Page 1 of Sugar, Sprinkles, and Secrets
Chapter one
Popping the swinging door with my hip, I walk along the counter until I get to the vacant spot to slide the fresh tray of triple chocolate cookies into the case. I can’t believe we already ran out of them this early in the morning, but it’s not uncommon for customers to pick up a variety box of cookies with their coffee.
“I can grab the next tray,” Betty calls as I close the rear door to the display case.
I wave her offer away with my hand and a smile. Betty is like the mother I wish I would have had, and she saves my day on a regular basis. She may only be five-three, but she is a talented baker, hard worker, and always has a smile to share with friends and strangers alike. I know she thinks I should go take a break, but I can’t—not quite yet. Glancing at the clock over the counter, I know it won’t be much longer, and if I go in the back right now, there’s a chance I could miss him. Nope, restocking the Christmas cut-out sugar cookies will just have to wait. It shouldn’t be the highlight of my morning, but without fail, from the moment I start working at four-thirty in the morning, I find myself counting down until a quarter after eight when I know, like clockwork, the front door will jingle, and he will walk in.
I should play it cool. I should go do something and let someone else run the front when I know he will be in. But I can’t help but indulge in the brief moment of escape where it feels like time pauses as the memories flood back, and I allow myself to remember how good we were together and imagine a world where we could be something endgame worthy. My heartratepicks up just at the thought of him and I try to slow my breath by taking a deep and slow inhale. The sugary sweet aroma, blended with the fresh pot of coffee that just finished is exactly how I imagine heaven must smell like. But as sweet as my bakery smells, it has nothing on the man that just walked through the front door of Sprinkles.
Maxwell Riley is everything a woman could want. He’s tall and handsome but with a boyish charm that feels like basking in a ray of sunshine in the middle of a summer day—and I love to soak in his brilliant rays. Max’s face is almost perfect, but it has a scar through his right eyebrow that I know is from a hockey game in college, and his nose is slightly crooked from one of his brothers accidentally breaking it on a camping trip when they were kids. He is intelligent, has the dryest sense of humor, is wildly successful, and made me feel things I didn’t know I was even capable of—right up until I had to break both of our hearts and walk away from him.
But for a moment, I foolishly let myself forget that significant detail and just soak in his presence. And my goodness, this man is all that is good in this world. This brief moment, the pause between what was and what could have been, before the reality of my life crashes into me, it both warms and breaks my heart.
Every single weekday morning, and sometimes on the weekend too.
But it has to be enough.
I don’t have a choice, and if he knew, he would understand … probably. I don’t have the freedom of explaining, so I cling to the lie we are better off as friends then pray for forgiveness every night for lying to the man I could so easily love … while I shamelessly watch him walk from the front door, pass the handful of our café tables, and to the counter to order, pulling me out of my far-too-brief moment of escape.
“Morning, Cara. How’s your day going?” His deep voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I can’t help but match the smile he gives me. With his perfectly tousled hair, today Max is wearing fitted dark jeans, and under his winter jacket is likely a Henly stretchingacross his chest just enough to draw your eye to his impressive muscles. Max is strong and thick rather than cut and lean, but his dedication to the gym is obvious. He once told me lifting weights helps him process his anxiety, and if I’m not mistaken, his muscles look even bigger than they did a few months ago.
Peter, Paul, and Mary. That’s probably my fault.
“Hey there, Max. You know, typical Thursday morning, so I can’t complain. What can I get you this morning?” If it’s my heart, you already have it. His smile falters for just a moment as he locks in on my gaze. I know what he wants—and I want the same thing—but us being together is not on the menu today.
He clears his throat before answering, “What quiche flavors do y’all have this morning?”
“We have usuals: ham and cheddar, bacon and spinach, and then I’m testing a sun-dried tomato quiche this week to see how it does.” It’s cute he is asking, we both know he will get the same flavor he always does, but if it gives us an excuse to talk for a moment longer, I’ll play the game.
I’ve always wanted to have my own bakery, but I never knew how much it would really cost to make this dream a reality. Most days my life is a blur, getting up far too early to get things started until one of my team members clocks in around six-thirty. That gives me a break to get the kids up, ready, and out the door to the daycare down the street—at least on days when they are open, which feels like half of the time this month with vacation days and holidays. It would be nice to have a backup option, but I’m extremely cautious with who I trust with Dante and Mila, and this daycare is very thoroughly vetted so I deal with the closed days the best I can.
My bakery opened last September, and it’s done really well overall, but I still want to keep the menu fresh and interesting. There are menu staples we offer every day at Sprinkles, like our amazing croissants, a few classic flavors of muffins and scones, breakfast quiches, and then I rotate the cookie recipes out monthly, with the exception of our signature chocolate chip cookies. My niece and nephew would never forgive me if thosedisappeared. We offer custom cakes to order, and we have two flavors for customers to purchase by the slice, and those flavors change daily depending on my mood. With the holiday season starting up, I should do some kind of open house to thank the community for the success of the last fourteen months. There’s enough hard times in my life, I’m probably overdue to celebrate some of the good.
“I want to say that I’m adventurous and want to try the new flavor, but...” Max smiles as he trails off, lifting his left shoulder in a subtle shrug.
“One ham and cheddar quiche coming right up. Do you want coffee this morning or are you swinging by Java Jive?” I ask over my shoulder as I pull a quiche out of the fridge to place in our warmer. Instead of slices, we serve personal-sized quiches, but people can also order a nine-inch pie if they give me at least forty-eight hours’ notice.
Sprinkles has four standard large-pane windows that open to Main Street like most of the businesses in town. When I bought the building, I had the previous beige exterior painted the faintest pale blush pink that I could find. In direct sunlight, it's so pale it can sometimes even look white. When customers walk in, I want them to feel like they are coming into my home—if my home was a coastal grandmother's dream, instead of the new business in town. The original white oak plank flooring adds charm that no new-build could ever touch. Since moving here, I've noticed the same flooring in many of the older buildings throughout downtown, and it would be an absolute crime to cover the gorgeous historic planks or—the horror—paint them. The interior walls are all a soft cream—just like our buttercream frosting.
I didn't want to be afraid of color though, so the base of my counters and display cases are the perfect cool blue that took me forever to find the right shade. When I was on the hunt, I saw a photo of this shade and it made my heart happy, something I didn't know a color could do. So, when I saw the color's name was cheeky, it made me laugh and my search was over. With thecontrast of the bright white granite countertops, the focus really becomes the food on display, which is the entire point.
Java Jive is just kitty-corner from Sprinkles, but we aren’t rivals. In a small town, it would be easy to view other shops as competition, but I avoided the entire possibility by negotiating with the owners of Java Jive before I even opened. We exclusively use their coffee beans, and I’ll never have cinnamon rolls on my menu. It’s tough enough to establish yourself as a new business, let alone as an outsider coming into a tight community.
“I’ll take a large dark roast with cream to go, please.” I hum in acknowledgment and move to get his coffee ready. “Do you guys have any plans this weekend? There’s a showing of Home Alone at the theater and I thought maybe the kids would want to go, but now that I say that, I realize Mila is probably too young for that … right?”
I can’t fight the grin. “Yeah, I think trying to keep a three-year-old contained in a theater might be challenging, but Dante would probably enjoy it. He loves that movie.”
Max nods and his smile falters slightly. “I remember.”
Of course he does. He would remember everything about my niece and nephew, as though Max needed any help demolishing the walls I’m fighting so hard to keep up. This is for his own sake, and I need to remember that I’m protecting his own damn heart, even if it means breaking mine too.
“Zia!” My head snaps to the kitchen as I hear Mila call for me. “Ziiiiaaaa!” Mila cries as she comes barreling through the kitchen door with big tears running down her face. She leaps into my arms, and I cradle her close to me.
“I didn’t mean to!” I look over to see my five-year-old nephew sulking behind his little sister. “She kept trying to grab my T-Rex, and wouldn’t let it go, so it slipped out of my hand.” Dante stares at the floor with a trembling lip.
“He hit me in da face!” Mila scowls at her brother from my arms. I take a deep breath; thankful they aren’t actually hurt. Before I can say anything, Max comes around the counter and kneels down next to Dante. “You need to call Santa pronto, Zia!”
“It sounds like it was an accident, right, buddy?” Max asks Dante who nods without looking up from the floor. Max scoops him up and walks over to Mila and me. “And I bet you didn’t mean to hurt your sister, right?” He shakes his head no.
