Page 1 of Rumours and Romance
Chapter 1
Mila
The best part of owning my own bakery is getting up before dawn to bake.
I’m serious.
There’s something so peaceful about being awake before anyone else, turning the lights on in my kitchen and seeing the clean countertops gleaming, just waiting to be covered in flour and sugar. Pretty soon, the smell of yeast will permeate the air as the bread proofs, cinnamon and spice will overlay it once I get the muffin batter mixed, and maybe today I’ll finally find the time to experiment with the savoury loaf I want to try for sandwiches. Sundried tomatoes, oven roasted garlic, and asiago cheese.
Yes. Please.
The next hour is spent listening to my favourite true crime podcast and mixing up different batters and doughs. By the time my assistant arrives, I’ve got three batches of our famous apple nut muffins in the oven, and enough bread proofing for the two dozen loaves we normally sell in a day.
“Hey, Mila,” Kelly comes walking through the back door, hanging her bag on a hook and going immediately to the sink to wash up.
“Morning, what’s on the cookie menu today?”
I’m a good baker. I don’t say that to be arrogant, I say it because it’s the truth. Yet for the life of me, I cannot bake a decent cookie. I’ll follow a recipe, yet they end up hard as hockey pucks. I’ll try to freestyle something, and they’re soggy piles of mush. Kelly, on the other hand, is a verified cookie-making wizard, creating flavour combinations that I could never think of in a million years. When I hired her, I told her that her responsibility was to save the citizens of Dogwood Cove from my cookie disasters. She laughed, until she tried one of mine. There was no looking back since then. We make a good team, and I’m considering offering her a manager position soon.
“Mmm, I’m feeling salty today. Salted caramel chips in dark chocolate, and peanut butter — both versions, with and without chocolate chips.”
My mouth is already watering. “Make sure you save a salted caramel one for me, okay?”
“You bet.”
We fall into our routine, working side by side. I’m focused on mixing up some bran muffins, what I affectionately call geriatric muffins seeing as they’re popular with the older residents of Dogwood Cove. I don’t sell a lot of them, but I try to keep at least a dozen around most days. After that batter is ready, it’s on to blueberry banana muffins, and then I can start the scones.
Eventually, the rest of the team arrives — one more baking assistant and my morning cashier. The sign gets flipped to open, and the second-best part of owning my own bakery can begin. I always spend the first hour going between the kitchen and the front of the bakery, greeting my regular customers and enjoying their reactions to whatever we’ve baked that morning. Food equals happiness, and I love seeing that.
“Mila, girl, give it up. What is in these scones? They are incredible.”
I glance up from the glass case where I’m restocking the apple nut muffins and smile at one of my favourite customers.
“Hey, Riley, glad you like them. I got some real maple syrup and wanted to experiment. What do you think? Do maple bacon scones meet your standards?”
Riley maneuvers her wheelchair around to the edge of the counter so we can chat more easily. “I want to marry this scone, Mila, seriously.”
“Don’t tell your husband that,” I tease. “Or maybe you need to take another one home to Dean.”
“But if I share, that will mean less for me.”
I shrug and give her a sly grin. “Then take two more and eat one before you get home.”
Riley lifts her hand up for a high five. “Now you’re talking.”
I reach into the glass case and pull out a couple of scones, putting them in a bag and handing it to Riley.
“Whatever happened with that guy you met in Westport?” she asks, opening the bag and sniffing deeply. “Oh my God, that smells so good.”
I rest my elbows on the counter with a small groan. “He was an idiot. Can you believe he actually admitted he was moving back home with his mom, and I quote, ‘so he could spend more time mountain biking and less time working’. Seriously, where are the guys with a work ethic? With a career? Goals? Anything remotely resembling maturity.” I shake my head as Riley laughs. “I’m serious. No more dates. I’m just going to focus on the bakery from now on.”
“I’m sorry, girl. You really do have shitty luck with men. Maybe if you weren’t so amazing, it would be easier to lower your expectations.”
“No way. If my mom taught me anything, it was to never settle.”
Riley waves her hand in the air. “Amen, sister. On that note, I guess I need to get home to Dean. We’re meeting with the fertility specialist later.”
My eyes widen. “Oh my God, that’s so exciting!”
