Page 1 of Stuffed

Prologue

TESSA-THREE MONTHS EARLIER…

Isit cross-legged on Ivy's apartment floor, surrounded by rejection letters from banks. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the scattered papers. I pick up the most recent one, from Chicago First National, and read the familiar words again: "While your business plan shows promise…"

"Stop torturing yourself," Ivy says, grabbing the letter and crumpling it. "We knew traditional funding would be a long shot."

"Seven banks." I pull out my meticulous spreadsheet. "Seven rejections. Maybe we're crazy to think we can do this."

"Not crazy." Ivy opens her laptop, showing our savings tracker. "Look. My catering side gigs brought in another two thousand dollars this month. And our online bakery orders are steadily increasing."

I glance at my own numbers—the overtime at my accounting job, the weekend wedding cake orders, the consultation fees from helping other small businesses with their books. Every penny carefully tracked and saved.

"Fifty-eight thousand," I say softly. "We're still forty-two thousand short of what we need."

"But closer than we were six months ago." Ivy pulls out our vision board—photos of our dream bakery space, sketches of interior designs, magazine clippings of the kind of community hub we want to create.

"Remember why we're doing this," she continues. "Not just for us. For everyone who needs a place to belong."

I think of the homeless teenager I met last week whom I'd bought breakfast for. How his eyes lit up at the simple kindness of warm food. I think of our plans to partner with local shelters, to offer job training and second chances.

My phone buzzes—another wedding cake inquiry. Next to it, a notification from my investment app showing the small returns on our careful savings.

“Another wedding cake order.” I hold up my phone. “I can help decorate.” I’ve actually become quite the baker’s assistant for Ivy when it comes to decorating cakes. In fact, it’s something I’ve grown to really enjoy perfecting over the last few years.

“Did Suzette say anything more about letting us use that bakery place we’re looking at since it’s been on the market so long?”

"Yeah, she said it’s fine. The owner agreed to a short lease she wants us to look over.”

“Good.” Ivy sighs, her shoulders sagging. I can see the stress on her face and it kills me that we’re still struggling this hard after everything we’ve sacrificed to get here.

“We're doing this the hard way because it's worth doing right," I finally say. "No cutting corners, no compromising our vision."

"Exactly." Ivy starts pinning our latest profit projections next to the vision board. "And even if we can’t get the money together before our deadline, we always have investors. I know we’ve wanted to do this purely on our own, but you never know. There could be the perfect investor out there, just waiting to meet us."

I nod. "You’re right, and if that person is out there, when they meet us, they’ll see we're not just dreamers." I straighten my shoulders. "We're fighters."

The sun sets as we work, updating spreadsheets and refining projections. On my phone, another notification pops up—this time from my parents' RV blog, showing them at the Grand Canyon. I ignore it, focusing instead on our growing savings total and not on the fact that sometimes, I selfishly wish my parents had a huge secret savings account squirreled away for me. But I know that’s not the case and I remind myself that I’ll appreciate it more knowing Ivy and I did this on our own.

Because some dreams are worth the struggle. And some fighters are worth betting on… Even if we have to bet on ourselves first.

Chapter 1

Tessa

The Mercer holiday party is exactly what you'd expect from two brothers who've built an empire—glitzy, glamorous, and overflowing with champagne. The penthouse sprawls across the entire top floor of their downtown building, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline and a very coveted, direct view of Lake Michigan.

“Hate to think what this view cost,” an older woman mutters next to me.

“Yeah,” I reply politely with a nervous laugh, about to introduce myself since I am here to mingle, but she turns and walks away about as quickly as she appeared. I turn around to face the room. Large crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space which is decked out in twinkling lights, garlands, and a giant Christmas tree that almost touches the vaulted ceiling. The ornaments alone probably cost more than my monthly rent. In fact, I’m almost positive I saw a Tiffany label hanging off one of them.

The room is beautiful, and I should be soaking in the scene, networking with the city's elite who are scattered throughout the room, but my mind's too busy racing with secret little thoughts about… him.

I scan the room, looking for my best friend Ivy who's off somewhere talking to Asher Mercer about our bakery. And while I should be thinking about business and making connections like I told Ivy I would be, my heart has other plans. Specifically, plans that include tracking down a certain Mercer brother—the other one.

The one who used to make my teenage heart race every time I caught a glimpse of him from across the hallway.

The older, bad boy who still haunts my dreams more than I'd care to admit.

---