Page 5 of Suddenly Yours

She was right. I had enough sweets to last two days at this point. If I didn’t have it, it was easy to run to the back and make it quickly. So I swallowed my fears. My heart skipped a beat and then settled. It was now or never. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay. We’re doing this.”

“Then open the door.” Cora nudged me playfully as she glidied toward the register like a sugar-scented ballerina general ready for war.

The front of my bakery had been ready for days thanks to Cade and his crew, who had done all the construction. Max and Cora had helped me arrange the rest.

Every table, chair, and display case was cleaned and waiting for customers. Natural wood ceilings warmed the space, their honeyed tones making the whole shop feel like a hug. One wall, my favorite, was the old painted brick I’d fought to keep. Now it was lined with four booths upholstered in bright red cushions that practically begged people to slide in and stay awhile. The tables were glossy white with tiny sparkles that caught the light whenever someone walked by, and the black-and-white-tiled floor gave everything a timeless, retro charm.

I’d even put classic food art on the empty walls to tease the taste buds.

Behind the register, a massive chalkboard stretched nearly the length of the wall, proudly listing pastries, prices, and my attempts at cute doodles. A short high-top bar ran along the side, just big enough for six stools, perfect for customers who wanted to sip coffee while watching the world pass the front windows. Speaking of which, my coffee and hot-chocolate bar sat right beneath that large window, filling the shop with the warm scents of roasted beans and melted cocoa. Half a dozen tables and chairs filled the dining area, and outside, four more sets waited on the little front patio, surrounded by flower beds that would explode with color once spring finally remembered our town existed.

The place was ready. Everything was perfect. Even if I still had that nagging feeling that something was missing deep down in my gut.

I smoothed my hair, not that it mattered; I was ninety percent flour at this point. I removed my messy apron and stepped out front. My palms were sweating. My pulse hammered.

I flipped the sign.

OPEN.

A cheer rose from the crowd outside, which had me grinning. My heart nearly burst as I unlocked the front door.

The first customers flowed in, locals I’d met over the past few months since moving here and strangers with kind smiles. A few people declared they’d been waiting since five that morning. Cora handled the register like a pro, taking orders with grace and lightning-fast fingers. I boxed pastries, smiled until my cheeks hurt, and tried not to cry when someone said, “We’ve been excited about this opening for weeks.”

Behind me, Cade and Max kept the back running like a well-oiled machine, refilling trays, swapping out pans, and snatching new batches from the oven. I caught glimpses of Cade through the doorway. His sleeves were rolled up and his forearms flexed as he moved. His shaggy dark hair kept falling over his brow as he moved around the kitchen.

Every time he noticed me watching, he flashed that slow friendly smile. What would I have done today without him?

When the rush eased a couple hours later, I stood behind the counter, dazed and extremely happy.

Cora leaned over. “I think this place is a huge success. I mean, I can’t tell you how many people promised they’d come by every morning.”

Max stepped out from the kitchen, brushing his hands on a towel. “I’m so proud of you.” He walked over and gave me a one-arm hug.

A few minutes later, Cade emerged from the kitchen with a half-eaten croissant sandwich in his hands. His eyes met mine quickly, and I realized that they were warm enough to melt chocolate.

“You crushed it,” he said softly and gave me a fist bump with his free hand, like he’d always done when I had impressed him. “These are the best.” He waved the last bite of the sandwich. “I’m probably going to get fat eating these every morning, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice if it means keeping this place open,” he joked.

“You’ve earned the sandwich and a dozen donuts,” I said, holding up an empty box. “Take your pick.” I waved to the wall of donuts.

“Free donuts?” His eyes grew wide. “Best day ever,” he whispered as he started picking out his favorites.

Chapter Two

Missy

It had been a full week since opening day, and I was finally starting to breathe again, just a little. The bakery no longer felt like a newborn teetering on wobbly legs; it felt like something alive and humming, something that pulsed beneath my feet every morning when I unlocked the front door. Every day, it felt like there was more oil on the cogs of the machine. Things just ran… smoother.

The scent that hit me when I walked in every day—warm sugar, toasted butter, vanilla, and a hint of espresso—was enough to ground me, like Yes, this is happening. You built this.

Meredith was back from her son’s wedding. Thankfully. The older woman practically glowed with motherly pride and showed photos to anyone who so much as glanced in her direction. But the moment she tied on her apron, she transformed. She moved through the kitchen like she was powered by invisible gears: kneading, mixing, portioning, sliding trays into ovens with the efficiency of someone who’d lived a hundred bakery lives before this one.

I’d thought that hiring only one full-time baker was a mistake. Now? The two of us easily filled all the display cases and still had enough energy left to complain about our feet at closing time. Plus, the woman had the touch with the machines. It was as if they were afraid to act up around her. And if they did, she had the skills to fix them.

“Well,” she’d joked that first day back, slapping dough onto a prep table, “looks like you didn’t burn the place down opening week. That’s a good sign.” Her humor made me smile each day. And every local in town seemed to know and respect her.

Brit Dillion, the college student I’d hired to handle the register and everything out front, did so like a pro. She had this wide, bright smile that sucked customers in like a warm hug, and somehow she always looked wide awake, even at five-thirty in the morning, when I was still squinting at the menu board, hoping it might rearrange itself into actual words. Her jet black hair was always half falling out of her long ponytail or bun, with strands floating around her face like she was in a constant state of motion. And maybe she was. She had the kind of youthful energy that made me tired just watching her… and also made me grateful that I’d hired her.

Brit’s younger sister, Ashley, came in after high school each day. She would lug her backpack behind her like it personally offended her. She didn’t talk much, but she worked hard at wiping tables, restocking pastries, ferrying dishes back to the sink. She reminded me of myself at that age: determined, observant, pretending not to care when she actually cared very deeply. I caught her taking photos of cookies more than once. I didn’t ask what for. I hoped it was something sweet.