But their love story was something out of a romance novel. Bri’s childhood was filled with comfortable, secure memories of love and affection and teamwork. Her parents got aggravated sometimes, like when her mom would calm her father down while he stressed over finances, but who didn’t worry over money?
If Bri hadn’t had such a lucrative life insurance policy paid to her when her parents passed away, she’d be stressing over money every day too. But that policy had bought her townhome and her car and padded her savings so she could live off her small salary from the Pastry Puff. She still had to be careful, but she could afford to give, just like her parents had given to her, and just like Mabel and Agnes regularly gave to the people of the town.
Too bad it wasn’t enough to buy out the Puff and hush Charles once and for all.
Casey’s words pinged softly through Bri’s thoughts as she readied the baking sheet for the oven. But that couldn’t be right. When love was love, it had to at least feel pretty perfect. That was romance at its finest—not shallow but glossy. Not surface level but deep and still and peaceful. After all, her parents never fought. She always figured fighting was a sign of a damaged relationship and had broken up with more than one casual boyfriend in high school and college because of it.
No, Bri was right. She had to be—and she had a trunkful of letters to prove it.
She tossed her oven mitt aside. Her parents’ love might have been rare, but clearly such love was possible. She was glad Casey had found her version of it with Nathan. He was a good guy—sweet, treated her right, took care of her kids, and clearly cared a lot about her if he was willing to dive into her “mess,” as Casey put it. That was great.
But as for Bri, she would keep holding out for the guy with the drizzled chocolate desserts and the hidden rings and the fireworks.
CHAPTER
NINE
Gerard had worked on his article for about half an hour at a breakfast diner a few blocks from the Pastry Puff, and halfway through his plate of bacon, he found himself at a brick wall. He really needed more quotes to keep going, which meant more conversations with Bri.
Though, if he were honest with himself, he’d admit the writer’s block wasn’t because of a lack of quotes. It was because he didn’t want to write this story.
But admitting that meant stopping long enough to process why, and he didn’t want to stop. He never stopped. Hence his fascination with world travel. He was good at roaming.
He wasn’t good at roots.
Gerard, laptop bag on his shoulder, hesitated on his way into the Pastry Puff. That same girl he almost ran over heading into the Puff yesterday was hanging out at the counter with Bri. He looked closer—she also appeared to be the same girl from the YouTube video Peter had made him watch that started this whole feature in the first place.
Maybe he could quote her next, give Bri a break a little longer. That would also give him time to work on Charles and figure out exactly where this new angle was going to take him—and how far he was willing to go to make sure it took him somewhere.
Gerard opened the door.
“Have you had any more luck with that secret ingredient?” the YouTube girl was asking.
Bri shook her head. “No, and I’ve tried everything. Extra vanilla. Extra almond extract. Lemon. Cinnamon.”
“Morning, ladies.”
Both girls straightened at his voice and turned his way. One offered a friendly smile, one quickly glanced away. He wasn’t surprised which did which.
“Good morning.” The YouTube star beamed, running her fingers through her long hair. She was pretty, in an athletic way. Long brown hair, naturally tan skin. Her eyes shone as if she’d just revealed a secret.
Yet for all her pretty, glowing happiness, he couldn’t tear his eyes off Bri, who stood demurely behind the counter, eyes averted, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. That blasted apron covered the lower half of her sweatshirt, which read Wanderlust, the same word that was on the stepping-stone outside by the love-lock wall—and on the décor at the bakery counter.
Interesting. Or maybe annoying. He hated gimmicks.
He joined them at the counter. He probably needed to turn on the charm, get this girl to talk and give him the information he needed for the write-up. But a second glance at her bouncing on her heels and twisting a ring around her finger confirmed he wouldn’t have to make much effort. This chick was about to burst with news.
“Coffee?” Bri asked politely from her side of the dessert display, but he could see in her eyes that she was guarded. So, she was still being weird from last night. Good to know.
“Please.”
She filled a mug for him, not even noticing the smile he’d made sure to offer. She slid it across the counter to him and he took a sip. Horrible.
He set the cup down. “What’s this about a secret ingredient?”
“Nothing.” Bri pointed across the display to the brunette. “You remember Casey? From the YouTube videos we made for the love-lock wall.”
Not the most subtle subject change, but he’d roll with it for now. Gerard held out his hand. “I don’t believe we met. I almost ran you over yesterday coming in here, though.”
“No worries.” She placed her left hand in his, but not in a shaking position. Rather, she held it out
