Tessa reached across and grabbed her sister’s hand. “Of course it wasn’t. Everything worked out. You’re a talented artist. One day we’ll see your work in a gallery.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

To her surprise, Vivienne swiped at her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She gave her sister a watery smile. “It’s just that I see how hard you’re working on your baking. And now you’ve found an incredible guy. And you’re trying to mend fences. Everything you’ve accomplished, you’ve done right here in Blossom Glen. I’m just so happy for you, Tessa.”

She was talking like Tessa was the one who had it all together, not her. Ha. That was ironic. Because every day Tessa woke up wondering if she’d ever have it together.

Tessa got up from her stool and walked around to hug her sister. “You sure you don’t want to talk about anything?”

While Vivienne hesitated, Tessa felt a twinge of guilt. Asking if her sister wanted to talk when she herself was holding any number of secrets seemed really dishonest.

Vivienne let out a sigh. “No, I’m just—I’m just emotional about being back home, I guess. I missed you. And I wish I could do something to help. More than taking shifts.”

Vivienne swiped at her eyes again. What was making her so emotional?

“You have no idea what a help it is to have you working in the bakery. I know how much you dislike it.” Not to mention Viv couldn’t eat any of the wonderful things they made. “I mean, taking two businesses on the brink of financial ruin and two families who haven’t talked in a hundred years and trying to make everything work out…yeah. It’s a lot. But because you’re here, I can focus on baking. And I’m so grateful for that.”

“‘Act like you have nothing to lose,’” Vivienne said. “That’s what you’ve always told us.”

Had her overly cautious self really said that? “So you really were listening, way back then, huh?”

Vivienne, seeming anxious to change the subject, picked up Tessa’s light ring. “What’s this for?”

Tessa felt herself blush as she walked back around the counter to tend to her cake. “I—well, I started a little YouTube channel. To document my baking. As a way to challenge myself, mostly, to keep trying new things.” She pulled out her phone and handed it to her sister. “Take a look.”

“Contessa Bakes. You have five hundred subscribers. Interesting.” Viv was tapping the phone vigorously, scrolling through, looking at her poor-quality videos, no doubt, and comments from the small handful of her followers who followed her baking escapades.