Page 54 of Frosted Fakes

And Julia noticed, because Julia noticed everything.

"Are you alright?" Julia asked at around noon, when Elliott emerged from the kitchen looking like she'd lost a fight with a bag of flour.

"Fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like you want to murder someone. More than usual, I mean."

"I said I'm fine."

Julia's face did something acrobatic, fleeting between hurt, then understanding, then careful neutrality. "Okay. Well, if you want to talk…"

"I don't."

"Right. Of course." Julia turned back to her customer, her smile snapping into place like a mask.

Elliott retreated to the kitchen and tried not to feel guilty about the flash of hurt she'd seen in Julia's eyes. She didn't want to talk. Talking meant explaining, and explaining meant admitting that she was scared. Scared of Milly getting older. Scared of losing the one person who'd believed in her when no one else had.

The afternoon batch of bread came out dense and heavy. Elliott stared at it like it had personally betrayed her. Which it had. Bastard bread.

"Wow," Tara said, peering over her shoulder. "That's… not great."

"Thank you for your insightful commentary."

"Just saying. You're usually scary good at this."

Elliott took a deep breath. "It's nothing. Just an off day."

"Sure." Tara didn't look convinced. "I'll, um… go help Julia."

The kitchen door swung shut, and Elliott was alone with her failed bread and her spiraling thoughts.

THE BELL ABOVE the door chimed at half past five, and Elliott knew before she even looked that it would be Gabby Richardson.

She appeared at the worst possible moments, like a particularly well-dressed harbinger of doom. Today she came in wearing a burgundy coat, her dark hair immaculate, her smile sharp enough to wound.

"Darling!" Gabby's voice carried through the shop. "I was in the neighborhood."

As usual. Elliott was beginning to suspect she'd moved into a tent on the high street. And, of course, it was no coincidence that Jamie was just opening up next door for the evening.

Through the kitchen doorway, Elliott could see Julia's shoulders go rigid. Poor woman. Having Gabby Richardson as a mother must be like living with a judgmental tornado.

"Mum!" Julia's voice was bright and false. "What a lovely surprise."

Elliott steeled herself and stepped out of the kitchen. Time to perform.

Gabby's eyes found her immediately. "Elliott. Wonderful. I was hoping to catch you both."

"Mrs. Richardson." Elliott moved to Julia's side and slid an arm around her waist. Julia leaned into her automatically now, which was either good acting or… something else that Elliott absolutely wasn’t going to examine too closely.

"Gabby, please. We're practically family." The words dripped with implications. She looked Elliott up and down. "You know, we really should spend a little time together, you and I. Get to know each other better. I've been meaning to have a proper chat with you, Elliott. About your background."

Elliott's stomach dropped. "My background?"

"Your training. Your experience." Gabby's smile didn't waver. "I like to know who my daughter is involved with. Professionally speaking, of course."

"Of course."

"So." Gabby leaned on the counter like she was settling in for a long interrogation. "Where did you train? Le Cordon Bleu? The Culinary Institute? I hear the pastry program at…"