Page 55 of The Snowball Effect

Who only realized at that moment justhowclose that made them, as she was still resting her chin on Emma’s shoulder. She felt Emma’s warm breath hit her cheek, shivering with it as their eyes met, both widening at the proximity.

Swallowing hard, Regan slowly pulled back, leaning against the counter behind her. “Um… yeah. Sorry. Personal space is something other people like, usually.”

“Yes,” Emma said shortly. But she didn’t look annoyed; Regan was very familiar with Emma’s annoyed face.

Not wanting to give Emma a moment to delve into her thoughts and get into an annoyed headspace, she waved her on. “Anyway – the ring. Your grandmother.”

Emma cleared her throat, nodding at the ring in her hand. “Yes. She gave me the ring, and we are close. She gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday because it had always been my favorite.”

Eager to learn more, Regan hitched herself up to sit on the counter, facing Emma. “That’s really nice. Are you not as close to your grandfather?”

“No,” Emma said after a beat, a softness in her voice that Regan knew she’d never heard. “He died the year before I was born, so… no.”

Before Regan could delve into more questions – she certainly had them – Emma shook her head. “That’s enough about me.”

Unsurprised by the change in Emma’s tone, Regan accepted it. No pushing, she cautioned herself again. She fluttered hereyelashes as she asked, “Does that mean we’re going to make this aboutme?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Emma deadpanned. “So, you don’t even bake with Sutton? I feel like you two do everything together.”

Regan’s joking smile dimmed becauseoh. Emma was asking her something serious, whether she knew it or not.

Gamely, though, she shrugged and answered honestly. “I mean, wehavebaked together, back when her mom taught us the basics.” The memory of those afternoons in the Spencer home with Katherine standing between them at the kitchen island, softly but firmly giving them direction, made a warmth slide through Regan’s veins. “And obviously, we live together, so we’ve baked together, or she’s been home when I’ve baked sometimes. Sure.”

Emma’s sharp gaze stayed on her, intently, though. Regan squirmed with it, gripping the counter tightly where her fingers curled over the edge. “But?” Emma prompted.

“But we don’t when it’s – this.” She gestured to the oven, where their cupcakes were nearly done.

“What, exactly, isthis?”

“Oh, you know. New things. Some stuff for the café.” She shrugged, acting like it was nonchalant when it actually felt anything but. In reality, it felt very personal. “The recipes I create by myself.”

“I didn’t realize you did any baking for the café.” Emma’s mouth fell open as she seemed to connect the dots for something. “IknewI’d seen those cookies – the ones you baked a few weeks ago? With the pretzels and the cranberries? At Topped Off!”

Undeniably pleased, she beamed. “Yeah, those are my own creation. They’re pretty popular.”

“Because they’re delicious,” Emma easily complimented, still staring at Regan in wonder. “I have to stop myself from getting one whenever I notice they’re on offer.”

Even more pleased, Regan’s smile grew. “Why? You should always grab one.”

“You bake them, then? At the café?” Emma asked, staring at Regan curiously.

It was by far the most interest Emma had ever expressed in Regan, and it made her sit up straighter.

“No, not always. I created the recipe but shared it with everyone who bakes there. I don’t really work in the back,” she explained, feeling compelled to hold Emma’s intense stare. “I, uh, make the schedules for the bakers, but I only hands-on manage the front of the café. Sometimes, though, when no kitchen staff are there yet or when they’ve left, I just…” She shrugged. “Have fun.”

It felt sostrangetalking to Emma about this, about her process. Even at the café, with the people who knew about Regan’s baking, their attention and positive comments never felt so… personal? They praised Regan’s desserts but never asked for details.

“I can’t believe Sutton hasn’t told me about this. It feels like something she’d love to talk about.”

Regan rolled her lips, tapping her fingers against the counter as unease flowed through her. Finally, she confessed, “Honestly? Sutton doesn’t really know how much I do this.”

Emma’s stare was the picture of confusion. “Seriously, am I in theTwilight Zoneright now?What?”

Stomach working into knots, Regan quickly shook her head. “I mean, I’m nothidingit from her; she knows I bake in my free time. It’s just – it’s only been since last fall that I started branching out. Making my own recipes, that sort of thing.”

Emma leaned back against the wall opposite Regan, looking skeptical. “Yeah, that still sounds weird to me, that Sutton wouldn’t know about this. That you keep yourbakinga secret from her.”

Refusing the urge to pick at her fingernails – a childhood habit she’d long kicked – she denied, “It’s not a secret,” and she only felt somewhat defensive. “I just – I only started playing around with recipes and doing my own thing last year when Sutton started dating Charlotte.”

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