“Mom?” Summer called, as the first crew members began to stream past with headsets and clipboards. Where there was a spotlight, Eve Bloom was sure to be close behind. “Mom, I know you’re here!”

“No need to yell, darling.” Eve stepped out of a trailer. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, and she was wearing a pair of white jeans and a blue blouse. It looked like she’d just spent an hour in hair and makeup. Which she probably had. “I’m right here.”

“I see that,” Summer managed through gritted teeth. “But why?”

“You didn’t think I’d miss my only daughter’s big day,” Eve beamed, coming closer. “I brought everyone! We’re filming my episode right here at the bakery, so I can tell everyone how much I’ve guided your career. I mean, you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”

Summer stared at her, feeling numb. In a way, she should have seen this coming. After all, her mother could never let any achievement go by without taking credit. But still, even after everything, Summer had still believed that this time she would get to keep this one for herself.

“No.”

Eve blinked. “What’s that, darling? Oh, Marcie! Over here! We need to do something about your hair,” Eve tutted, reaching to push it out of Summer’s eyes. “And that dress won’t do. The colors will bleed on camera, do you have something in blue? You look so much better in blue. And can you get these people cleared away? We need the space to bring in the cameras.”

“No.” Summer said it again, louder.

“What do you mean?” Eve stared.

“I’m not getting my hair done, or changing clothes, or moving my paying customers out of the way, because you’re not filming here.” Summer clenched her jaw.

“But darling, we just drove all the way from New York.” Eve still seemed shocked. “Look at everyone, you’re not going to tell them they came all this way for nothing? Think of the production hours and wages and—”

“That’s your problem,” Summer snapped. “If you’d thought to call, I would have told you. I don’t want any of this!”

She felt a hand on her arm, and then Grayson stepped forward. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly. “I’m Grayson Reid.”

“Eve Bloom.” She shook his hand. “Are you a friend of my daughter’s? Will you please talk some sense into her? I know she’s shy in front of the camera, but I’m doing all this for her.”

For her? Summer opened her mouth to argue, but Grayson gave her a quick wink. “I absolutely understand,” he said to Eve, his British accent somehow sounding even more precise. “I’m sure you went through a lot of trouble, getting the filming permits.”

Eve paused. “Permits?”

“Yes, the town requires them for all filming,” Grayson replied. “And of course, I’ll need all your paperwork myself. I own the property,” he added casually. “So I’ll have to sign off with my permission before I can allow any production in the bakery, or even on the land.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Eve cooed, turning on the charm. “It’s just a few shots, nothing big. We’ll be out of your hair in a few hours.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t make the rules.” Grayson stood firm.

Summer could have kissed him.

“Why don’t you and your producer stop by the city council?” Grayson said, steering Eve away. “Actually, scratch that. It’s the holiday. Nobody will be in until later in the week. And you’ll need to move all these trucks, too,” he added. “Traffic violations. I’d act fast, before the Sheriff comes by and impounds them all.”

Before her mother even knew what was happening, Grayson had dismissed her, instructed the drivers to move, and the whole production caravan was rolling on out.

“How did you do that?” Summer asked, amazed. “Nobody tells Eve Bloom no.”

“You did.” Grayson smiled back. “Do you want me to call the Sheriff and sic him on them? I bet he’d love to write a few tickets.”

Summer shook her head, “No, that won’t help.” She looked to where Eve was arguing with one of her producers. An eager customer from the bakery rushed over, and in an instant, Eve’s smile was back. She posed for photos, and soon, a new crowd was forming. After all, who cared about the bakery when there was a real live celebrity in town?

Grayson followed her gaze. “I’m sorry.” He gently squeezed her shoulder. “Did you know she was coming?”

“Nope. I never even told her about the bakery, so I don’t know how she . . .” Summer paused. “The newspaper article,” she realized with a groan. “She has an alert set, one of her interns combs the internet for all the new stories. That’s how she must have found out.”

“Well, she won’t be filming anything today,” Grayson said, but Summer knew Eve better than that.

“Don’t be so sure. She’s a force of nature,” she said with a sigh. “Trust me, permits won’t hold her up for long.”

She turned back and caught the full power of Grayson’s gaze for the first time: searching and intense. Summer caught her breath. It should be illegal for a man to look at her like that—in public, at least. “Thanks,” she managed. “For running interference.”

“Anytime.” He gave her a smile that somehow went straight to her heart. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

Summer nodded, but there was only so far stalling tactics went. Somehow, she’d have to deal with this one herself.

“I should . . .” She gestured awkwardly back to the bakery.

“Right.” Grayson paused. “I was thinking, we should talk,” he said suddenly. “Not now, I mean, you have all of this. But later?”

Summer gulped, her mind racing. What did he want to talk about? What did it mean? “OK,” she replied. “Later.”

“You know where to find me.”

He smiled and turned to walk away, and for a moment, all Summer wanted to do was go after him right now. Never mind the bakery and her mother and the crowds of people—she needed to know what he was thinking. If he’d changed his mind about them, if there could maybe be a chance . . .

“Summer!”

Her name came, called with a hint of desperation. Jessi was waving her back to the bakery and the waiting line of customers. Her mom was stationed by the front window now, already posing for photos with a group of adoring fans, and as Summer watched, she even held up a Pop-Tart, as if she was the one who’d baked it.

Summer took a breath. Grayson could wait. Her mom could wait. She wasn’t going to let her rollercoaster emotions ruin this day, not for anything.

She looked up: at the bakery sign, the gleaming windows, and the bright red door. At the happy faces of her customers as they left the shop and lingered in the sunshine at the tables outside. It was the vision that had kept her going through all those late shifts and chef tantrums and long nights planning alone.

This was her dream, coming true right in front of her.

And no matter what else happened, that was pretty damn good.

Twenty-eight pies, seventy-six cupcakes, and two-dozen French loaves later, Summer flipped the sign over the door to Closed and let out a satisfied sigh. June’s promise had come true: her dress rehearsal couldn’t have gone worse, but the big day itself had been a total success.

“My feet are killing me!” Jessi exclaimed. “Remind me to wear sneakers for my shift tomorrow.”

“Try soaking them in ice and lemon,” Summer advised. She’d spent long shifts on her feet at the restaurant, and knew all the tricks. “And here.” She pushed the over-stuffed tip jar towards her. “You earned it.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow!” Jessi took off, and Summer idled in the bakery, clearing off tables and straightening things up. But she couldn’t delay the inevitable much longer. Eventually, she changed her clothes and drove up the coast to the fancy hotel where her mom was staying. It was the same place as that wedding she’d catered on her first visit to the Cape, but Summer wasn’t surprised: Eve always had immaculate taste. Sure enough, she found her holding court in the elegant lounge, with her usual entourage of business managers, producers, and other hangers-on clustered around.

“There she is, the woman of the hour!” Eve greeted her with a smile. “Didn’t she do a good job? My interns tell me you’re buzzing online.”

Summer shifted, awkward at the crowd. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Of course. Mother-daughter time,” Eve said to the others. “We’ll be right back to plan the shooting schedule.”

They stepped out onto the back terrace with its sweeping views of the bay. Summer took a breath to try and steel herself. She needed to be firm if she was going to step in front of Eve’s runaway train, but she had butterflies swirling in her stomach, and she suddenly felt like she was eighteen years old all over again: coming to her mom for approval and support, wanting so desperately for her to come through.

The moment they were alone, Eve was all business again. “I’ve put in a call to the mayor,” she began briskly, “and the permits will only hold us up a couple of days. Turns out he’s a big fan—so we’ll be ready to shoot in no time at all.”

“Listen, Mom—” Summer started, but Eve kept talking.

“That landlord will be more of an issue, but I’m sure he’ll have his price. Everyone does. Maybe you should be the one to sweet-talk him, and if not, we can still shoot exteriors, and then use the studio kitchen and pretend it’s the bakery.”

“Mom—”

“And I think it would be better if we say I’m a partner in the bakery, don’t you? A mother-daughter project we started together, to spend time and—”

“Mom!” Summer finally yelled, interrupting her. “Stop!”

Eve blinked. Summer took a deep breath and looked her mother square in the eyes. “We don’t need the permits, because we’re not filming. You and your production crew aren’t stepping foot inside my bakery. End of story.”

Eve opened her mouth, but Summer put her hand up. “No, this time you have to listen to me, Mom.” Her voice cracked, and blood was pounding in her ears, but Summer needed to keep going. She had to make Eve see. “You can’t keep doing this,” she told her. “Showing up, taking credit for all my hard work like you had anything to do with it. I did this on my own,” Summer said fiercely, as fifteen years of rejection and hurt came rushing to the surface. “You weren’t here for any of it, and I’m not going to have you just sweep in and claim the applause like you always do.”

“I don’t believe this.” Eve finally managed to speak. “You think this is about me? Honey, all of this is for your benefit!” She gave Summer a wounded look, and for a moment, she almost faltered. Then she remembered, her mother was a born performer. After years on camera, she was a pro, and Summer couldn’t fall for her act now.

“No,” Summer insisted. “Because if you cared for one moment what I wanted, you would never have come. You weren’t there for me when I was starting out or climbing up the ladder,” she pointed out bitterly, “and you sure as hell weren’t around when everything fell apart on me the other day. Would you even have showed up here if it wasn’t a success?” she demanded. “If I didn’t already have all those rave reviews and newspaper articles, would you be here, giving me all this ‘support’?”

Eve cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but that split-second hesitation told Summer everything she needed to know.

“I thought not.” Summer deflated. “You don’t even care about me unless I’m making you look good.”

“That’s not true—” Eve tried to argue, but Summer had reached her limit. She got to her feet again.

“This is my life now,” she declared. “I’ve built it, and I’m proud of it, and I don’t need your approval. I gave up waiting on that a long time ago. So you can take your cameras and go back to the city, because I don’t need them—or you—to know I can do this on my own.”

Summer turned on her heel and walked out, her heart still pounding in her chest. She couldn’t believe she’d just said all of that, but it had been a long time coming, and there was no going back now. Whatever her mother did was up to her; Summer was done trying to bite her tongue and keep her feelings bottled up inside.

She needed to do things her way, starting today.