Page 11 of How Sweet It Is

“It happened a long time ago.”

Her features soften. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“You and your brothers were so young. That’s tragic.”

“It was really hard, but my oldest brother stepped up and became our guardian so we could stay together. It made us quite close.”

She pulls back from me. “I’m glad you had your brothers to help you through that.”

“Me too.”

She turns back to the computer. “Okay. The first thing we’re going to do is get you a business account. And then you’re going to invest the bulk of this money. It’s not safe sitting in a checking account.”

I squint at her. “Money isn’t safe in the bank?”

“Checking accounts are only insured up to $250,000 by the federal government. That means if the bank fails, you could lose almost all of your inheritance.”

That’s not all of my inheritance, but I don’t correct her. I blink at her, feeling stupid. “That can happen?”

“Yes. Banks can fail. It’s rare, but it happens.”

“I didn’t know that. My brother tried to talk to me about investing and what to do with my inheritance, but it was all just blah blah blah, and his words jumbled together.”

Amelia squints at me, and I can’t quite tell what she’s thinking, so I press on. “I mean, I was so interested in starting up my business that I didn’t listen to him.”

She clicks on my transactions. “That’s all right. I can help you. Right now, I need to get your books in order.”

We spend the next hour going over my expenses, and Amelia enters them into her accounting software. She’s not happy with how much I spent to acquire the bakery and all the equipment, but at least she doesn’t scold me.

As she enters the last of my expenses in her spreadsheet, her stomach growls loudly. Her cheeks flush pink, and I hold in a laugh. She is adorable when she’s embarrassed.

I elbow her arm. “Was that your subtle way of asking if I’d take you to dinner?”

Amelia’s eyes widen. “Absolutely not.”

I chuckle and stand. “Come on. Your stomach has already said yes. Let’s go get something to eat. My treat.”

She frowns. “I don’t date people I work for.”

Wow. What is up with this woman? “It’s not a date,” I say, reaching over and shutting her laptop. “I’m done with bank accounts and ledgers. I want to feed you something before your stomach alerts all of Willow Shade Island that your boss is starving you.”

I turn before she has a chance to object, and I walk out of the office. Then I stop and call over my shoulder, “Coming?”

She huffs, but I hear her gather her things. A moment later, she joins me, and we walk outside together. “What kind of food do you like?” I ask.

“I like everything. I just can’t eat—” She stops in the middle of her sentence.

“Can’t eat what?”

She shrugs and avoids eye contact. “I can’t eat sugar in the morning.”

I hold in an eye roll, because I think she’s lying about that whole cupcake thing, but I let it go. “But eating dinner right now is okay?”

She nods and says, “Yeah.”

“Does Mexican sound good?”

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