The Baker & the Badge: A Feel-Good Romantic Comedy

By Tracy Krimmer

Emma has always dreamed of owning a bakery. When her mom passes away and leaves a small inheritance, she makes her dream a reality. But running a successful business doesn't happen overnight, and Emma is learning that the hard way.

 

First, she's not building a customer base as quickly as she'd like. The only thing keeping her afloat is the fact that she plays landlord to the neighboring business, Nail Carnations. Even stepping out of her comfort zone with the bright orange nail polish isn't enough to shock her into success.

 

Second, the hot community cop, Aaron, is distracting her. Not that it's all bad. He comes by every day for bakery and coffee, and him flashing her his sexy smile is the best part of her day.

 

Lastly, Emma's jerk of an ex-husband, the insurance adjuster from hell, wants to run her out of business.

 

Right when she's getting her business off the ground and losing herself in her budding relationship with Aaron, tragedy strikes and threatens everything she's built. Can she save her business and her new romance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy Krimmer
• Release date: Jun 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201114190

Book preview

1

EMMA

The bell chimed at the drive-thru, alerting me to today’s first customer. I should have been thrilled, but I found that impossible with it being ten in the morning and my café opening at seven. This didn’t bode well for me.

I set up shop in Chesterfield, Wisconsin, almost a year ago, and ever since, I have been bleeding money. I employed one person, a high school girl named Naomi, who helped prep before school and also worked on Saturdays. I wanted to pay myself a decent salary one day, a pipe dream right now.

The car at the drive-thru pulled up to the window—a cruiser: my typical customer, one of the few police officers in town. The officers of the Chesterfield Police Department kept me in business. I wished I could attribute them stopping by because of my amazing baking skills and piping hot coffee, but more than likely, it was because I offered the only drive-thru window within a fifteen-mile radius.

This town offered little in the way of fast-food service. Chesterfield had a gas station offering stale donuts and weak coffee, a sit-down diner that had been in business since the 1960s, and a small grocery store with pre-made salads from the deli.

If you wanted something fresh and fast, you came to my place, Sweetie’s Café. Well, at least the police department did. I’d give anything to have a more consistent customer base. I expected my café to be a hit in a small town like this. Never did I think the local Kwik Trip would take all my business. My café opened about a month before they did. My business plummeted once they opened their doors. I didn’t understand why people preferred gas station bulk-ordered sandwiches to homemade ones.

What can I get you? I asked as I slid the window open. Officer Noland’s blue eyes always struck me, and I lost my train of thought. 

After separating from my almost ex-husband, Jeremy, I swore up and down I wouldn’t get involved again. The second I took my ring off my finger and buried it in the back of my underwear drawer, I pledged that oath. Officer Noland had been the only man in the past months that challenged my promise. I hated that he did this to me.

That depends. What flavor muffins do you have today? His eyes sparkled like the sun hitting a lake as smooth as glass when he grinned.  

I have your favorite, chocolate chip. Also strawberry cheesecake and blueberry lemon. I knew all the officers’ favorites and kept them on hand. That wasn’t hard because my entire life revolved around baking. My baking skills brought me such pride, and if anything made me happy in life, it was tying an apron around my waist and giving my mixer a workout.

My mom gave me my mixer. Though over forty years old, it still worked like it just came out of the box. She swore up and down that the mixer was the world’s best invention. I had to agree with her. This mixer became part of my passion and, since her death, one of the most valuable items in my life.

Hmm. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and I took notice of his firm hands. I’ll take a large black coffee. No sugar. I’m sweet enough. He winked and then chuckled at his joke. I hated to admit that I laughed, too. How about a chocolate chip and a blueberry lemon? I have a long shift today, and I can’t decide. I’ll probably eat them both.

As much as I wanted him to buy my muffins, he couldn’t survive a twelve-hour shift on them alone. No. You can’t run on carbs all day. You need to balance that with fat and protein. I wasn’t a nutritionist, but two muffins and nothing else was not a balanced diet.

Nah. I’ll be fine. I’ll ration it out. How about I eat one now and one later? His stomach growled loudly. Or maybe I’ll eat them both right now. He ran his palms over his stomach like a beach ball, but a deflated one at best. Even through the drive-thru window, I could see he kept in shape, despite the daily muffins from my café. I assumed he worked out a few hours a day to maintain his physique.

Absolutely not. You need to stay healthy to protect the community. As though any actual crime happened in Chesterfield. The town’s security was one reason why I chose this place to start over. Quiet and crime-free. A much different pace than the city, which I welcomed. Ferris Bueller said to stop and look around every once and a while, or you’d miss life. That’s what I was doing, except permanently.

Eat one now. Come back at lunchtime. I’ll make you soup and a sandwich.

On your legendary homemade bread? Ripples of hope moved through his eyes, and I felt important for a moment.

Legendary. I wished that were true. Those who ate my bread loved it, but it barely qualified as legendary status. I was glad Officer Noland liked it, though. You bet.

Can you make grilled cheese? You make the world’s best grilled cheese. He wiped at his mouth, undoubtedly anticipating the bread he’d consume later in the day.

Wow, you’re full of compliments today. Be careful, or I may ask you to stay the entire day and keep feeding them to me. I took the money he held out and punched information into the register to hide my blushing face. Why did I insist on trying to make him laugh? Comedian was not on my resumé.

I’d love to compliment you all day, Emma, but the dangerous streets of Chesterfield call. I hear a squirrel is causing a disturbance on Maple Avenue, and Mr. Thomas might be getting his morning paper in his underwear again.

Nothing too exciting happened in smaller towns, and I liked it. During my marriage to Jeremy, we lived in a one-bedroom studio apartment with a view of Lake Michigan. We spent most nights at different bars and restaurants downtown. Chesterfield was a night and day difference from my previous lifestyle. I invited the change. If I planned on starting a new life, I figured I’d do everything opposite. I previously lived in a large city. Fine. I’d move to a small town. Did I go to the bar every night? Cool. I’d stay in now. The change would only be good for me.

As soon as the heat in my cheeks cooled, I tore his receipt from the register. Hilarious. I took a deep breath and handed it to him along with his muffins and coffee. See you at lunch, Officer.

Even if the restaurant stayed empty the rest of the day, I looked forward to lunch.

2

AARON

Ipulled away from Sweetie’s Café with a grin, already looking forward to lunch. I couldn’t believe a line didn’t wrap around the corner every day. She was not only the sweetest person I’d ever met, next to my Grandma Rosie, but her baking skills were worthy of winning the top prize on Cupcake Wars . She put Duff Goldman to shame.

I needed a place to park to eat my muffins in peace. Yes. I planned on eating both and savoring every bite. The church suited me fine. Not much happened in Chesterfield, and I felt pretty confident I’d be eating without being disturbed.

Serving and protecting a town so small had its advantages. I knew every single person who lived here. During the spring and summer months, many invited me onto their porches for a cup of tea, and we often held community events at the library and the park. Those were the things I loved about Chesterfield. People didn’t move out of this place too often. They built foundations here, taking the ’til death do us part oath relative to their homes.

Just because Chesterfield served as an outstanding community didn’t mean everything had to end here. I grew up here. My parents lived here until my aunt became widowed, and they moved out of state to be with her. My brother, Rob, left ten years ago, though that was to serve time for possession of illegal substances. He didn’t come back. After serving his time, he opened a restaurant in another town and never returned.

I thought about what life would be like in a larger town, a city. A place where I did more than issue citations for someone not picking up after their dog or parking in a loading zone. I applied at a few different police stations. None had resulted in a callback.

My daily visits to the café made taking the blows to my self-esteem easier. Emma’s food gave me something to look forward to. I had to admit, she did, too. It exhilarated me when Emma moved into town last year and took over the old Pancake Haven building. Abandoned years ago, only Nail Carnations occupied the other part of the building, and the remaining portion looked run down and had become quite the eyesore in the community.

I let my radar do the work as I spread a thin layer of butter over a muffin. If anyone wanted to speed through town, now was the time because I was much more lenient when enjoying Emma’s food. God help the person who drove ten over and interrupted my foodgasm.  

I devoured the blueberry lemon muffin first. The chocolate chip was perfect for eating second because it was like a dessert. She loaded the batter with dark and white chocolate chips, and it didn’t crumble. She made the perfect muffin.

A piece caught in my throat when a knock on my window startled me.

Pastor Fisher. I rolled down my window as I coughed, trying to dislodge the piece. Death by muffin. Not the most honorable way to go, but worth it.

I hope you’re enjoying your breakfast. Will I be seeing you at church on Sunday?

The piece of muffin barely budged. I took a swig of my coffee, not realizing how hot it still was. Goddammit. I exhaled a breath as though that helped the pain.

Pastor Fisher cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. 

Sorry, Pastor. Of all the ways to put my foot in my mouth, this topped the list as the most humiliating. I’ll have to answer to the Big Guy for that one. I’m pretty sure I work on Sunday.

Pastor Fisher crossed his arms. You know that Nick Raines is one of my parishioners, right?

I groaned. Yes, Nick, the chief of police and my best friend, attended that church. It was the only church in town. A non-denominational church attended by everyone who worshiped on Sundays. Nick wasn’t in the business of ratting out his friends, though. He’d cover for me.

I avoided church whenever possible. My parents forced me to attend every Sunday as a kid and even an adult. Once they moved, and I’d dated almost every unattached female parishioner between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-three, I started skipping Sundays until I stopped going altogether. I found myself back at the top of the batting order of the women at the church, and I didn’t want to go through it again. Not to mention the awkwardness of seeing every one of those women weekly.

We’ll see. I refused to make any promises I knew I wouldn’t keep.

Sure. Why don’t you check your schedule? I’m sure if you spoke with Nick, he’d be more than happy to give you the morning off so you can worship. It’s been quite a while.

When my parents moved away a few years ago, my mom made a big hoopla about making sure I worship every Sunday. Pastor Fisher assured her he’d see that I made it to God’s home. This made my mom so happy, and I hated letting her down. I didn’t want to be there, though. I couldn’t admit that to someone who had made a promise to my mother, so I fudged my way through it whenever I could. No one succeeded at guilting me quite like Pastor Fisher. So far, it was working well.

My luck seemed to be running out.

Okay. I’ll check with him then, I guess.

You guess? Pastor Fisher steepled his hands and pressed his pointer fingers against his lips. Well, I hope you do. How is your mom, anyway? I haven’t spoken to her in a few months. Perhaps I should call her.

He wasn’t threatening me, was he? Nah. That couldn’t be. This would turn into a confession if I weren’t careful. I didn’t want to share my transgressions with him at the end of the church parking lot.

A gold Prius zipped past. A glance at my radar showed the speedster clocking in at 37 in a 25-mile-per-hour zone. Sorry. I crumpled up the bag my muffins were in and tossed it aside. Duty calls. I flipped on my lights and gave Pastor Fisher a quick wave. I silently thanked the speed demon from saving me from more interrogation.

Even though the tiny car saved me, I was still issuing a ticket.

3

EMMA

The day was half over, and only three other people had come into the café. I loved reading through the Food Network magazine and finding new ideas during my downtime, which happened more and more often. One day I’d hit the recipe that had people knocking down my door for a taste. I hoped, at least.

Whenever the bell dinged as someone came through the door, excitement jolted through me. Though my customer base was small, I appreciated everyone, except for the one who walked through my door today.

Jeremy. The sight of him strolling into the café like he owned the place, which was what he ultimately wanted, made my skin crawl. I’d rather have ants parading up and down my arms than deal with him weekly. My mother always told me to be friendly, so I bit my tongue so hard I almost drew blood.

Jeremy glanced around the café, his hand in the air. Did I beat the rush? Or am I it? He pointed to his chest.

I glared at him as insults tickled my tongue. Play it cool, I told myself. Our divorce wasn’t final yet, and I wasn’t about to adopt a serpent’s tongue. I know you think half of this belongs to you, but what’s half of nothing? I had to state the obvious. "Let me remind you. I purchased this place with money my mother left to me, not you. I bought it after we separated, and this place belongs to only me."

Whatever. Make me a sandwich. Jeremy didn’t acknowledge any of the facts I threw at him.

My blood boiled. I’d make him a sandwich, all right. I’d take both