Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (34 page)

And that was just one of the reasons he loved her. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, let fear stop her. She wouldn’t let anything stop her. Hell, she’d even charmed Aunt Julia, and that was saying something. Polly pulled people toward her with the sheer force of her atmosphere.

It was his own fucking fault that he didn’t know how to stay there with her. Defeat almost crushed him.

“Peach,” he said slowly, turning away because he couldn’t look at her any longer. “Of course you have to go.”

He started toward the door.

“I love you,” Polly said.

Luke froze. Her words poured through him like hot syrup, warming every corner of his soul. He shut his eyes and dragged in a breath.

“Even when you’re acting like an ass,” she continued. “I love you.”

I love you too.
The confession lodged in his throat. Of course he loved her. So hard that the thought of her leaving was a physical ache. He’d fallen in love with her the instant he’d turned from the pool table at the Troll’s House and caught her staring at him.

And now he wanted a lifetime with her—one in which he would wake up every morning to find her curled up against his side. One in which she’d insist he go “off the grid” so she could take him to hippie music festivals. He wanted her hybrid pastries, teasing smiles, and her unending belief that life is meant to be lived with joy.

He wanted a lifetime of Polly.

But.

He couldn’t take Paris away from her. And he doubted his ability to sustain his commitment to Sugar Rush and make Polly happy at the same time. To give her the fairytale she both wanted and deserved. At least, not for years to come. And he’d sooner live his workaholic life for an eternity than ever . . .
ever
. . . be responsible for Polly Lockhart’s unhappiness.

“Go to Paris, Peach,” he said, unable to turn and face her. “Have fun.”

Before he confessed that he loved her too, that she’d put together all the pieces of his heart and made it whole again, Luke opened the door and walked back out into the dark.

LIFE GOES ON.

Polly expected to mope around after her break-up with Luke, nursing her wounds and feeling sorry for herself. Maybe even indulging in a jumbo-sized bag of Cheetos. But being a business owner meant that you couldn’t close for the day just because your heart was broken. So after a sleepless, tearful night on her lumpy mattress, she hauled herself downstairs at dawn on Sunday to prep for opening.

Pale light filtered through the layer of fog covering the sky as she let herself into Wild Child and locked the door behind her. Hannah had texted that she was up in San Jose for the weekend, the message reminding Polly that both her sister and Clementine would be leaving for good soon.

She set her bag on the counter. An air of desolation hung over the bakery, though she supposed that might be partly due to her mood. The tables and chairs were stacked to one side, and all the wall hangings had already been taken down and stored. Tomorrow they’d close for a week so Eleanor Pendergrass’s crew could come in and get the renovations work done.

Polly walked into the kitchen, focusing on getting things ready. She turned on the deep fryer for the doughnuts and Declairs and retrieved various batters from the walk-in refrigerator. She put tins of muffins into the oven and set a pot of butter and sugar on the stove to boil for the éclair pastry. After mixing up a batch, she dropped the
pâte à choux
into the fryer and set the crispy balls onto the drainer. As she started making the chocolate custard, a knock sounded at the front door.

She went to answer it, surprised at the sight of Hannah on the other side of the glass. She unlocked the door to let her sister in.

“I thought you weren’t getting back until this evening,” she said.

“I caught a ride with a girl who’s going down to LA.” Hannah followed Polly back to the kitchen. “How was your posh night at the museum?”

Polly was tempted to lie, not wanting to relive it, but she didn’t have the energy.

“Lousy, actually.” She checked the timer on the oven. “I looked good, though. I looked
beautiful.
”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. That was the problem.”

Hannah plucked a muffin from tray and lifted her eyebrows. Polly turned back to making custard and started spooning it into a pastry bag.

“You might have been right,” she mumbled.

“About what?”

“About me thinking there might have been some fairytale between me and Luke.”

Embarrassment rose in her throat. Hannah travelled and blogged about love traditions throughout the world, but as far as Polly could tell, her sister didn’t have any romantic notions about love. Maybe Polly should envy that about her too.

“There’s never a fairytale,” Hannah finally said.

Polly glanced at her sister. Hannah was staring down at the broken muffin, her forehead creased.

“Why did you leave?” Polly asked.

“I never fit in here. And I never liked it.”

“But that didn’t mean you had to leave me and Mom.”

“You were fine without me. You were like two peas in a pod, always so happy at the bakery and watching your movies. I was just more comfortable with Dad. And there was nothing for me to do when we moved to Rainsville. I wanted to see what else there was.”

“So have you found what you’re looking for?”

“I’m not looking for anything.” Hannah shot Polly a narrow look. “Certainly not for love.”

Touché.

Polly took paper liners from a shelf and handed them to her sister. Hannah started layering paper onto the display baskets in preparation for filling them with pastries.

“Did you tell him about Paris?” Hannah asked.

“Yes. He was . . . ambivalent. But he’s not stupid. He knows what a huge chance this is for me, and I know he’d never do anything to stop me from . . .”

Polly’s voice trailed off. What if Luke’s snappishness about the Art of French Pastry course was somehow calculated, if he’d been an ass about it because he didn’t want to give her a reason to consider staying?

No. She had only one reason to stay. Wild Child.

Maybe Hannah was right. Maybe it was time to let the bakery go and pursue her life abroad. To reinvent herself as a woman of sophistication and worldliness, queen of the culinary arts. Few people had a chance to take such a step at twenty-three years old.

And as painful as it would be to close her mother’s legacy, especially after all that she and Luke had done to save the bakery, maybe sometimes you had to let things go. If she closed Wild Child, she wouldn’t have anything to come back home to, or a business where she could apply all the things she’d learn in Paris, but she could start over by herself. Somewhere. She just wished that thought made her heart feel whole and soft, not cracked like brittle, hard caramel.

A loud knock sounded at the front door. Polly glanced at the clock. Who could be at the door so early? Hannah went to peer through the kitchen doors.

“Polly.”

She looked up at the surprised note in her sister’s voice. “What?”

“You have customers waiting,” Hannah said.

“What are you talking about?” Polly set down the pastry bag and walked to look out at the front.

At least two dozen people were outside the door—men and women, young, old, middle-aged—and they stood in a line that snaked halfway down to the bail bondsman’s office.

Polly’s stomach jumped.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “There must be a mistake.”

“Considering Wild Child is on the window, I doubt that.” Hannah strode across the room and unlocked the door.

The crowd rustled with excitement as they saw her approach. She opened the door and held up a hand to indicate they weren’t opening yet.

“Good morning,” Hannah said. “Are you waiting for muffins?”

“No, ma’am.” The college-aged kid who was first in line peered past her into the bakery. “We wanted to get one of the Declairs.”

“We heard about them on the news,” his friend added. “Are they ready yet?”

“We’ll try to open a little early.” Hannah glanced at the rest of the crowd. “Are you all here for the Declairs?”

Good-natured shouts of “Of course!” and “Hurry it up!” filtered through the air.

“Not much longer,” Hannah said. “I’ll be right back.”

She closed and locked the door, amidst a rise of impatient groans from the crowd. She returned to Polly, anticipation suddenly lighting on her face.

“You’re on the map, Polliwog. Get the Declairs out for your customers.”

Emotion tightened Polly’s throat. She couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that not only did Wild Child have a line of customers, they were actually waiting for a pastry that had been a mistake. Or a happy accident, just as she’d once thought about her and Luke. Something that was meant to happen.

“I can’t believe it,” she finally said.

“You’d better.” Hannah steered her back into the kitchen. “We have a crowd to satisfy and less than an hour to finish getting ready. Tell me what to do.”

Emboldened by her sister’s take-charge attitude, Polly took a breath and snapped into action. She showed Hannah how to fill the pastries with the chocolate cream, then fried up more dough. They worked quickly, glazing the Declairs with ganache while the dough cooled. Hannah took over frying another batch while Polly mixed more chocolate custard.

As the clock inched toward their seven o’clock opening, they had three dozen Declairs ready with another six in progress. Polly pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, nervous excitement rising inside her as they set the Declairs into baskets.

“We need to open in twenty minutes.” She looked out at the crowd again. “Oh my God, I think there are more people out there. We won’t have enough for everyone.”

“You keep making them.” Hannah moved past her with one of the baskets and set it on the counter. “I’ll sell. If we run out, we’ll give rain checks to the remaining people in line. In fact, we
should
run out to get people to come back and keep them talking.”

When Polly didn’t move, Hannah gave her a nudge. “Hurry. I’ll get the coffee made. What else needs to go out?”

Polly jolted into action again. Together she and Hannah set out the muffins, doughnuts, éclairs, and croissants. Hannah organized the tables and chairs while Polly made as many Declairs as she could and tried to control the butterflies still zinging around her stomach. By the time they were ready to open, she was shaking with anxiety.

“I’ll open,” Hannah said. “Get ready, Polliwog. This is your show.”

She went to unlock the doors.

Her
show. Polly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. An image of their mother rose in her mind, the healthy, vibrant Jessie Lockhart with her warm brown eyes, ever-present ponytail, and her serene belief that people were essentially good at heart.

I love you, Mom.

A cacophony of excited voices filled the bakery suddenly. Polly opened her eyes and picked up another batch of Declairs, heading out to join her sister at the counter.

“Line up single file, please,” Hannah called, directing the crowd to the front counter. “Declairs are three-fifty a piece, limit of three per customer.”

Considering Polly had been selling them for two dollars with no limit, this was news to her. But Hannah seemed to know what she was doing, so Polly let her take over the counter.

“Made less than fifteen minutes ago and filled with rich chocolate cream,” Hannah announced to the college kids who eagerly hurried up to the counter. “We also have chocolate éclairs, glazed doughnuts, blueberry muffins . . . everything is fresh baked with the finest local ingredients. What else can I get for you?”

The boys loaded up on three Declairs each, plus doughnuts and muffins. Leaving her sister to handle the crowd, Polly returned to the kitchen to make more Declairs. Enthusiastic chatter and orgasmic moans of pleasure came from the customers who were happily eating their pastries.

She hurried out with another batch only to find that the previous three baskets were already empty. Energy and excitement rippled through Wild Child. Hannah rushed around behind the counter, pouring coffee, boxing up croissants, and selling Declairs faster than Polly could make them.