Page 27 of The Sweetest Ingredient

I took a moment to survey the chaos, sighing at the disarray. Dirty mixing bowls, glazed wooden spoons, and half-empty ingredient bags cluttered the counters. Then I glanced down at myself and groaned. My T-shirt and yoga pants were battle-scarred with flour and batter splotches, plus a smear of butter. Barefoot, I stood in striking contrast to Bree in her eye-catching purple shirt, jean shorts, and adorable fuzzy cat slippers.

“How is it your clothing doesn’t have any stains?”

She shrugged. “Guess I’m a better cook.”

Mochi barked, her fluffy white and tan coat bristling as she wagged her tail.

“But just look at you now, sis. Totally killing it as a baker. So proud.”

“Thanks,” I replied, touched by her words. “Are you excited about the music conservatory?”

“Well, duh, but…” Bree stilled and hung her head. “Do you think you’ll have enough money to cover the tuition that my partial scholarship won’t?”

My heart clenched. “I’ll find a way to pay for it, I promise.” I hugged her and stepped back, tapping the end of her cute nose with my finger. “No worrying. That’s my job.”

She faintly smiled. “Okay.”

While I stirred the cookie dough, my mind wandered to Maxwell, replaying the way he had bitterly told me Bishop had cheated him out of his inheritance. He had appeared so sincere, so genuinely hurt. Yet his accusations were contrary to the Bishop I knew. But how well did I actually know the man?

Then I recalled Maxwell’s generous job offer, no doubt an attempt to lure me away from Doughy Desires. The offer was appealing—I could pay off bills and give Bree the opportunities she deserved. Still, a twisting anxiety churned in the pit of my stomach.

While taking the job felt like a lifeline, it would also mean destroying my friendship with Bishop. I wavered between my dreams and my heart versus security and affection. I didn’t know what choice was right—the one that saved us financially, or the one that preserved my relationship with Bishop?

“Earth to Kenzi,” Bree said, snapping me back to the present. “You’re daydreaming again.”

I hesitated, then said, “Maxwell Turner offered me a full-time graphic design job at his bakery. Much better pay and benefits than I’m getting now.”

Bree’s eyes widened. “Whoa, for real?”

I nodded. “I think it would be more than enough to cover your tuition. But...”

“But you’d have to leave Bishop’s bakery,” Bree finished.

“Maxwell is like Bishop’s arch-nemesis in the baking world. Imagine if I started working for him—Bishop would probably take it as a stab in the back.” I let out a sigh, my shoulders dropping. “I’m really torn about what to do.”

Bree shrugged. “I mean, it’s just some guy. This job sounds awesome, and I’d get to go to my dream school! You can always get another boyfriend, sis.”

I blinked, reminded of her youthful priorities. With a faint smile, I turned to the mixing bowl. Bree was right, but my heart ached at the thought of leaving Doughy Desires.

“I know, and Maxwell’s offer is amazing but I also kinda want to see where things go with Bishop. And taking Maxwell’s job would definitely mess that up.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “Ugh, relationships are so complicated! I mean, you’re right, Bishop and I aren’t even dating.”

“Hate to say it, but Maxwell’s offer might be our best bet right now. I know you’re crushing on Bishop, but we need financial security.”

She was much too wise to be only thirteen.

I nodded. “Why don’t you play for us while I finish baking, Bree?”

Mochi yapped and circled around us.

She left the room and returned with her violin. Soon the apartment was filled with the rich, harmonious tones of her music, evidence of hours devoted to practice. Her bow moved deftly across the strings, producing notes that were crisp and clear, occasionally melting into tender, lingering vibratos that resonated within the walls and within me.

As I resumed baking, I realized how much my skills had improved since I started working at Doughy Desires. My hands moved with a newfound self-assurance, measuring ingredients and mixing them together with ease. Being around Bishop had made all the difference—watching him work had instilled a sense of pride that carried over into my own techniques.

Bree finished her concert for two—me and Mochi—and lowered her violin. I applauded as she set her violin on the table. The last batch of cookies went into the oven, then a finished tray was removed and set to cool on a rack near the sink.

Bree grasped a spoon, licking the batter off.

I grimaced. “You’re going to get salmonella.”

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