Page 41 of The Sweetest Ingredient

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “That makes sense.” My voice sounded raspy, my emotions swaying. “Sometimes, though, it’s hard to be completely truthful, especially when we’re afraid of losing something important. Or, you know, when telling harmless white lies.”

“In my experience, even fibs that seem innocent can undermine trust down the road and ruin a good thing. If two people really want to create something real together, they gotta be straight with each other.”

The taste of guilt soured in my gut. As we sipped our tea and stargazed, I fought the urge to reach out and touch his hand that rested inches from mine on the chair’s armrest and confess everything. But fear held my tongue hostage. I needed my job at the bakery and I couldn’t risk losing it.

Ah, this must be my sense and sensibility kicking in.

I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs. “I’ve always wanted to combine graphic design with baking, and helping rebrand the bakery was like merging my two loves. Crazy, right?”

Bishop tilted his head. “No, not crazy at all. I think it’s wonderful you’ve found a way to blend your diverse passions.” He gave me an encouraging nod. “The bakery certainly benefited from your creative vision.”

“That’s kind of you to say. I hope I can live up to everyone’s expectations.” I pulled my knees up to my chest, the fabric of my graphic tee crinkling around my waist. “Sometimes life feels like I’m in way over my head. Like I’m always one step away from everything falling apart.”

Bishop looked out over the city. “You seem like someone who’s got it all together.”

I snorted. “Appearances can be deceiving. My whole fear of abandonment thing? It hits hard, especially when you’ve lost everyone who’s supposed to stick by you. My parents, my grandparents...”

His eyes met mine, a depth of emotion swirling within them. “I get it, the fear of relying on someone, of trusting. I’ve built walls to protect myself. The bakery is more than a business, in a way, it’s like my fortress.”

I tilted my head. “You never let anyone in?”

He looked away, his muscular arm flexing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Each time I do, I end up disappointed.”

“Have you ever thought that expecting people to disappoint you might actually be creating a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

Bishop scratched the scruff on his cheek, a contemplative look crossing his face. “I think...well, maybe I’m afraid to hope for anything different.”

Wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, I let out a small laugh, the sound muffled by the fabric. “It’s funny how life has a way of bringing people together. I mean...maybe we can be each other’s form of friendship therapy.”

“Friendship therapy, huh?” Turning his body to face me fully, Bishop’s expression remained serious, but the corners of his eyes softened. “That would be nice.”

I smiled. “It’ll be the highlight of my next TED talk.”

Bishop’s lips twitched. “I thought your dream was creating pet treats and graphic art, not becoming a life coach.”

“Ah, yes.” I sighed. “When you’ve been on your own as long as I have, dreams sometimes take a backseat to reality.”

He slowly nodded. “But they shouldn’t. Our dreams are what keep us moving forward. They’re the heartbeat of our souls.”

My eyes widened. “Bishop Caine getting poetic? Now, that’s a first.”

His fingers grazed my hand, the gesture slow and deliberate. Our gazes locked, and the air grew charged.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he murmured, his voice low and suggestive.

I drew a sharp breath, hyperaware of his touch still present on my skin. “Then think about breaking down those walls and let someone in for once.” I smiled. “Despite your broody-self, I bet a lot of people want to be friends with you. Do you have many?”

Bishop sat back, causing the chair to creak under his weight. “I have acquaintances, people I’ve met through the bakery, business contacts. But real friends? Not as many as you’d think.”

I tapped my chin. “Let’s see, I have a dozen friends who’d drop everything to hang out with me on a karaoke night at the coffeehouse. Which you should totally do with us sometime.”

“Uh, I’m not much for singing. Or crowds…” He paused, staring into my eyes. “But maybe...for the right person.”

My heart throbbed at the implication. “But seriously, Bishop, friendships, real ones, they’re therapeutic. They’ve been my anchor through the hardest times in my life.”

He nodded. “Perhaps it’s time for me to branch out a bit.”

“We’ll get you there,” I said with a wink. “One karaoke night at a time.”

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