“If we have enough time, we might go ahead and take the Richmond route. I sure would hate to mess this cake up after all this work.” Making repairs onsite was always nerve-wracking. Plus, that looked bad to the customer. She hadn’t been back to that gourmet kitchen shop since Andrew had left town. At least now enough time had passed that the memory didn’t hurt anymore. Instead, she could enjoy it for what it had been. A wonderful part of her journey as a professional baker. If the cake made it in one piece, maybe she and Dad could stop in and do a little ogling of fancy bakeware together.

She finished the last few touches then went out front to help Sara prep for the early morning rush. Sara started the coffee and Kelly tidied the case, filling the racks with the fresh-baked goods.

The front door opened, and Kelly watched a man back inside. What is he doing? Hunched forward, he appeared to be carrying something.

She noticed a black Suburban she’d never seen before parked across the way. “Can I help you?” She moved to the edge of the case to get a better view.

The stranger scooted in, shuffling one step at a time.

“Sir, do you need help?”

Voices carried as the man cleared the doorway and a cluster of people rushed inside, filling the space.

It took her about four seconds to put it together, which was two seconds longer than it took Sara, who was already squealing like she’d been stuck with a pin.

It was Martin Schlipshel. The Martin Schlipshel. The handsome host of the Four Square Cooking Show, and one of the world’s most amazing pastry chefs himself.

“Kelly McIntyre?”

“Yes, sir!” She wiped her hands on her apron smoothing it as she ran around the counter to shake his hand. “Mr. Schlipshel, it’s an honor to have you in my bakery.”

“Call me Martin.”

Her insides were practically inside out with excitement. “Martin. Yes. Welcome.” Did I just curtsy? Must have been his accent. She slowly cast her eyes to the side. The man who’d backed in first carried a movie camera, and it was aimed right at Martin.

“Someone who thinks you’re one top baker submitted your name to our competition. We’ve had an undercover customer come in, and we’ve even ordered from your online menu to try them for ourselves.” He glanced to an older gentleman on his right.

Kelly recognized him as the gray-haired man who’d come in last week. He’d eaten more desserts in one sitting than she’d seen in a long, long time. Only the time the football team had come in after they’d won the state championship had she seen someone devour that many desserts so quickly. She waved to him. “Welcome back.”