Page 277 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Careful, King.”

“I’m being careful.”

“You’re staring like the jam has some compromised values.”

“No,” I say. “Not the jam.”

Marley makes a strangled sound by the counter.

“This is a family establishment,” Oliver mutters.

Halston smiles.

By midday, the bakery looks less like chaos and more like an organized festival run by someone with a vendetta against beige.

The board has three columns: BAKE, BUILD, BLOOM. Halston named them.

Under BAKE: Base pastries, cookie rounds, shortbread slabs, twists.

Under BUILD: Icing roads, map-cookie boxes, coffee concentrate jars, cherry reduction, cream fillings.

Under BLOOM: Chalkboard, ribbons, Vipers specials, late-night bar launch, emotional support snacks, Oliver containment.

Oliver sees his name and mumbles a profanity.

Halston writes beside it, HIGH PRIORITY.

He looks at me. “You allowed this?”

My hands are in the air. “I didn’t approve or disapprove.”

“You’re a coward.”

At two, I ask Halston what she wants to eat. She asks for toast and eggs.

With Oliver’s permission, I head to the small kitchen in his bar to make them.

“You’re doing really well,” he says as he stands at theentrance watching me. He has both hands braced above his head on the doorframe.

“Don’t sound so pleased,” I tell him, cracking an egg.

“I’m furious.” He pauses. “Are you staying?” His voice is quieter.

I go still. “If you’re asking me if I’m looking for work in Maryland, the answer is yes.”

He stares at me. “You’re not going to work at the bakery?”

“I haven’t been asked.” I shrug. “We’re practicing not assuming, remember? She’s the boss.”

The pan hisses quietly.

“I want a life here,” I confirm.

Oliver waits long enough that I look over. “With her?”

“Yes.”

“What if she says no?”