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The Little Brooklyn Bakery: A heartwarming feel good novel full of cakes and romance!
Julie Caplin
‘Irresistible’ Sunday Times bestseller Katie FfordeTake a trip to the best little bakery in Brooklyn, where there’s more than a sprinkle of romance and a slice of pie makes it feel like home!When Sophie Bennings arrives in New York, love is the last thing on her mind. Still reeling from a painful break up, she throws herself into her work as a food editor on a top-notch magazine.Columnist Todd McLennan is everything that Sophie wishes she didn’t want. Like the gorgeous bakery below her Brooklyn apartment, he’s as tempting as the delicious cupcakes on display. Surely a little of what you fancy can do you good?As Sophie and Todd get to know one another, a love of food isn’t the only passion they share. In the city that never sleeps, has Sophie finally met the man of her dreams…?
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Copyright © Julie Caplin 2018
Cover images © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Julie Caplin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008259761
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008259754
Version: 2018-04-26
For Justine, who shared the very first New York adventure
Table of Contents
Cover (#uc54ddbc9-3340-5be3-bbe1-8f74d232c206)
Title Page (#u1b362a9b-a493-5677-89a7-c3f37cfd2a3e)
Copyright (#u1a11ea17-d1a3-5808-864a-e121da04b15c)
Dedication (#u13ffe471-8530-5d06-809f-36e6b49283ff)
Chapter 1 (#ub519f5e7-b64a-5dc6-84ec-2b84a3b10e1f)
Chapter 2 (#ud5a95087-4c17-581c-9eb7-5e91d920fee8)
Chapter 3 (#u61f0bfe6-2e6e-561b-89cf-819f11f35865)
Chapter 4 (#u8b461233-66d0-5a30-8c4e-91483820fe9d)
Chapter 5 (#u5c7cd736-1899-59d5-9763-7515d15dc4e5)
Chapter 6 (#u3193932a-0c41-505f-b9fc-a32c8e43c301)
Chapter 7 (#ub59adf53-372c-534c-9ddf-92622a0aad06)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Coming Soon From Julie Caplin (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u220d420b-d756-50b5-91ff-499ce91b97ac)
‘It’s a great offer,’ said Sophie, with only the slightest sense of regret that she had to turn it down. One day she would visit New York. ‘But I don’t see how I could go at the moment.’
Angela screwed up her face. ‘I understand, it’s really short notice, I could bloody kill Mel for breaking her leg.’
‘I don’t think she did it on purpose,’ Sophie said gently.
‘Well it’s bloody inconvenient, and while I’ve got plenty of people queuing up to take her place in New York for six months, you’re my best food writer. You would be brilliant.’
‘That’s kind of you, Angela—’
‘Kind?’ Angela raised one of her scarily plucked, almost-to-the-death, eyebrows. ‘I don’t do kind. This is honesty. You’re a brilliant writer and I wish …’ she shook her head, ‘and don’t you dare repeat this, I wish you would spread your wings.’
‘And you’re desperate,’ teased Sophie.
‘Well, there is that.’ Angela laid down her pen with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But at least think about it. It’s a fabulous opportunity. Job swaps don’t come up that often and if I didn’t have the twins, I’d be off like a shot.’
‘What about Ella? She’d love to go,’ suggested Sophie.
Angela tipped her head to one side. ‘That girl is twenty-nine going on twelve, she’d be an absolute disaster.’
‘She might not be that bad.’
Angela raised the other eyebrow, ‘And I know how much you help her. I don’t think she’d survive without you.’
Sophie gave her a cheeky grin, ‘So you can’t send me to New York, then.’
With a bark of laughter, Angela flipped her notebook closed, ‘We’d manage.’ Her face sobered as Sophie rose to leave. ‘Seriously, Sophie, say you’ll think about it.’
Sophie returned to the main office where everyone was still talking about the horrible crack of bone when Mel leapt off a table in the pub at the end of her I’m-swanning-off-to-New-York-for-six-months leaving do. Across the way, the limp helium balloon, bearing the words We’ll miss you, still bobbed above a chair. Someone really ought to take it down before the incoming, very American-sounding Brandi Baumgarten rocked up to take possession of Mel’s desk.
The poor girl deserved more than the current palimpsest of sticky rings of prosecco and crumbs of Monster Munch (Mel’s favourite) littering its surface. Grabbing a pair of scissors, Sophie advanced on the balloon and, with a satisfying snip, cut it down. She’d done the right thing turning Angela’s offer down. The thought of taking over Brandi’s desk on the other side of the Atlantic was far too much of a terrifying prospect. And poor Brandi, coming here. To a strange city. All on her own. Sophie almost shuddered. Maybe she should make her some cookies, big fat squidgy ones with lots of chunky chocolate to welcome her and make her feel at home. And coffee. Americans did coffee big time. Perhaps a little welcome-to-England pack. An A–Z of London. An umbrella. A …
‘Earth to Soph. How do you spell clafoutis?’
‘Sorry. What did you say?’ She tugged the balloon down and punctured it with her scissors.
‘Well done,’ said Ella, the other cookery writer on CityZen. ‘I meant to do that. Well, I thought about it. And how do you spell clafoutis? I can never remember.’
Sophie reeled off the spelling and sat down at her desk opposite Ella.
‘What did Angela want? You in trouble?’
Sophie shook her head, still slightly bemused at the suggestion that she should go to work on their sister publication in Manhattan, the American CityZen. If she told Ella she’d never hear the end of it.
‘How was your weekend?’ Ella screwed up her face. ‘Oh for feck’s sake, spellcheck’s changed it to clawfoot. Can you spell it again for me? I went to that new French place in Stoke Newington. A bit of a trek but … oh, how was Le Gavroche on Saturday? Oh … no, he didn’t!’
Sophie winced and summoned up a blithe smile. ‘Unfortunately, we didn’t get there. His mum was ill.’
‘Oh, for crying out loud, the woman’s always ill.’
‘She can’t help it,’ Sophie protested, ignoring the inner bitch that agreed wholeheartedly. Was it wrong to wish Mrs Soames could time being unwell just a tad more conveniently? ‘And it was an emergency this time. Blue-lighted to hospital. Poor James spent all night in A and E waiting for news.’
With a scowl Ella said, ‘You are too bloody nice. And far too damn forgiving. He doesn’t deserve you.’
‘I wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t so nice. How many men do you know that put their family first?’
Ella pursed her pale-pink sparkly lips. It looked as if she’d been pillaging the beauty editor’s cupboard again. ‘True. Greg forgot Mother’s Day, my birthday and our anniversary.’
Sophie wanted to roll her eyes but refrained. Greg barely remembered anything but his next five-a-side football fixture.
‘You’re such a brilliant cook,’ said James, putting down his knife and fork. Sophie nodded, rather pleased with the way her Massaman curry had turned out, sweet and spicy with the right amount of heat, and the potatoes not too soft and not too firm.
They were sitting in her spacious kitchen, with a candle burning between them. Mondays were her favourite night of the week when she would cook a special meal because she knew James had been running around after his mother all weekend. He lived with her three days of the week and stayed at Sophie’s flat the other four. Sophie suspected Mrs Soames wasn’t really that unwell but liked having her son at home. And who could blame her?
‘I should marry you one day.’ He winked and picked up his wineglass, swirling the ruby-red liquid and sniffing with appreciation. As well he might, it was a very nice Australian Merlot that she’d tracked down on the recommendation of the wine writer at work and had cost a small fortune.
‘You should,’ she replied, her heart bumping uncomfortably. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. And she’d thought on Saturday, at Le Gavroche,the second anniversary of their first date … well, she’d hoped …
‘So how was work today?’ That was the lovely thing about James, he was always interested.
‘Remember I told you Mel left on Friday? She broke her leg. Can’t go to New York now.’ Sophie hesitated, and laughed. ‘Angela offered me her place.’
