Page 45 of The Sweetest Ingredient

But wait…did I just get friend zoned again?

“Oh, don’t worry. Dating’s overrated.” A small grin lifted my lips. “Besides, who else would put up with your stubbornness?”

“Only you. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As we walked back to Doughy Desires, I tried suppressing the roller-coaster of emotions churning inside me. Yes, it hurt that Bishop couldn’t be with me romantically, but the fact that he cared meant something, too.

“I might’ve been a bit rash quitting like that.”

“Rash decisions happen to the best of us.” Bishop paused, turning to me with an expression that carried both concern and affection. “You have to know that you’re more than an employee to me. You’re one of my closest friends. And honestly, one of the few people I trust.”

Feeling a swell of emotion at his words, I smiled. “Your friendship means a lot to me, too.”

“You leaving like that was a wakeup call.” He ran a hand through his hair in a rare display of vulnerability. “Your laughter, your unique takes on Jane Austen have become a part of Doughy Desires. A part of my...routine, and you know how I don’t like change.”

I grinned wider, knowing how much that admission meant coming from him. He was a man of habit, and I’d managed to sprinkle a little unpredictability into his life. We made an unlikely pair, the rigid baker and the quirky designer, but somehow we just clicked.

Gratitude for still having my job filled me. “Then it’s a good thing I’m staying, because it sounds as though I’m as essential as sugar in your kitchen.”

“And,” he said, a slight hitch in his voice, “if I’m honest, one of the best parts of my day is our debates on whether Persuasion is superior to Pride and Prejudice.”

My heart did a clumsy pirouette. Who knew debating the finer points of 19th-century literature while baking could forge such a bond?

“Elizabeth and Darcy will always have my vote.”

He looked away, the stain of a blush on his cheeks. “Friendship with you, well, is something I don’t take lightly. It’s...it’s something I need.”

That last word sent a flurry of butterflies into the pit of my stomach. I slowed my steps, not trusting my voice. His candid admission floated in the air between us, fragile and tentative. I glanced at his profile, taking in the rugged lines of his face and the endearing hint of color on his cheeks. Something profound shifted inside me, like tectonic plates realigning. My fingers, tingling with the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to somehow anchor myself in the reality of this moment, curled into the fabric of my shirt instead.

Navigating the delicate balance between employee and boss, especially with Bishop, felt akin to walking a tightrope. I couldn’t ignore the professional lines Bishop and I still needed to heed. Him signing my paychecks did rather complicate matters when it came to acting on that heart fluttering attraction that had me doodling cartoon hearts in notebooks.

We arrived at the bakery and paused near the door.

Bishop stopped me for a moment, his hand resting on my arm. “I hope you realize how important you are, both to the bakery and to me personally. Your passion and devotion over the past few months have made all the difference. Doughy Desires wouldn’t be the same without you, and I don’t want to lose you.” His fingers gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “I can’t offer much, but I’ll increase your wages if that will help you and your sister.”

“Really?” I asked, my heart swelling.

“Really.” He cleared his throat, kicking at a pebble. “For ages now I’ve kept up this wall, shutting people out and focusing on the bakery, pretending that was all I needed. But the truth is, I haven’t been happy in a long time. Somewhere along the way I forgot what it felt like to have real connections in my life. Kenzi, working with you all these months, sharing our lives and those Austen debates, it’s made me realize what’s missing in my life.” He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “Your beautiful smile and selfless kindness has gotten under my skin. You did that. So, thank you. And I think, no, I know I’m finally ready to let down my guard and let real friendships into my life.” He blew out a breath, his gaze steady on mine. “Just promise me before you ever think about walking out that door again, that you’ll come find me first, okay?”

His heartfelt confession made me feel warm and gooey. It was as if he’d unlocked a part of himself that had been hidden away, and in doing so, I’d caught another glimpse of the man behind the baker’s apron. I blinked back my own rising tide of emotion. He was allowing himself to be vulnerable, trusting I wouldn’t hurt him. Whatever this was between us, we were at least friends.

Reaching out, I clutched his forearm. The touch sparked an almost electric sense of connection, and I wanted this closeness; I wanted him. We froze and locked eyes for a long moment, as if every emotion we’d carefully held at bay was now weaving itself around us, drawing us closer.

“Bishop, I understand. And I’m not going anywhere.”

While romance with my boss seemed unlikely, nestled somewhere between the flour bags and cookie sheets, I was someone who had made a difference to Bishop.

And I was determined to show him I was more than just a peculiar girl doused in bird droppings. Perhaps in seeing the real me—competent, caring, and yes, a little quirky—he would realize that we were meant for each other.

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, while I sipped coffee on my break at the bakery, the front page of the Serenity Sentinel glowed with praise. The headline read: “Doughy Desires: A Serenity Gem Polished to Perfection!” The article raved about our scrumptious pastries, Bishop’s dedicated ownership, and the bakery’s stunning rebranding.

Well, if this didn’t bring in more customers, I didn’t know what would.

The once quiet corner bakery now had the electric buzz of a big city café, like we were serving a slice of fabulous with every order. Patrons nibbled croissants, drank hot chocolates, or ordered sweets to go.

The kitchen was a cacophony of clanging pans, whirring mixers, and the grating sound of Lucia’s voice as she bragged about her latest baking triumph.

---