Jo handed over the laptop. She still had to leave the room when Emma read her writing. She’d grown more comfortable with it, but she wasn’tthatcomfortable.
She did a lap, refilled her tumbler with cold brew from the fridge in the break room, then returned to her office.
Emma grinned at her.
“I think you’ve got it this time.”
Jo’s jaw dropped. “You do?”
“I do.”
If Jo weren’t more than half a foot shorter than Emma, she’d tug her off the couch, lift her off her feet, and spin her around in a hug. This was the fourth iteration of the opening scene. Emma had altogether dismissed the first—and for good reason. The second hadn’t fared quite so poorly, but Emma pointed out its every weakness as well. The third revision earned a smile, at least. The fourth, apparently, was the charm.
“We’ve got to celebrate somehow,” Jo said. “Champagne in the workplace is frowned upon, right? Perhaps we should get some cake delivered.”
Emma suddenly sat up straighter, mischief behind her smile. “Or”—she dragged out the word—“we could go on a field trip?”
“A field trip?” Jo raised her eyebrows. Was this elementary school?
“To Floured Up?”
Emma’s lips turned up, her head tilted, and she employed what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. Jo knew she was being manipulated. She said yes anyway.
—
“There it is,” Emmaannounced, beaming as they approached the bakery.
There was a rainbow flag hanging out front of a two-story brick storefront. It fit right in in West Hollywood. Chloe dropped them at the curb, and Emma clambered out of the car. She flounced to the door and pulled it open with a flourish, a bell ringing from inside the store. Jo thanked Emma for holding the door for her.
The inside was as bright as the flag outside, yellow walls with thick lime-green chevrons, tables and chairs of all different colors. There was no one at the register. Emma marched right into the employees-only section, behind a long display case filled with pastries, loaves of bread in baskets on the wall on her other side.
“Hi, welcome to—oh, it’s you.” Avery appeared from the back. “This is the first time all day I’ve had a minute to actually get work done and not deal with customers. Why are you bugging me at work? Why aren’t you at work?” Regardless of the annoyance in her voice, she hugged Emma tight. Then she spotted Jo. “Oh. It’s both of you.”
“Hello,” Jo said.
“Avery, Jo. Jo, Avery,” Emma said. “I know you met at the wrap party, but always better to reintroduce people than not.”
Right.
That answered that question, then. Apparently Avery had never said anything to Emma about baseball. Jo shifted on her feet.
“Nice to, uh, see you again,” Avery said.
“Likewise.”
Emma slid open the back of the display case, reached in, and grabbed herself a cookie. She closed her eyes and hummed at her first bite.
“You’re the best baker in the world.”
Avery flushed at the hyperbolic comment. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m going back to the kitchen. Stop being a glutton and get your boss whatever she wants.”
She disappeared to where Jo assumed the kitchen was. When Jo looked back to Emma, her assistant grinned at her. Jo couldn’t help but smile back.
Emma held up the cookie she’d chosen. “This is the best snickerdoodle you’ll ever eat.” She gestured to the display case. “But you can see the great variety to choose from.”
There were cookies of various kinds, cupcakes, coconut macaroons, pastries—some of which Jo recognized, some she didn’t. Jo pointed to a sliced loaf of bread, a complicated, intricate swirl of something dark inside it.
“This looks good. What is it?”