“Doing well, dear.” She held up her bank bag and wiggled it. “Business is booming.” Her eyes traveled down Bri’s sweatshirt and faded jeans. “You really should come visit our boutique. I get new arrivals weekly, and I only accept things that aren’t worn out.”
She would never do that. “I’ll have to do that.”
“I meant to shop, of course, dear. I doubt you’d have anything to sell consignment.”
“Of course.” She’d learned a long time ago not to be offended. Sandra had two decades on her age-wise and thought of Charles like a brother. Her dumping him hadn’t gone over well, and the woman hadn’t grown to be gossip queen because she was quick to forgive and forget.
Sandra leaned in, like she was about to get a scoop. Except she didn’t lower her voice, because she’d never been able to whisper. Her voice practically bounced around the lobby. “How’s the feature going? Is he going to put Story on the map?”
It was a wonder she hadn’t come sniffing around the Pastry Puff yet to get a glimpse of Gerard. Or maybe she already had. Bri wouldn’t put it past Sandra to peer into windows after hours.
“I hope so.” Though she wasn’t sure how Gerard’s pen could write anything positive about the Pastry Puff at this point. He had warmed up to the petit fours, at least.
Sandra persisted. “I heard he’s incredibly handsome. Do you think so?”
“Um.” Bri peered past Sandra to the front of the line, checking for the holdup. Oh no. It was Mr. Piper and his monthly coffee can full of coins to roll. She was trapped. “Is who handsome?” She stalled, wishing she could hide behind the row of potted plants to their left. Or maybe shove Sandra into one of the giant decorative urns over by the loan officers’ cubicles.
Talk about a story.
“The magazine writer.” Sandra’s voice pitched with eagerness. “I heard he’s a total McDreamy. Do you think so?”
“Of course she does.”
The deep baritone startled Bri, and she turned. Gerard stood behind her, so close she almost bumped into his chest—that frustratingly broad chest.
“What do you want?” She stepped back, irritation rising quicker than Sandra’s penciled eyebrows.
“Oh my. You must be the writer.” Sandra held out her hand, palm down like Casey had, except this time there was no ring to show off.
Gerard shook her hand, oblivious, just like he’d done before. “In the flesh.”
“I’ll say.” Sandra’s eyes skipped over him.
Gerard coughed.
“Look, Sandra, it’s almost your turn. Mr. Piper is down to his last roll of quarters.” Bri stepped between them, turning to face Gerard. She lowered her voice. “Are you following me now?”
“You can follow me if you’d like,” Sandra piped up over her shoulder, her teeth extra white against her red lips. “I’ll be going to the coffee shop after this. I’d love to get to know you more. Maybe tell you a little bit about my business. I’m sure there’s plenty of room in the article for—”
“Next, please!” the teller called from the counter. Bri grabbed Sandra’s dress suit–clad shoulders and spun her around. “Off you go. I’ll make sure he knows everything he needs to know about Story.”
Sandra reluctantly walked to the counter, winking at Gerard before finally handing over her deposit.
“I’m confused.” Gerard stared after her, rubbing his chin with one hand. His stubble scratched against his palm. “Is she after me for my influence or for my body?”
“I’d guess both.” Bri pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. What a disaster. There was no telling what Sandra would spread around Story now. The last thing she needed was rumors of her having any involvement with Gerard, outside of being the main source for the feature.
Was this article even worth it?
Yes. Saving the Pastry Puff was worth it. Making a claim to fame in honor of the home where her mother had learned to bake was worth it. Sticking up for the dozens of love stories represented on the wall was worth it.
Gerard shifted his weight, voice lowering much more successfully than Sandra’s. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know I was pretty rude about your friend in there.”
“Which one?” Bri crossed her arms, tucking the bank bag against her chest.
“Mr. Mac. But I guess judging by your tone, Casey too.”
“Wow. You are smarter than you look.”
Gerard’s eyes widened a fraction, and he stepped back. “Nice shot.”
Her heart sank. Here she was having just convinced herself this was all worth it, and she couldn’t even be professionally polite. Something about Gerard turned her into the worst version of herself. “I’m sorry. I got defensive. Mr. Mac is the sweetest—”
“It’s okay, really.” Gerard smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I just wanted to clear that up.” He glanced at the lobby floor, then back up briefly as he stepped toward the front door. “I’ll see you soon.”
The door shut behind him, letting a bit of the warm lobby air escape. A chill—or maybe that was regret—rushed down her spine and into her toes. She glanced toward the front of the line, where Sandra stood facing her squarely, eyes wide and alert, lips parted.
Bri wanted to throw herself into an urn.
CHAPTER
TEN
You’re reminding me more of your mother every day.” Mabel patted Bri’s arm as she turned off the mixer and tossed the beaters into the sink. “You know she cleaned up as she baked too?”
“As everyone should.” Agnes sniffed as she dropped her purse on the nearest table.
They’d come in at 8:00 a.m. as usual, even though Bri had been baking since dawn. She didn’t mind—it was part of her job. Besides, she loved the way the quiet shop echoed the hum of the mixer, the warmth radiating from the double oven as she waltzed back and forth between the prepping station and the industrial sink. The way the canned lights in the front of the shop shone tiny spotlights above the display, which was begging to be filled with daily treats.
Baking alone
