All for You (Sweetbriar Cove Book 2)

by Melody Grace

  “Crushed walnuts, coming right up. You go change.”

  Summer blinked.

  “You can’t meet your adoring public in Snoopy pajamas and no bra,” Poppy steered her to the stairs.

  “Oh. OK.” Summer hurried up, then paused. “And guys? I can’t thank you enough. Really, you’re saving my ass.”

  “And what a cute ass it is, too.” June winked. “Now go on, get pretty!”

  Pretty was asking too much, but Summer managed to throw on a cute dress and wipe frosting from her face before hurtling back downstairs. She took one last look around—the bakery room sunny and inviting—and then nervously went to unlock the front doors. She stepped outside and found . . .

  Nothing.

  The lane was empty, not a person in sight, just the morning sound of birds chirping, Marmaduke sunning himself on the front steps.

  Summer’s heart sank. OK, so it was early. And the weekend. And not even the official opening. People were probably still in bed, but they’d soon feel an urge for pastries and bread. Besides, this gave her some extra time to make sure she had everything ready. That was a good thing, right?

  Still, she couldn’t stop her insecurities rising as she headed back behind the counter. What if nobody came? What if they’d all been lying, saying they couldn’t wait to pay a visit? What if she’d sunk her life savings into a money pit with no sign that she’d ever sell another slice of pie—?

  “Are you open yet?”

  Summer turned, her spirits rising to see one of the locals, Debra, with a couple of friends in tow. “Yes!” she exclaimed happily. “And you’re my first customers. Which means you get to sample my sticky buns before anyone else.”

  “Ooh.” Debra smiled, coming closer to the display case. “Look at this. I was only going to get some bread, but it would be a shame to miss out . . .”

  They bustled around, cooing over the various treats on offer before making their selections. Summer was so happy to have actual live customers that she almost gave it to them on the house, but stopped herself just in time. “Have a great day!” she called, sending them out with bakery boxes and crisp paper bags. “Tell all your friends!”

  No sooner than the door dinged shut behind them than the bell announced another new arrival—and another. It looked like half of Sweetbriar Cove had descended at once, and by midday, Summer was desperately trying to keep up.

  “That’s two French loaves, one pain au raison, and . . .”

  “The Pop-Tarts,” the woman in front of her repeated. She was dressed in spotless white jeans, with an expensive purse slung over one arm and a small boy tugging at the other.

  “Right!” Summer grabbed the bread from the rack behind her and slipped it into a brown paper bag. “I’m sorry, but we’re all out of the Pop-Tarts.”

  The woman sighed. “Brayden, you’ll have to pick something else.”

  “I don’t wanna,” the kid whined. “I wanna Pop-Tart!”

  Summer winced. There was a line forming behind them, but the kid looked so stricken, she couldn’t help but pause.

  “I can go check in the back, in case there are some still left?” she offered, and the woman rolled her eyes.

  “Fine. But make it fast, we’re late for his sailing lesson.”

  OK, then.

  Summer dashed into the back, where June and Poppy were working flat-out, dolloping cookie dough onto baking sheets and rotating fresh-baked pies out of the oven to cool.

  “How’s it going out there?” Poppy asked. “I can’t believe the crowds!”

  “It’s these cookies,” June added, looking guilty. She had crumbs around her collar, and a smear of chocolate on her chin. “They’re addictive. I’ve had three already. Alright. Five.”

  “You can eat as many as you like,” Summer assured her. “Any more of those Pop-Tarts?”

  Poppy looked around. “Over by the sink.”

  “Thank you!” Summer grabbed them and rushed back out. “You’re in luck,” she told the woman, still waiting impatiently by the register. “We still have a few left. They’re strawberry,” she added, as the kid reached out and grabbed one. “Enjoy!”

  The woman slapped it out of Brayden’s hand. “What are you doing? He’s allergic to strawberries!”

  Summer gulped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “Do you realize what would have happened if you served my child that poison?” The woman’s voice rose. “He’s very sensitive to seeded fruit. His nutritionist says it could interfere with his digestion!”

  “Oh, is that all?” Summer exhaled with relief. “I thought you meant like, anaphylactic shock. No harm done, how about a chocolate croissant?”

  “No harm done?” The woman’s face turned red. “What kind of place are you running here?”

  Summer took a step back. She’d seen her share of fussy customers back in New York, but this woman was taking it to a whole new level. “Again, you have my apologies,” she said smoothly. “You know what? Your order is on the house today.”

  “It had better be!” the woman scowled. “And let me tell you, we won’t be back. Brayden!” She spun on her heel and marched towards the door.

  Good riddance, Summer thought silently, turning to serve the next customer, but before she could greet them, there was some kind of commotion in the doorway. A Labrador dog was barking loudly, just inside the shop.

  “I’m sorry,” Summer called. “No animals allowed.”

  “What about the cat?” The dog’s owner said.

  “What cat?”

  He pointed, and Summer turned to find Marmaduke sitting snug up on one of the built-in shelves, surveying the room. No! “He’s not . . . I’m sorry, he shouldn’t be there.”

  Summer hurried out from behind the counter, and tried to grab Marmaduke, but he was settled too high to reach. The dog barked again, tugging at his leash, and Marmaduke’s hackles rose. He hissed, glaring down. The dog barked louder.

  “I’m so sorry,” Summer apologized to the customers waiting in line. “I just need to . . . Marmaduke, come down. Please?”

  Suddenly, the dog broke free, yanking his leash from his owner’s hand. He bounded across the bakery, barking non-stop. Marmaduke leapt down, bolting in the other direction as they chased each other around the shop.

  It was pandemonium.

  People leapt back out of the way, bumping into shelves and tables, while the animals careened around the room. And in the middle of it all, Brayden was sitting on the floor, happily eating his Pop-Tart with strawberry jam smeared around his mouth.

  “Brayden!” his mother squawked, just as the dog let out another howl and bolted towards Marmaduke, knocking a chair aside and clawing at the tablecloth.

  “Down, boy!” his owner yelled.

  “Brayden!”

  “Wait, do you smell burning?”

  Summer whipped her head around. “What?”

  People started sniffing the air. “It definitely smells like smoke. Did you leave something in the oven?”

  Suddenly, the smoke alarm rang out at ear-splitting volume.

  “Nothing to worry about!” Summer cried, backing away. “Poppy?” she called, lunging for the kitchen door.

  “I’m sorry!”

  She found Poppy and June frantically fanning the stove. A plume of acrid smoke was billowing up, flames licking at the edges.

  “Oh my God!” Summer dashed forward, yanking the oven door open. More smoke billowed out, and Summer fell back, coughing.

  “Where’s the fire extinguisher?” June asked, uselessly waving a tea towel at the blaze.

  The extinguisher. Of course! Summer grabbed it from the pantry, and fumbled with the nozzle. The alarm blared louder, smoke rising higher. “I can’t . . .”

  “Here.” Poppy managed to undo the clasp and Summer pointed it at the stove, unleashing a torrent of chemical foam that swamped the whole back wall, until finally, it was all burned out.

  There was silence.

  She sank back agains
t the island, trying not to cry. She was exhausted, sooty, and everything was falling apart.

  And Grayson wasn’t there.

  “Summer . . .” Poppy began, sounding tremulous.

  “It’s fine!” she interrupted, trying to look upbeat. “Nothing to worry about!” Look, we’ve still got a ton of things left to sell. So I’ll just get back to the customers, and you guys can go home, and—”

  Then the sprinklers spluttered to life, and they were all doused in a torrent of cold water.

  19

  The food was ruined. Between the smoke, the fire extinguisher, and the sprinkler system, pretty much everything they had baked was an inedible, soggy mess. Poppy sent everyone home, while Summer dumped it all in the trash and slowly walked back inside.

  She sank against the wall and slid to the kitchen floor. “It’s a disaster.” Summer gulped, surveying the wreckage. Even aside from the hundreds of dollars of wasted baked goods, there was water dripping down the walls, wet puddles of sticky sugar on the floor, and burn marks scorched up the back wall.

  Her beautiful kitchen looked like a war-zone.

  “All of it’s ruined.” Summer felt a sob well up in her chest. “I should never have thought I could take on something like this.”

  “Now, let’s not get dramatic.” June patted her shoulder. “Things didn’t exactly run smoothly straight out of the gate,” she said, tactful. “But that’s what the soft open was for, to get the kinks out before the real deal.”

  “Some kinks.” Summer felt like crying. “Everything that could go wrong, did.”

  “So now you’ve got the worst over with, you’ll know how to deal with it all again,” June argued. “Everyone knows that if the dress rehearsal is a disaster, that means opening night will go off without a hitch.”

  Summer looked up. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  June chuckled. “I was known to tread the boards when I was younger. Amateur dramatics. We staged Macbeth one year. You know how they say to break a leg?” she asked. “Our leading actor did. Got turned around and walked right off the front of the stage. Broke his shin in two places. We had to open with his understudy, but it was flawless. I got a standing ovation for my ‘Out, damned spot’ speech.”

  Summer managed a smile. “But I don’t have an understudy. It’s just me.”

  “And you’ll do fine.”

  Summer let out a breath. She knew they were trying to help, but she couldn’t keep pretending anymore. “If you don’t mind, I think I just want to be alone.”

  June and Poppy exchanged looks. “OK,” Poppy said softly. “But call if you need anything.”

  Summer nodded. “Thank you,” she said, getting choked up all over again. “You guys have been the best.”

  It wasn’t their fault that she was a walking catastrophe.

  She sank back against the wall and closed her eyes, listening to the door close behind them.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  The real opening was Monday. All her flyers and emails had gone out, and the article in the Gazette was inviting everyone to come by. She couldn’t cancel now—no matter how much she wanted to go hide under her covers and not come out for a hundred years.

  Maybe June was right, and this was the universe’s way of throwing all the problems at her early to get them out of the way. But what if she was wrong? Summer wondered with a sick feeling in her stomach. What if this was just the beginning? Was her dream doomed to failure before it had even begun?

  She heard the door open and footsteps return. She sighed. “I know you want to help, but really, I just need to be alone.”

  She was expecting Poppy or June, back to try and cheer her up, but instead, it was a male voice that came. Male, British, and too achingly familiar.

  “What happened in here?”

  Grayson.

  Summer opened her eyes. He was standing in the doorway, wearing jeans and a rugged plaid shirt like he’d strolled straight out of the woods.

  Just the sight of him hurt, salt in her already-raw, wounded heart.

  She swallowed. “I thought you were camping.”

  “I . . . came back.” Grayson looked awkward. “To see you. And the opening.”

  “Well, you’re too late. You didn’t miss much.” Summer gave a bitter laugh. “But then, you told me, didn’t you? I’m chaos. I guess everything I touch falls apart.”

  “That’s not true.” Grayson crossed to her, and crouched down beside Summer on the wet kitchen floor. “What happened? Are you OK?”

  He reached to touch her cheek, but Summer flinched away. “I’m fine,” she lied, scrambling to her feet. The concern on his face was too much to take, after everything else that had happened today.

  Now he was back. Now, he decided to show up. But it felt too late.

  Too little, and too late.

  She went to the counter, and started trying to clear the mess: taking empty bowls and baking sheets and stacking them in the sink.

  “Let me help you with that.” Grayson followed.

  “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” Summer shot back. “A schedule you need to keep?”

  “Summer . . .”

  “What?” She turned away and angrily wiped her tears, hating that he was seeing her like this.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Grayson’s voice was heavy. “Every mile I drove, it felt like I was getting further away from where I was supposed to be.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined your big escape,” Summer said. She didn’t want to be sarcastic, but her hurt was burning, sharp and bitter, and it was spilling out.

  “You don’t understand. I take that trip every year, but I didn’t want to be there, not without you.”

  “Will you just listen to yourself?” Summer interrupted, spinning around. “You’re still acting like being with me is ruining your life, like it’s a burden to even care!”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Grayson looked like he was struggling for words, but Summer didn’t have time for this, not with the wreckage of her dreams strewn, damp and soggy, all around her, and a mountain of work ahead to get it all back on track.

  “This isn’t just about the opening,” Summer said, aching to look at him. She knew how those strong arms felt, wrapped around her. How he tasted, how he touched. She wanted so much from him, but not like this. Not when she seemed like a sin that he wished he could resist.

  “I didn’t ask for a lot, OK? It wasn’t like I said you had to be all in,” she said, her voice cracking. “Or that you had to promise me a future. Commitment. That’s all still way down the line. But you won’t even open up and give me room in your life right now. You don’t call or text me, or seem happy if I drop by. It’s like you don’t want me to exist outside the exact time you’ve got scheduled for me. Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not enough. I need more than that.” She gulped. “And I can’t just wait around in case one day you decide to finally let me in. I won’t do that to myself, not anymore.”

  She thought of the painful years she’d spent, desperately trying to prove herself. It was one thing to take rejection in the kitchen—never feeling like she’d be good enough for her mom, or the temperamental chefs she had to dance around—but she wasn’t going to do that with her heart. She couldn’t.

  Summer knew what it was like to feel not good enough, and it was no way to live.

  No way to love.

  “Please, just go,” Summer said sadly. Grayson seemed frozen, stranded there in the middle of the floor, and she had to turn away from him again before she broke her own word, and reached for one last kiss. “Go back to your life and your routine. That’s what matters to you, isn’t it?”

  There was silence. He’d left, just the way she asked.

  So why did it feel all wrong?

  20

  Summer spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning, but she barely made a dent in the wreckage. The floor was waterlogged, the back wall was burned through to the studs,
and as for her heart . . .

  A sponge and a bucket wouldn’t clean up the mess she’d made.

  “Put the mop down.”

  It was getting dark out when she looked up to find Mackenzie in the doorway. She was dressed in a bright red top with a determined expression on her face. “Poppy’s outside. We’re taking you out,” she announced. “Tacos and tequila, and plenty of it.”

  Summer swallowed. “I don’t know . . .”

  “No arguments.” Mackenzie took her arm and steered her to the door. “If anyone needs a drink in this town, it’s you. I already told Riley to get the good stuff out of storage.”

  “But I’m a mess,” Summer protested, as she was hustled out front. She had frosting stains down her front and wet patches on her dress.

  “We’ll live.” Mackenzie gave her a sympathetic smile. “Come on, which sounds better: moping here, up to your elbows in bleach, or spending the evening with your witty, hilarious friends?”

  “And Jose and Jack,” Poppy called, waiting by the car.

  Summer hesitated. “You guys . . . I really don’t know if I’m up to it. What if everyone’s talking about what a mess I made today?”

  “Then we’ll just have to give them something better to gossip about,” Mackenzie declared. “I promise, once they’ve seen me doing a bad Coyote Ugly on the bar, nobody will even remember your little fire alarm debacle.”

  “You’d really do that?” Summer felt a glimmer of a smile.

  “For you? Of course, babe.” Mackenzie grinned back. “What are friends for?”

  Luckily, no dirty dancing was necessary: when they arrived at the pub, nobody even looked in Summer’s direction. She collapsed onto a stool and let Poppy and Mac order up a round of tequila. Riley poured one out for all of them, then pushed an extra one over to Summer.

  “Is that a pity shot?” she asked.

  “Heard you had an . . . eventful opening,” he said, with a sympathetic smile.

  Summer knocked back the first shot. “That’s an understatement. Remind me to get a new sign made: no children or animals allowed.”