Chapter 2

“Oh, come on. What the hell?”

Sylvie Taylor skidded her bike to a halt, staring at the atrocity before her.

Well, it wasn’t so much an atrocity as it was a very, very attractive window display of freshly baked pies – it actually would have been better if it was an atrocity, because as it was, the beautiful stack of golden-brown apple pies in front of her was way worse.

Sylvie stared at the pies, and at the blackboard next to them, advertising exactly what they were, just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Nope,she thought grimly, as she read over the beautiful white chalk calligraphy for the third time, that’s exactly what it says. Apple and thyme pies.

She sniffed the air, taking in the heavenly scent wafting out of the bakery door.

And from the smell of things, there’s cinnamon too. And –

Another sniff.

Aw, man. They even got my secret weapon. Bay leaf.

Sylvie could feel her heart sinking into her shoes.

How does this keep happening?!

Once, maybe Sylvie could chalk up to coincidence. Twice, weird, but okay. But five times now this bakery – this new bakery, Johnson’s Pies and Bakery – had, suddenly, out of nowhere, started selling a new product that she’d spent weeks planning and perfecting to sell at her own shop, Sylvie’s Sweets and Bakery.

The apple and thyme pies were something she’d spent at least a couple of weeks getting just right: not too sweet, not too savory. Just enough cinnamon to give it a little bit of spice. The secret bay leaf gave it a hint of something extra. It was a little different, Sylvie knew, but she thought it would be intriguing to people looking for a twist on an old favorite.

It had been a painstaking process – and now, Johnson’s Pies and Bakery had, somehow, stolen her idea out from under her. Again.

First it had been her mini apricot turnovers. Then it’d been her chocolate chip and cherry blondies. Then her honey apple gingerbread. Then it’d been –

Oh, what’s the use,Sylvie thought, shaking her head, before putting her feet back on the pedals of her bike, hopelessness welling up inside her.

What seemed like such a short time ago, she’d been so happy: she’d finally achieved her dream of returning to the little mountain town where she grew up and opening her own bakery, after years of working for other people. Baking had been her lifelong passion, and finally, after years of traveling from apprenticeship to apprenticeship, working her ass off and learning everything she could from master bakers all across the country, she’d finally felt ready to start out on her own.

She’d come back here to Girdwood Springs, her hometown, knowing that with all the tourists and passers-by who came through here on their way up the mountains, she could finally have her dream of her own little bakery.

And at first, her dream had come true.

Her business had been an undeniable success. She’d seen a roaring trade from families driving past, from visitors to the town, and of course the locals, who remembered her and who she’d known since she was a little girl. There weren’t enough people who lived in Girdwood Springs to keep her in business, though – she needed people passing through to stop and buy something.

Which they had been! Sylvie thought grimly as she hopped off her bike, wheeling it over the sidewalk and down the side of her little bakery.

But all that had changed as soon as Johnson’s Pies and Bakery had opened up.

Their storefront was bigger. Flashier. It had a huge, lit-up sign that said ‘BAKERY’ with a big arrow pointing at their door. It was visible from way down the street, so anyone looking for a pie or a cookie would see it from a distance, and, Sylvie supposed, develop a kind of bakery tunnel vision, where they’d drive straight there, ignoring her own much more modest storefront.

Of course, she still got some customers. The locals had all stuck with her, of course. And she got some foot traffic, enticed by the smells that drifted out her bakery door – Sylvie had, at least, been confident her products were superior, since she poured her entire heart and soul into creating them.

But now, even that’s changed.

Sylvie took a deep breath as she parked her bike behind her shop, determined not to let her apprentice, Emily, see how downhearted she was.

She just didn’t understand how Johnson’s Pies and Bakery were doing this – how were they getting her plans for new products? Her recipes?! No one knew about them except Emily, and Sylvie trusted her completely. She knew Emily would never pass on her secrets like that.

Sylvie had been so sure the apple and thyme pies were a surefire winner. And now, she wouldn’t be able to sell them without seeming like she was just copying from the competition.

Still, they’re not the only trick up my sleeve,she thought, pressing her lips together in determination as she pushed open the door to her bakery, and was immediately enveloped in the smell of spices, pastries, and sugars.

It was Emily’s day to open, so Sylvie could have one day of the week where she didn’t have a four thirty a.m. start. On this one day, she could arrive just before lunch, knowing that Emily was at the stage where she could handle things all right by herself until she got there.

“Heya, Sylvie!” Emily called out from the front of the shop when she heard the bakery’s back door close. “How’s things?”

“All right,” Sylvie replied, unwinding her scarf from around her neck and hanging it up on the coatrack. It might have only been early fall, but the mountain winds were already chilly. “How’ve things been this morning?”

She walked out to the front of the shop, trying not to look like she was inspecting the displays too closely… even though she was. She couldn’t help it: she trusted Emily, but this had been her dream for so long, she couldn’t help but want everything to be perfect.

“It’s been okay – a few walk-ins, but nothing much.” Emily glanced at Sylvie, making a face, her freckled nose scrunching a little. “I can tell you already saw it – what Johnson’s is selling today.”

Sylvie cursed herself internally. She’d always been like that – no matter how hard she tried, her emotions were always completely clear on her face. She hadn’t wanted Emily to know how upset it had gotten her! It was useless to deny it now, though.

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “I just don’t get it. Do they have a spy camera or something? How are they doing this?!”

“I don’t know, Sylvs,” Emily said, sighing and shaking her head. “It was bad enough when they opened up with that big, lit-up sign. I thought it was kind of tacky, but what do I know, apparently.”

“Well, if that’s the first sign you see for a bakery when you drive into town, I guess it’s just normal that’s where you’d head,” Sylvie said. “Obviously I’m just going to have to take out a loan to get my own huge, tacky sign.”

On top of the loan I already have for this place,she thought, pressing her lips together. The bank was going to love her!

“Seriously though, Sylvs, don’t you think it’s… weird?” Emily asked, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the owners of Johnson’s Pies and Bakery might be here right now, somehow eavesdropping on them. “They come here out of nowhere and open up a bakery right down the road from yours, no one really knows who owns it, and it’s staffed entirely by out-of-towners who I’ve certainly never seen around before… don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”

To be honest, Sylvie did. But she wasn’t sure what gossiping or complaining about it was going to achieve. So she just shrugged, hoping that for once, her unease wasn’t completely plain on her face.

I’ll just have to work harder. And get ready to pull that trick out of my sleeve…

It was a trick she hadn’t even dared to tell Emily about. But a trick that, nonetheless, she was hoping would lure some customers her way.

“Anyway,” Emily said. “I made a list of the things we’ll need to restock for tomorrow – I can go do the orders run now, if you don’t mind holding things down here by yourself?”

“No, of course not,” Sylvie said. “Thanks for doing that – it’ll save me doing it this afternoon.”

“No problem,” Emily said, untying her apron from around her waist and hanging it up. “But oh, that reminds me!” Emily turned back as she reached the door, tapping her forehead with her palm. “Eula James has been calling off the hook since about ten minutes ago. She said it’s urgent. I was meant to tell you to call her the moment you got in.”

“Did it sound like something bad?” Sylvie asked, frowning as she headed to the phone out the back.

“No, not bad, just… something,” Emily said, shaking her head. “You know what Eula’s like. But she really did want you to call back.”

Sylvie nodded as she dialed the number for Eula’s diner, situated a little farther down the mountain. As local business owners, Eula and Sylvie saw each other regularly at community meetings, but Sylvie had been visiting Eula’s diner since she was a little girl. Her chili dogs were to die for.

“Sylvie? That you, hon?” Eula’s voice sounded from the other end of the phone almost the moment it started ringing. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

Sylvie had to suppress a smile. Eula was the town gossip, and Sylvie wondered what news, exactly, she had to share this time. “Emily said it was something urgent.”

“Urgent isn’t the word, hon. Have you had any customers this morning yet?”

Sylvie blinked. “I just got in, but Emily said there were a couple of people who came in earlier. Nothing special.”

“Then he can’t have come in yet. She’d know if he had,” Eula said, sounding relieved.

Sylvie, on the other hand, was just baffled. “Who’s he? What’re you talking about?”

“Well, hon, you remember how at last month’s community meeting Gerard Bryant brought in that article about the food critic? The one who secretly travels around, sampling random places and writing about them on his website?”

Sylvie did. And she knew the name of the critic, too – well, sort of. They were a mystery wrapped in a riddle, who went by the pen name of Aubrey Z. No one knew what they looked like, or where they’d show up next. The only way to find out you’d been reviewed was by checking their blog, which Sylvie, personally, was a huge fan of. Aubrey Z.’s reviews were hilarious, witty, and sometimes scathing, but always entertaining. They wrote about food as if it were art, but the good thing was, they’d review anything and anywhere. They didn’t just stick to high-end restaurants and snobby wine bars. They’d review a hot dog stand in the middle of the street if it happened to catch their eye.

And last month, Gerard Bryant had brought in an article to show everyone about how Aubrey Z. was setting off on another of their food odysseys, informing everyone that this time, they were off looking for the best of what small-town America had to offer.

Sylvie bit her lip. Everyone at the meeting had seemed convinced this meant Aubrey Z. would be sailing into Girdwood Springs any day now. But Sylvie wasn’t so sure. There were a lot of small towns in America, after all, and while she personally thought the place was pretty special, there was no reason why Aubrey Z. would have heard of it.

“Yeeeesssss,” she said cautiously, and she could practically feel Eula radiating anticipation from all the way down the mountain.

“Well, he came into my diner today,” Eula burst out, clearly unable to hold back any longer. “And I served him the best chili dog he’s ever experienced.”

Sylvie didn’t doubt it was a good chili dog – but she did have other doubts.

“He told you he was Aubrey Z.?” she asked, shaking her head a little. “Doesn’t that defeat the point a little of him being a mystery food critic?”

“Well, of course he didn’t say that,” Eula huffed. “But I could tell just by looking at him he wasn’t just some regular tourist. He had that look about him – a special look. All tall and broad. With those piercing gray eyes, black hair and silver temples, despite being only about your age.” Eula’s voice sounded almost dreamy – like she was describing a handsome actor rather than a mysterious food critic. “That’s why I said you’d know him if you saw him.”

Sylvie lifted a hand, massaging her forehead a little. “So… a good-looking guy came into your shop, and you decided it must be a famous food critic? Eula, I don’t mean to sound skeptical, but…”

“Doubt me all you want, but I know I’m right,” Eula loftily informed her. “He practically admitted it once I asked him a few questions – he even asked me how I’d known. I told him you had to get up pretty early to fool me, and he put his hands up right there and then!”

Sylvie didn’t think it was all that likely that Aubrey Z. would have managed to keep their identity secret for all these years if they just admitted who they were to everyone who asked, but whatever the case, Eula seemed completely convinced in what she was saying, and Sylvie knew from long experience that there was no use arguing with her when she got like this.

“Well, thank you for telling me this,” she said diplomatically. “I’ll be sure to tell you if he swings by.”

If he doesn’t go to Johnson’s first…

“I can tell you don’t believe me, young Sylvie,” Eula said, and Sylvie could just picture her shaking her finger. “But you’ll see what I mean soon enough. Since I told him he had to visit your bakery.”

Sylvie blinked. “Sorry?”

“I know the troubles you’ve been having with those rascals who set up shop down the way from you,” Eula said, sounding outraged. “So I told him, you go to Sylvie’s bakery, young man. Not that other place. Just think – once he writes about you on his website, you’ll have more customers than you know what to do with.”

Sylvie opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure what to say. It was true that a review on a famous website would help her out. But she really didn’t think this guy was Aubrey Z., even though she appreciated very much that Eula’s heart was in the right place.

“Well, I can only hope,” she eventually settled on saying.

Who knew? Maybe it was her lucky day, and this guy really was a famous mystery food writer. Stranger things had happened.

Well. Actually, they hadn’t.

Unless you count the owner of Johnson’s Pies and Bakery being, somehow, a mind reader, Sylvie thought, resisting the urge to grind her teeth.

From the front of the shop she heard the tinkling of the bell that told her a customer had just opened the door.

“Eula, I gotta go,” Sylvie said quickly. “Duty calls.”

“You’ll thank me later!” Eula’s voice sailed out of the phone just before Sylvie hung up, shaking her head. Quickly tossing on a black apron with Sylvie’s written across the front, she hurried out to the front of the shop, plastering her best customer service smile onto her face.

“Welcome to Sylvie’s Sweets and Bakery!” she chirped, still tying her apron, before she raised her head and actually looked at the person who’d entered the shop –

Whoa, she thought, blinking, her mouth popping open. Hot guy alert!