Page 19 of Love in Kentbury

Lou snorts, trying to hide her smile behind a hand. “In your dreams, Tremblay.”

As the morning continues, we fall into an easy rhythm, exchanging friendly teasing between Lou’s baking and my customer service duties.

“So, Henrik, think we need to order more maple candy today?” Lou calls over as she fills the candy jars that are almost empty. “I swear these were full last night before we closed. Have you secretly been snacking on them?”

I clutch my chest dramatically. “I would never. Though I make no promises when it comes to leftover cookie dough . . .”

“Good thing I already washed the dishes from this morning’s bake,” she says triumphantly.

In between ringing up purchases and restocking displays, Genie steers our conversation toward planning festival events.

“I don’t think I’m the right person for it,” I claim.

“It’s because he doesn’t have any fresh ideas,” Lou jabs at me.

“Excuse me, but I’m great at coming up with new stuff.” I pretend to ponder deeply, tapping one finger against my chin. “Well . . . how about a couple’s biscuit eating contest? No, that’s too easy and not fitting for the love festival. We could do cookie decoration. Bouquet arrangements,” I pause waiting for them to say something.

“So we bring flowers and the best looking bouquet wins?” Lou scrunches her nose.

“No. I’m thinking the best-looking but also the first one to finish arranging a bouquet,” I propose. “You know, to settle once and for all who’s the real champion in Kentbury.”

Lou’s laughter peals out, bright and unguarded. “Oh, you are so on, Henrik. But prepare to lose. I’ve been training for an event like this my whole life.”

“We’ll see about that, Lou,” I stare at her with a grin. “We Tremblays never turn down a challenge.”

Genie shakes her head fondly. “Actually, I think the contest should involve couples preparing something romantic for Valentine’s Day—a special date, meal, dessert . . . Something fun that will bring people together. We can leave the competitive events for the Summer Festival.”

Lou blinks, looking a bit horrified at the thought of planning cutesy romantic activities. “There’s a whole Summer Festival too?”

“And I’ll definitely beat you when that contest comes around,” I add with a teasing smirk, untying the apron from around my waist. “Well, I’m heading to the office if you want to join me. Otherwise, feel free to keep avoiding me like you have been lately.”

I watch in satisfaction as Lou’s cheeks darken. “I have not been avoiding you . . .” she mumbles, unconvincingly.

Unable to resist poking at her a bit more, I snort. “Well, I expect to see more than one-word text replies from now on at least.”

Lou exhales softly, looking mildly annoyed but also somewhat flustered by my expectant expression.

I put on my parka as I saunter to the door, aiming a parting grin back at Lou. “It’s alright, we’ll figure this out.

ChapterThirteen

Louanne

I sitat the kitchen table, surrounded by a sea of paperwork—the requirements to gain custody of my children. It feels like I’m drowning. Proving I can provide stability and love is paramount if I want to bring my babies home.

My eyes drift to the window as I imagine the little house near Henrik’s, picturing my kids running and playing in the yard. Could I afford to rent it with my new jobs, slowly growing savings and benefits? It seems almost possible, if I just keep hoping.

The sharp knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. I quickly fold up the documents, wondering who could be stopping by. My grandma with one of her surprise baked goods deliveries, maybe?

I open the door to find McKay standing there instead. My sister. A wave of surprise washes over me, followed swiftly by apprehension and threads of joy at seeing her familiar face. Is she here to ask me to leave town? Or could she maybe want to . . .

“Hey, McKay,” I say, hearing the awkwardness in my tone. “What a surprise.”

McKay steps inside and glances around the kitchen, seeming unsure. I walk to the kettle on the counter, hoping the normalcy of a hot drink might ease this unexpected tension. “Can I get you some tea? Or hot chocolate maybe?” I ask.

“Um, sure. Hot chocolate would be great, thanks,” McKay says quietly, perching on the edge of a dining chair. She seems nervous, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

I finish preparing two mugs of sweet hot cocoa, trying to quell my own anxiety. Handing McKay her drink, I force a smile despite the doubt swirling inside. I take a seat next to her, both of us sipping the warm liquid in awkward silence . . .

---