Page 5 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
Chapter3
Julie
The soft clink of a coffee cup on porcelain, the comforting scent of vanilla and warm cinnamon, the occasional puff of flour in the air—this is my happy place. Seaside Sweets is bustling with the kind of energy only a Saturday morning can bring, and I’m riding the sugar-fueled wave. It’s been three months since we opened our doors, and every morning still feels like a small miracle.
The bell over the front door of Seaside Sweets jingles with a cheerful ring, and I glance up from the tray of freshly baked croissants I’m arranging in the display case. The scent of vanilla and warm butter fills the air, and even after all these months, it still feels like magic. My bakery. My dream. Real and thriving.
“Two almond croissants, one raspberry danish, and a dirty chai,” I call over my shoulder, boxing the pastries with practiced ease. “Janet, don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing that last apple fritter. You want it?”
Janet blushes and tucks a lock of gray-streaked hair behind her ear. “Only if you swear it’s calorie-free.”
“It’s filled with lies and cinnamon,” I tease with a wink, sliding the fritter into a bag and handing it over. “The best kind.”
“Morning, Jules!”
I don’t have to look up to recognize the voice. “Hey, Sophie.”
Sophie sweeps in like she owns the place—and let’s be honest, she kind of does. Or at least, she has that kind of confidence. Her wavy hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she’s already dressed in winery chic: denim skirt, flowy blouse, and boots that cost more than my rent used to be. She’s followed closely by Emma and Joselyn, both chattering like they haven’t seen each other in years instead of hours.
“I swear,” Emma says, nudging the door closed with her hip, “if Miles buys one more vintage wine fridge, I’m going to start stacking them like Legos in the garage.”
Joselyn snorts. “Brennen’s solution to everything is ‘just build a new room.’ Like walls don’t cost money.”
Sophie plops onto a barstool at the counter. “Let’s not even start on Alex’s latest barrel obsession. He’s sniffing oak like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial.”
I laugh as I round the counter, handing out their favorite pastries before they can even ask. “Caramel pecan scone for you, Soph. Chocolate hazelnut cruffin, Emma. And Joselyn—lemon tart with extra zest, just how you like it.”
“You are an actual goddess,” Joselyn sighs, lifting the tart like she’s about to propose to it.
Emma eyes me over the rim of her coffee. “You look good. Like, rested. Did you finally take a day off?”
I shrug, grabbing a cloth to wipe the counter. “I slept in until five instead of four-thirty. Totally wild.”
Sophie snorts. “Rebel.”
The bakery door opens again, and I smile instinctively. “Hi, Mrs. Reilly! Got your usual warming up now.”
The sweet older woman gives me a grateful wave and makes her way to the cozy corner table she’s claimed as her own since opening day. She always orders a blueberry muffin and chamomile tea and stays for exactly forty-five minutes, reading the same dog-eared romance novel by Sophie Quinn who happens to live one town over, Hibiscus Harbor.
“Honestly,” Sophie says, leaning toward me with a conspiratorial grin, “this place is the best thing to happen to Pelican Point since the Murphy clan decided to bankroll a new tasting room.”
Joselyn’s eyes sparkle. “Speaking of Candace—she mentioned at dinner last night that she wants to talk to you about something. She’s got that look again.”
Emma raises a brow. “You mean the ‘I’m about to change your life with a single investment’ look?”
I raise both hands. “Please don’t start rumors. I’m barely keeping up with demand as it is with one location. I’m not ready to expand.”
Sophie points her fork at me. “Exactly why you need someone like Candace to help. Think about it. Bigger kitchen. More seating. Outdoor patio for the summer crowd. You’re turning people away by nine every morning.” She pops her bite into her mouth. “Candace is looking to help this area. She’s determined to redevelop all of Pelican Point… especially this harbor district.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the bell chimes again. This time, it’s a rush—three customers all at once, chatting and laughing as they scan the glass case.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell them as I slip away to help.
The next thirty minutes are a blur of espresso shots, warm cinnamon rolls, and small-town chatter. I field questions about cupcake flavors, give directions to the waterfront, and swap cookie recommendations with a pair of tourists from Ohio. It’s busy, but in the best kind of way. Controlled chaos wrapped in the scent of sugar and caffeine.
When the rush slows, Emma leans against the counter, watching me. “You know what I think?”
I arch a brow. “That I should double the size of the espresso machine?”
