Page 46 of The Sweetest Ingredient

“Would you believe it took me only one try to perfect my new snickerdoodle recipe?” Lucia dusted powdered sugar on a batch of muffins. “And you should’ve seen the wedding cake I created last weekend. Five tiers, each one a different flavor, draped in fondant as smooth as porcelain.” Lucia glanced my way with a patronizing smile. “Keep practicing, Kenzi, even if you never achieve my skill level.”

I resisted the urge to toss a handful of flour at her, forcing a polite smile instead.

While I shaped the dough with far more force than necessary, I once again contemplated Maxwell’s claims that Bishop had cheated him out of his inheritance when their grandfather died. My gut tangled into knots tighter than a double-knotted shoelace, and I feared that pulling at the loose threads of Bishop’s past could untangle the delicate rapport we were building.

Did I confront him or keep my mouth shut?

I reminded myself it wasn’t my concern to meddle in their family affairs. But darn if I wasn’t as curious as Catherine Morland at the mention of a real-life Gothic mystery.

“Everything okay over there?” Lucia’s voice disrupted my thoughts.

“Absolutely. Just trying to work out the kinks in my kneading technique. You know how it is—always room for improvement.”

“Then keep at it.” Lucia returned to her own work.

I resumed my kneading, feeling the supple dough yield under the pressure of my fingertips, and gazed at Bishop across the room. He moved with calculated precision, meticulously following his baking routine as if he’d been programmed to do so. It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Once I finished beating the dough into submission, I went to the front area to stock more pastries.

Bree burst through the door. “Kenzi!” she exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in her hand like a kid with the golden ticket. “Guess what? I got a full scholarship to the music conservatory.”

My mouth dropped open, and I came around the counter. “How did this happen?”

She shrugged “All the school principal would tell me was that an anonymous benefactor convinced the board to sponsor my education.”

“That’s amazing, Bree.” I stood beside her. “And now we don’t have to worry about the tuition?”

“Nope. It’s all been taken care of. I can start school next week.”

“We obviously have a guardian angel.” I hugged Bree.

“Whoever they are, they must really believe in me.”

“And they have exceptional taste in violinists. I wish we could thank this person. They deserve to know how grateful we are for their help.”

“I’m just happy I can attend school now.” Bree shuffled back a few steps. “I need to practice.”

“I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll celebrate then.”

Bree waved goodbye and pranced out the door.

My boss emerged from the kitchen. His presence filled the room, and I was hyperaware, attuned to his every movement. He moved over to me. The afternoon sunlight slipping through the windows kissed his dark brown hair with golden highlights.

“Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could chat.”

“What’s on your mind, Kenzi?”

A tangle of emotions bottlenecked in my throat. I was grappling with a new layer of Bishop, one tainted with Maxwell’s resentful narrative and I had to know the truth before I made an unfair judgment.

I inhaled sharply, wrestling with the right way to breach the topic. “I heard something involving you and Maxwell...” I trailed off, feeling like I might be crossing a boundary, but wanting the doubts to go away.

He blew out a breath, as if he had been waiting for this confrontation. “What did my cousin say?”

“That Doughy Desires should’ve been his inheritance, and you stole it from him...and he claims he lost his dream because of your indifference.” I swallowed hard. “Is it true?”

The muscles in his jaw worked silently, as if considering his words. “I won’t deny that there were disagreements and disputes that marred our relationship over the years.” His hands spread out on the table. “But I wouldn’t take what wasn’t rightfully mine. The bakery was bequeathed to me in my grandparent’s will, but not out of deceit. Before my grandfather passed away, he believed in the vision I had for this place.” He paused, a fervent glimmer of truth in his voice. “I never wanted it to come at the cost of family, but Maxwell...well, he has a way of seeing things through a lens of bitterness, twisted to fit his narrative. Maxwell did receive money from my grandparents’ estate, but he gambled it away within a year.”

I studied Bishop’s face, searching for any hint of deception, but all I saw was sincerity and conviction shining through. How could I have doubted his honor, even for a moment? Bishop was a man of principle, and a pang of shame struck me for questioning his integrity.

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