Page 72 of Back to You
Mariana
The scent of quesitos, pasteles de guayaba, and warm tembleque filled the air, wrapping the bakery in the comforting embrace of home.
Notes of coconut, cinnamon, and vanilla lingered with every inhale, mingling with the buttery sweetness of freshly baked mallorcas and pan sobao.
It smelled like my childhood, like early mornings in my abuela’s kitchen, like everything I thought I had lost but somehow found again. I stood in the center of The Rolling Pin, letting it all sink in.
Behind the counter, a framed recipe for flan de vainilla, written in my mother’s looping script, hung like a quiet blessing over the kitchen. A small woven basket beside it held cinnamon sticks and star anise, the same way my abuela used to store them, their scents mingling in a way that made my heart ache with longing and comfort all at once.
I had poured everything into this place. Every part of me was embedded deep into the walls. The late nights spent painting, the early mornings perfecting each detail—choosing the perfect lights, the right color scheme, the little personal touches only I would notice.
This wasn’t just a bakery. It was a piece of me. And tonight, it was finally open again.
Laughter and conversation filled the space, the warmth of familiar faces making the air hum with joy. Sebastian stood near the counter, arms crossed, watching me with that look—the one that made my stomach flip. The one that made me feel like I was the only person in the room.
Anna and Analyse hovered near the dessert case, arguing over which pastry to try first, while Nathan stood off to the side, sipping a cup of coquito, trying to act like he wasn’t enjoying it as much as he actually was.
Mateo and Andres had, of course, already migrated to the coffee station, one insisting that traditional café con leche was superior, while the other made a dramatic case for black espresso with just a pinch of azúcar.
I exhaled slowly, my chest tight with emotion. I had done this. I had brought them all here, and then I saw Ruth. She stood near the entrance, hands clasped together, her sharp brown eyes sweeping across the bakery with a quiet kind of pride. My stomach twisted. I wiped my palms against my apron before crossing the room.
“Ruth,” I said, heart pounding.
Her expression softened immediately. “Mariana,” she greeted, her voice thick with warmth.
I swallowed hard. “Well? What do you think?”
Ruth let out a soft chuckle, glancing around again. “I knew you’d made me proud,” she said simply.
The words hit me like a gust of wind. “You really think so?”
She nodded. “This place was always meant to be yours. I just had to wait for you to see it, too.”
My throat tightened.
“I kept telling everyone I’d sell when the right owner came along,” she continued, shaking her head. “But the truth is, I wasn’t ever going to sell it. Not unless it was to you.”
A shaky breath left my lips.
“You belong here, Mariana,” Ruth said, voice gentle but firm. “And this bakery? It belongs to you.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes before I could stop them. I reached forward and hugged Ruth tightly, inhaling the faint scent of lavender and honey that always lingered on her clothes. “Thank you,” I whispered.
She just patted my back. “You don’t need to thank me, niña. Just keep making those quesitos the way your mama taught you.”
A soft, wet laugh slipped from my lips. “I promise.”
As soon as I turned around, Sebastian was there, pressing a glass of champagne into my hand. His voice was low, meant only for me. “I am so damn proud of you, Mi Tesoro.”
I looked up at him, at the warmth in his brown eyes, and my heart stuttered.
“You really did it,” he continued. “You made this place yours.”
The emotion in his voice made my throat tighten all over again. Before I could say anything, Mateo clapped his hands together loudly.
“Alright, alright, everyone!” he called out. “Before we all slip into a sugar coma, let’s take a second to celebrate the woman of the hour.”
Andres grinned, already raising his glass. “To Mariana!”
