The Ingredients of You and Me

by Nina Bocci

  Praise for USA Today bestselling author Nina Bocci’s Hopeless Romantics series

  Meet Me on Love Lane

  “In the feel-good second installment of Bocci’s Hopeless Romantics series… the idyllic setting is vividly rendered and Charlotte’s personal growth as she builds a home for herself is handled with compassion. Readers will enjoy this sweet, fluffy tale that sits squarely at the intersection of romance and women’s fiction.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  On the Corner of Love and Hate

  *A Goodreads “Most Anticipated Romance Novel of 2019”*

  *A Hypable “20 Most Anticipated Summer Book Releases for 2019” Pick*

  *A Bustle “21 New Rom-Com Novels to Spice Up Your Summer Reading” Pick*

  “Romance at its finest with a colorful cast of characters and a couple to root for.”

  —New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Sylvain Reynard

  “Emma’s everywoman appeal lends charm to the story, and her self-deprecating humor is a plus. This is a fun bit of fluffy entertainment.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “I flew through On the Corner of Love and Hate. Written with wit, quick banter, and heartfelt moments, I wished and rooted for Emma and Cooper’s happily-ever-after, for that opposites-attract heat to smolder and catch fire. And Nina Bocci delivered!”

  —Tif Marcelo

  “Fans of Hallmark Channel rom-coms will flip over this sassy love story.… What follows is a rediscovered spark, steamy banter, and the art of finding love in unlikely places.”

  —Woman’s World

  “Impossible to read without smiling. On the Corner of Love and Hate is romantic fiction at its finest.”

  —Lauren Layne, USA Today bestselling author of Passion on Park Avenue

  “Bocci’s warm, romantic novel deals with love, friendship, and family ties. This page-turner is filled with quick, witty banter from likable characters living in a realistic small town. The character-driven novel will have readers rooting for the confused friends. Fans of Jill Shalvis will thoroughly enjoy this swoon-worthy story.”

  —Booklist

  “Fans of enemies-to-lovers rom-coms (such as Sally Thorne’s The Hating Game) will enjoy, as will political junkies.”

  —Library Journal

  “A delightful slow-burning romance that I adored!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Mia Sheridan

  “Charming.… Bocci puts her characters through an emotional wringer, but balances the pining and misunderstandings with humor and an overall uplifting message about community involvement, family and hope. Readers looking for a feel-good romance set in a diverse, quirky small town will be entranced by On the Corner of Love and Hate.”

  —Shelf Awareness

  “Plenty of wit and feisty characters.… If you’re looking for one last summer read, something comfortable and warm to help you settle in and get ready for even cozier reading this fall, you most definitely don’t want to miss On the Corner of Love and Hate, because it’s everything you’re looking for… and probably a little bit more.”

  —Hypable (4 stars)

  “With its picturesque cover and super cute (and clueless) hero and heroine, On the Corner of Love and Hate was an absolute joy to read. I can’t wait to see what entertaining story Nina Bocci has for her readers next.”

  —Harlequin Junkie (4 stars)

  “Nina Bocci is a wonderful storyteller. On the Corner of Love and Hate is a delight with a cast of characters that you will adore. Brava.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Slow-burn romance with great banter and plenty of laughs!”

  —Daily Waffle

  Praise for Roman Crazy

  With Alice Clayton

  “A comedic and deliciously whimsical romp only this pair could deliver. Alice Clayton and Nina Bocci have struck gold.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Christina Lauren

  “There are books that make you laugh out loud, make you teary, make you hot and bothered, make you smile. And then there are books that make you want to crawl inside them and live within their pages. That’s what Roman Crazy is.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase

  “I went CRAZY over Roman Crazy—this is simply a perfect romance!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Probst

  “A sexy, steamy slow burn that takes you from the cobbled streets of Rome to the bedroom and everywhere in between. Get your fans out! Five stars of smolder.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting

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  To my real Golden Girls:

  Mama G, Zias Suzie, Pauline, Dinah, Clara, and Lillian

  Coffee is on, bagels are artfully arranged on the platter, cream cheese is chilled, and nerves are shot,” I said to the blissfully quiet space. Knocking my knuckles nervously on the marble tabletop, I proceeded to do one more walk through the bakery.

  In five minutes, the place would be teeming with people. My people.

  Fifty minutes after that, it would be teeming with more people. Not my people.

  I should have allowed myself more time to break the news to my longtime staff that things were changing.

  Drastically.

  It was like many of life’s great, unexpected changes. One day you were going through the motions of the day-to-day—albeit a bit stressed because of work—and the next you were fielding an offer that would take all the stress and the exhaustion away. The trajectory of my life and those in it was about to change profoundly. And not just because I had a newly beefed-up bank account.

  But there was no time for worrying about that now. While I was going through a cluster of emotions, I needed to remain focused on delivering the news to my staff that I had sold my business a month ago. The one that I, quite literally, had poured blood, sweat, and tears into over the last six years.

  This was the best possible move for me, and I hoped my employees would be happy for me—after the initial shock, of course.

  After all, they still had their jobs if they wanted them. I just didn’t have mine, or any clue of what I was going to do next.

  Thankfully, just as I was about to futz around with the bagel display one more time, the staff began filing in and I took a second to look over the cards I held in my shaky hands. I decided that five more minutes to go over my notes would help.

  “Guys, grab some coffee and breakfast. I’ll just be a second,” I said, stepping behind the curtain that led to the storeroom to compose myself. The nerves and anxiousness I was experiencing weren’t feelings that I was used to. I usually fed off the energy, but this was different. Their lives and livelihoods were in for a major upheaval.

  Pulling out my notes, I went through the talking points in a whisper while the staff milled about on the other side of the curtain.

  “As you know, Delicious and Vicious isn’t any run-of-the-mill bakery in New York. While we aren’t winning any awards for being the best in the city—creamiest icing, nuttiest of brownies—we are known for something no one else does. The delish part is easy but with you guys by my side, we’ve made our bakery into a destination. It’s the vicious that sets us apart.”

  I thought about the vicious part.
It really was the reason we stood a head above other bakeries of similar size in the city. We sent any, and I do mean any, sort of message to anyone through our desserts. Need to break up with a boyfriend? Order our “I really hate kissing you” special. Want to quit your job with just the right message to your horrible boss? We’d bake you the “Sorry for your loss” cake along with your two weeks’ notice letter. Found out that your husband was cheating? You’d get the “P.S. I was always faking it” or the “I hope it falls off.”

  “We give vicious a whole new definition.” I smiled thinking about that line, knowing that while I once loved that aspect, I’d grown weary of it.

  “Everyone knows about Magnolia Bakery and Sprinkles, but people also know about D and V, and that’s because of this team. In record time, we have become a staple in the city, and I am so proud of what we’ve built.” My voice wavered, just as I knew it would when I delivered this for real.

  “But while this has been a run unlike anything else in my life, in a week, D and V will be transformed into a bigger flagship location under new ownership.” I was finally clipping these wings.

  By the time I walked out, the staff was already seated. My two head bakers and one part-timer sat on one side of the table I’d set up, and the two decorators sat on the other. The company IT master-slash-order-taker was opposite where I stood.

  We were a team of misfits that wouldn’t cut it in a traditional bakery. Save for me, no one had formal training, and keeping them all on staff was a part of the contract with the new owners that I wouldn’t budge on. They couldn’t replace them because of their lack of pastry schooling. But my staff had drive, discipline, and a willingness to start from the ground up and learn. It was risky, but thank goodness it was worth it.

  I knew they would appreciate that when I finally gave them the news.

  I wondered what about the current structure would remain and who, if anyone, would go. Over the next few weeks, this space, my once hole-in-the-wall boutique bakery that I started as a terrified twenty-five-year-old, would be transformed without me at its helm.

  But before I ventured off into the sunset, I had to let my people know. Each one was looking up at me expectantly. All it did was make me that much more nervous. Not nervous about the choice I made—I was proud of the decision to sell—but I was nervous about how they’d take it. At the end of the day, these people were, in essence, my family.

  Rolling my shoulders back, I took a deep breath and remembered why I’d sold a piece of my heart in the first place. It was time I put myself first, and the bakery would be better off for it.

  “I want to thank you all for coming on a Friday afternoon, especially on such short notice. I know it’s the last day of our week-long vacation, but I have an announcement to make and I can’t wait until Monday,” I began, standing at the corner of the table, keeping my hands folded together.

  “We know,” someone said, their voice interrupting my thought.

  “What?” I said, looking up. They were all smiling and nodding. “You know… what?”

  “Well, we have an idea,” someone else said.

  “It’s about the Food Network again, right?” my lead baker said, getting up from the table and coming over to stand beside me. “We’re excited for you to compete again. We saw the casting information sheet on the bulletin board in your office.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled.

  I squeezed her hand. “Okay, yes, I was asked to come back to the Kitchen Sink baking competition, but I declined.” Kitchen Sink was about bakers who created masterpieces with totally random items, and I’d been on it a couple of times already.

  The nervous rumblings started, “Why?” being the most repeated question.

  “Declining was easy. They didn’t ask me to be a baker this time. The only way they wanted me was if I came on to judge. Perhaps if they wanted me to compete again like the last few times, I would have considered.”

  A few years back when we weren’t sure if D&V would make it, I applied for a show on a dare by my best friend, Charlotte. I entered the Food Network’s Next Best Baker competition after a lot of back-and-forth about it being the wrong time. It was risky to try out, considering D&V was failing at the time, but the prospect of being on national television and getting the business exposure won out. Of course, I never thought in a million years that with all the applicants, they’d choose me. But they did, and it had the exact effect I had hoped for D&V: a windfall of business from around the country. Visitors now trekked to my little corner of Brooklyn to snag a cupcake, and a photo.

  It also gave me a bit of an ego boost. Over the last few years, I went on various types of baking shows on the network, not just because I loved competing but because my business flourished thanks to the appearances and to my frequent wins. Funnily enough, many of the shows were sponsored by The Confectionary, the company that I’d just sold my bakery to.

  “Well, that’s flattering, right?” someone said from the end of the table. “You being a judge is considered a step up, isn’t it?”

  I laughed, picking at the smudge of melted chocolate chip that was crusted to my knuckles from the cookies I had made earlier that day. I supposed that it was a step up, but it didn’t feel that way.

  “So, you are going to do it? Be a judge on the next show?”

  I shook my head. “After a lot of reflection, I turned them down. It feels a bit like the passing of the torch, if that makes sense. I’ve been on more than a dozen times. Even I’m sick of seeing myself on television. It’s about time I give someone else a moment in the spotlight.”

  “That’s awfully magnanimous of you.”

  “Don’t get the martyrdom certificate out yet. I tried to finagle something different out of them, but they didn’t go for it.”

  “What?”

  I smiled ruefully. “I was looking to start a new online series to piggyback off of what I already did with the videos we made and posted to YouTube from here. Streaming content on their website and social.” The excitement I felt about the prospect was only heightened when I did an informal poll on my own accounts to see what people wanted. Just hearing more videos was an ego boost enough, but to have folks requesting specifics from me? Well, that solidified that it was a smart move on my part. People wanted back-to-basics, and I would be scratching the teaching itch I had been actively ignoring for ages. Except…

  “My hope was that the Food Network would be interested, and they were, but their terms were outrageous. I’d be doing all the work, and they’d be reaping all the benefits from sponsored posts and partnerships, with me only getting a slim percentage.”

  “Yes, but we would have had a windfall here anyway, right? You would have gone on one of the shows again just to parlay it into more D and V business. Not that we need it,” one of my newer bakers said, waving his hand toward the towering stack of order slips on my desk.

  My recently devoid-of-all-personal-items desk. If they noticed, they didn’t comment.

  “So, if you’re not going back onto the Food Network, what’s the announcement?”

  This was it. I took a deep breath and made a mental note to savor the signature D&V scent that I would forever associate with this place: vanilla sweetness with the spice of cinnamon.

  “I sold D and V,” I blurted awkwardly. Maybe I was vanilla drunk from the heady fragrance, or I was sleep deprived, but I had a plan—and notes—and I just hit a foul ball.

  “You what!” the group called in unison.

  I sighed and pulled out the last stool at the makeshift conference table.

  “Parker? What do you mean you sold D and V?”

  “Was business bad? Is that why?”

  “What about us? Are we out?”

  Folding my hands, I kept them locked together on the cool table, and I stared at my friends’ shocked and worried expressions. I had every reason to be proud of this moment, but I couldn’t ignore the nervousness.

  “No, business wasn’t bad. The opposite, in fact. And I�
�ll answer every question you have, but don’t be nervous. You’re all fine.”

  “Then, Parker, why?”

  I took another deep breath. I owed them an explanation and I was going to be as honest as I could be. “Some of you remember the early days when I started D and V out of my apartment kitchen. Borrowing neighbors’ ovens, making homemade double boilers because I couldn’t afford the real thing, begging people to let me use their KitchenAid mixers and watch my oven while I ran a delivery to Queens? No one was more nervous than I was that my idea was going to flop. That the format of D and V was nothing more than a gimmick, even though I was still willing to sink everything into it.” I saw heads nod.

  “My willingness to devote everything to it never wavered, but lately my willingness to put myself first is winning out. Months ago, I got an offer. Not to get all Godfather-y on you, but it really was one that I couldn’t refuse. I went back and forth over whether or not to take it. And after a lot of thought, and a lot of wine, I decided to sell,” I explained.

  I hated the look of confusion and sadness on their faces as they grasped the hand of the coworker, the friend, beside them.

  “I just don’t know what to think,” said one of my bakers. “Why didn’t you tell us? Confide in us—”

  I held up my hand. “Before we go any further, I need you to know something truly important first. While it’s great, this isn’t about the money.”

  “What is it about, then?” my decorator asked.

  “Time,” I said honestly. “For the past six years, I’ve spent twelve hours a day here. Taking orders, baking orders, placing orders, delivering orders. I’m thirty-one and my body feels like it’s seventy-one. And that’s just what I do in the bakery itself. At home I spend a few hours working on recipes every day, plus uploading videos and interacting on social media. It’s been a hamster wheel for me.”

  “But why sell? Why not just take a vacation or work less? You’ve got all of us to pull the weight,” the woman who ran all things ordering and IT asked. She’d been willing to learn more of the business end of things in the past few months because she saw how burned out I was becoming.