Gerard ran a hand down his face and groaned as he followed her from the kitchen back into the front of the bakery. “Now I’ve actually heard everything.”
“Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve traveled the world—surely you’ve heard weirder.”
“Weirder? Yes. Cornier, no. Not even close.”
Bri pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and began stacking macarons in the bakery display. Her plan was working—convince Casey to get married at the love-lock wall, pitch it to the local news station, gain publicity for the cause . . . and watch Charles slink away in defeat with an unsigned contract. So far, she’d gained two and a half of the three.
Hopefully the news bite would generate the uproar she needed to make Charles back off for good.
She nestled a macaron in its place on the next row. Lavender, tangerine, and chocolate—the perfect Autumn lineup. “I can’t believe he already called you.”
“I can’t believe you had him call me at all.”
She met Gerard’s gaze, which looked about as weary as she felt. This feature was getting to him too. “You said you were going to help. That the article was going to be all it needed to be.”
“Right. The article will be. I never said anything about going on TV.”
Uh-oh. Bri hesitated. “Adam asked you to be on the show?”
“Heck no.” Gerard flinched. “I’m not going to lie on TV about love and romance.”
Thank goodness. The last thing they needed was more of his darkness dust sprinkled over this entire event. “Then what do you mean?”
“I mean, he alluded to how me writing this feature was a large part of why he was going to broadcast anything at all. Apparently having Trek behind the scenes gives the Pastry Puff more value.”
“That’s ridiculous. The Puff is already invaluable.”
Gerard shrugged. “To you, yes. But not necessarily to the entire town and beyond.”
“Everyone loves us. Everyone loved my mom.” Bri rolled in her lip to stop the stream of words threatening to burst forth. She hadn’t meant to go there. But it was all so inexplicably mixed together. Like trying to separate dry ingredients once they already had been dumped into the bowl.
“Bri, you’ve got to stop taking everything so personally. It’s okay if people don’t love the Pastry Puff.”
But they should. She swallowed and stacked another macaron. He didn’t get it. Mr. Big-City Travel Writer had no idea about roots and home and what went into a family business. He could grab the same giant slice of pizza at any Chicago joint and be just fine. She didn’t want to live that way—nothing but chains on every corner.
“The Pastry Puff—and the love-lock wall—have history.” Bri’s hand shook as she carefully placed the next macaron. History was precious—something people needed to start appreciating again. If she could convince Gerard, she could convince anyone.
Fat chance.
“A lot of places have history. But just because something has sentimental value to you doesn’t mean it will to everyone else.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. He was right.
She really hated that.
She wiped a strand of hair out of her face with the back of her gloved hand and stubbornly held on to hope. “It won’t matter. People flock to what’s popular. Once I represent the Pastry Puff on the news and share what’s going on, they’ll start coming back like they did when that video of Casey and Nathan went viral.”
“Maybe.” Gerard nudged his coffee cup across the counter. “Hint, hint.”
Bri sighed and grabbed the carafe from the warmer. “You’re going to float away on free coffee—that you don’t even like.”
“Maybe it’s growing on me.” His gaze caught hers and held, and her stomach flickered.
She had misinterpreted that look once before, and she wouldn’t do it again.
She calmly topped off the coffee in his half-empty mug, ignoring the stirring in her chest from his proximity. She was probably just tired and needing a hug. Not from him, though. “Maybe. Or maybe your taste buds are finally growing up.”
“Or maybe the bad coffee just made them give up completely.”
Bri shot him a pointed glance. “They weren’t giving up during those two macarons you just devoured.”
He grinned over the rim of his cup. “Touché.”
She turned around with the carafe. “Anyway, as I was saying, once the town hears my side, there’s no way they’ll stand for Charles tearing this place down.”
“You seem to be forgetting a pretty big factor here.”
She fumbled to replace the carafe on the coffeepot, her emotions still wadded up from that confusing, chemistry-laden moment. “What’s that?”
“If they’re going to interview you on the news, they’re going to interview Charles too.”
The carafe jerked into place with a bang and coffee spilled over the top. She stared at the drip forming on the counter, her heart sinking.
“It’s called ethical journalism, Cupcake. They have to represent both sides of the argument.”
He was right again, and it wasn’t any less annoying this time. Despair nipped at the hope that had finally bloomed. How had she not thought of that?
She slowly turned to face Gerard.
He peered at her over the edge of his mug. “The town will hear your side—and his.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Three days later, Gerard edged his way across the small parking lot toward the Pastry Puff. A picket wearing gloves and holding a to-go cup of coffee in her free hand pointed her sign at him. “We like fluff! Save the Puff!”
They really needed to work on their slogans.
He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just visiting.” He was Switzerland, as it were. At least as far as Bri and Charles were concerned.
The woman offered him a gloved high five, which he politely nodded at and slipped inside the bakery.
Bri wasn’t behind the counter, as he’d expected. Nor had he expected the line of people fifteen deep stretching from the cash register to the door. Mabel and Agnes were steadily ringing up customers and bagging orders, uncharacteristically quiet as they worked.
Then he saw her—cheeks flushed with excitement and hair tucked behind her ears, making her look even
