Jenneca closed up shop, worried for her Mama. They couldn’t keep the store up and running the way they did. Something would have to change, more money for a shop assistant, something. With dread she faced the alternative, she would have to give up everything to run it herself.

And she could. She would. The store had been in their family for five generations, beginning when everything was baked in stone and then brick. They served the royal family as the palace’s main baker for decades until the royals employed their own, and everyone’s kitchens had become more modern.

Her mom had fallen, fractured her hip, and Jenneca suspected she would never be back on her feet in the same way. And her falling brought to the forefront the fact that they just weren’t making enough money to bring on someone else as an assistant. Her brothers were involved in their own lives halfway across the country and had no interest in helping. They were the first to suggest that the family let the store go. But Jenneca knew it would break her mother’s heart. And Jenneca also felt attached to the history. She was loyal to her father’s commitment, to the years of Faluna touch they had put into all their baked goods. Stefano’s. At one time they had been famous all over Torren. She supposed they still were, but it was quite a drive to get to their store, and they had never franchised. People had begun to forget all about them. No Faluna thought that any other person could make their goods in the right way. She shrugged. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it was insanity. But there was something special about their own recipes, available in only one place.

With the lights out, she headed upstairs to their apartment. Mornings came quickly when you had to start baking before the sun rose. She would get it all started and then her brother had agreed to come for just one week. Jenneca had to leave, train with the team. She would be back before her mother could begin to worry, she told herself. The guilt for leaving started to press up against her air pipe and each breath felt tight. But her coach said if she didn’t put in some time on the slopes, he could no longer save her a spot on the team.

“Jenneca.” Her mother’s strong voice made her smile.

She hurried down the hall to her mother’s room. “Why are you still awake?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Her mother’s warm cheerful face was the perfect look for a town baker. Her eyes twinkled, her grey hair sparkled. She smiled more than any other expression. Her plump body looked firm in its roundness and soft at the same time. Every child in the town came to her for hugs.

Jenneca came to sit beside her mother in bed.

“So, I noticed Tripp Valdez stopped by.” She was overly fascinated with the royals. It came from being their baker of choice and from their family history. But she followed each of them and kept track of their comings and goings.

“Yes. I almost didn’t recognize him.”

“It has been years since you two played.”

“He didn’t recognize me at all.”

“I bet he’d be shocked to know the little pug nosed braided thing who scrambled into trees and threw mud pies is now such a beauty.”

She smiled. “I’d just as soon keep the association separate.” How mortifying to be remembered in your most awkward state forever. “If we see him again.”

“Oh, we will. I suspect he’ll be stopping by.”

Jenneca rolled her eyes at her mother’s gleaming expression and matchmaking spirit, but she secretly hoped he would. And she wondered what he thought of that cookie she’d included. Perhaps she was being silly but that was her own recipe, and the Faluna pride ran strongly through her veins.

“Of all the Valdez brothers, Tripp is my favorite.” Her eyes went dreamy and Jenneca thought it more than a little weird that her mother fan-girled over the Princes.

Everyone fan-girled over the princes. They were genetically gifted. Each one tall and broad, and on the front of one magazine or another every day. They showed up on all the fan web sites, the tabloids, blogs and girls’ Instagram accounts. Jenneca had done her own amount of stalking the royals, the same as any normal girl with a set of eyes would do. And she secretly agreed with her mother, Tripp was the best Prince. And in person he was even better. His stunning good looks were softened and enhanced by a pair of kind eyes, a warm personality, and an unassuming nature. Her young girl’s heart went out to him at the same time she quivered from his white-toothed smile. She hoped her mother was right and he would come back, just so she could look at him. She shook her head at her own nonsense. He could never know how ridiculous she acted over him in the quiet of her mind. She refused to be a palace groupie. So many of her childhood friends had fallen into that desperate clingy habit. Wherever the royals were, they followed, often getting invitations back to the palace for after parties. The girls were easy, fun friends for the princes to play with when no one else more important was around. And Jenneca refused to be that person in anyone’s life. Especially when her feelings for Tripp Valdez ran deeper.

“How are you feeling mother?”

“I’ll be just fine. On the mend. It will take time.”

“You have the patience of ten Falunas.”

“Or a great need to rest.” She leaned her head back against the headboard. “As tired as I am, I would give anything to be down there, in the dark, making all our Faluna magic.”

“I know, and you will.” Jenneca paused, afraid to bring up what she wanted to next. “I was thinking, the shop needs an assistant.”

“Tosh. We have each other. The Falunas cook their own food.”

“Well, none of the Falunas are home, usually, and someone else needs to learn in case—”

“There is no, in case. You children will come around. We all do. Baking is in our blood. You won’t be able to resist the dough and the sugar and the flour. It calls to you.”

Jenneca shook her head. Though she knew what her mother meant. It was why she had returned from her training to help in the store. As long as the Faluna Bakery was open for business, a part of her was grounded in who she was.

“I need to get some sleep. I’ll have everything started before Stefano arrives.”

One son in every generation was named Stefano, after the original owner of the bakery, after the bakery itself. Stefano’s Bakery felt almost as timeless as the palace itself. Too bad this generation’s Stefano wanted nothing to do with the daily running of the store.

Perhaps he would see Mama in bed and change his mind. Jenneca could hope. She’d give the whole situation some more thought this week while she trained.

“You be careful.”

“I will, Mama. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”