“An absolutely delightful (and delicious!) romance by up-and-coming author Betsy St. Amant. I fell in love with cynical travel journalist Gerard and romantic, idealistic baker Bri and their story about the power of true love. (Warning: it’ll make you hungry!)”
Susan May Warren, USA Today bestselling author
“Wonderfully romantic and oozing with small-town charm, Betsy St. Amant’s latest left me smiling from ear to ear. Such an endearing, memorable cast of characters. What a heart-warmer!”
Katie Ganshert, award-winning author of No One Ever Asked
“A contemporary romance as sweet as the name, The Key to Love instantly had me chuckling while cheering Gerard and Bri on toward their own happily ever after. For you fans of charming bakeries, mischievous matchmakers, and wholesome love, you’re going to love this! Best read with a plate of macarons by your side!”
Melissa Ferguson, author of The Dating Charade
© 2020 by Betsy St. Amant
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2667-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Betsy’s Next Romance Novel
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
To my precious grandmother,
Betty Jo McLemore,
and to the love story you had
with my dear grandfather, “Mr. Mac.”
Now both of you are swallowed up in heaven,
experiencing the greatest love ever known.
Thanks for always being one
of my biggest fans.
CHAPTER
ONE
The only thing Bri Duval loved more than romance was a perfectly executed French macaron.
Fortunately, at least one of the two was within reach.
She nudged the pastel-purple, lavender-honey macaron into position on the paper-layered tray and carefully slid it into the display case next to the petit fours. Well, maybe both were in reach—just not for her.
Casey, a single mom and one of her regular customers at the Pastry Puff, would be in shortly, per her usual Tuesday routine, seeking a dessert and a latte after dropping her two toddlers at Mother’s Day Out.
If Mabel and Agnes’s plan was as perfectly executed as Bri’s macarons, then local fireman Nathan should be right behind her for his midmorning cinnamon coffee.
“Is she here yet?” Mabel rushed through the swinging door of the kitchen, out of breath, her attempt at contouring her makeup that morning smeared across her droopy cheekbones. But her blue eyes sparkled beneath white eyebrows, as they always did when she got a chance to play Cupid.
The winged legend didn’t stand much of a chance against Mabel and Agnes. The seventy-something co-owners of the Pastry Puff might too frequently blur the line between matchmaking and meddling, but they had proof of their success. And that proof was locked up tight in the bakery’s backyard.
Literally.
Bri brushed off the front of her apron even though it was already clean. It’d been a slow morning. “Don’t panic, Mabel. She’s not here yet.” She glanced at the clock ticking on the wall above the display case, its numbers black and bold against the pale pink paint.
Casey had no idea what was teaming up against her. Everyone knew and adored Casey, and the poor thing had survived more than one blind date set up by a well-meaning neighbor—hazards of a Midwest small town—but Mabel and Agnes were convinced Nathan was “the one” for Casey. And when those two were convinced of something, it was best to back out of the way—or better yet, pull up a chair and watch.
Bri was more than happy to have a front-row seat to the shenanigans. She only wished she could have been there when the arrows had flown into her parents’ hearts outside a tiny Parisian bakery decades ago. Talk about the match of the century.
The chimes above the front door jingled as Casey bustled inside, early autumn leaves blowing in on the heels of her sleek brown boots. She always looked put together in public—part of her real estate agent persona—though Bri had seen Casey more than once on her front porch swing in sweats, surrounded by tissues. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to raise two babies alone.
Or to just be a mom.
Bri batted away the discouragement before it could nest. Love couldn’t be rushed. Had her parents taught her nothing? She was only twenty-seven. Some things were worth the wait. And if waiting guaranteed a love like her parents’, then she could chill out and watch Mabel and Agnes matchmake around her—and possibly keep picking up a lot of “what not to do” tips.
Mabel clutched Bri’s arm in excitement. “She’s here!” She coughed twice, in what she often attempted to be a secret signal that her sister never seemed to catch. “Agnes, get out here!” The familiar hiss of Mabel’s failed whisper wafted through the bakery.
Casey politely averted her gaze to the ceiling, as if pretending not to notice the obvious as Agnes barreled through the swinging door behind the counter.
“What? Where!” Agnes’s voice, three times deeper than her sister’s, barked her confusion. She caught sight of Casey, adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, and patted her no-nonsense, brown-and-gray-speckled hair, as if it had somehow dared move out of place.
It wouldn’t dare. No one crossed Agnes.
The two elderly sisters were opposites, to say the least. Agnes was about as subtle and gentle as an elephant, stoic and sensible, always rotating through the same variety of dress slacks and blouses, while Mabel, wild at heart and dramatic, experimented with new lipsticks regularly and thought Bri was still the elementary-school girl
