Page 56 of Frosted Fakes

"But proof of what?" Julia asked. "We're running a legitimate bakery. I mean, you're doing all the baking, but that's not illegal. Lots of bakeries have head bakers."

"She doesn't know about our arrangement," Elliott said slowly. "Not the full details. But she suspects something."

They stood there in the empty shop, the evening light fading through the windows, and Elliott felt the precariousness of everything they'd built. The fake relationship. The business arrangement. The fragile peace they'd found with each other.

One wrong move and it could all come crashing down.

"We need to be more careful," she said finally. "Both of us."

Julia nodded. "Agreed."

Tara looked between them. "You two are weird. Just so you know."

"Thank you, Tara. Very helpful."

"I try." She grabbed her bag. "I'm off. Try not to get exposed as frauds while I'm gone."

The door swung shut behind her.

Elliott turned to Julia. "I should…"

"Finish up in the kitchen. I know." Julia's smile was soft. "Go. I'll close up out here."

Elliott retreated to the kitchen, but she paused at the door and looked back.

Julia was straightening display cases on the counter, humming something under her breath, completely unaware she was being watched. The light caught her hair, turning it golden. She looked… comfortable. Like she belonged here, in this bakery that wasn't really hers, in this life that wasn't supposed to be permanent.

Maybe Shay was right, Elliott thought. Maybe the universe had been looking out for her, sending Julia crashing through her door with a suitcase and a complete inability to bake.

Julia was growing on her.

Like moss, or a particularly persistent weed, but growing nevertheless.

Which was ridiculous, obviously. This was a business arrangement. A fake relationship. A temporary solution to a complicated problem.

But as Elliott turned back to her kitchen, she couldn't quite shake the warmth in her chest.

Chapter Eighteen

The morning Milly came to visit, Elliott was photographing a lemon curd slice that had taken her three attempts to perfect.

The curd was the exact shade of sunshine she'd been chasing, glossy and bright against the buttery pastry. Tiny meringue peaks were torched to a precise golden brown. It was going to look spectacular in the cookbook.

"That's rather lovely."

Elliott's heart lurched at the familiar voice. She turned to find Milly in the kitchen doorway, leaning on her walking stick, looking smaller than Elliott remembered. When had that happened? When had Milly started to shrink?

"You should have called," Elliott said, setting down her camera. "I'd have picked you up."

"And miss the bus? I like the bus. You meet such interesting people." Milly shuffled forward, her eyes bright despite her frailty. "Besides, I wanted to see how my favorite grump was getting on. Without warning, so you couldn't hide the evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"Of whatever you're hiding." Milly settled onto the stool Elliott pulled out for her. "You've got that look. The one you used to get when you'd eaten all the pastry scraps and didn't want me to know."

"I never did that."

"You did it constantly. I just pretended not to notice." Milly accepted the cup of tea Elliott pressed into her hands. "Now. Show me this cookbook of yours."