Page 50 of Frosted Fakes

Before Julia could respond, the door chimed, and Tara came in, looking harried.

"Sorry I'm late. Bus broke down." She was already pulling on her apron. "What did I miss?"

"Julia turned into a competent businesswoman while you were stuck on the A36," Elliott said dryly.

"I did not."

"You reconciled the books. Voluntarily. Without being asked." Elliott's mouth twitched. "I think that qualifies."

Julia ducked her head, but she couldn't stop smiling.

THE REVIEW APPEARED that afternoon, just as they were about to close.

Julia was restocking napkins when her phone buzzed with a Google alert. She'd set one up for the bakery name, mostly out of anxiety about what Candice might be saying about them online. She didn’t trust that woman. But the notification had nothing to do with Candice.

Sweet Oakhaven: A Hidden Gem, read the headline. This charming bakery has quietly become one of the best-kept secrets in the county. The pastries are exceptional, flaky, buttery, and clearly made with skill. But what truly sets Sweet Oakhaven apart is the service. The woman behind the counter remembered my coffee order from a previous visit and asked after my cat, who I'd mentioned was unwell. In a world of impersonal transactions, this kind of genuine warmth is rare. Five stars.

Julia read it three times.

Then she burst into the kitchen, nearly colliding with Elliott, who was carrying a tray of scones that were going to rise overnight.

"We got a review!"

"Careful!" Elliott steadied the tray with the reflexes of someone who'd clearly dealt with kitchen chaos before. "What kind of review?"

"A good one. A really good one." Julia thrust her phone at Elliott. "Look. Five stars. They mentioned the service. They said I had a wonderful smile."

Elliott set down the tray and took the phone. Her eyes moved across the screen, and Julia watched her face for any reaction. A twitch. A quirk. Anything.

"Huh," Elliott said finally.

"Huh? That's all you've got? Huh?"

"It's a good review."

"It's an amazing review! We should celebrate. We should…" Julia cast around for ideas. "We should open a bottle of wine. Do we have wine? We must have wine somewhere. Everyone has wine."

"It's only half past six."

"It's a celebration! Time is irrelevant when you're celebrating." Julia was already heading for the stairs. "I'm sure I saw a bottle in the flat. Stay there. Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go?" Elliott called after her. "I live here."

Julia found the wine, a perfectly decent red that she'd bought weeks ago and forgotten about, and two glasses that didn't match. When she came back down, Elliott had finished arranging the éclairs and was leaning against the counter.

"You're really excited about this," Elliott observed.

"Aren't you?" Julia poured two generous glasses. "This is validation. This is proof that we're doing something right. That I'm doing something right. For once."

She handed Elliott a glass. Their fingers brushed.

"To Sweet Oakhaven," Julia said, raising her wine. "And to not burning it down."

"Yet," Elliott added, but she clinked her glass against Julia's anyway.

They drank in companionable silence. The evening light slanted through the kitchen windows, turning everything golden. Julia felt warm, and it wasn't just the wine.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.