Page 55 of The Sweetest Ingredient

Thankfully, money wasn’t a concern anymore. I had landed a bunch of design gigs and my freelance hustle was on fire since the work I’d done at the bakery. But emotionally? I was one step away from belting out Adele songs in the shower and ugly-crying into a pint of fro-yo.

Chantel and Bree had tried to console me, but it wasn’t any use. I missed Bishop. Late at night, amidst design sketches and drafts, I’d often doodle cupcakes, subconsciously yearning for that world. Heck, I even missed Lucia’s passive-aggressive quips and side-eyes.

How twisted was that?

But even drowning myself in work, the gaping void Bishop and the bakery had left in my life was undeniable. It was like missing a part of my soul, and no amount of pixel-pushing could fill that.

I had to reconcile with Bishop, even if it meant groveling for forgiveness or plastering ‘Forgive Me’ billboards all over town.

Forcing myself to get out of bed, I wiped the tears from my cheeks. As Mochi wagged her tail, offering her unwavering support, I hatched a plan to win Bishop back.

And I knew just where to start...

“Time to put on your big girl apron, Kenzi.”

That very afternoon, I stood outside the prestigious Sweet Success Baking Academy, a culinary school in a nearby city. I’d had to take two buses and walk three blocks to reach the imposing brick building that loomed over me, daring me to prove my worth. My head held high, I marched inside to enroll.

* * *

Over the next six months, my life became a whirlwind of flour, sugar, and butter. Early mornings found me trudging to class with a steaming to-go coffee, bleary-eyed but eager. Instructors taught me the art of diligence, patience, and perfecting my pastries. I practiced tirelessly, often ending up covered in more ingredients than my creations, still each day I progressed.

Finally, I received my certificate with pride. I clutched it tightly, knowing that this was more than just a piece of paper. My chest swelled with hope on the bus ride home that this certificate would represent a new beginning, not only for my career, but for proving myself to Bishop. It was my chance to right my wrongs and re-earn his trust.

The bus dropped me off a few blocks from home and I walked briskly toward my apartment. When the door closed behind me, Mochi’s excited pattering of paws on the hardwood floor greeted me.

I spent the day lounging on my sofa with Mochi, reading a rom-com and munching on cookies I’d baked to celebrate. As the heroine wooed her love interest with a grand romantic gesture, inspiration struck me.

If the characters in the book could take risks for love, why couldn’t I?

“Mochi,” I said, stroking her soft fur. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Mochi lifted her head, giving me her full attention. I grinned, feeling invigorated by this new plan, and hopped off the couch.

Channeling my graphic prowess, I crafted a cardboard sign brimming with heartfelt remorse, stating how sorry I was, with images of cupcakes and hearts incorporated into the design. To add extra flair, I used my glue stick and glitter, sprinkling it onto the letters.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm hues across the sky. I pedaled toward Bishop’s house on my bike, with Mochi perched in the basket attached to the handlebars and the sign tucked beside her.

When we arrived, I removed my dog and the cardboard poster from the basket, then reclined the bike against a tree.

“Okay, Mochi, we’re here.”

We tiptoed onto the well-manicured grass of Bishop’s modest two-story Colonial, its light-blue exterior blending with the neatly trimmed hedges.

I tugged out my cell phone from my pocket, then started scrolling through my playlist for the perfect romantic ballad. Pulse pounding, I hit play and set the phone down on the grass, letting the music fill the air.

Mochi glanced at me and let out a short bark.

Holding the sign over my head with one hand, I serenaded Bishop. My voice wavered at first, but soon I found my groove, belting out every high note and lyric with confidence. As the song reached its crescendo, Mochi harmonized with me, her howling adding a unique style to my impromptu performance. I sang my heart out, finishing with jazz hands.

Catching my breath, I squinted up at the house and saw him watching me from an upstairs window. A few seconds later, Bishop stepped out the door and onto the porch. His expression was all hard angles and tense lines.

Crouching, I grasped the poster and held it in front of me like a shield. “Hi. I, um, just wanted to tell you I graduated from the Sweet Success Baking Academy. I have a certificate and everything.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Kenzi,” he said softly. “I appreciate your unique apology, but it’s going to take more than glitter and a song to make things right between us. You...betrayed me and that hurt is still too raw.”

My stomach dropped into my sneakers, and I stared at the grass, fighting back tears. “Oh, okay.”

He went inside and shut the door.

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