Chapter 30

30

Annika

When I get back to the bakery too few hours after I left it, all the donuts are fried, glazed, and topped with miniature chocolate chips, and the last of the cookies are coming out of the oven.

"Gotta let the dough firm up in the fridge to make 'em taste best," Roger informs me.

"Thank you."

He doesn't mention Grady.

I don't offer any details.

"Made a bunch of my granny's chocolate chip muffins too. That lady could bake almost as well as your mama. How's she doin' this morning?"

"Still sleeping. Bailey too." I asked a neighbor to sit at the house in case either of them needed anything, but when I got home just after midnight, I turned off both of their alarms, because we're all running on fumes. "I can find someone else to take Bailey to?—"

He cuts me off with a snort. "You stay here and sell stuff. I'll get Bailey where she needs to be. You run out of anything, you call me. I got Birch running No Shit today, and I already got three pots of coffee in me."

My eyes sting with heat. "Thank you."

"What friends are for."

Yep, that glare was full of and that Rock boy ain't your friend .

"I'm watching YouTube videos and Food Network," I tell him. "Maybe thirty minutes a day. But I'm teaching myself to bake. I can do it. So that we're not such a drain on everyone."

"Friends ain't ever a drain. We give and take. And your mama's always been a good friend, even if she didn't know it. Don't need to be even to be friends, but I owe her this."

I tilt my head.

I don't remember Roger much from my childhood. I knew who he was, but he doesn't stand out as someone Mama saw often.

"Used to drop off cookies at the hospital," he tells me. "When my Chrissy was—well, when she was sick. 'Bout five years ago. Always cheered me up to have someone to talk to and share a cookie with, especially after—well. I asked her to bring some to the funeral too, and she did. Brought enough to feed the whole county. Never forgot how that made me feel."

I'm not a hugger. Not really.

It's not that I don't like hugs.

It's more that I miss the cues for when they're appropriate because I spent so many years denying that I needed them.

But I can't resist hugging Roger.

He pats me on the back and tells me to sell out so his time wasn't all wasted, then promises to head over to get Bailey once he's had a shower and a shave and some real breakfast.

And Grady must have a spy somewhere, because Roger's truck has barely turned the corner before my phone dings with a text.

Master Baker lessons. You. Me. Thorny Rock Mountain. Friday night. 6 PM.

I glance at my calendar, and I realize he must've already checked it, because Friday is the only night I have nothing scheduled after four PM.

What if I don't want to learn to bake? I type back.

It takes a few minutes for his answer to come through, but when it does, it's not text.

It's a picture.

Of cookie dough on his finger.

Hello, mini-gasm.

He follows it with an address, and I send back a thumbs-up, because I don't trust myself with words right now.

I flip on the coffee and read the instruction manual for the ice cream maker before the first few customers straggle in, and I wonder if he got any sleep last night.

If his hours are anything like ours have been, he probably had to be up at three or four.

And if his day is anything like mine, he has a steady stream of regulars this morning, along with unfamiliar faces who have started to hear about the bakery war and want to see for themselves who's worth traveling from Snyderville or one of the other surrounding towns for our baked goods.

I've never felt like such a fake as I do telling everyone that Duh, of course Duh-Nuts is the best .

But I do it anyway.

For Mama, who called to say she was taking a morning off since Roger assured her I had everything under control, and not to worry, that he'd stay with her.

I'm tempted to text Roger a polite but firm do not hit on my mother note, but Mama's a grown-up.

If she wants to let him hit on her, that's her business.

Liliana pops in during the middle of the morning rush.

"How's the winery?" I ask while I put four cookies in a to-go bag for her.

"I think it's good," she tells me. "Honey's not exactly what I expected."

"Honey—the heiress?"

"Yeah. She's more down-to-earth and willing to listen and learn than I thought she'd be. And I think she reads a lot."

"Like…science books?"

She laughs. "No. Fiction. Romance novels. It's weird, but I'm starting to think she's…well, lonely."

"Are the photographers still hanging around?"

"Some, but not like they were last week. Oh, and nice game last night. I saw the highlights on Instagram. By the way, how's your mama?"

Everyone asks.

Everyone.

How's Maria?

Is your mama doing okay?

If you ladies need anything, you let me know.

My teenager could use a job washing dishes if you're ever hiring. He's cheap, and highly motivated .

Being in the Army is like being in a second family. Military life is different—people come and go, the standards are rigid, and it's often months between visits with your blood family, so having an Army family is necessary.

But I'm realizing Sarcasm is a family of its own too.

And they're very easily pulling me back in as one of their own.

Like I fit here.

But part of fitting here means I'm supposed to hate Shipwreck.

And I can't do it. I can't.

"Mama's good," I tell Liliana.

"I heard Grady Rock is serving beernuts over in Shipwreck today," one of my regulars says with a sniff. "That's so alcoholic of him."

"Mm. Have you heard of bubble waffles? We're adding them to the menu soon."

"I can't wait to see that article about the bakery war. Shipwreck is finally going to show themselves to be the shitheads we always knew they were."

Liliana rolls her eyes.

And I realize exactly how I'm going to sneak to Shipwreck. "Hey, do you have plans tomorrow night?" I ask Liliana.

My tone must tip her off, because she goes from normal woman in a bakery to Thomasina Cruisette infiltrating a James Bond movie .

"No," she says loudly. "Of course not."

"Great. I'll text you and maybe we can get together."

"That would be WONDERFUL."

She hands me a twenty. I get her change. And she's grinning like a woman with a secret when she announces, "GOTTA GET TO WORK NOW! SEE YOU TOMORROW!"

She turns her ankle on her heels, rights herself, assures three guys who didn't ask that she's okay, and darts out the door.

My phone dings in my front apron pocket not ten seconds later.

And as soon as I get a break in the customer line, I glance at her text asking exactly what I need coverage for, and I reply by asking her to be my fake movie night friend so I can go get baking lessons from Grady.

So that's what the kids are calling it these days , she texts back.

I swear her to secrecy, and immediately start counting down to tomorrow night.

I'm very much looking forward to seeing Grady again.

Hopefully, finally , without interruptions.