Chapter 1

As I stare at my suitcase that’s splayed open on top of my bed, I wonder, not for the first time, if maybe I shouldn’t have signed up for this thing. The Small Business Convention is held in Phoenix, Arizona every year, and every year since I opened my bakery I told myself I would go. But I was only twenty years old the first time so I felt unprepared. Now, at twenty-two, with two full years of business ownership under my belt, I am still exactly as unprepared as ever.

I have no clue what I’m doing.

The convention is supposed to be a way to network with other business owners, and find new products and services that will help you streamline your work and make more profit. It all looks amazing online, and on the social media photos I stalk every year. There’s a large vender area where people give away samples of all kinds of things from T-shirts to iPads. I want to go just for the free swag, not to mention the networking opportunity. My business is doing well, but I live in a small town and I’m probably missing out on so much valuable information to help my business grow.

I heave a sigh and tell myself I’ve got this. I’m probably the most positive person out of all of my friends. I’m upbeat and cheerful and I’m pretty much always smiling, especially at work where I need to make a good impression on my customers. But that’s not hard because I love my job.

Sweets Bakery is my tiny little piece of the world, (the only thing I truly own since I rent my apartment and have a loan on my car), and I’m proud of it. Wearing an apron and a baker’s hat is my idea of dressing for success. Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time right now.

“I have no idea what to wear to this thing,” I say, scrunching up my face as if my suitcase just insulted me with its emptiness.

My best friend Livi, who has been busying herself by trying on my clothes, looks up at me. A black dress dangles off her small frame, making her look like a child trying on mommy’s clothes. I’m more of a curvier woman, and Livi is thin. I know she loves my dresses, but she’s kidding herself if she thinks she can actually wear any of them.

Livi pretends the dress isn’t swallowing her whole and walks up to me, peering into my suitcase.

“The only thing in here is sleep clothes and a bathing suit,” she says, holding up the purple bikini top. “This is a business convention, right?”

I take the bikini top and shove it back in the suitcase. “The hotel has a pool…” I say stupidly. I mean you never know when you’ll need a bathing suit, and Arizona is hot. Then I put my hands on my hips. “You’re smart, Livi. Help me.”

She snorts. “I dropped out of college and have been helping you at the bakery for six months. “I know nothing about business. But… I think you need some slacks, and maybe a nice pencil skirt. Some button up shirts, maybe?”

I nod along, but inside I’m freaking out. My wardrobe is mostly leggings and baggy shirts and the floral print dresses I love so much. They’re whimsical and colorful and just don’t seem right for a business convention. “I think I own like one pair of slacks,” I say, heading back into my closet. I have to go to the way back of it, where the clothes I never wear are hidden away.

I retrieve the ugly things and toss them across the room to Livi, who catches them and folds them neatly into my suitcase. I peer back in my closet at my shirts, looking for something without a graphic print on it. After a painstaking journey through the forgotten parts of my closet, we find a few nice shirts that could pass for business casual. I choose my most professional dresses that are in duller, less vibrant colors and bring them, too, plus some sandals and heels.

“Alexa,” Livi says after we’ve folded and stuffed everything into my suitcase. Her voice is serious and she’s staring me right in the eyes like she’s about to give me some important talk.

“Yes?”

She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Try not to stress about it. It’s just a convention for business owners—which you are, by the way—and it’s not like a job interview or anything. You don’t have to impress these people. If anything, the vendors need to impress you. And all the big-wig presenters who are giving keynote speeches are too rich and famous to care about anyone in the crowd.”

I laugh. She continues, “So just wear whatever you want, and soak up their fancy rich people advice, and then come back here and keep kicking ass like you do. You don’t need to stress about it.”

“Thanks, Liv,” I say, feeling truly grateful. She’s right—I know she is. I should just be myself. Hell, I had to pay a hundred and fifty dollars just to get into this convention, so I shouldn’t have to impress them as well. This convention is to help me improve my small business. I’m really excited about it, even though I’m still a little nervous. This will be the first time I’m flying somewhere by myself. Getting a taxi by myself … a hotel by myself.

I know I can handle it, but it just sucks because sometimes I hate being so independent. After my mom died, I became independent and self-reliant as a way to trick myself into thinking that I’m totally okay. I was just a kid back then, but I told myself I’d be fine, even when I didn’t believe it.

My internal lies worked for the most part. I can do anything alone, but that doesn’t mean I actually enjoy it. After Mom’s passing, I started to lean on my cousin Mason for support, and he became my best friend. He taught me how to drive, and he took me to my junior prom when I didn’t have a date. He used his trust fund to pay for culinary school, and then he helped me start the bakery. He was always there for me. Then with a little help from me, he started dating Livi, and now they’re both like my family. They’re my support group, and my favorite people all wrapped up into one.

Still, I always act like I can do anything, because like I said, I’m the upbeat positive one. I want people to believe in me. That’s why I don’t tell Livi that she and Mason should buy a plane ticket and come with me so I won’t be alone. I swallow down my fears and tell myself I’ve got this.

“So, Keesha’s all set for coming in early, right?”  I ask, even though I know the answer. Now that I’m about to leave for my three day long trip, I’m getting nervous about leaving my bakery in the hands of someone else.

“Yep, she’s all set. She’s stoked about the extra hours,” Livi says as she zips up my suitcase. She’s still wearing my dress, and it does look a little cute on her, even though it fits way different on me. When I wear it, it’s a form fitting dress. On her, it’s flowy like a bathing suit coverup.

“And you’ve got all the recipes laminated and ready?” I ask. Years ago, I learned the hard way that if you don’t laminate a recipe card, it will get destroyed in the kitchen.

“Yep,” Livi says.

This is the first time in my entire business-owning life that I’m leaving my bakery to run without me there to run it. Livi has mastered my main recipes lately and I know she’ll do well with them. And Keesha is my teenage part time cashier, and she’s excellent with the customers. She knows the cash register and how to fix it if it freezes, and she knows how to set up the front of the bakery and make it all look nice. With Livi baking the food, and Keesha taking care of my customers, everything should be fine.

I limited the menu down to the top five basic items that my customers love the most. That way Livi can handle it, and when I get back I’ll start making my custom creations again. I totally trust my best friend to take care of my store while I’m gone.

“You have the key, right?” I ask.

“Wait, I need a key?” she asks with a sly grin. “I was just going to smash out a window so I could get inside.”

I roll my eyes and throw a pillow at her. She laughs and then puts the pillow back on my bed where it belongs. “I’m kidding, Alexa. I will take good care of your bakery while you’re gone. I promise.”

“I know,” I say, feeling guilty for asking so many questions. We’ve spent all week prepping for my trip, so I know things are all set. “So, now that I’m all packed, I think we need coffee.”

Livi nods in agreement. “Your coffee is amazing.”

We head out of my bedroom and into my tiny apartment kitchen. “My coffee is just regular coffee, you nerd.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Your coffee is better than other coffee. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it’s my amazing culinary skills,” I say, twirling my hands around like I’m a magician.

I get to making the two very normal cups of coffee that Livi loves so much, and then we sit out on my tiny little balcony to drink it.

I wince after taking a sip. “Ugh. Sometimes my wrist still hurts.” I hold the hot coffee cup up to my wrist like a makeshift heating pad.

“I’m sorry,” Livi says, crinkling her nose. “That’s so shitty.”

A few months ago, I stupidly fell off a ladder in my bakery and broke my wrist. Luckily, I didn’t need surgery on it, just a cast for eight weeks, but ever since it’s been healed, it still hurts every now and then. That’s actually how Livi got so good at making my secret cupcake recipes. When I couldn’t bake as well with one arm, I stood beside her and taught her how to do it. Thanks to Livi, my bakery was able to stay open while I was out of commission. Now she’s a really good baker even though she doesn’t give herself much credit. I think dropping out of college to care for her dying grandmother has really harmed her self-worth. Mason and I are always telling her she should go back to college.

“So what’s up with my cousin?” I ask, taking a sip of coffee. I want to mention college again, but I don’t want to put her in an awkward spot right now, so I decide to be lighthearted. “Ya’ll are still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, right? Even though it’s been like, forever?”

She blushes a little as she stares into her coffee. “It’s only been a few months, but I guess you could say that. We never fight or anything.”

“That’s good. Mason isn’t much of a fighter. He likes to talk out his problems.”

“We also never have any problems,” she says. “So it’s been amazing. He is amazing.”

“You are also amazing,” I tell her. And it’s true. Mason didn’t have a good record of dating women before he met Livi. He’s such a good man—kind and caring and loyal—and I thought he’d never find the right girl. And then Livi showed up. It was right after her sweet grandmother had died, and I started to wonder why I didn’t befriend her sooner. She’s great. It’s no wonder why my cousin is so totally in love with her.

“I’m glad things are good,” I say.

“There’s just one weird thing,” Livi says after a moment. There’s a crease in her brows as she stares out at the field in front of us.

“And that thing is…?” I pry.

She sighs. “So … like … the only reason I live at his house is because I was originally renting a room from him … but now we’re dating, and I end up sleeping in his bed with him most of the time … and I only go back to my room to change clothes.”

“So, move into his room,” I say.

“That’s just it!” She leans forward a little, like she’s telling me a juicy secret. “I don’t know if I should? If he wants me to? I mean, he has been refusing to let me pay him rent, but still … at what point do I go from a girl living in his spare bedroom, to his live-in girlfriend who shares a room with him?”

“I’d say the second ya’ll started sleeping together every night,” I say with a laugh.

Livi’s cheeks are super red right now. “I just don’t want to ask him. It feels awkward.” She leans back in her chair and cups her coffee mug with both hands. “I guess I want him to ask me to officially move in with him and turn my room back into the guest room.”

“Want me to talk to him?” I offer.

“Absolutely not,” Livi says, giving me a serious look. “I would die of mortification.”

I chuckle. “Okay, okay. I won’t say anything.” Then I put my fingers to my lips and pretend to zip them closed.