Page 49 of The Sweetest Ingredient

He picked a sourdough up, weighing it in his hand, assessing the crust and crumb. “You know what I see when I look at bread like this? I don’t just see yeast, flour, and wheat. I see generations, my family’s heritage.”

“That’s deep for a loaf of bread.”

We stood silently for a few seconds. Around us, people bartered and shopped. Snippets of conversation floated through the market’s din.

“You know that bakery on Main Street? What’s it called...Doughy Desires?” an older woman remarked to her companion. “I tried their chocolate croissants yesterday and let me tell you, those flaky pastry puffs tasted heavenly.”

“Hey, did you hear that?” I whispered to my boss. “Your croissants are getting some high praise.”

“Yeah, that’s great…” he mumbled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He blew out a breath. “I really appreciate all your help at the bakery and I’m grateful that business has turned around, but…” He placed the bread back on the pile. “The weight I’m carrying isn’t just concern over saving it, Kenzi. It’s the burden of expectations, a long lineage. The fear that one wrong step, one failed recipe, and I’ll tarnish what my family spent years building...” He sighed. “That’s a lot to bear alone.”

“I can imagine,” I replied softly.

“Failure to me means more than not succeeding.” Bishop’s head tilted, his lids heavy. “It’s letting down the people who are important to me, like my staff and my family. That’s what truly terrifies me.”

I looked away, a bit overwhelmed by his candidness. “Losing my parents so suddenly, it...it changed everything. Every single day, I try to fill the gap they left behind, especially for my sister. She’s the most important person in my life, and her happiness? It means everything.” I folded my arms over my chest, gripping each elbow. “And sometimes, that responsibility of making sure she’s okay? It feels like it’s suffocating me. Like I’m desperately trying to ensure their memory doesn’t...vanish.”

He leaned forward, his face serious, voice low. “I can understand that. I’ve always strived for perfection. It’s made me guarded, always wary of failing or being undervalued. It’s ruined every relationship I’ve ever had with a woman, and sure, I want a family of my own someday, but the timing never seems right. It’s hard to find someone who understands my dedication and hard work.”

“Life’s weird that way.” Lowering my arms, I studied him for a moment, then shook my head. “I’ve always had this vision of creating something of my own that would make my parents and grandma proud. A way to honor their memory, which is why the pet treats are so important to me.”

We were both quiet a moment, feeling the distance between us shrinking, replaced by a newfound understanding.

“Who knew a farmer’s market could be so enlightening?” Bishop tucked the bag of oranges under one arm. “We all have our burdens to bear, our dreams to chase. Even if sometimes they seem bigger than us.”

“Ah, a mutual desire for world domination through the power of baked goods.” I giggled. “While we’re on the subject, I want to include my pet recipe in the bake-off competition. Whaddya think?”

“The judge, Miranda Shaw, does have a dog.”

I smiled. “I’m not saying we should bribe her pooch with treats, but it might give us a competitive edge.”

“All right, let’s see how your creations fare at the bake-off.”

“Yay!” Bouncing on my toes, I wanted to hug him, then stopped myself. He didn’t seem like a hugger.

There was a slight twist to his lips. “I don’t think I can ever say no to you and stick to it.”

“You’re not alone. Most people can’t.” I picked up a peculiar-looking fruit, scrutinizing it with mild fascination. “Ever tried one of these? Is it one of those...whatchamacallits? I’m an expert, obviously.”

“It’s a passion fruit. Ironic, given our conversation.”

I rolled my eyes. “Trying to lure me into another intimate discussion with fruit metaphors, are we?”

“Who, me?” He feigned innocence. “I was merely commenting on the produce.”

“Of course, how silly of me. Passions aside, other than upholding the family legacy, what truly makes Bishop Caine tick?”

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly caught off guard, but then a thoughtful look crossed his face. “Honestly? I think it’s the quiet moments. The early mornings before the bakery opens, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. That stillness, serenity...it’s grounding. But it’s been a while since I felt it.”

I nodded slowly. “For me, it’s the idea of creating, whether it’s art or baking. Like leaving a piece of yourself behind that says, ‘I was here, and I mattered.’ You know what I mean?”

“For the record, you do matter.” He reached out, tilting my chin up until our eyes met, his thumb trailing lightly along my jaw. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

My heartbeat quickened at his touch. I leaned into his palm, letting the sincerity of the moment settle into my core. I never imagined he saw me as anything more than an employee and friend. Yet now, his voice was choked with emotion.

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