SUGAR BENEATH THE LIES

CHAPTER 1 Emma had always believed that mornings smelled better when they came with butter. Not expensive perfume. Not freshly washed clothes. Not even the roses Grandma kept in a chipped glass vase by the kitchen window. Butter. Warm, melted butter mixed with vanilla, cinnamon, and sugar. That was the smell that made Emma feel at home. She stood in the middle of her grandmother's kitchen with flour dusted across her cheek and a wooden spoon in her hand, staring suspiciously at the bowl in front of her. "Grandma." From somewhere near the oven came a tired voice. "Yes, my child?" "I think something is wrong with this." Grandma appeared from behind the oven, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. She looked at the bowl. Then at Emma. Then back at the bowl. "What did you do?" Emma gasped dramatically. "Why do you automatically assume I did something?" "Because every time you say something is wrong, I discover you did something." "That's actually very hurtful." Grandma laughed. "You put too much cinnamon." Emma looked down. She had, in fact, put too much cinnamon. "A little extra never killed anybody." "That's what you said when you nearly burned my Christmas cake." "I was experimenting." "You were distracted." "I was seventeen." "You were seventeen last year." Emma smiled. "Exactly. I've matured." Grandma shook her head, laughing as she reached for the bowl. Emma watched her grandmother carefully. There was something comforting about watching Grandma bake. She never measured anything properly. A little flour here. A little sugar there. A pinch of salt. A splash of vanilla. Somehow, everything always turned out perfect. Emma had spent years watching those hands work. Those same hands had taught her how to knead dough, decorate cakes, fold pastries, and make bread so soft that people came back just to buy another loaf. Grandma used to say Emma had inherited her gift. Emma wasn't sure about that. She thought she'd simply been watching for so long that some of the magic had rubbed off on her. "Stop staring at me," Grandma said. "I'm admiring." "You're judging." "I'm admiring aggressively." Grandma laughed again. Emma smiled. For a moment, everything felt normal. Just the two of them. The kitchen. The smell of freshly baked bread. The old radio playing softly in the corner. Then Emma's eyes landed on the photograph sitting on the shelf. Her smile faded. It was an old photograph. A little worn around the edges. Her mother was standing beside her father, both of them smiling at the camera. Her mother looked beautiful. She always did. Even in old photographs, there was something bright about her. Emma had inherited her mother's eyes. At least, that's what everyone said. But whenever Emma looked at that photograph, she wished she could remember her mother's voice. Not from videos. Not from old recordings. Not from the songs people still played. Her actual voice. Calling her name. Laughing. Telling her to stop stealing chocolate chips from the kitchen. It had been years since the accident. Years since one phone call had changed everything. Emma quickly looked away. She didn't like staying in that place for too long. "Emma?" She turned. Grandma was watching her. "I'm fine." "I didn't ask." "I know." Grandma gave her the look. The I know you're lying but I'm not going to push you look. Emma smiled faintly. "Is the bakery ready?" Grandma nodded. "Almost." Emma looked around the kitchen. Today wasn't just another baking day. Today, they were finally reopening the bakery. Bell & Bloom. It had belonged to Grandma for years before she'd closed it after Emma's parents died. Emma barely remembered the place from when she was younger. She remembered the smell. The yellow walls. The little bell above the door. And sitting on the counter while her mother sang while Grandma worked. Now the bakery was opening again. And Emma wanted to help bring it back to life. She picked up the tray of pastries. "Okay. I'm taking these over." "Don't drop them." "I won't." "Emma." "I won't!" "And don't eat any." Emma paused. "That's a completely unreasonable request." Grandma pointed at her. "Emma." She grinned. "Fine." She carried the tray toward the back door. Then stopped. "Grandma?" "Yes?" Emma looked at her. "Do you think it'll work?" Grandma's expression softened. "The bakery?" Emma nodded. Grandma smiled. "Your grandfather and I built this place from nothing." She walked toward Emma and gently fixed the flour on her cheek. "We didn't have money. We didn't have fancy equipment. We had flour, sugar, and stubbornness." Emma laughed. "You definitely still have the stubbornness." "And now I have you." Emma's smile became smaller. "Grandma..." "Go." Emma nodded. "Okay." She stepped outside. The morning air was warm, and the streets were already becoming busy. Cars passed. People walked to work. Shop owners opened their doors. Somewhere in the distance, music played from a small roadside speaker. Emma balanced the tray carefully in her hands. She was wearing an old pair of jeans, a simple white top, and sneakers that had definitely seen better days. She didn't care. Today was important. She wanted to remember every second of it. She walked along the pavement toward the bakery, occasionally checking the pastries. Perfect. She smiled. Maybe Grandma was right. Maybe she really did have the gift. She had almost reached the bakery when she heard the sound. An engine. Loud. Deep. Getting closer. Emma glanced over her shoulder. A black Mercedes G-Wagon was coming down the road. It looked ridiculously expensive. The kind of car that probably cost more than everything inside Bell & Bloom combined. Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course." The vehicle sped past. And then— SPLASH! Emma froze. Cold, dirty water covered her. Her clothes. Her arms. Her face. Her hair. Even the pastries somehow got a few drops. Silence. Emma slowly lowered the tray. She stared at the G-Wagon disappearing down the street. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Oh." She wiped water from her face. "Oh, absolutely not." The G-Wagon slowed. Emma's eyes widened. It stopped. The tinted passenger window lowered. And there he was. A boy. No. A man. Young. Probably around her age. He sat casually in the driver's seat like he hadn't just committed a crime against her entire wardrobe. Dark hair. Sharp features. Expensive watch. Perfectly pressed clothes. And the most annoyingly calm expression Emma had ever seen. He looked at her. She looked at him. Neither spoke. Emma waited. Surely he was going to apologize. Surely. He glanced at her soaked clothes. Then at the tray. Then back at her. Nothing. Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?" Still nothing. "HEY!" The boy raised one eyebrow. Emma stepped toward the car. "You just soaked me!" He stared at her for another second. Then, without saying a single word, he rolled the window back up. Emma's jaw dropped. The G-Wagon drove away. She stood there in complete disbelief. "Did he just—" She looked down at herself. Then at the disappearing vehicle. "Did he seriously just drive away?" A woman passing by tried not to laugh. Emma pointed after the car. "That man is insane!" The woman laughed. Emma turned toward the bakery, completely drenched. She looked at the ruined pastries. Then at the road. Then back at the bakery. Her first day helping Grandma reopen Bell & Bloom had officially begun. And she already hated the mysterious boy in the G-Wagon. She just didn't know yet... that she was going to see him again. Very soon. And next time, she'd learn his name. Chase Blackwood. The golden boy. The richest boy in the school. And the last person Emma ever expected to fall in love with.