Page 12 of Frosted Fakes

"I know you're new." Tara moved toward the kitchen area with the confidence of someone who actually belonged there. "The last owner, Milly? She taught me some basics. I can do simple stuff. Croissants, bread rolls, some of the easier pastries. If you want, I could…?"

"Yes." Julia grabbed Tara's hands with possibly too much enthusiasm. "Yes, please, whatever you can do. I'll pay you extra. I'll pay you triple. I'll name my firstborn after you."

Tara laughed, looking startled but pleased. "Regular wages are fine. Let me see what we've got to work with."

Within twenty minutes, Tara had organized the kitchen into something approaching functional and was rolling out dough with practiced ease. Julia watched her work, feeling both relieved and utterly useless.

"You're really good at this," Julia said.

Tara shrugged without looking up. "Milly taught me. She was patient."

Julia felt at least three kilos lighter.

SHE WAS MEASURING flour when she noticed movement through the shop window. A woman was watching them from across the street, arms crossed, expression sour. She was middle-aged, with bottle-blonde hair and the kind of fixed smile that suggested she was thinking very unpleasant thoughts.

"Who's that?" Julia asked.

Tara glanced up and immediately looked away again. "Candice Green. She owns the bakery across the street."

"There's another bakery?"

"The Sweet Spot. It's been here for years. They have a cafe too, which we don’t." Tara's voice was carefully neutral in a way that suggested there was definitely more to the story.

Before Julia could ask, the shop door burst open and Candice herself swept in.

Up close, she was even more intimidating. Her smile was wide and false, and her eyes were doing a thorough inventory of everything wrong with the shop, which admittedly was rather a lot.

"The new owner!" Candice's voice was pitched for an audience, even though there was no one else there. "I simply had to come over and welcome you to our little community."

"That's so kind." Julia automatically extended her hand. "I'm Julia—"

"Richardson, yes, I know. Gabby Richardson's daughter." Candice shook her hand with the enthusiasm of someone handling a dead fish. "We were all so surprised when we heard. A celebrity chef's daughter, buying our humble little bakery. Such an interesting choice."

The way she said "interesting" suggested she meant something else entirely.

"Well, I'm excited to be here," Julia said, because she was incapable of not being friendly even when someone was clearly being awful. "It's such a lovely town, and the bakery has so much potential…"

"Potential." Candice's smile sharpened. "Yes, I suppose it does need quite a bit of work. Milly let things slide toward the end, bless her heart. Running a proper bakery is so demanding. It takes years of real experience." She emphasized "real" in a way that made Julia feel very small. "Not everyone is cut out for it, no matter what their family name might be."

"I'm sure I have a lot to learn…"

"I'm sure you do." Candice was already turning to go. "Well, best of luck. If you need any advice from someone who actually knows what they're doing, you know where to find me." She paused at the door. "Though I'm sure you'll be fine. Celebrity chefs can always just buy their way out of problems, can't they?"

The door closed behind her with a cheerful jingle that felt deeply sarcastic.

Julia stood frozen, face burning.

"She's always like that," Tara said quietly. "Don't let her get to you."

"I'm fine." Julia's voice came out bright and false. She'd had years of practice at being fine. "She's probably just… protective of the community. I'm sure she didn't mean…"

"She definitely meant it." Tara's expression was sympathetic. "But her pastries aren't as good as she thinks they are. Milly always said so."

That was oddly comforting.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of minor disasters and small victories. Tara's croissants came out golden and perfect. Julia managed to burn two more batches of biscuits and drop an entire bowl of icing on the floor. The display cases remained mostly empty. A few curious locals wandered in, clearly hoping to see the celebrity chef's daughter fail spectacularly. Julia smiled at all of them until her face hurt.

By closing time, she was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical labor.