Chapter 5 – The Notebook Beneath The Wedding Plans

Caroline looked at Victoria as though she’d never seen her before.

“You told me you couldn’t find it.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“You said everything from Mom’s kitchen had been packed away.”

“It had.”

“Then where is the notebook?”

Victoria rubbed her forehead.

“In my office. I was using it to help the pastry chef.”

Dominic stood.

“Get it.”

“Dominic—”

“Please.”

He said the word quietly.

But Victoria understood that the discussion was over.

She left the dining room.

Caroline remained beside her father’s chair.

I began clearing the abandoned dessert plates.

Most of the guests had already moved into the reception area, and the few remaining were politely pretending not to listen.

Caroline watched them.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dominic looked up.

“For what?”

“For doing this in front of everybody.”

“Carrie, you came here with a birthday cake.”

“I know. But now—”

“Now we’re having a conversation we should’ve had a long time ago.”

He reached toward her.

She hesitated before letting him touch her hand.

That tiny hesitation hurt to watch.

Dominic noticed it.

He didn’t try to pretend otherwise.

“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me tonight,” he said.

Caroline looked down.

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.”

“I understand.”

She finally sat beside him.

“I used to come home from school and find you and Mom arguing about how much frosting was too much.”

Dominic smiled faintly.

“She always won.”

“You let her win.”

“Most of the time.”

Caroline examined the homemade cake.

“I didn’t know whether you’d even remember.”

“Carrie, I remember every birthday you ever spent in that kitchen.”

“Then why did you stop coming into it?”

He took a long breath.

“Because after your mother died, I couldn’t stand being in there without her.”

Caroline nodded slowly.

“I couldn’t stand being anywhere else.”

The difference between those two ways of grieving hung between them.

I’d seen it in my own family after my father died.

My mother had kept his favorite coffee mug on the shelf for four years.

I had packed away his work boots the week after the funeral.

Neither of us had been wrong.

But we’d hurt each other by assuming the other person wasn’t grieving properly.

Victoria returned carrying a dark leather folder.

Inside was a slim blue notebook with a cracked cover.

Caroline stood immediately.

“That’s it.”

She reached for it, then stopped.

The notebook was older than I’d expected.

The corners had been reinforced with clear tape, and a pale flour stain covered part of the front.

Caroline opened it carefully.

The first page contained a child’s uneven handwriting.

Carrie’s Chocolate Cake.

Below it, in a different hand, someone had written:

Needs more cocoa. Dad says so.

Dominic smiled.

“That was the year you put salt in the frosting.”

Caroline looked at him.

“You promised never to tell anybody.”

“I’ve kept that promise for thirteen years.”

She gave him the smallest smile.

Then she turned another page.

It was filled with recipes, grocery lists, and handwritten corrections.

Some pages had little notes in the margins.

Carrie likes extra strawberries.

Dominic says he doesn’t eat sweets. Don’t believe him.

Caroline laughed softly at that one.

Dominic leaned closer.

For a while, they forgot Victoria was standing there.

Then Caroline reached the back of the notebook.

Her smile disappeared.

Three pages had been removed.

Not torn accidentally.

Carefully cut along the binding.

“Where are these?”

Victoria looked down.

“The pastry chef needed clean copies.”

“Copies don’t require cutting pages out.”

“He wanted to frame the original instructions as part of the dessert presentation.”

Dominic frowned.

“Frame them?”

Victoria shifted uncomfortably.

“For the wedding tasting display.”

Caroline closed the notebook.

“You used Mom’s handwriting as decoration?”

“I was planning a tribute.”

“Without asking either of us?”

Victoria’s voice rose.

“I was trying to make this family happy!”

The sudden outburst startled even her.

She stepped back and lowered her voice.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to build something in a house where every memory belongs to somebody else?”

Caroline looked at her.

“You could have made memories with us.”

Victoria’s face tightened.

“You never wanted that.”

“I wanted you to stop telling me that loving my mother meant I couldn’t accept you.”

Dominic put a hand over his eyes.

“I should’ve stopped this months ago.”

“Yes,” Caroline said.

There was no cruelty in her answer.

Only exhaustion.

Victoria looked toward the doorway.

“I’ll have the missing pages returned.”

Caroline held the notebook against her chest.

“Please do.”

I was about to take away the leather folder when a folded cream-colored sheet slipped from its inside pocket.

It landed beside my hand.

I recognized the printed heading.

North Pier Holdings — Private Event Development.

I bent to pick it up.

Victoria moved quickly.

“Rachel, I’ll take that.”

But Dominic had already seen the name.

“What’s that?”

“Wedding planning material.”

He extended his hand.

Victoria didn’t move.

Finally, I passed him the paper.

It was a floor plan.

At the top was an address.

416 West Armitage.

Caroline’s bakery.

The plan showed the old kitchen converted into a bridal consultation suite.

The front counter had been removed.

In its place was a marble reception desk.

Dominic examined the drawing.

“Who approved this?”

Victoria folded her arms.

“The preliminary concept was discussed at the last planning meeting.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He turned the page over.

There was a date at the bottom.

Six weeks earlier.

Caroline looked at it.

“That’s before you mailed my invitation back.”

Victoria said nothing.

Dominic pointed to a handwritten note beside the kitchen wall.

The handwriting was Victoria’s.

Existing bakery equipment must be removed before bridal showroom installation.

Caroline reached for the paper.

Her voice was barely audible.

“Those are my ovens.”

And below the note, beside a penciled construction deadline, were four words:

Clear premises by Monday.

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