Page 76 of The Sweet Spot

That September, I opened a small bakery—the last thing I thought I’d open. I called it the Sweet Spot. The whole thing happened by accident, really. Word got around about my protein bars and new protein cookies. When I say word got around, it was Ryan and Brandon sharing my healthy protein-packed baked goods with their teammates and hockey friends. What happened next was that hockey players from all over the United States and Canada wanted my bars, muffins, and cookies. But I couldn’t just sell bars and cookies, so I expanded to my specialty breads, protein pancake mixes, and some other more traditional desserts. But the protein bars, muffins, and cookies were my best sellers, and I was shipping them all over the place. I could barely keep up with production when teams were ordering hundreds at a time.

While doing all that, I expanded my personal chef business. I had hired three chefs to work out of my kitchen at the Sweet Spot, and they were now making meals for two more Kodiaks and catering events all over the city and surroundingareas. I was still working out the kinks, but business had been brisk.

I brought in Delia to work with me when she wasn’t in school. I also hired a few of her classmates as well as a few other bakers that Jill helped me interview. I was not making another Daniel mistake. The bakery was flourishing, and I was putting in long hours, but it was worth it. I loved my job.

Speaking of Jill, she and Jeremy got married six weeks after me and Brandon. They had their destination wedding in Italy with about fifty guests. Her mother wasn’t invited. Brandon and I had just twenty guests, and the small reception was held at the best restaurant in Minneapolis, which also happened to be owned by a chef friend. The same friend who had snapped up Wren. I insisted that Wren be a guest at my wedding, so Carl, the owner of Jicama, gave her the day off. I was going to have words with him if he didn’t.

As for the rest of the twenty guests, Brandon’s parents were not among them. Brandon had stuck to his word, and since neither had apologized to me, they got no invite. To be that stubborn and mean. Sad, really.

In October, while we all hung out with Tangi and her newborn, Grace, Jill dropped a bombshell.

“I have no idea how this happened, but Jeremy has some determined little swimmers,” she said.

Tangi and I exchanged perplexed looks.

“Care to explain?” Tangi asked.

“Despite being on the pill, I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations,” I said, jumping up to hug her.

“There is more,” Jill said. “I’m not having one baby. I’m having three.”

“Holy shit,” was all Tangi said.

“Three babies!”

Jill frowned. “Yup, three. I told Jeremy I would have one,but that didn’t mean one pregnancy with three babies. Anyway, this is it. I’m never getting pregnant again. I hope he’s happy. He will also be getting a vasectomy.”

I stifled a laugh. “Well, at least you’re getting it over with all at once.”

“I told him he better help me with these kids. My god, three! We are definitely going to need nannies.”

All this baby talk had me thinking about kids, but Brandon and I planned to wait at least a year until I had the bakery established. Unlike Jill, if I could, I’d have a house full of them. Time would tell.

I got home from seeing my friends, and Brandon was there, my husband. I was still getting used to that.

“Did you have fun with your friends?” he asked, pulling me in for a kiss.

“I did. Jill is having triplets.”

His eyes opened wide. “Oh, that’s a lot.”

“She’s not happy about it, but I’m sure Jeremy is over the moon.”

“Next year for us, right?”

“Right. But for now, let’s enjoy the peace and quiet. And each other, because once those kids come …”

“I can’t wait to start a family with you, Wolseley.”

“And I look forward to spending every day with you. I love you, Brandon Warde.”

“I love you, Wolseley Douglas-Warde.”

---