Tiers of Delight, page 1
Tiers of Delight
Serenity Cove Book One
Iannah Roberts
Copyright © 2023 by Iannah Roberts
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from this publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, locales, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover designed by Stellar Graphics
Edited by: Happily Editing Anns
https://www.iannahroberts.com/
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixeen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Fullpage Image
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
About Author
Other Books By Iannah
Acknowledgments
To Robyn, my author wife, and the one who encouraged me to take a dive and write a romcom. For encouraging me to write this story based on the sole premise of Cornelia's nickname.
I hope these two didn't disappoint.
Chapter One
Cornelia
I ease my key into the lock and realize it’s already unlocked. Shit. He must be here already. I was hoping to avoid him just for a little bit, but apparently that’s not going to happen.
Sighing, I hold up my phone and glance at the time. 2:12. Why the hell is he here at this ungodly hour of the morning? Doesn’t he sleep?
What about you?
The answer to that is no. I don’t. At least not a lot. Three to four hours is a good night's worth of sleep…and even that is not usually all at once.
I’d say it’s a perk of this job—between the early hours and late nights—but it really isn't. My mind just doesn’t stop. It used to be more productive, like making a new recipe, but it isn’t anymore. Now it’s just the constant worry and stress about what makes up my family that keep me awake—of my parents’ need to say my life should consist of more.
More time in the kitchen. More time cooking. More time…not here, but at home. Not in this little lake town—Serenity Cove—in northwest Connecticut that has become my home in the last two years. And certainly less time baking and making new to-die-for pastry recipes. Less time taking photos and posting them to social media.
My 5k followers are because of that, thank you very much.
Baking is my life.
Taking photographs of what I create is my passion.
I really don’t care about the following—I only care about sharing my love with the world. Of being a bright spot in someone’s day if they’re having a rough time. The world needs more positive moments and love.
Two things my family never seem to care to give me.
Shaking my head free of the negative thoughts, I push open the door and shut it softly behind me. Inhaling deeply, I allow the yeasty, sugary scents of this place to engulf me, bringing me back to when I first stepped inside this bakery two years ago.
“Why do you want to work here?”
It’s a question I let linger for a moment, mulling it over in my head. I can’t flat-out say that it is because it’s the opposite of what my family wants. They don’t approve of my life decisions, and I don’t think they ever will. This woman doesn’t need my life problems.
Instead, I say what I felt the moment I stepped inside this place. “It’s peaceful. Feels like home.”
Winnie—Winnifred Delight—is not only the owner of Tiers of Delight bakery, but also my mentor and closest friend. She gave me hope and love when I didn’t think any existed in the world. She gave me the chance and allowed me to spread my wings and fly when all my family ever did was keep them clipped. Their refusal to let me go is why I’m not there and instead found my own place to call home.
“It’s not your day to open,” a gruff voice sounds from behind me as I hang up my raincoat. While it’s still early in the season, this spring has been raining more often than not. Not that I mind, but I wouldn’t complain about some sunny and warmer days mixed in. Though I wouldn’t get to fully enjoy those days. Despite being two months away, June is fast approaching us, which means one of our busiest seasons here at the bakery with weddings and summer parties. We’ve already had quite an increase for quotes for cakes and party orders, which has left us booked for the next four or five months.
Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes land on the source of the voice. He’s wearing a dark-red beanie today—no surprise there. He always has one on, hiding the thick dark-brown hair I know is underneath from the short glimpses I’ve seen. Moving my gaze away from the beanie, my eyes connect with his. Like a rich whiskey, his eyes are dark and dignified and full of a depth not often seen. Even though those eyes are scowling at me, the beauty of them isn’t lost on me. Yup, they burn just as much as a sip of the amber drink.
Asshole.
He’s seen me as a threat since I started, and I’m not entirely sure why. Being here, Winnie has always said we’re like family instead of coworkers. The love between us all should be just as strong as our passion for what we create and serve.
But that has been lost on this jerk of a man. I don’t like him any more than he likes me. He’s a prick and as selfish as a person can get. There’s no love in his bones let alone his soul. How Winnie has kept him on board, I’m not sure.
“Winnie called me last night. Faith is sick with some stomach thing.”
I catch his eye roll as I turn back around, toeing off my rain boots and slipping on the black ballet flats I leave here. “Of course she did,” he grunts out. When I turn back around, he’s turned back to the long steel island in the middle of the room. A wooden cutting board is before him, a variety of fruits waiting to be cut.
I already know what he has planned to make with the stalks he places on the cutting board. My favorite—not that I’ll ever tell him—rhubarb pie.
Phoenix is quick and skilled with a knife, cutting each stem of rhubarb into quarter-inch pieces. He works through the large stack of stalks in mere minutes, and I envy his speed. I’m lucky I can get through half of what he does in the same amount of time.
“Well, with all this rain, I’m not surprised. Everyone’s getting sick.”
“Except you,” I hear him mumble under his breath. It’s not as quiet as I think he meant to say it. Maybe. Probably not.
I swear he just likes to try to make my life miserable.
Little does he know, I’m immune. I’m made of sterner stuff than he thinks. My family’s constant bickering about how I’ve wasted my life makes it easy to slough off his unpleasantness.
Or at least that’s the lie I tell myself.
Ignoring him, I head to the sink and wash my hands before heading over to the refrigerator to grab some eggs, butter, and lemon juice.
Placing them next to the food processor, I then grab some lemon shortbread cookies when I am stopped in my tracks at Phoenix’s snarl. “Why are you making those tartlets? They were the least favorite item last week.”
Holding back my own snark, I attempt to keep my voice sweet as I say, “Someone asked for them yesterday. I promised I’d make a small batch for them.”
“It’s a waste of time, Lia.”
This time, I don’t keep my annoyance at bay. “It’s for the woman’s four-year-old. Who am I to deny a child?! Hmm?”
He releases his own grunt of annoyance, but doesn’t respond, continuing on with tossing the rhubarb in a flour, sugar, and cinnamon mixture.
Or so I think. Next thing I know, he’s placing a bowl of sliced strawberries down next to me. My eyes slide from the bowl up to his piercing eyes. “What are those for?” My curiosity outweighs my annoyance.
He grunts, as if the answer is obvious. I watch as his hand moves to his beanie and tugs on the edge. “Once your curd is set, place them on top.” Phoenix begins to stalk back to the island, but stops. Without turning around he adds, “Before you pour the curd into the crusts, add the kiwi seeds back in. Between that and the strawberries, it’ll bring everything together.”
The sound of Phoenix tossing the remaining rhubarb in the flour mixture fills the kitchen as I turn my gaze back to the strawberry bowl. I swallow my irritation, because he does this every time something is missing from one of my recipes. He claims it’s because he’s a genius. While I refuse to a
For the next few hours, we work in a tense silence. Phoenix makes a variety of pies, and I tweak a new cupcake recipe Winnie and I have been working on since last week.
“Good morning, my loveys!” Winnie sings from the front of the kitchen. “How are we today?”
“Good,” I say softly, trying to keep my frustration to myself. My focus is on the piece of paper in front of me. Something with this recipe isn’t right and I can’t seem to put my finger on it.
Surprise, surprise when Phoenix only grunts to her in reply.
Winnie pats him on the cheek a few times as she says, “Now, now. I know you were raised better than that.”
I can’t contain my snort. Phoenix glares at me. “Shut it.”
“Where’s the love, FiFi?” I singsong, knowing it’ll just agitate him more—not just what I say, but the nickname I deemed fit that he absolutely hates, possibly more than me.
“Burning in—”
“Children,” Winnie chastises. Not that I can blame her. This isn’t the relationship I think she wanted for us. But sadly, it is what it is.
“Sorry,” we both murmur at the same time. I know I mean it; I doubt he does. You know, the Satan child that he is.
“Mhmm. Thought so.” Winnie looks over at me, points at me, and bends her finger back and forth in the “come hither” motion. Groaning quietly to myself, I make my way to her. She wraps one arm around my shoulders and the other arm around Phoenix's shoulders, pulling both of us down since we have five to eight inches on her. “Now, we have some business to attend to. Meet me in my office, both of you.”
Glancing at the clock, we have about fifteen minutes before we need to flip the sign. Chairs still need to be taken down, tables wiped, and shelves filled with the fresh goodies we’ve made.
“Something wrong?” Phoenix asks, worry filling the space around us. While we may not see eye to eye, I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling this way.
“Not at all, child. Just something I need to talk to you both about.”
And before either of us can say anything else, she’s out the side kitchen door, going down the stairs that lead to the storage room and her office.
Phoenix glances at me, and I shrug, deciding to ignore him as he narrows his eyes at me yet again, and make my way downstairs.
He isn’t far behind me, the stairs creaking slightly under both of our weight. “What did you do?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. My skin prickles from the sensation, awakening parts of me I wish he didn’t affect. Parts I choose to ignore.
“What did I do? What did you do?” I hiss back.
“Neither of you did anything. Now get your tushies in here, otherwise what I have to say will wait until Faith is back, and I’ll offer it to her instead,” Winnie calls out to us. How she bloody heard us is beyond me. The woman has ears of an elephant, I swear to God.
With slow, cautious steps, we both step into her office and sink into the two chairs in front of her desk.
Phoenix brings one leg up, resting his ankle across his knee. I force my eyes away from the muscles in his legs as his dark jeans pull taut against them. He’s not a big guy by any means, coming in just under six feet if I had to guess from my own five-foot-six stature, and he’s more built like a baseball player than a baker.
“So, Win, what’s up?”
“I’m retiring,” she says, tone flat, as if it’s unexciting, everyday news. “And I’m choosing one of you to become owner of this baby.”
Chapter Two
Phoenix
Retiring? She’s retiring?!
“Wait, what?” I exclaim, confusion and sadness mixing with a sharp stab of pain in my chest. It’s as though there’s a two-ton brick pressing against me. “But…but…”
Winnie holds her hand up in front of her, stopping me from speaking. “If you say I’m not old then I suggest you have your eyes checked, child.”
Lia snorts, because of course she does. Me getting scolded by Winnie is her favorite amusement after all. She lives for it, I swear.
“Winnie,” Lia starts, glancing at me before moving back to Winnie. “What do you mean choosing one of us?” Lia shifts, moving her leg down only to cross it right back over her other. I can tell she’s just as dumbfounded as I am about what is happening. Why one of us? I know she has a niece who loves to bake. Although, last I heard, she was overseas.
“Well, Sammie is moving to Italy, and there isn’t anyone else. I don’t want to sell this place. She’s…everything. I built her from the ground up, starting off in my kitchen when I was barely out of high school. I trust you two. I know you’ll keep my legacy intact if I give it to one of you.”
My hand moves up and tugs gently on my beanie, pulling it down just a tad only for me to push it back up.
My words fumble from my lips, air trapped in my lungs as I struggle to breathe. “O-one, o-one of us?”
“Aren’t you listening, FiFi?”
I try to contain my eye roll but there’s no use. This goddamn woman. That fucking nickname. “Of course I am.”
“Children,” Winnie sighs. “Please don’t make me regret this decision.”
“You won’t!” Lia all but yells, the rush of her words moving her forward in her chair, her feet hitting the concrete with a soft thud.
Now it’s my turn to sigh. My shoulders drop as I sink down into my chair. She said only one of us, which means there’s more. “What’s the catch, Win?” Dread seeps into my bones.
“Well…you see…”
“You said one of us will get the bakery,” I state, trying to keep my emotions at bay. This place is my home. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my family. We’re close and talk throughout the day, every day, even if it’s just a quick text message here and there. But Winnie…she took me under her wing and gave me a hope I never had before.
She saved me.
The knife in my chest sharpens, digging deep.
Winnie looks down at her desk, her fingers picking at the beds of her nails. She exhales so harshly I can hear her lungs deflate from where I’m sitting. “I-I have a proposal? Or maybe it’s a proposition?” She shakes her head. “A contest, really.”
“A contest?” Lia questions, and without even looking at the woman, I know her brows are furrowed over those blue eyes of hers—so light they’re practically grey. They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen and are just stunning. Not that she’ll ever know I think that.
Winnie looks up, her copper eyes finding mine at last. “Yes, a contest. Between the two of you, for the bakery.”
Swallowing hard, I glance at Lia. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted.
“We’re…competing for the bakery?” Lia’s voice rises in shock. Yeah, I’m shocked too.
The stab deepens. Twisting. Over and over again. The pain begins to radiate through my chest and up into my throat. Clawing at me. Suffocating.
While I know the bakery isn’t owed to me—I’ll forever be grateful for everything Winnie has done for me—I never once thought I’d have to fight for my right to own the place, least of all against the devil of a woman sitting beside me. The same woman who has only worked here for two years.
The pain of betrayal begins to flicker, spreading like a wildfire through my veins.
“Unless one of you decides you don’t want ownership.”
I open and close my mouth a few times before snapping it shut, my lips thinning. Of course I want the bakery. It’s my life. It’s everything and then some.
“I-I don’t…” I swallow through the lump in my throat, a clog of emotions I don’t want to acknowledge. “I don’t understand, Win.” My voice is no more than a hoarse whisper.
Winnie’s chin hits her chest, her chest rising and falling as she tries to settle her breathing. Her fingers still pick at her nails and her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip—a move she only does when she’s worried or nervous.
In this moment I know this isn’t easy for her. She knew this was going to cut me deeply. But she still did it anyway.
