The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams

KELLIE HAILES declared at the age of five that she was going to write books when she grew up. It took a while for her to get there, with a career as a radio copywriter, freelance copywriter and beauty editor filling the dream-hole, until now. Kellie lives in Auckland, New Zealand with her patient husband and delightful daughter. When the characters in her head aren’t dictating their story to her, she can be found taking short walks, eating good cheese and hanging out for her next coffee fix.

You can follow Kellie on Twitter: @KellieHailes

Also by Kellie Hailes

The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove

The Little Unicorn Gift Shop

Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

The Big Little Festival

The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises

The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams

KELLIE HAILES

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Kellie Hailes 2019

Kellie Hailes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780008336141

Version: 2019-10-09

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Kellie Hailes

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Daisy.

My biggest teacher.

My greatest love.

Chapter 1

The shops either side of the bakery looked like someone had taken in too much festive cheer and then vomited it up. Twinkling golden fairy lights danced around Santa-red tinsel. Snowflakes were spray-painted onto their windows, floating down to sills where they gathered into thick fake drifts.

Josie shuddered. It was all so totally, utterly, over the top. Thankfully Christmas would be done and dusted in a matter of weeks, and then she’d be free of it for another eleven months.

At least the bakery was bare of Christmas decorations. One person’s stand against a season that promised so much, but always failed to deliver. At least, it had in more years than Josie cared to remember.

A tendril of hope stirred low in Josie’s stomach. Surely the lack of seasonal cheer was a sign she was going to get the position advertised in the bakery’s window. She just had to go in there and prove she would do a great job being the front-of-house face of the business.

Squaring her shoulders, she tightened the belt of her lucky tomato-red woollen coat, rubbed her finger across her teeth to make sure her hastily applied lipstick hadn’t decided to attach itself, then plastered a smile on her face and opened the door to what she prayed would be the beginning of her new life. Again.

Josie took a tentative step in and glanced around looking for signs of her potential employer. With no one in sight she took a moment to take in the bakery’s offerings.

Cupcakes topped with icing in the shape of mistletoe, miniature Santas and itty-bitty Christmas trees were lined up under the counter’s glass top, alongside little mince pies. Reindeer-shaped gingerbread lined another tray. On the counter, a cake tray offered up cellophane bags filled with what looked to be spice biscuits, tied with curled green and red ribbons.

Her heart sank. The owner wasn’t so anti-Christmas after all. Or maybe they were just pandering to the customers. Meeting demand. Making money while money could be made. That must be the case, she decided, because something wasn’t quite right with the treats laid out before her. In fact, something was positively off.

The cupcakes seemed a little … flat. Stodgy. With a look of dryness about them that no amount of tea chugged back while munching through a bite of one would fix. And she had a sneaking suspicion the icing decorations on top were store-bought, not made by hand. The mince pies’ pastry appeared … rock hard. As for the reindeer? Iced by someone with all the skill of an enthusiastic 5-year-old.

For all its apparent jolliness, Josie sensed sadness in the bakery. But why? And where was the owner? You’d have thought they’d have rushed in at the sound of a potential customer.

‘Hello?’ Josie called out, keeping her tone light, happy. Hoping the desperation that had her stomach stitched up with nerves didn’t come through. She waited for the tip-tap of footsteps. None came. ‘Hello?’ Maybe something had happened to the shop’s owner? Perhaps they’d had a fall and couldn’t move. Or hit their head and were passed-out cold.

She eyed the door that presumably led to the kitchen. She was going to have to go back there. She couldn’t leave without making sure whoever was supposed to be manning the store was okay. It might not be the politest thing to invade someone’s work area unannounced, but it was the right thing to do, given the potential circumstances.

Josie summoned up her courage, prepared to deal with the worst, and charged round the counter into the room beyond and smacked into, then rebounded off, something hard, warm and really nice-smelling.

Musky, sweet, with a hint of pine and soap.

‘I’m so sorry. Are you all right?’ The good smell came with a nice voice. Deep. Strong. But kind. ‘Although, I have to ask, what are you doing heading back here?’

Josie scrambled to gather her wits as she looked up into a face that deserved to be on the cover of a high-end men’s magazine – certainly not in a small cake shop in the little Cotswolds village of Sunnycombe. Eyes the colour of chocolate icing stared at her with a mix of concern, curiosity and a hint of suspicion. A wrinkle between his brows led to a straight and manly nose.

A nose could be manly? Who knew? But then she had no idea full lips could be masculine on a man either.

He laid his hand on her forearm and crouched a little – okay, a lot – so he was at her height. All five feet four of it. ‘Are you okay? Are you lost? Should I call someone?’

Oh great, so now he thought she was in some sort of state. This was not how the interview was meant to go.

Walk in. Appear confident. Ask about the job working front of house. Mention she had experience baking. Charm the owner into saying yes. Tick ‘job’ off the long list of things she had to do.

Pull yourself together, Josie, she growled.

‘I’m here …’ The words came out with a waver. Not good. She swallowed, breathed in, breathed out and tried again. ‘I’m here to talk to the owner about the job that’s advertised in your window. Is she in?’

For a split-second his eyes darkened to the colour of cocoa, a frown line appeared between his brows, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. He bobbed back up and a slow smile spread across his face, lifting his cheekbones. ‘Oh, so you want to see the lady of the house?’

‘Yes, please.’ Josie nodded, taking a step backwards. Another. Then another. Until she was back in the front of the shop and away from the man who, from the golden band gleaming on his wedding finger, was clearly the husband of the lady of the house, which made him completely out of bounds.

He turned around, cupped his hand to his mouth and called, ‘Sweetpea? Can you come down here? There’s someone to see you.’

Quick steps crossed the room from the floor above, then clip-clopped down the stairs. Josie sucked in another breath, attempted to smooth the ever-present auburn halo of frizz that refused to be tamed, and returned her customer-ready smile to her face.

‘I haven’t done anything, I promise. I’ve been good. I didn’t put dolly’s head in the toilet again.’

The voice was sweet and soft, and sounded far too young to be the owner of a cake shop.

‘Mia, this lady is here to see the lady of the house. And that would be you.’

Mr Out of Bounds leaned down and swooped up the owner of the voice into his arms. She automatically hooked her legs either side of his waist, anchored herself to him and with the same chocolatey-brown almond-shaped eyes that belonged to the man holding her – her father, Josie gathered – stared at Josie with undisguised curiosity.

‘I don’t know her. Does that make her a stranger? Is she stranger danger? Shall I yell at her to go away?’ Blonde curls, a few shades lighter than her father’s, bobbed around her heart-shaped face.

‘No, she’s here for the job. So I don’t think yelling at her is going to be the best idea. Besides, we don’t yell in this house. Remember?’ He tickled Mia’s waist, his grin widening as she burst into giggles. ‘Giggles only.’

‘Giggles only.’ Mia nodded. ‘And presents. And carols. And more presents.’ Mia turned to Josie. ‘Christmas is coming and Santa is coming and Daddy’s going to get me a teddy bear and a ballerina jewellery box and a unicorn and a pony and a …’

‘One present from Santa. One present from me. You know the rules.’

One present from me. Not us, Josie noted. Was the wedding ring for show? Was the owner of the cake shop away for Christmas, and he was just filling in? But then who was doing the baking if not the person whose name was swinging from the sign outside? The man before her didn’t look the baking type in his perfectly pressed fawn-coloured chinos and olive cable-knit jumper. He looked more like … a businessman who was having a day off from the office. So maybe that meant he co–owned the shop with the business partner whose name was on the sign.

‘Who does the baking here?’ Josie blurted, tired of standing around and trying to piece together what was going on in front of her. Wondering and pondering wasn’t going to get her answers any faster. Nor help her acquire the job. ‘Is it Abigail? Is it her shop? Her name’s on the sign outside. Do I need to speak to her about the job?’

‘Mummy isn’t here anymore.’ Mia’s eyes were wide. Serious. Her tone too matter of fact to have come from such a petite person. ‘She’s gone to a better place. Daddy says it doesn’t have unicorns, but I think it does. And clouds made of marshmallows and you can eat them any time you want. Even at breakfast.’ She nodded again, sure in her beliefs.

Josie folded her arms across herself, wishing the act could soothe the pain twisting her heart. She knew something of having a mother not be there. The difference was hers had chosen to leave and never come back. Mia, the poor poppet, had had her mother taken from her.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, hating how the words sounded so empty. Useless. Unable to soothe, to comfort. To help bring Mia’s mother back.

‘Thank you. And now that you have an idea of what you’re potentially getting yourself into, I should introduce myself. I’m Callan. Callan Stewart. I do the baking. Or at least I try to. I’m an accountant by trade, but Abigail taught me a few things. I’m not a patch on her, I’m afraid. In fact, I’ve yet to meet anyone who can bake as well as she does. I mean … did.’ The crease between Callan’s brows was back, and it didn’t look to be disappearing anytime soon.

Josie’s heart twisted further. She’d seen that look before. On her father’s face, after her mother had left. Bereft. Desolate. The look of a man whose hopes and dreams had been whisked away. Or in Callan’s case, stolen.

‘And I’m Josie. Short for Josephine. But only my father calls me that. Josie Donnelly.’ She thrust her hand out, then realised Callan had his hands full with his daughter. And with life in general. She dropped her hand and offered up a smile. ‘It’s good to meet you. Now, shall we talk about the job? Is it still available?’

‘It is.’ Callan grimaced as Mia blew a wet raspberry on his cheek. ‘Would you like to take a seat?’ Callan jerked his head towards the table setting for two in front of the window. ‘I’m not sure conducting an interview standing up is the most comfortable way to do things.’ He jiggled Mia on his hip. ‘And this one isn’t getting any lighter. I swear she eats concrete when I’m not looking.’

Josie nodded and grinned as Mia swatted Callan playfully. She settled herself onto the wooden chair, then smoothed out a wrinkle in the blue-and-white checked tablecloth.

Callan sat down, arranged Mia on his lap, and wrapped his arms around her protectively, like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. Which, of course, Mia was. How could she not be? Children should be a parent’s top priority, especially when they were as young as Mia.

Callan dropped a kiss on the top of Mia’s head, then relaxed into his chair, and met Josie’s gaze across the table. ‘So, tell me, Josie, what customer service experience do you have?’

Josie reached into her tote, pulled out her CV and passed it to Callan. ‘I’ve worked in cafés my whole life. Started out as a kitchen hand and waitress when I was a teenager, was trained as a barista, then took a baking course and later a cake decorating course, and since then I’ve worked where I was needed, when I was needed.’

‘Baking? Not chef-ing?’ Callan’s eyes narrowed, his head tipped to the side. ‘I’d have thought chef training would have opened up more doors?’

‘It would have. But I like to bake. Have done since I was a young girl. My mother taught me the basics and I liked …’ I liked the way she wrapped her arms around me as we held the wooden spoon, beating the mixture together. The way she smelled like vanilla, sugar, and love. ‘I liked the way when people ate the cakes and biscuits and whatever else I whipped up, they smiled. The way my creations made them happy. People enjoy a perfectly cooked steak, but it’s a beautifully executed dessert that makes a meal memorable.’

Callan’s shoulders rose a tad, his leg, which had seen Mia jiggle up and down on his lap, stilled. Had she said something wrong? Was she going to be marched out? Did he think she wanted to take over? To run the place?

‘But, obviously, you’ve got the cooking part of the business sorted. The job is for front of house, and I’m happy to take that role for as long as you need me.’ She gave an affirmative nod and prayed Callan’s shoulders would relax, that the jiggle would resume. No job meant nowhere to live, which meant returning to her father’s house. And the only thing worse than Christmas was not celebrating it with her father. No presents. No carols. No turkey, bread sauce or trifle. No family traditions. Just the constant reminder of the hollowness created by her mother’s departure, reinforced by her father’s furtive glances at the front door. Hoping the woman who’d left them on Christmas Eve so many years ago would return.

‘And how do you feel about life in a small village? Sunnycombe’s not exactly a thrilling place to reside. Not much happens. There’s the Thursday night pub quiz. The odd band plays on a Friday. Saturday there’s a darts competition.’

‘Daddy was bestest.’ Mia tipped her head up to look at Callan, admiration shining in her eyes. ‘He won a gold cup.’

‘A trophy.’ Callan tickled Mia’s side, sending her into another fit of giggles. ‘But that was a long time ago. These days the only thing I want to be best at is being your daddy.’

‘And you look like you’re doing a great job.’ Josie clasped her hands under the table. She didn’t need to look down to know her knuckles were white. Was he going to offer her the job or not? Was he going to give her the escape route she needed to avoid another fraught family anti-Christmas? ‘I can live in a village. I can live anywhere. I’ve lived in all sorts of places.’

‘Does that mean you move a lot? That you’re likely to up and leave without giving notice?’ Callan’s brows drew together. ‘Because I can’t have that. I don’t expect you to stay forever, but I need to have a routine in place. I need to know that you won’t just disappear without giving me fair warning. It’s important … for the business.’

For the business? Or to him? Josie suspected the latter.

‘Which leads me to wonder, Josie, what brings you here?’

‘My last job was working in a café’s kitchen in Chipping Campden. I was filling in for a person on maternity leave. They came back, and now I’m in need of a new job. And I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. I’ll stay for as long as you need me.’ She caught sight of a dust ball in the far corner of the room and recalled the wonky icing on the cupcakes. He needed her. Whether he knew it or not. Callan might proclaim to know a few things about baking, but Josie could tell, for all his efforts, he was not a baker. Just a man doing his best to keep his wife’s legacy alive. Keeping his love for her alive.

‘Do you like playing with dolls? And having tea parties? And how old are you?’ Mia inquired, her little fingers steepling together in a way Josie bet she’d learned from her father.

‘I’m 26, which means I’m kind of a grown-up, but not so grown up that I don’t love tea parties. They’re my favourite. Especially if real cakes are involved. And I bet I’d be good at playing with dolls too.’ She smiled warmly at Mia, her heart lightening as the smile was repaid in kind.

‘Babysitting isn’t part of the job.’ Callan’s arms wrapped tighter around his daughter. A barrier.

It made sense. If his wife had passed away, he wouldn’t want anyone who might leave to get close to Mia. The small rejection hurt, but Josie understood where it came from. Couldn’t blame him for it. Not when she was one for putting barriers up to stop others getting too close. Friendships were kept formal. Relationships of the romantic kind kept loose and easy. Dates only. Rarely more than three before she bowed out. The moment she began to feel cloistered, controlled or claustrophobic in any way, she was gone.

A new town. A new village. A new city. New place to live. New job. New life.

‘I’m not a baby.’ Mia’s face screwed up with disdain. ‘I’m 4, remember. That’s nearly a grown-up.’

Josie nodded. ‘Four is pretty grown up, which means babysitting must be the worst word in the world to describe taking care of such a big girl as you, right?’

Mia nodded so vigorously her head hit the back of her father’s chest, causing him to rub the spot, a pained expression on her face.

‘But if you’re busy baking, I can keep an eye on Mia out here. Perhaps even play tea parties when the shop’s quiet. If that sounds good to you, Mia?’

‘Sounds great.’ Mia reached out to Josie, palm open, ready for a high-five.

They slapped skin and Josie’s nerves settled. Whether Callan knew it or not, the job was hers. That high-five was every bit as binding as a handshake.

‘Why do I feel like this is a done deal?’ Callan shook his head, bemusement lifting his lips. ‘Not even 5 and Mia’s running rings around her old dad.’

‘So that means Josie is staying? Forever?’ Mia tipped her head to the side and looked up at her father, her eyes hopeful.

Guilt flooded Josie’s stomach. Forever wasn’t an option. Forever meant getting comfortable. And getting comfortable meant getting hurt. She wasn’t going to give Mia false hope, not when she’d already lost someone she’d loved. Two someones, if you counted the distant relationship she shared with her father.

‘I’ll stay for as long as your daddy needs me here.’ Josie met Callan’s gaze. His eyes held approval. And thankfulness. He too knew forever wasn’t always an option.

‘When can you start?’ Callan shifted Mia off his lap and stood. Interview over.

Josie scooted the chair back and pushed herself up onto her feet. ‘Soon as you need me.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Callan’s tone was tinged with desperation. ‘I haven’t hung the Christmas decorations yet, and I really need to. I just can’t seem to find the time between the baking, the bakery’s book work and serving.’

‘Daddy promised we’d have the bestest Christmas ever.’ Mia’s curls bobbed as she bounced up and down with excitement. ‘We’re going all out. Whatever that means.’

Josie’s heart sank. So much for not having to deal with tinsel and wreaths and fairy lights, and the uncomfortable mix of emotions that stirred whenever she saw them. Still, it was a job, one she needed, and it wasn’t like Christmas lasted forever. Just four more weeks and it’d be done for another year.

‘I can start tomorrow, but I will have to pop out in the afternoon for thirty minutes or so. I’m staying in one of the rooms above the pub, but I’ve found a cottage a few minutes away that’s for rent. I just need to meet with the landlady so she can vet me.’

‘That’s fine. So, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Eight sharp?’ Callan reached out to shake her hand.

Their hands met. Touched. His hand was warm, his palm hard, his hold strong. The handshake of a man who could be trusted to care for his family. To stick around through thick and thin. Who would do his best by the people he loved.

The kind of handshake she could get used to. If she were a sticking around kind of girl. Which, of course, she wasn’t. She wouldn’t let herself be. Ever.

Chapter 2

‘Daaaaddy … what shoe goes where?’

Callan looked up from working flour into the fruitcake he was making for the local sewing club’s annual Christmas morning tea to see Mia staring at him, her socked foot tapping impatiently as she held up two glittery ballet flats.

‘Swap them round.’ He went back to stirring, his heart sinking as he took in the stodgy mixture. It wasn’t how it looked in the recipe he’d found online. But then, nothing he made looked like the recipes he found online. Not for the first time since Abigail had passed away just over eleven months ago did he find himself wishing she’d kept her recipes inside a book and not in her head. The thought was quickly followed by a sharp twist of guilt in his gut. Abigail hadn’t planned on dying. Hadn’t asked for the aneurysm that had taken her away from them. He had no right to feel exasperated.

‘Daddy, can you put them on for me? I’m tiiiired.’

Callan took a deep, calming breath. Fought the irritation that rose. How his wife had done the baking and looked after Mia without once complaining or raising her voice, he had no idea. Abigail had made it all look so easy, so effortless. Whereas he spent his days feeling like he was fighting an uphill battle. Making the daily quota of food to ensure his regulars had something to eat with their tea or coffee. Keeping the kitchen and shop clean and tidy. Then there was the actual serving of people, all of it done while listening to Mia’s constant questions, helping her whenever she asked, ensuring she’d remembered to brush her teeth, put on weather-appropriate clothing, and that the food that inevitably got caught in her curls was brushed out.