Page 52 of Sweet Rivals

“Jared, I am so glad that you two were able to set this up. What a great way to drum up interest. Although, I’m sure everyone is already interested with your name attached.”

Knowing how Jared felt about the connection to his family, that made me wince. Like me, I thought he must want to stand apart from the family name.

“Thank you for letting us set up out here,” he said with the broad smile that I now knew he saved for strangers or PR-type conversations. He put it on so effortlessly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am just so glad that you let Jenna tag along.”

The way she said it made me feel like a child. As if I didn’t have years of experience managing a busy, popular kitchen and Jared was simply doing us a favor by letting me follow along at his heels. It didn’t do anything to help my anxiety.

“Jenna has been invaluable. I wouldn’t be ready if it weren’t for her help and insight,” he said.

It was absolute bullshit. He and I both knew it. I had done nothing but try to sabotage him while propelling myself forward, but in that moment, I could have kissed him—well, not kissed him because I couldn’t ever do that again—but I really appreciated his defense of my value. Although it begged the question of why he was doing it. I was not ready to admit that maybe, by some sick twist of fate, Jared was actually just a nice guy. That would disrupt my worldview too much. He had to be the rich asshole come to ruin my life, otherwise, it might be my own damn fault that the bakery wasn’t mine.

“That’s great to hear. She’s always been a hard worker,” Mom said.

Again, it sounded like she was talking to a parent at the school pick-up line rather than my colleague—or whatever he was.

I ignored them and started setting up my stuff. I carefully removed cupcakes, cookies, macaroons, bread puddings, Danishes, strudel, breads, croissants, and flavored butter and jams. When I was first planning my menu, I wanted to stand out and do something different, which in some ways I still did, but in the end, I decided that the people of Cape Shore were not looking for fancy, unusual baked goods. They came to Cape Shore for the familiar and the comfortable.

“Aw, Jenna,” Mom, the stoic kitchen overlord who never got emotional over anything—not my first word, not my first step, not my graduation—sounded genuinely moved as she saw the things I set out. “It’s lobster themed.”

“Yep,” I said. feeling my cheeks blush.

As much as I had been desperate to distinguish myself from The Lobster Tail and my life spent in dedication to it here in the same small town, I also wanted my menu to be a real reflection of me. And I was Cape Shore, and the Lobster Tail, and the beach, and the tourists, and the lighthouse, and the warm, salty air. I would never be fancy like Jared and Joel. I would likely never travel the world, and if I did, I’d likely miss this very small corner of it the whole time. So, I decided to lean in and embrace it. All of my pastries were beach-themed with a little ode to lobsters in some small way. The breads had a dusting of red flour in the shape of a lobster. The cupcakes had little sugar lobsters. The points of the croissants were made into lobster claws. It was kitschy and cheesy, but I was proud of it. Even if no one bought a single one.

Next to me, Jared set out similar things that all looked a little more high-end without the themed elements. I didn’t think it would much matter. It wasn’t a fair fight. Jared had name and face recognition. Most people would know he was of Wallace fame and want to buy his stuff. But as I stood there in the warm morning sun, it mattered less than it had before.

I was proud of what I had accomplished. If all I could do was work for Jared for a year, then that's what I would do, and I would look for opportunities to start my own bakery when the time came.

“Look at you!” Cat said followed quickly by the click of her camera. The two sounds were inseparable lately.

I smiled, hoping the image wouldn’t be awful. Candid pictures weren’t exactly my forte. “I’m glad you could make it,” I said, feeling unexpected relief at seeing my best friend.

“Are you crazy? I would never miss this. Besides, I will buy every item you are selling if I have to,” she said before giving Jared the side-eye, who just shook his head and smiled. “It all looks amazing.” She snapped several more pictures before giving me a hug and promising to be back.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The next two hours were a whirlwind of chatting and selling. Everyone I knew in town stopped by to flirt with Jared, chat with me—including asking lots of questions about leaving the Lobster Tail and why I would work at a bakery and on and on—the tourists were just happy to buy pastries. By the end of it, there was little left to pack up and bring back to the bakery. Jared had, of course, tallied the total number of sales for each of us with me diligently checking over his shoulder.

As I walked back to Jared’s truck, I felt lighter than I ever had. A huge weight caused by crippling doubt and paralyzing hesitancy had been lifted off my shoulders. Of course, as the bakery opened, I hoped I would win.. But regardless of the outcome, I had accomplished something just by putting myself out there. I created recipes and people actually bought them. More than that, they seemed to really like them. My heart felt like it could burst through my chest, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

I started packing the truck with far less care than we had originally. There was nothing to do with the leftover product. It wouldn’t keep, which gave me an idea. I pulled my stuff back off the truck and headed for the back door of the Lobster Tail.

“Where are you going?” Jared asked.

I shrugged and headed inside.

“Look who it is. Big shot baker,” Jose said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always remember the little guys even when I am hot shit,” I said. I set my box of leftovers on the serving counter that usually held plates ready to go out and “family meals” that one of the stations cooked and served for lunch to the other cooks each day. The kitchen staff swarmed it.

I walked out of the kitchen to pats on the back and familiar praise that almost felt better. The staff would always support me. But still, it was nice hearing them happy. Jared leaned against the truck, arms folded across his chest in that casual stance of his, and I couldn’t help feeling incredibly grateful for him. I walked around to the passenger side and climbed in.

I let my gaze drift toward Jared as the truck ambled slowly, waiting for the pedestrians that clogged most of the streets. He wore an easy smile as if all was right in the world, and for the first time, I agreed with him. I had to give him credit. He was the reason for all of this. He was the reason I pushed past my anxiety not just today but leading up to today and all of the worry and doubt that I had let myself wallow in for too long.

I let the muggy salt air wash over me as I dangled my arm out the window, closing my eyes to the warm sun as I breathed a sigh of relief and basked in the glow of the moment.

“Thank you,” I said without opening my eyes.