Page 5 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
I laugh a little, then step toward the wall by the window. “Okay. So—shelves here, with clear jars, all different shapes and sizes. Nostalgic sweets, new flavors, seasonal treats. I’d want a big chalkboard menu over the counter, something cute but clean. And back there?” I point toward the rear. “That’d be the kitchen. Big window so people could see the candy being made. Maybe even offer workshops. Kids could come in and learn how to make lollipops. Grown-ups too, if they want.”
Jamie whistles. “That’s a real vision. I love it. You’d be bringing more than candy—you’d be bringing experience and community.”
I smile. “Yeah. That’s the idea. Sweetness, but with heart.”
He walks slowly to the back, looking over his shoulder. “So, what’s stopping you?”
I hesitate. My heart tugs, but my feet stay planted. “Money. I mean, the place is perfect, but I need to keep enough in reserve for ingredients, equipment, branding, packaging... rent this high could sink me before I ever get started.”
Jamie turns, his expression thoughtful.
I swallow. “It’s okay. It was a nice dream, seeing it. Helps me figure out what I really want.”
There’s a long pause. Then Jamie says, gently, “You know what? I think I’d like to see what you’ll do with it.”
I blink. “What?”
He smiles. “I’m one of the co-owners. And I want this shop here. So I’ll give you three months rent-free to get on your feet.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“You’re not just selling candy, Camellia. You’re offering people joy. Memories. Something sweet to come back to. I think this town needs that. I think you need it too.”
The tears burn behind my eyes and I swallow hard to stop them.
“You don’t even know me.” My voice cracks.
“Maybe not yet,” he says softly. “But I believe in people who believe in something. And you do. I can see it.”
I nod, throat tight. “I’ll think about it.”
Jamie’s smile is warm, without pressure. “Take your time. But I hope you say yes.”
When he leaves, the air still smells like cinnamon and sunlight. I stand alone in the space, heart racing because it already knows the answer.
My brain just needs time to catch up.
Chapter four
Cam
There’s something about Gram’s kitchen that makes the world feel a little gentler.
Maybe it’s the smell—freshly baked bread and that lemon polish she’s sworn by since before I was born. Or the warmth that seems to radiate from the floorboards and the teacups and her presence itself. Or maybe it’s the hum she sings under her breath while laying out lemon bars, pretending this is just another cozy afternoon and not the moment I sign my life over to a very real, very terrifying dream.
The kitchen looks the same as it did when I was eight, sticky with jam and dreams. Pale yellow walls cradle old watercolor prints, and the shelves—robin’s egg blue—are cluttered with mismatched mugs, recipe cards curling at the corners, and flour-dusted bowls. The floor is worn smooth in all the places a person stands to cook, to knead dough, to lean against the counter while confessing something important.
I’m seated at the old oak table with the lease in front of me and a pen poised in my fingers, my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. Jamie sits across from me, his smile patient andencouraging, like he knows I’m two seconds from bolting but trusts I’ll hold my ground.
Which is unfair, because how am I supposed to think clearly when he smells like cedar and cinnamon and safety? Like warmth wrapped in strength wrapped in every spicy idea I’m not supposed to entertain right now.
“Everything make sense?” he asks gently.
I look up, blinking fast. “Oh—yes. I just... want to be sure. It’s a big step.”
He nods. “It is. But you don’t have to rush. This is your space. Take all the time you need.”
Before I can answer, Gram bustles in with another tray of lemon bars like we haven’t barely touched the first. “You could read that lease backward and it’d still be a good deal, sweetheart. Jamie here’s practically giving it away. I’ve seen less generous contracts from kittens.”
