Page 86 of Frosted Fakes

Elliott turned to her and stood, taking Julia in her arms. "I know. I do know." And then they were kissing and there wasn’t time for more thinking.

THE BAKERY CLOSED, Tom locked the door, waved goodnight, and headed off to meet friends. Jamie had been mysteriously absent all day. Julia hoped that her mother hadn’t eaten him. The town was quiet and comfortable, pretty outside.

Julia went up the stairs slowly. There was no hurry. Shay had taken Elliott out, and Julia had nothing to look forward to other than an oven pizza. But as she took crinkly plastic off the rock-hard pizza, all she could think about was Elliott.

Maybe what Elliott needed was someone to be on her side. Someone to just… show her the way. Someone to show her that she wasn’t alone and didn’t have to be.

She took the pizza out when it was ready. Ate it alone. Watched the sky turn purple through the kitchen window. And the whole time, her mind kept circling back to Elliott. Back to the cookbook that was her dream. Back to the idea that Elliott needed someone to prove to her that someone was on her side.

In the end, she sighed. There was only one thing she could think of to do.

Elliott needed that cookbook published.

And Julia… Julia knew exactly who could help.

She waited until she’d washed the dishes. Until she was absolutely certain she couldn’t come up with another idea. Then she picked up her phone, went into the bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Just in case Elliott decided to come home at the most inconvenient of times.

Her mother answered on the second ring. "Julia. It's rather late."

"I know. Sorry. I just..." Julia took a breath. "I need to ask you something."

There was a pause. Her mother didn't do requests. She didn’t do favors, and she didn’t do autographs. Julia had spent twenty-nine years watching Gabby give orders, make demands, and expect immediate compliance. The idea of Julia asking for something must have been novel enough to warrant silence.

"Go on," Gabby said finally.

"Elliott's written a cookbook." Julia's words came out in a rush. "It's brilliant. Really brilliant. Traditional recipes with modern twists, beautiful photography, the whole thing. But she doesn't have an agent or a publisher or… or any of the connections she needs to get it seen."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"And you're asking me to help." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Julia closed her eyes. "A foreword, maybe. Or just... just introducing her to your publisher. Someone who'll actually read it. Please."

"Julia." Her mother's voice was careful. "Does Elliott know you're calling?"

"No."

"I see."

"She wouldn't ask," Julia said quickly. "Her pride won't let her. But she's worked so hard, and it's genuinely good, and she just needs someone to give her a chance."

"And you think I should be that someone."

"You could be." Julia's throat felt tight. "You could help her. You have the connections. One word from you and…"

"And Elliott would be furious with you for going behind her back."

Julia's hand tightened on the phone. "Maybe. But at least she'd have a shot. At least someone would read her work."

Gabby was quiet for a long moment. Julia could hear her breathing, could picture her in the fancy boutique hotel, probably with a cocktail in her hand.

"This matters to you," Gabby said finally. "Elliott matters to you."

It wasn't a question, but Julia answered anyway. "Yes."

"Alright." Her mother's voice was crisp, decisive. "Send me the manuscript. I'll read it. If it's as good as you say, I'll write the foreword and introduce her to my publisher."

Julia's heart lurched. "Really?"