Page 188 of Forbidden Heroes

Lucky for me the local flower girl liked cookies and had a sweet tooth the day I hung out my shingle because I needed a friend. Nothing is worse than coming to a new town and not knowing a soul. Added bonus we’re the same age. Twenty-four is an interesting age, my mom likes to say. The door to the world is open and you can pick any path. Mine led me to Cherry Falls. Leaving behind Syn City was painful at first, but a quaint town like this one grows on you fast.

A few months ago, I lost my dear gran, which pushed me into committing to an idea already baking in the back of my head. My gran was a woman who saw to it I knew how to make pancakes by five and any kind of cake by twelve. The talk of one day setting up her own bakery in Cherry Falls was a dream she never saw into reality.

I take in the filled dessert cases, the sweet pies and tarts, all treats she taught me how to make, and smile to myself.

With the inheritance Gran left, Bela’s Bakery is a dream come true for both of us. But it’s a lot of long hours and hard work.

I arch a brow, not taking my eye off the edible gold foil I am working up the ripped seam of a wedding cake. It’s going to be epic with the spilled amethyst-colored candied gems down the side and all the flowers. I still have another day’s worth of work ahead.

“What makes you think there’s a ‘something else’? Aren't those two bad enough?”

Poppy takes another chunk out of her heart cookie, the sprinkled glitter on top raining over her white blouse.

I smile.

“My sweet, Bela. Because you have a tell. You purse your lips like you have the juiciest piece of candy in your mouth and don’t want to share where you found the stash.”

I do? I mentally check my lips and she’s right. I’m puckered like I have a secret to spill.

Fine. Sometimes people have maps of their lives at the ready for them practically before they learn how to walk. Either by bossy parents or they just know. Not me. I wanted to try everything. The usual made my list—firefighter, air force pilot, and cop, like most kids with a love for adventure. But in between those options, I had a few more unique ideas. Like on my eleventh birthday.

“A kisser.” I keep my focus on the cake and a tight rein in my tenancy to beam red. “Like that is even a job.” I can’t help but laugh at myself.

Poppy chokes on her second cookie. “A do what?”

“A kisser. I thought it would be so romantic to teach the boys in my school class how to kiss. As if I knew anything. If successful I could branch out to other classrooms and eventually the world by the time I was eighteen. I would be the queen of romance.” I laugh at my childhood ideas. “I wanted to be the kind of kisser who would help boys learn how to kiss and make every girl’s dream come true. I was eleven and found a book on French kissing in the library.”

Poppy clears her throat which I suspect is to hide a giggle. “So naturally you were in a position of authority on the topic.”

I pause, turn and look her dead in the eye. “I had a whole plan of action in place. From start to finish.”

“I bet you did, you little planner you. Tell me all about it.”

“My slogan would’ve been, ‘Kiss your way to love.’”

I give her credit. Poppy stares at me for ten whole seconds before she doubles over laughing. Tears stream down her face and it takes a good five minutes for her to calm enough to talk again. “No wonder you didn’t want to share.”

“Don’t you tell another soul.”

We bump our cookies. “Sister code.”

“So what stopped your kissing career?”

“Chickenpox that summer.”

“Ahh.”

“My turn. Get this, some guy came in the Flower Patch today and ordered everything we had. Emptied the entire store. I barely made it out with these.” She passes over a few bundles of lavender I plan on using in the decorations for the cake.

I put down my piping bag. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope. He wanted to make the biggest proposal for his girl. After that kind of price tag, I hope she said yes.”

I grab my black cherry mocha off the counter and we both head to a table. I’ve been on my feet since sunrise and due a little break before the next round of cake baking starts. It’s great being the owner of my own place and in control of my hours.

“That’s the kind of romance I want. Someone who goes balls to the wall for me.”

I weigh my friend’s words. I’m totally onboard for romance, but I just made a substantial purchase—this bakery and the upstairs apartment. I can’t afford to split my focus away from building up my business and making this town my new home. Mr. Chocolate Eyes comes to mind. A serious relationship might not be in the cards, but I wouldn’t mind some flirty evenings with a certain someone. “Maybe,” I agree with a shrug.

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