I wiped my hands slowly on my apron. Whitney tapped her manicured nail on the contract like I was a child who couldn’t read. ‘Sign it, Nora. Mom already said you would.’ I looked up at her and smiled — the small, patient smile Grandma Ellis used to wear right before she won an argument. ‘Whitney,’ I said, ‘do you know who’s catering the Vanderlin wedding next month?’ She blinked. The Vanderlins were her fiancé’s family. ‘That’s… that’s my wedding.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Mrs. Vanderlin signed with me in February. Forty-thousand-dollar contract. She specifically asked for the lavender-honey cake from my grandmother’s book.’ Her face went the color of raw dough. ‘That’s impossible. She doesn’t even know you.’ ‘She knows my work,’ I said. ‘She’s been ordering from Sugar & Thread for two years. She’s the one who recommended me to the governor’s office last fall.’ I slid the contract back across the counter, along with a pen. ‘You can sign this if you’d like. It says you release any claim to Grandma’s recipe book, which, by the way, Mom doesn’t actually own. Grandma left it to me in writing. I have the notarized will in the safe.’ Whitney’s mouth opened and closed. ‘You wouldn’t dare pull out of the wedding.’ ‘I wouldn’t,’ I agreed. ‘I keep my contracts. But Mrs. Vanderlin called me last night, Whitney. She’d like to meet the bride’s sister — the baker everyone’s been raving about — at the rehearsal dinner. She wants to seat me at the family table.’ The bell above the door jingled. My first customer of the morning walked in and gasped. ‘Nora! I saw the Southern Living feature — congratulations!’ Whitney turned so fast her heels squeaked. ‘What feature?’ I picked up my dough and started shaping loaves. ‘March issue. Cover story.’ I didn’t look up. ‘You should grab a copy on your way out. There’s a lovely photo of Grandma’s recipe book. Right next to mine.’
