was generally unbearable.
He took her hands in his. “I’ll keep worrying about you.”
“I know. If you can get me some paper and a pen, outline the plans you know of, I’ll ask you some questions and get started on ideas for the dessert menu. We’ll sit on the couch and I promise to let you know if I’m suddenly feeling concussed after all.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Seven
Keeping on top of the housework and cooking, the work at the shop, and catering preparations for the Prescotts’ anniversary party would’ve been impossible if Maureen hadn’t relaxed her usual demands.
But she had , oddly, though Gina couldn’t figure out why.
Perhaps she worried about losing face with one of Midsummer’s top families or perhaps she gained something else from it. Regardless, Gina was grateful when her stepmother eased back a bit. Her chores around the house were non-negotiable, of course, but after working mornings in the shop, she had a few afternoons free the first week to start organizing her end of the catering for the party, and then was permitted even more time in the second week. She’d spoken to the Prescotts and conferred with the dinner caterers, then drafted up a dessert menu; she’d made samples for the Prescotts to taste; she’d planned to the last detail how long it would take the day of the party to prepare last minute items. And despite the usual exhaustion that plagued her throughout the day, she found herself looking forward to the catering. She was completely in her element and enjoying every minute of it.
Still, she became lost in it, and frequently reminded herself that when it was over, she’d likely pay in some way or another. But Brennen was right—it gave her more experience, more options.
And more opportunities to spend time with him, even if much of their time was spent with her working and him watching with a smile. It became a familiar rhythm, something she looked forward to all day, and a bright spot of light in her otherwise dark life.
Of course, there was still time to be spent at Sweet Haven, and she spent the Thursday before Saturday’s party filling the supply shelves and ensuring things were neat and tidy. She cautiously checked the entire store in the mornings now before setting to work, flipping on all the lights, inspecting the locks, and ensuring she was alone before setting to work. Gina never did hear precisely how much cash was taken or what the repairs cost, but Maureen was more irritable than usual about it, taking in an impossible number of orders that she had to know no reasonable baker could meet in a day. Still, Gina didn’t say a word, keeping her head down to work.
As the early hours passed, the sun grew brighter and the clock on the wall ticked steadily. When Tatum didn’t show to work cash, Gina opened the shop, checked the float in the new cash register, and kept an eye on the front as she stocked the shelves with loaves of fresh bread, biscuits, tarts, and cupcakes. A handful of people stopped in on their way to work to pick up breakfast, then the pace slowed—from about nine-thirty until eleven, the store usually grew quiet enough that she could work in the backroom peacefully and still not miss much out front. When the lull hit as usual, she decided to go back and tidy up a bit—she was due to meet Brennen early afternoon.
Just as she was about to head back through the curtain to return to her work in the kitchen, the bell over the door jangled.
Gina turned and paused, watching as a middle-aged man and woman, both Caucasian and in suits, entered the bakery. They both glanced around just briefly but didn’t browse, instead heading straight to the cash register. Gina went to meet them, plastering on a smile no matter how uncomfortable their appearance made her—whoever they were, they didn’t strike her as customers.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked pleasantly, folding her hands on the counter in front of her.
The
He took her hands in his. “I’ll keep worrying about you.”
“I know. If you can get me some paper and a pen, outline the plans you know of, I’ll ask you some questions and get started on ideas for the dessert menu. We’ll sit on the couch and I promise to let you know if I’m suddenly feeling concussed after all.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Seven
Keeping on top of the housework and cooking, the work at the shop, and catering preparations for the Prescotts’ anniversary party would’ve been impossible if Maureen hadn’t relaxed her usual demands.
But she had , oddly, though Gina couldn’t figure out why.
Perhaps she worried about losing face with one of Midsummer’s top families or perhaps she gained something else from it. Regardless, Gina was grateful when her stepmother eased back a bit. Her chores around the house were non-negotiable, of course, but after working mornings in the shop, she had a few afternoons free the first week to start organizing her end of the catering for the party, and then was permitted even more time in the second week. She’d spoken to the Prescotts and conferred with the dinner caterers, then drafted up a dessert menu; she’d made samples for the Prescotts to taste; she’d planned to the last detail how long it would take the day of the party to prepare last minute items. And despite the usual exhaustion that plagued her throughout the day, she found herself looking forward to the catering. She was completely in her element and enjoying every minute of it.
Still, she became lost in it, and frequently reminded herself that when it was over, she’d likely pay in some way or another. But Brennen was right—it gave her more experience, more options.
And more opportunities to spend time with him, even if much of their time was spent with her working and him watching with a smile. It became a familiar rhythm, something she looked forward to all day, and a bright spot of light in her otherwise dark life.
Of course, there was still time to be spent at Sweet Haven, and she spent the Thursday before Saturday’s party filling the supply shelves and ensuring things were neat and tidy. She cautiously checked the entire store in the mornings now before setting to work, flipping on all the lights, inspecting the locks, and ensuring she was alone before setting to work. Gina never did hear precisely how much cash was taken or what the repairs cost, but Maureen was more irritable than usual about it, taking in an impossible number of orders that she had to know no reasonable baker could meet in a day. Still, Gina didn’t say a word, keeping her head down to work.
As the early hours passed, the sun grew brighter and the clock on the wall ticked steadily. When Tatum didn’t show to work cash, Gina opened the shop, checked the float in the new cash register, and kept an eye on the front as she stocked the shelves with loaves of fresh bread, biscuits, tarts, and cupcakes. A handful of people stopped in on their way to work to pick up breakfast, then the pace slowed—from about nine-thirty until eleven, the store usually grew quiet enough that she could work in the backroom peacefully and still not miss much out front. When the lull hit as usual, she decided to go back and tidy up a bit—she was due to meet Brennen early afternoon.
Just as she was about to head back through the curtain to return to her work in the kitchen, the bell over the door jangled.
Gina turned and paused, watching as a middle-aged man and woman, both Caucasian and in suits, entered the bakery. They both glanced around just briefly but didn’t browse, instead heading straight to the cash register. Gina went to meet them, plastering on a smile no matter how uncomfortable their appearance made her—whoever they were, they didn’t strike her as customers.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked pleasantly, folding her hands on the counter in front of her.
The
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