Chapter One
Rosaleen
Rosaleen Plath admired the pale pink building she’d dreamt of daily since she went to culinary school twelve years prior. Learning the ropes, biting her tongue, and running the show for others was all par for the course. One didn’t come straight out of school and get their own shop unless they came from money. Her family was the furthest one could get from wealthy. Hell, she was the first in her family to attend college. From the second she latched onto a career goal she’d been in uncharted territory.
Every step on her journey toward her dreams had been breaking new ground for the Plaths. There were times she questioned her ambitiousness. At thirty-three, every student loan payment, cheap meal, and long work week proved to be worth it to achieve this moment. Look, Mom, I made it. Her mother had been with her every step of the way, her own personal cheerleader. She’d never thought where you came from should dictate where you would go. She had plans to bring her out for the grand opening.
Currently, though, she resided alone above the shop in her two-bedroom dwelling. Making the place her new home had helped stave off the loneliness somewhat. Being new never got any easier. In a lot of ways, moving still felt like walking in front of the class in your finest outfit, hoping they’d give you a chance before they decided you weren’t cool enough to play with.
It might be too early to tell what the jury here in Granville thought about her, but her mind felt like they were leaning toward playing her in the loser category. No negative thoughts today, Plath. You worked too hard to sour this day with that. Shaking off the bad vibes, she stepped back and admired the pink awning that would shield the two white wrought iron tables with matching chairs that had heart-shaped backs. It never hurt to add an Instagram worthy feature or a way to romance your significant other.
A faux heart-shaped garland comprised of artificial pink roses framed the door, inviting her customers to come in and step out of reality. For Cake’s Sake was written in pink on the wooden sign shaped like a shield that protruded from the building. She ran her finger over the gold cursive letters on the large display window. The inside of the shop was bare except for the circular formic tables with their pale pink seats with a white stripe.
White subway tile lined the wall behind the counter. Sturdy glass display cases sat vacant, waiting to be filled with her creations. On top of them, brightly pastel-colored cake stands with domed glass added pops of color. Excitement rose in her chest. This is all mine. Unlocking the front door, she moved inside and inhaled the scent of her own place. Spinning in a circle, she allowed the giggle to escape her throat. This was what she’d longed for. Busy life in the city had led her to feel hollow, overworked, and lost. While her bank account had been cushy, her soul had wept. Relocating here was a risk she needed to take.
Moving to the back closet, she began to pull out her large, black plastic tubs. It was August, and she had a month to get this place ready to launch on September first. Fall was her favorite season, and she planned on having the best window display on the strip. It couldn’t hurt to draw people in. Small towns were notorious for freezing out the newcomers. So, she’d pull out all the stops to integrate herself into the community. Carefully laying out the fall leaves, she broke up the red and browns with bright sunflowers and pumpkins. Bright orange harvest baskets filled with deliciously ripe red apples balanced the rest of the scene.
“There’s the treat. Now, it’s time for the trick.” She wanted to capture the attention of adults and children alike. Which meant fall harvest and something a bit spooky. Sticking spiders on webs strategically toward the bottom of the window, she worked her way up to the top where she added cut out bats to create a full scene. Pleased with her placements, she moved to grab the ladder from the back; setting it up onto the platform, she wrestled with the four-foot full moon that plugged in.
Lugging the bulky contraption up the ladder, she eyeballed the hook in the top left-hand corner. As she leaned in slightly, she clutched the top of the ladder, feeling off-balance. Huffing, she pulled back when a tapping on the window drew her attention outside.
A brunette man with light blue eyes, and a beard that framed full, pink lips pulled back to reveal a heart-stopping smile gestured at her. His thick brows arched up as he pointed to the moon and himself. She shook her head, not understanding his message. A slightly upturned Roman nose added to the rugged appeal he gave off in tight-fitting jeans and an olive-green T-shirt.
Lowering the light, she climbed down, walked to the door, and opened it.
“Hi. I couldn’t help but think you might need a little help there.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Is this what it means to be a member of a small town?
“I’m Alaric Bulley, the local handyman, and woodcarver. I have a shop about three stores down that way.”
“Just the Saw?” she asked.
“You noticed it?” He inclined his head, and his grin grew impossibly wider.
“I did do a little research before I rented this space. “
“Yeah. I guess you would.” He laughed. “I meant to meet the new owner, but this is the first time I’ve seen someone who wasn’t an installer.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded. I’m Rosaleen Plath.”
“Allow me to welcome you to Granville, Ms. Plath.” He held out his hand, and she shook it. Calloused from his trade, it made her feel every inch of her five-foot-seven height. His shake was firm, but not overpowering.
They sure can grow them out here in the country.
“Please, call me Rosaleen.”
“And I’m Alaric. Mr. Bulley is still my father.”
“So, you’re from here?”
“Born and raised.” He nodded. Alaric was the first person who’d welcomed her so warmly. “How about I lend you a neighborly hand, and hold the ladder steady so you can hang that light?” He gestured toward the display.
&
nbsp; “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He said kindly.
“Well come in. Don’t judge the emptiness. I’m just getting settled in.”
He shook his head, sending the dark brown locks tumbling across his forehead. “I would never. I remember how much work it was to open my store down here.”
“How long have you been in your spot?”
“About five years now. I used to work on a commission-based system while I held down a full-time job building houses.”
“I understand paying dues. This is the first time I’m getting to be the queen of my own kingdom.” She climbed the ladder carefully.
“You’re not from around here. What brought you to a tiny town like Granville?”
“I was burned out from the culinary scene in Cincinnati. I was looking for the right place to open up a bakery of my own, and by chance, I took a few days off here and saw this place up for rent. And I knew.” She shrugged.
“That takes a lot of courage.” He handed her the light.
“Some would say stupidity.”
“Only those who’re too scared to step out on a limb themselves.” His intelligent insight said a lot about him.
Glancing away, she hid her smile. “Maybe so.” She hooked the wire leading out of the moon, then leaned back to see how it looked. “That went a lot faster with you here.”
“I live to serve?”
“A hero type?”
His brows came together. “And here I thought I was neighborly. If this is a heroic effort, things in the big city are mighty different.”
“People tend to mind their own business and turn a blind eye.”