Page 4 of A New Year Baby

CHAPTER 1

ABOUT FIVE YEARS LATER…

“Luna, sweetie, can you grab the Madagascar vanilla bean paste?” I ask as I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron.

“Yes, Mama!” says the little girl as she runs off to complete the errand.

“Ask Grandma if you can’t find it!” I call out as she leaves.

I only have Mexican vanilla extract nearby, and it just won’t do for the flavors of this recipe. I need the softer, creamier texture of the Madagascar bean, along with the luxurious little black flecks of the paste, which will add texture and sophistication to my batter.

Nothing heals a broken heart like baking a cake.

That’s a saying we have back in Louisiana, where my family is from. I am not sure how many thousands of cakes I have baked over the years, but I don’t think my heart will ever be healed. After the death of my brother, we went home to Louisiana for a few years, so that I could have the baby away from the gossipy townsfolk in Snowflake Creek.

My mother also had a bit of a health scare, and we felt we needed the fresh air and sunshine to help her recover, along with the support of my grandma, aunt, and cousins. It was an excellent place for Luna to be born and for her to spend the first few years of her life, surrounded by family and love. But eventually we missed the charm of Snowflake Creek, especially during the holidays. And we missed our little bakery.

I sigh as I leave my kitchen and walk out into the main area of the bakery, to scan for customers. There’s a bell to alert me if they enter, but sometimes I like to watch the window shoppers peering in at my cake display.

Pointing with their mittened hands, gasping and almost drooling in delight.

I realize that not everyone can eat cake or pastries often due to health reasons, but sometimes it just makes me happy to see them wishing they could.

I’m very proud of my creations and my merchandising skills.

Today, I pause, because I recognize the woman standing outside my shop. It’s Eve Frost, Jack’s sister. I thought she had moved to Alaska years ago. I didn’t realize she had returned home. Seeing her causes a little pang of pain in my chest, because I spent half my childhood at her house, and truly believed she was going to be my sister-in-law. She was always so intelligent and hardworking—a great role model to me. It’s no wonder she became a bestselling author. I watch as she stares at my cake pops with a peculiar look on her face.

I also recognize the man standing behind her. Adam Wintergreen. He’s a wealthy philanthropist who recently went missing, and his picture was all over the news. I watch as they share a heated exchange of words, as only lovers could. Their gestures and facial expressions are subtle, but passionate. A small smile touches my lips.

They seem very sweet together. They seem to really care about each other.

I sigh happily as they seem to resolve whatever they were arguing about, and they embrace each other and kiss in front of the whole town. It’s an incredibly romantic scene, like something out of a Christmas rom com. Lately, Luna and I have been binge watching Christmas movies while we enjoy the leftover treats from the bakery. It’s our little guilty pleasure.

Those movies help me fantasize about what my life could have been like.

If only things had gone a little bit differently.

It’s funny how a single moment can derail all your plans. At one point, when I was younger, I had dreams of opening a patisserie in Paris, or some other big city where foodies could enjoy my creations. That was back when I believed I would marry Jack—back when we fantasized about living somewhere bustling and metropolitan. But after having Luna, all my focus turned to her, and being in a quiet small town has been a pleasant way to raise a child.

I often regret what happened the night Jack proposed.

I’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times. I never meant to refuse him. I was just so distraught that I couldn’t function. I wish I could have been stronger, but I couldn’t. I thought he would be understanding. Losing my brother was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Our father left when we were young, so Sam and I were always very close.

But losing Jack somehow hurts even worse—because he’s still alive somewhere out there. And after a decade of closeness, after a lifetime of friendship—he disappeared due to one bad night. Because I couldn’t act coherent or happy, or respond the way he wanted to, in one single moment.

I just thought we would have more time. I didn’t know that he would be so devastated that he would leave town immediately. I never had a chance to explain. He has never reached out to me, not once. I never had the bravery to reach out to him. He deleted all his social media and changed his number. It has caused such a deep scar on my heart that making a million delicious cakes could never soothe the pain.

I know that in a situation like mine, many people would have considered their practical options—but that was the farthest thing from my mind. I always loved Jack. I always imagined having his baby, someday. And if I screwed up and hurt him with my awful reaction and inability to communicate… I guess I deserve him walking out on me like that. I know I hurt him and I messed up. I feel awful for that.

But it’s okay. All I want to do is bake some wonderful meals to make people smile, and be a good mother to my little one. That’s all I have left, now. I have tried to go on dates when my mother insisted, but I could never seem to open my heart again. I never will. Walking back into the kitchen, I sigh.

But then… the bell rings.

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