"Thank you."

"Almost too professional, really." Candice's eyes glinted. "For someone who's only been baking a few weeks."

Julia's smile stayed fixed. "I've had good teachers. And as you know, I’m a Richardson." It wasn’t often she got to use the family name like that, and, truth be told, she sort of liked reminding Candice of the fact.

"Mmm." Candice picked up a sourdough loaf, turning it over in her hands. "You know, it's funny. When I started my bakery, I spent years learning my craft. Years of early mornings and burned fingers and failed experiments. But I suppose when you're just playing baker, you can just skip all that unpleasantness."

The words landed like small, precise knives.

"I'm not playing anything," Julia said, though her voice came out weaker than she'd intended.

"Of course not, dear." Candice's smile widened. "I'm sure having a famous mother and unlimited resources has nothing to do with your sudden success. Some people are just naturally talented, aren't they? Born with silver whisks in their mouths. Though I don’t see many burns on those fingers of yours."

Julia opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. What could she say? Candice wasn't entirely wrong. Julia hadn't earned any of this. The bakery, the flat, even Elliott's help, all of it had been handed to her or arranged through circumstances rather than merit.

"I'll take this." Candice held up the sourdough. "Though I'm sure it can't compare to bread made by someone who actually trained for the work."

Julia rang her up in silence, her face burning.

Candice collected her change with a satisfied expression. "Lovely chat. We must do this again."

The bell chimed her exit.

Julia stood behind the counter, her hands trembling slightly, and tried to remember how to breathe.

"She's a snake."

Julia spun around. Elliott was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. How long had she been there? How much had she heard?

"Yeah," Julia said, thinking maybe they were on their way to a detente. Maybe Elliott was done being angry with her for no discernible reason.

Elliott raised an eyebrow. "But she’s not exactly wrong."

Julia swallowed.

"I mean, you didn't train for this. You don't know what you're doing. You're only here because your mother bought you a bakery and I happened to be living in it." Elliott's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Candice is a snake, but that doesn't mean she's lying."