Chapter 2

By 8:00 AM, the rest of the kitchen staff had arrived. The team unpacked flour, checked the ovens, and found reasons to work at the far end of the room. No one asked why the five wedding-cake models were in the front window.

Mara was the first to station herself at the mixing bowl. She pulled her hair into a tight braid.

"I saw Sophia filming out front," Mara said. "Is it true? About the wedding?"

"It's canceled," I said.

Mara turned on the faucet, washing her hands. She didn't look at me. "And the collection? The orders Lucas took?"

Before I could answer, Lucas stepped out of his office. He carried five metal cake rings. He set them down on the prep island, spacing them out until they hit the stainless steel with a rhythmic thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

He slid the smallest ring toward Sarah, the nineteen-year-old apprentice. "Honey sponge. Two batches before lunch."

He pushed the larger ring toward Tom. "Stout cake. You've made the base with Erin before."

Sarah set the sugar on the scale but kept her fingers hooked beneath the paper seam. She looked from the rings to me.

"Are my hours still forty this week?" Sarah asked.

"If these cakes go out," Lucas said. "The deposits paid for what's already in this room. The rest comes on delivery. That balance is Friday's payroll."

"So you spent the deposits before I agreed to make the cakes."

"I spent them keeping this kitchen open."

I walked toward the island. Mara was reaching for the honey. I put my hand on the jar before she could lift it. Mara kept her hand where it was. Neither of us pulled.

"You know what's in that cake," I said.

"I know."

"You were there when my mother taught me the sponge."

"I know that, too."

"Then don't help him sell it."

Mara finally looked at me. "Don't ask the rest of us to pay for what Lucas did to you."

Behind us, the oven beeped. Tom opened the door and checked the temperature, pretending the numbers required all of his attention.

"I'm not asking you to love me," I said.

Mara replied. "Good."

I let go of the honey. Sarah set the sugar on the scale. She added too much, scooped some back out, then added half of it again.

"Sorry," she said.

Mara lowered the mixer head. The latch clicked. The paddle began beating butter against the side of the bowl. Tom reached for the stout without looking at me.

Lucas waited until the mixer started. Then he picked up his tablet and returned to the office.

I left them at the mixer and crossed to my station. If Lucas believed the five cakes belonged to the shop, he would say the same about my mother's book. I needed to get it out before he did.

I took the small brass key from my pocket and knelt at my station, opening the drawer I kept locked beneath the counter. The lock turned without resistance. No scratches marked the brass face.

My thermometer was there. So were my spare piping tips and the photograph of my mother standing in her first kitchen. The space between them was empty.

The leather-bound book was gone.