Love in Every Bite: A Small Town Romance

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Small-town Romance; contemporary romance; small town romance; small town romance series; Alexa Aston; baker; Lost Creek Texas Hill Country; pitmaster; no 3rd act breakup

Synopsis

Welcome to Lost Creek Texas, a small town deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country, where people come seeking new opportunities and a chance to reinvent themselves—and maybe even find love.

An army veteran returning to his hometown. A teacher embarking on a new venture. A pitmaster and baker who form a creative partnership— and fall in love…

Ry Blackwood left Lost Creek after high school graduation, enlisting in the army with his best friend. After being stationed on foreign soil for a dozen years, he’s ready to return home and begin life as a civilian. Embracing the solace and sense of belonging in Lost Creek, Ry throws himself into his family’s BBQ business, a familiar world packed with the intoxicating aroma of slow-smoked meats and the bustling energy of his loved ones. Little does he know fate has a sweet surprise waiting for him in the form of a pretty baker.

Emerson Frost grew up in foster care, winning a full ride to the University of Texas. Now a third grade teacher, she has a side business baking cakes for Weddings with Hart. Her life turns upside down, however, when the owner of The Bake House dies, bequeathing the town’s beloved bakery to Emerson. Leaving teaching to devote herself to baking full-time, she is finding her feet as a business owner. Emerson is taken with Ry, a charming lady’s man whom she’s determined to stay away from.

Yet Ry is wildly creative, intriguing Emerson with his ideas of fusing Asian cuisine with traditional Texas barbeque— and then inviting her to collaborate with him, merging her baking techniques with his innovative concepts. As they experiment, their creations become popular with the events they cater at Lost Creek Winery.  

Their passion for food ignites their passion for one another, and love blossoms amidst heartfelt conversations about their dreams and desires. But Emerson is closed off from her emotions, not one to trust easily.

Can Ry win Emerson’s heart and teach her to open hers to love?

Find the answer in bestselling author Alexa Aston’s Love at First Bite, the fourth book in Lost Creek:Texas Hill Country. This romance contains no third-act breakup!

Each book in the series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order. The entire series is available in Kindle Unlimited.

Series Order:

Book #1: The Perfect Blend

Book #2: Painted Melodies

Book #3: Script of Love

Book #4: Love in Every Bite

Book #5: Whispered Melodies

Release date: August 13, 2024

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Sample

PROLOGUE

March—Austin

 

Emerson Frost glanced at the clock, knowing her friend Finley Farrow would arrive at any moment. She began wiping down the counter, eager to leave the bakery.

And hopefully land a teaching position in Lost Creek, Texas.

Her companion, a high schooler who was the niece of the owner, leaned against the wall, scrolling through her phone. The girl hated having to work here and did as little as she could.

The bell above the door chimed, and she glanced up, seeing Finley breeze in. Her roommate from their freshman year in college was a natural beauty, an inch taller than Emerson’s own five feet and three inches, with blonde hair and startling aquamarine eyes. Although they had only roomed together that first year, Emerson knew she and Finley would be lifelong friends.

“You ready?” Finley asked, smiling.

“Let me get my things,” she said, heading to the back, where she told Joe, the bakery’s owner, that she was clocking out.

His wife, who was icing a cake, said, “Good luck with your interview, Emerson.”

Emerson removed her apron, hanging it on the peg with her name above it. She picked up the sturdy brown paper sack with handles, which contained her interview outfit, PJs for tonight, and a few toiletries. Returning to the front of the bakery, she saw Finley buying cookies.

“I’ll also need some kolaches,” her friend said, picking out some in apple, pear, and cherry.

Finley paid for her purchases and then turned to Emerson. “I also got two bottles of water for us. Let’s hit the road.”

The pair went to Finley’s new car, an early graduation gift from her parents, and got in. They drove through Austin, talking about the upcoming interview they both had tomorrow at Lost Creek Elementary, where Finley had gone to school.

Once they were on the highway, Emerson said, “I can’t thank you enough for driving back to Austin to get me, Finley, and letting me stay at your house tonight. Your friendship means the world to me.” Her voice wavered as her eyes misted over.

Her friend reached out and took Emerson’s hand, squeezing it.

“I’m happy to do so, Em. Besides, we can be nervous about tomorrow’s interview together.”

She thought Finley had the job in the bag. Her friend’s family owned a Montessori preschool in Lost Creek, and Finley had talked over the past few years about what a tight-knit community her hometown was. She would be certain to land one of the two open positions. Emerson only hoped she could be hired for the other one.

Already, she’d had two interviews this week, one with Austin ISD and another with a charter school in the area. She had presented herself as best she could, but both times, the person interviewing her seemed disinterested, as if they were merely going through the motions and had already decided upon another candidate for the teaching position.

“So, how have you been spending spring break?” she asked.

“I’ve read a couple of books. For fun. I haven’t had time to do that since last summer. I also helped Ches and Sally with some inventory.”

Finley’s brother and wife owned Hill Country Water Sports, which was located on Lost Creek Lake. They rented equipment such as kayaks and jet skis.

“Other than that, I finished writing that final paper that’s due for our Ed Leadership class. Have you finished yours yet?”

“I wrote it last weekend.”

“Of course, you did,” Finley said, laughing. “You always get every assignment done before anyone else.”

Emerson had to. Working two part-time jobs while taking a full load of classes at UT meant she had to use her time extremely wisely.

“You’d be proud of me,” Finley told her. “I’ve completed the rest of my lesson plans for the last month of student teaching and already submitted them to my cooperating teacher for approval. I’ll be glad when we’re done with student teaching. I’m itching to have my own students and do things the way I want and not how The Dragon wants them done. You are so lucky you did your student teaching in the fall and had a great mentor.”

Finley called her cooperating teacher The Dragon with good cause. Emerson had completed her student teaching at the same elementary school and had been relieved not to be under The Dragon’s supervision. Finley was a bright light and eager to teach, full of creative ideas, but The Dragon had tried her best to snuff out that light.

“How are things between you and Jeb going?” she asked.

As Finley talked, Emerson wanted to tell her friend she didn’t think Jeb was good enough for her. The couple had been dating for the past three years, and Emerson had never warmed to Jeb. She thought the frat boy was a self-centered asshole who took his girlfriend for granted and would eventually break Finley’s heart. When he did— and she was certain this was a given —Emerson would never say I told you so. She’d simply help Finley pick up the pieces and start again.

They arrived in Lost Creek, a place Emerson had visited once before during their freshman year. The town was as picturesque as its name, and the people she had met during that weekend were warm and friendly. It was one of the reasons she had applied for one of the openings at Lost Creek Elementary. She wanted to be a part of a community. Have a school family.

And maybe a family of her own someday.

Finley pulled up in front of the large ranch house her parents owned, and Emerson claimed her purse and sack from the back.

“I’ll need to iron my dress,” she told her friend.

They went inside the house, where Mrs. Farrow hugged her, saying, “I’m so glad you could come and stay with us, Emerson. It’s so good to see you again. I only wish you could stay longer.”

“I’ve got work, Mrs. F. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of me. I’m just grateful Finley came back to Austin to pick me up for this interview since I don’t have a car. Don’t worry. I’ll pay her for the gas.”

Dianne Farrow pulled Emerson to her again, hugging her tightly. “Don’t worry about that, honey. Let’s get you set up in the guestroom. I’m making lasagna for dinner. Hope that sounds good.”

“A home-cooked meal sounds wonderful,” she replied, not recalling the last time she’d eaten one.

Even though she lived in the dorm, Emerson was not on one of the UT meal plans. She found she could eat more cheaply on her own. Joe was kind enough to let her have whatever she wanted from the bakery. The sports bar where she worked on weekends let her buy meals at half price. Between that and the small fridge and microwave she had in her dorm room, she got by.

She took her things from her sack, lamenting the fact that she’d never owned a suitcase. Once she landed a teaching job, a suitcase was on her wish list of items to buy. She would also need to buy a car. For the last four years, she’d gotten around Austin on a second-hand bicycle, but she would need more reliable transportation. She couldn’t arrive at school looking like a drenched rat on rainy days, which had happened numerous times over the years as she’d ridden her bike to classes and various jobs.

Mr. Farrow joined them for dinner, asking both Finley and her all kinds of questions, trying to help prepare them for tomorrow’s interview.

“You both gave very thoughtful answers,” Mr. F told them. “Mary Miller would be a fool not to hire each of you on the spot.”

“I know you’re friends with Mary, Dad,” Finley said. “Do you have any idea how many other candidates there are?”

“We haven’t discussed it,” he said. “Mary knows you’re applying for the job. We’ve kept everything aboveboard.”

Still, Emerson could see in Mr. F’s eyes that he believed his daughter would be hired by the elementary school principal.

They finished dinner, and Emerson offered to do the dishes.

“No, you’re a guest,” Mrs. F said. “You need to relax tonight.”

She and Finley decided to watch a romcom on Netflix, and Emerson ironed her dress as they did so. She had already polished her only pair of dress pumps.

The movie ended, and Finley said, “That was cute. I wish real life could be more happily ever after like that.”

“Is something wrong, Fin?” she asked.

“I have a bad feeling about Jeb going to Wharton,” her friend admitted, worry in her eyes. “I thought we would be engaged by now, Em. I assumed we’d get married this summer, and we’d both be moving to Pennsylvania. I’d teach while Jeb earned his master’s degree. The fact that he’s leaving Texas and I don’t have a ring on my finger makes me feel that he isn’t as committed to our relationship as I am.”

“Has he told you he wants to break up?”

“No, but my gut is telling me it’s going to happen.” Finley wiped away a falling tear.

“Then you should break up with him,” she advised.

Finley’s eyes widened. “Why would I do that? I love him.”

She could tell no matter what she said, Finley was going to have to figure things out on her own.

“It was just a suggestion. Maybe absence will make the heart grow fonder. There has to be something to those old sayings, or they still wouldn’t be around.”

They went to their separate rooms, and Emerson fell asleep immediately. She usually ran on empty, getting only three or four hours of sleep a night, so anytime she fell into bed, she slept like the dead.

She awoke early the next morning and showered, using the wonderfully scented shampoo and body gel in the guest bathroom. She dressed and then applied a bit of makeup, something she usually went without because it cost money she didn’t have. This interview was a special occasion, though, so she swept on two coats of mascara. She would put on lipstick after she ate breakfast and brushed her teeth.

In the kitchen she found a note for each of them from Mrs. F, wishing them good luck today. The Farrows would already be at the school they operated.

Emerson helped herself to a bowl of cereal and made a cup of coffee. Finley joined her, also drinking coffee, but said she was too nervous to eat.

They drove to the school, the place deserted except for two cars in the front parking lot. Most school districts in the Hill Country took the same spring break UT did, and so staff and students were gone this week.

They entered the building, and Finley directed them to the office, where one lone worker was tapping away at her computer. She glanced up and came around from behind the counter, hugging Finley.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Finley. I was thrilled to see your name on Mary’s calendar.”

The woman turned to Emerson. “Hello. I’m Sheila, the school secretary. Are you Emerson Frost?”

“I am. It’s nice to meet you, Sheila.”

“Emerson and I were roommates our freshman year,” Finley told the secretary. “Before I left the dorms and moved to the sorority house.”

“Well, I’m happy you both are here. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let Mary know you’ve arrived.”

Minutes later, Sheila escorted Finley in for her interview. Emerson sat, her mouth growing dry, butterflies raging in her stomach. She took out her phone and checked her email and then jumped around various sites, trying to keep her mind calm.

Forty-five minutes later, she heard voices and knew Finley had emerged from her interview. Moments later, her friend appeared in the office, accompanied by an older woman in her early fifties. The two shook hands.

“HR will be in touch about your contract, Finley,” the principal said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. I’m so happy I’ll be a Lost Creek Lion again.”

Mrs. Miller’s attention now turned to Emerson. “And you must be Emerson Frost.”

She shot to her feet, approaching the principal. Offering her hand, she said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller.”

The administrator shook her hand and said, “Come back to the conference room. Let’s get to know one another.”

Her heart pounding, she followed the older woman down a hallway and into a room.

“Have a seat, Emerson,” the principal said, indicating a chair at the conference table and taking one at the head. “Usually, I interview with teachers from the team our applicant would be a part of. With this being spring break, however, I didn’t want to ask any of them to give up their much-needed time off.”

“I understand, Mrs. Miller. Thank you for coming in during your break to interview me.”

The gray-haired woman gazed at Emerson thoughtfully. She was used to being scrutinized and looked back steadily.

“Your grades are excellent, both in your education courses and your specializations of math and science. But you have no extracurriculars on your resumé, Emerson. That concerns me. No campus organizations. No community service. We here at Lost Creek Elementary are looking for well-rounded individuals to educate our students. Yes, mastery in content areas is important, but we are molding global citizens here. I’m only seeing you today at Finley’s request. She insisted when I contacted her for an interview that you be granted one, as well.”

Her heart sank, knowing she had only gotten her foot in the door because of her friend.

“I appreciate Finley championing me,” Emerson said. “If you wish, we can end the interview now since you don’t believe I’m what you’re looking for in a Lost Creek Lion.”

Mrs. Miller pursed her lips and studied Emerson. “Hmm. I didn’t take you for a quitter.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. “However, I don’t want to waste your time, ma’am.”

Again, the principal looked at Emerson, as if she saw through her. “Finley has always been a loyal little thing. I recall one field day when she was probably in first or second grade. She was winning her race and stopped right in the middle of it. Looked over her shoulder for her friend, who had fallen. Finley let the other runners pass by her as she trotted back and took her friend’s hand. Pulled the girl to her feet. They crossed the finish line together, holding hands, the other girl no longer crying but beaming.”

The principal smiled. “They acted as if they’d actually won that race.”

“They did,” Emerson said. “Friendship— and loyalty —won that day.”

Mrs. Miller nodded approvingly. “Tell me about yourself, Emerson. Help me to see what Finley does.”

She took a deep breath and decided full disclosure was the best policy.

“My dad went to prison for killing a man when I was nine years old. I never saw him again. He was stabbed by his cellmate when I was fourteen. My mom suffered from depression once he was incarcerated. She turned to drugs as an escape and died from an overdose when I was eighteen.”

Emerson paused, gauging Mrs. Miller’s reaction. The principal appeared unruffled, but she could see sympathy in her hazel eyes.

“Miss Kent was my third-grade teacher. She mentored me. Taught me how to navigate the world. Miss Kent believed in me. Long after my mother relinquished her parental rights and I was placed in foster care, Miss Kent was there for me. She took me to the school’s clothes closet so that I had a few different shirts and a pair of jeans. A third-hand coat that kept me warm. She encouraged me to read, telling me I could see the world through books. And she urged me to pursue math and science, telling me I could be anything I wanted to be.”

“Your Miss Kent was a wonderful role model for you,” Miss Miller remarked.

“She married and her husband took a job in Fort Worth, so they left Austin. Still, she stayed in touch with me and continued advising me. Miss Kent was a Texas Longhorn, so I wanted to go to UT and follow in her footsteps. She guided me through the Texas Advance Commitment.”

“Which is?” Mrs. Miller asked, clearly curious.

“I was valedictorian of my high school, which guaranteed my tuition would be paid for during my freshman year of college. It’s only tuition, though. Not books or fees. Not room and board. The Texas Advance Commitment is a program which aids low-income students. In my case, I had no family income. In addition to paying for my tuition each semester while I pursued my teaching degree, I was eligible for additional grants and scholarships, which I took advantage of..”

“What about work-study programs or loans?”

“I didn’t want to leave college awash in debt,” she said frankly. “Loans were never an option to me. I also knew I could make far more money working off-campus though I did accept an on-campus housing scholarship.” She paused. “That’s why I have none of the extras you’re looking for, Miss Miller. I’ve worked two jobs and carried a full load my four years at UT.”

“That’s impressive, Emerson. What jobs have you held?”

“The last two years, I’ve worked three mornings a week at a local bakery. I’m there by three those mornings, baking everything from donuts to cakes to pastries. Out the door by nine so I can bike to campus for my classes. Weekends, I tend bar on Sixth Street. I started as a server, but I subbed one night when a bartender was out and found the tips were way better. It’s also close enough for me to bike to.”

She sighed. “I don’t even own a car, ma’am. When I land a teaching job, I want to buy a used vehicle, so I don’t turn up to school looking like a drowned rat on rainy days. But I am a hard worker. Yes, academically I know my stuff, but I also have a deep love for children and know, especially at the elementary level, how much influence a teacher can have on her students. I want to teach life, Mrs. Miller, not just how to divide fractions and what the life cycle of a plant is. I want to be a role model. Help students to become life-long learners while they come to understand how important integrity and gratitude are.”

Emerson paused. “I may not be your ideal candidate on paper, but I will work harder, longer, and more efficiently than anyone else on your staff. I want to be the Miss Kent to all of my students. I could have majored in anything— and Miss Kent often told me I should go into medicine or accounting. I wanted to make a difference every day, though, in a direct way, guiding young minds.”

The principal placed folded hands upon the table, her gaze direct. “You are very forthright, Emerson. Your passion is obvious. I can see why Finley befriended you.”

“I love Finley to pieces, ma’am, but don’t consider me for this teaching position because of Finley. If I win it, I want it to be on my own merits.”

Finally, the older woman smiled. Extending her hand, she said, “I would be honored to have you as a faculty member of Lost Creek Elementary School, Emerson. Finley has already accepted a position for fifth grade ELA and Social Studies. My other opening is third grade math and science.”

A warm glow filled her. “That’s what Miss Kent taught.” She beamed at the principal. “Yes. I would be happy to teach little Lions in third grade.”

Mrs. Miller rose, and Emerson sprang to her feet. Surprisingly, the older woman embraced her.

“Welcome to Lost Creek, Emerson. We are lucky to have you. I’ll forward your information to HR. They’ll send an electronic contract for you to sign. Once you’re officially employed, I’ll be in touch.”

She left the conference room in a daze.

Finley shot to her feet when Emerson appeared.

“Well?”

Her gaze met her friend’s. “I got it. I got it!”

Finley crushed her in a bear hug. “We’ll be at the same school. And we can be roommates again. This is the best news ever. I love you, Em.”

Emerson smiled at her friend. “I love you, too, Fin.”

 

 

CHAPTER 1

Lost Creek—Six years later…

 

Emerson bustled about the kitchen in her rental house. It seemed odd not to be making coffee for two. Last night, she had watched Finley marry Holden Scott, and she couldn’t have been happier for her best friend. Not only had Finley gotten married, she had also turned in her resignation to Mary Miller and would now be pursuing a full-time career in photography.

She buttered the piece of toast that popped up in the toaster and took it and her coffee mug to the table. She wondered if she should get another roommate to split the house payment and bills. Finley had lived with her the past six years, but Emerson thought maybe it would be nice to have the house to herself, at least for the summer.

Reaching for her planner on the table, she flipped it open, looking at the various weddings coming up and the cakes she would be baking for Weddings with Hart as its exclusive baker. Her friend Harper Hart had opened the business last fall, erecting an event center at her family’s winery. Harper had even designed the huge kitchen in the facility with Emerson’s needs in mind, putting in two commercial-sized ovens so that cakes could be baked and decorated directly on the property without having to be transported.

Business was booming, with many brides drawn to the winery as a backdrop for their indoor or outdoor weddings. Emerson believed she had found her calling when she’d been drawn to teaching years ago, but baking cakes for weddings, as well as other occasions, was quickly becoming her passion. She still felt a bit guilty for having stepped away from her part-time job at The Bake House, Ethel Frederick’s bakery in Lost Creek, but the diminutive owner had encouraged Emerson to operate her own business. Maybe since it was now summer, she might check with Ethel to see if the bakery owner needed any part-time help. Emerson only had a few teacher workshops to attend this summer, and she wouldn’t mind staying a little busier, working for Ethel, as well as Harper. The additional income would also be nice. She decided to stop by The Bake House and visit her former employer in person.

Emerson showered and dressed for the day, sweeping her long, raven hair into a high ponytail and dabbing on a smidgeon of lip gloss. She picked up her phone and saw she had missed a text from Harper.

 

Friday Bridezilla wants to change the frosting back to buttercream. Told her cake was already baked and this was her last chance to alter something for the wedding. Does that work for you?

 

She texted Harper back, saying she was heading to the events center now to put the finishing touches on tomorrow night’s cakes and would also be baking the wedding and groom’s for Saturday night’s wedding.

Harper replied with three heart emojis, and Emerson laughed, grabbing her purse and driving straight to the winery. She used her set of keys to enter the event center and mixed the batter for the five-tiered wedding cake for Saturday’s uncomplicated bride.

Pouring the batter into the various pans, she slipped them into the oven. While those were baking, she mixed up the groom’s cake batter and also put it in the additional oven. She then consulted her notes to make certain she had the right icing and shade for Bridezilla’s wedding cake and iced it.

Her timer went off, and she removed the wedding cake pans, placing the cakes on wire racks to cool. She did the same for the groom’s cake and returned to Bridezilla’s cake, piping delicate rosettes and writing in script atop it. When she finished decorating the wedding cake, she stepped back and congratulated herself. It was truly one of her best efforts.

While she was icing and decorating the groom’s cake, Harper stopped in.

“Whoa!” her friend exclaimed, stopping in her tracks. “Emerson, you’ve outdone yourself. Even Bridezilla won’t find anything wrong with this cake.”

She indicated the cake in front of her. “I’m putting the finishing touches on her groom’s cake. I hope he’ll be pleased.”

The groom had played football at Texas A&M and had requested that his cake look like a football field. In the center of it was the A&M logo, and she completed it now.

“What do you think?”

Harper turned her attention to the other cake and moved closer, nodding approvingly. “He’ll love it. You’ve added some great details. Obviously, Bridezilla won’t like it one bit. She will complain it’s not classy enough.”

“It’s his cake,” Emerson said. “He should get some say since she’s made every other decision. Numerous times,” she added, and both women laughed, because this particular bride had changed her mind about everything, multiple times.

“Are you doing Sunday afternoon’s cakes tomorrow?” Harper asked.

“Yes. Those won’t take me long since the Sunday wedding is a much smaller affair.”

“Sunday Bride has been easy to please,” Harper said. “I had to convince her to make some of the decisions and not leave everything up to me.”

“She’s a little younger than most first-time brides,” Emerson noted. “I think she’ll be fine. Her groom seems like a really nice guy. I think they’ll be happy together.”

Harper glanced back at the completed wedding cake. “Why do I feel as though Bridezilla will be back here in two years with another groom?”

“Maybe you should start offering premarital counseling as a service of Weddings with Hart,” Emerson teased.

“That’s on them. Not me. I just make certain the wedding and reception turn out beautifully. See you later, Em.”

After Harper left, Emerson stored the wedding cakes for tomorrow, as well as the two she had baked today. Those would be decorated tomorrow. She locked up and went to her car, propping her cell in the cup holder, seeing another text had come in. It surprised her because this one was from Ethel. She brought up the text.

 

Ned too see you. ASAP. Come upstairs when get here.

 

Right away, Emerson was concerned. Ethel was very meticulous, and the misspellings in her short text were unlike her. Another thing was that Ethel was always found in the bakery during business hours, and it was only a little after one o’clock now. The fact that she’d asked Emerson to come upstairs to the apartment located over the bakery worried her. Several weeks ago, when she’d gone into the bakery to buy cookies for her students, Ethel had been even thinner than usual, her color not good. Ethel was a very private person, though, and Emerson didn’t ask her any questions about her health.

As she left the winery and drove the short distance into Lost Creek, she tried to recall if she’d seen Ethel since then. She also remembered how Dax had been concerned about The Bake Shop’s owner and had asked Emerson to make certain things were all right with Ethel. When Emerson had gathered the courage to ask about her health, Ethel had told her nothing was wrong. That she was just getting older and her doctor had told her to stop tasting so many of her sweet concoctions. That was the reason she’d lost a little weight and stayed in a bad mood.

Emerson had let it go, not wanting to pry further, and soon she had left her part-time job at The Bake House because of Ethel’s encouragement. Now, a nagging doubt filled her, and she wished she would have pressed the older woman harder about her health.

She parked behind the bakery, which was on the town square, seeing other cars also parked in back of the various businesses. A back staircase led up to Ethel’s apartment. Ethel had told Emerson once that she had been born not in a hospital but in this apartment— and she expected to die here, as well.

Knocking on the door, she waited, listening to hear any movement inside. Then her cell chimed, and she glanced down at the message.

 

Open. Com in.

 

Again, concern filled her as Emerson turned the knob and pushed the door open. She glanced about the tidy room, seeing no sign of Ethel, so she called out her name.

“Ethel? Ethel? It’s Emerson.”

She went to the kitchen and found Ethel sitting at the table, still dressed in pajamas with a tattered robe covering them. Dark circles were under her eyes, but it was the overall air of sadness which permeated Ethel’s posture.

Emerson placed a hand on the baker’s shoulder, feeling how bony it was.

“Ethel, you’re sick. Let me take you to the doctor. No, the hospital in Boerne.”

“Sit, child,” Ethel commanded, her voice faint but crisp.

She did so, her gaze meeting the old woman’s.

“I asked you to come… because I need to tell you something.” Ethel coughed weakly. “I’m dying. Stage 4 cancer. No more doctors.”

Emerson reached for Ethel’s hand, afraid to squeeze it. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“Glioblastoma. It’s spread through my brain and spine.” Ethel winced. “Given me terrible headaches. Made me forgetful as hell. I’ve pushed through and pretended nothing was wrong, but today it all caught up to me. I sent Frank and Jill home and closed the bakery.”

Ethel coughed again, and Emerson asked, “Can I get you some water?”

The old woman nodded, and Emerson filled a glass as Ethel watched her. She noticed Ethel’s hand shake as she tried to bring the glass to her lips. Emerson leaned over and put her hands around Ethel’s, steadying the glass, allowing her to drink from it.

She set down the glass on the table and took a seat again.

“What have the doctors said? What kind of treatment are you undergoing?”

“None,” Ethel said flatly. “I have no insurance beyond Medicare. The survival rate for this is low. It grows fast and has eaten me up inside. There’s no cure. Chemo and radiation just prolong your agony and costs money I don’t have. I chose to keep living my life for as long as I could. Until I couldn’t live it any longer.”

Ethel paused, her gaze meeting Emerson’s. “That’s why I called you today, honey.”

“What can I do for you?” she asked. “I can move in with you and take care of you, Ethel. It’s summer, so I’m not bound to school hours. Yes, I have a ton of cakes to bake for weddings, but I can do those early in the morning or late at night. Do you need me to run The Bake House for you?”

A groan of pain sounded from the old woman, followed by a long sigh. It tore Emerson’s heart.

“Let me help, Ethel. Please.”

Tears welled in Ethel’s eyes. “I’ve put on a brave face, Emerson. It’s just been me all these years. Me. The bakery. This town.” She swallowed, grimacing. “I do want you to run The Bake House. I’ve left it to you in my will.”

Shock rippled through her. “What?”

“Merilee Swan has it all lined up. She drew up all the paperwork months ago, just after I got the diagnosis. Wanted to… make sure all T’s were crossed. While I was still in my right mind. Not that anyone would challenge it. I have no one, Emerson. That bakery has been my life.”

Ethel looked up, her tears now falling down her cheeks. “You’re the closest thing to a relative I have. I’m leaving The Bake House to you.”

Guilt flooded her, having walked away from her job with Ethel to strike out on her own.

“I see that in your eyes. I know what you’re thinking, Girl. I wanted you to do your own thing. Work with Harper. Spread your wings. Get ready for what the future would hold for you. I know this means… stepping away from teaching, but I hope you’ll take over the place and not… sell it to anyone else.”

“I would never do that,” Emerson said fiercely.

“Good,” Ethel said softly, seemingly all talked out. “I need to… lie down. Can you help me to the bedroom?”

She lifted Ethel from her chair, wrapping her arm about the older woman’s waist, and shuffling along beside her. They reached the bedroom, and she got Ethel in bed.

“I’ll stay with you while you sleep. And then when you awake, we’ll call your doctor together and see what can be done.”

Ethel smiled and closed her eyes.

Emerson knew there were programs that could help Ethel. She could go on hospice and have workers come in each day to help care for her. As bad a shape as Ethel was in, Emerson didn’t think the baker had long to live.

And that meant she would be inheriting The Bake House.

She would keep her promise to Ethel and never sell it. It made sense for her to take it over. But that would mean giving up her position at Lost Creek Elementary. Emerson decided she needed to let Mary Miller know now and dialed the school’s number.

Sheila, the secretary answered, “Good morning. Lost Creek Elementary, where the Lions roar every day.”

“Hi, Sheila. It’s Emerson. Is Mary available?”

“She is. Let me put you through to her.”

Moments later, her principal said, “Hello, Emerson. You’re supposed to be enjoying summer vacation and baking a few cakes along the way.” Mary chuckled. “Or more than a few. I hear Harper’s event center is hopping these days.”

Emerson swallowed. “Mary, I have something I need to share with you,” she said quietly.

“Go on,” the administrator urged. “Take your time, Emerson.”

“I’m with Ethel Frederick now. She is in Stage 4 of a nasty cancer and doesn’t have much time.”

“Ethel’s going to give you The Bake House, isn’t she?” Mary asked.

“Yes. She just told me,” Emerson confirmed. “I promised her I wouldn’t sell it to anyone else. That I would run it.”

“That means I’ll need to look for a new third grade math and science teacher,” the principal said.

“I know I’m throwing this at you out of left field, but—”

“No, Emerson,” the principal said firmly. “You gave me six wonderful years and gave of yourself to your students. Now, you’ll simply have a bigger mission. You’ll be touching the lives of many of the residents here in Lost Creek. I appreciate the heads up, though. It’s going to be very hard to replace Miss Frost.”

Her throat swelled with emotion. “I know I’ll have papers to sign. A resignation letter to write. An exit interview.”

“We can worry about all that later. You take care of Ethel and let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Mary. You’ve been a wonderful mentor to me— and an even better friend.”

Emerson ended the call, staring at Ethel in the bed, looking so small and frail. Obviously, her friend had pushed herself beyond her limits, trying to keep The Bake House running. Now, the cancer had caught up to her.

“It’s so unfair,” she said softly.

Ethel Frederick was one of the kindest people Emerson had ever met. Brusque but goodhearted. She wanted to fault Ethel for not undergoing chemo and radiation, but since this cancer was uncurable, Emerson understood why Ethel had chosen to do things her own way.

Taking her friend’s hand, she held it, tears coursing down her cheeks as she moved to sit on the bed. Ethel’s breathing grew more labored, and Emerson realized these were the older woman’s last few minutes. She watched Ethel struggle, fighting to stay alive, and then silence sounded.

Ethel Frederick was gone.

And Emerson Frost’s life would now move in a very different direction.