Hello, everyone! Hope you're all doing well. As many of you know, I have been working on a new romance story called A Touch of Cinnamon. I'm still working on it, but lately I've been having some trouble with inspiration. I thought sharing this first chapter with all of you might help me get my spark back (little Crescendo reference there). Please let me know what you think of this first chapter. And know that I am really hoping to post more in the fall. Also, quick note on the cover. It is NOT the final cover. I usually pay for my cover art, but I needed something really fast. So just know this is not the final cover. And with that, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter of A Touch of Cinnamon.

XOXO,
~Aly

The warm, spicy scent fills my nostrils, and I know before the timer goes off that the cupcakes are done. I trained myself in this years ago, when I first began baking in the quiet hours of the night. When my household became too chaotic to cook anything during the day. But the oven timer going off in the middle of the night would wake my little sister, so I learned how to tell if the cupcakes were done by using my sense of smell. It's a talent I've honed and perfected, and it's been years since I've relied on the timer at all. Longer, even, since I've burned a cake.

I tiptoe to the oven, slide on a pair of pink unicorn oven mitts over my hands, and open the door. Heat blasts me in the face, and I blink, always surprised by the warmth no matter how many times it hits me. Then I reach for the cupcake pan and quietly pull it out of the oven before shutting the door softly and turning it off entirely. The cupcakes smell so good that I can already feel my mouth begin to water. I set them on the counter to cool, covering them with a paper towel just in case my Siamese cat, Margot, jumps on the counter to try and get a taste. Margot is notorious for sneaking human food, which is probably why she's so overweight. I also have a sneaking suspicion that my little sister feeds the cat extra treats when no one's looking.

Once the cupcakes are secure, I head to my bedroom and pull out the tablet I was given for Christmas by my best friend's dad a couple years ago. It was supposed to be a Christmas bonus for me. Something special I'd earned working at his restaurant. But no one else got a tablet. Only me. Probably because I've known him since I was two. I take the tablet in my hands and rest my head against my pink cat printed pillowcase, scrolling through Pinterest looking for and saving new recipes to try. This is the part of baking I hate the most. The boredom I experience in the time it takes for my pastries to cool.

Sighing, I close out of Pinterest and open my Gmail, smiling as emails from my friends pop up on the small screen. Keke West, my best gal pal, has sent me a link to her newest YouTube video starring our other friends Tree and Taylor. The two twin sisters make true crime podcasts, and Keke films, edits, and posts them. They currently have just over 35,000 subscribers, and that number is going up every day. I click on the YouTube link and watch my friends tell the story of the Zodiac Killer, a serial killer out of the state of California.

True crime really isn't my thing. To be honest, it kind of gives me the heebie jeebies. Especially the unsolved cases like the one I'm watching now. There's just something about the idea that I could be walking past a killer on the street that makes me feel uncomfortable. But even the closed cases sometimes keep me up at night. Usually when I finish one of my friends' videos, I wash it down with a video pastry recipe. It helps keep me sane while also allowing me to support my best friends. And that's all I really need.

The video is forty minutes long, and by the time it's finished, it's nearly 2am. Perfect timing, I think, as I hop out of bed, dropping my tablet on my blanket before making my way back to the kitchen. I pull the paper towel off the cupcakes and touch them to check their temperature. Cool enough to be frosted. Then I open my refrigerator and pull out the bowl of vanilla buttercream I whipped up earlier and begin to fill up the piping bag. And if waiting for the cupcakes to cool is my least favorite part, then icing them is my favorite. I love seeing the frosting squeeze out of the piping bag onto the cupcake, making it swirly before I decorate it with sprinkles or flowers or whatever I'm in the mood for at the time.

Tonight I plan on using one of the cinnamon cookies I baked the night before to decorate the top of the frosting. And once the cookies are snuggled in the frosting, I take a cupcake and place it on one of the cute flowery plates my mom collects and snap a picture. Then I pick the cupcake up off the plate and take a large bite before posting the picture on my Instagram. I lick the buttercream off my lips and sit down at the kitchen counter, reopening my email. And that's when I see it.

How I missed it before, I don't know. Maybe it's because I haven't been expecting to receive any sort of response to my application. But now, as my eyes scan over the words Boston School of Pastry Arts Admissions Office, I feel my heart begin beating faster in my chest. The delicious cinnamon cupcake with vanilla buttercream goes forgotten as I read through the email.

Dear Genevieve Cross,

We hope this letter finds you well. We are delighted to learn of your interest in the Pastry Arts program at the Boston School of Pastry Arts. Thank you for considering us as the institution to further your passion and career in the world of pastry.

At the Boston School of Pastry Arts, we take pride in nurturing creative and dedicated individuals like you who aspire to excel in the culinary arts. Our renowned program is designed to provide a comprehensive education in pastry techniques, culinary innovation, and the business of baking.

We have reviewed your application and are impressed by your background and enthusiasm for the pastry arts. Your commitment to honing your skills and your passion for culinary excellence shine through. We believe that your dedication aligns perfectly with our mission to produce skilled pastry professionals who make a mark in the industry.

We would like to invite you to an audition as the next step in the application process. This audition will give you the opportunity to showcase your talents and demonstrate your passion for pastry arts. Our team of experienced pastry chefs will be eager to observe your skills and discuss your aspirations.

Please let us know your availability for an audition, and we will do our best to accommodate your schedule. Feel free to contact our Admissions Office by phone or email to arrange a suitable date and time. Prior to the audition, we will provide you with any specific requirements or tasks you should be prepared for.

Once again, thank you for considering the Boston School of Pastry Arts for your culinary journey. We look forward to meeting you in person and learning more about your passion for the art of pastry.

Best regards,

Jeremy Graham

Dean of Students

Boston School of Pastry Arts

Oh God. I read through the email again, trying to take in all the words. But the only one that really sinks in is the word chosen. I shake my head in disbelief. Sure, I applied for the program a couple months ago on a drunk whim, my best friend Vale encouraging me as he hung upside down from my bed, a bottle of beer held dangerously in his hand. But I never thought I would actually be chosen. In fact, I almost completely forgot about it. Until now.

With quivering fingers, I press the green button on my bracelet and watch it light up. It was a gift Vale gave me for my birthday a couple years ago, probably to stop me from breaking into his room when he was sleeping and scaring the crap out of him. Something I'm very prone to doing. But whenever I press the button on my bracelet, it lights up a matching bracelet of his own. If he pushes the button on his in return, I know he's awake and I can come over. Usually with some scrumptious dessert.

I stare at my bracelet, as if willing it to light up. And about twenty seconds later, it does. Relieved, I grab a couple cupcakes and put them in a Tupperware container before quietly exiting my house and making my way to the one next door where my best friend lives. I'm expecting to see his window wide open, but it's shut tight. The light in the garage is on though, so I know he must be struggling to sleep just as much as I am. My purple slippered feet shuffle over to the open garage door, where my best friend is hunched over an open hood of an old Chevy pickup truck.

"Hey," I call, and he turns around to look at me, a bright smile on his tired face. His thick dark curls are standing up, probably from the number of times he's run his greasy hands through them in frustration at whatever he's working on. But his warm light brown eyes light up when he sees me.

"Hey yourself, Genny," he replies with a smirk, and I grin. "Those cinnamon cupcakes you got in that Tupperware container?"

I nod my head as I smile back at him. "With vanilla buttercream and a cinnamon cookie to top it." He licks his lips, but then raises his two dirty hands. They're coated in black smudges. I shake my head and roll my eyes. "Fine." My hands lift the lid of the Tupperware container, and I remove one of the cupcakes. Then I move forward and hold it out to him, watching as he leans down and takes a big bite before ducking his head back down into the engine of the truck.

We stand together in silence for a few minutes, and I feel like just being in his presence is helping me calm down. I sink my own teeth into the cupcake and take a bite, enjoying the sweet, smokey taste of the cinnamon. My absolute favorite ingredient. He grunts and groans in annoyance as his hand struggles to turn a wrench. Then he lifts his head up and takes another bite of the cupcake. And this is how it always is with the two of us. We don't even really need words. It's just being together.

"This. Fucking. Piece. Of. Shit," he yells as he grits his teeth, attempting to turn the wrench again. Then he releases the wrench, presses his dirty hands on either side of the front of the truck, and shakes his head. "What time is it?"

"Too late to be working on cars," I answer, and he nods his head. Then he takes one more quick bite of the cupcake, finishing it off before he slams the hood shut and rubs his dirty hands on his old ripped up work jeans. He looks a total and complete mess, with black streaks on his cheeks and his white t-shirt. "Why do you wear white when you're working on cars? You know you're gonna get dirty."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe I like getting dirty," he replies, and I laugh. He leans his back against the truck and folds his arms across his chest before saying, "Okay, what's the deal? Why are you here in the middle of the night?"

I smirk. "Since when do I need a reason?"

"Never," he says. "But I know you. What's the deal?"

This is the trouble with him. There's no bluffing. We've known each other since we were in diapers, as we've been next door neighbors our entire lives. He knows everything about me. Every little eccentricity. And even though me sneaking over to his house in the middle of the night, and often staying over, is nothing new, it's probably clear to him that something is amiss.

"Remember that night a few months ago, when my parents went out of town to meet Ava's fiancé's family in Seattle?" I finally ask, feeling my foot start tapping anxiously against the cement floor of the garage. His brow furrows as he nods his head. "And we got drunk playing that Who Framed Roger Rabbit drinking game, and I applied to that program I'd been talking about for a while?" More silence as he waits for me to continue. My chest constricts, and I'm not sure if it's due to the excitement, the nerves, the disbelief, or all three combined. "I got word today that I've been chosen to audition for a spot in the fall semester."

His jaw falls open. "What?" he gasps, his eyes practically popping out of their sockets. "Oh my God. Genny! That's amazing!" He rushes to me and wraps his arms around me, swinging me around in a big bear hug. He smells like gasoline, sweat, and sugar. I giggle despite the racing of my heart. "I am so proud of you!" he says as he sets me back down on my feet. "Seriously! That's amazing!"

My eyes sting with unreleased tears. "I just... I think I'm in shock. Like, I can't believe they chose me, you know?"

Now it's Vale's turn to roll his eyes. "Don't start with that invisible bullshit again." I give him a tight-lipped smile, and he sighs and shakes his head. "Genny, Genny, Genny. How many times do I have to tell you? You are not invisible. You just need to put yourself out there more. Do your thing. And clearly, I was right, because holy shit! You could seriously get a spot in this amazing program!"

I nod my head, but I'm still struggling to believe it. My whole life, I've felt so invisible. Even in my own family, I'm the sibling who gets overlooked the most. My older sister, Ava, has always been so rambunctious and wild. Throwing tantrums. Sneaking out at night to spend time with bad boys. Drunk driving at seventeen years old and hitting the Sager family's mailbox before getting arrested for a DUI. Life has always been chaotic with my older sister around. And my younger sister has lower functioning autism, meaning our mother spends a good amount of time getting her to therapy appointments and taking care of her needs. Which, in turn, means that my own needs usually fall by the wayside.

Even at school, I'm the quiet girl. The silent member of our friend group, taking everything in rather than speaking up myself. Not that I'm shy. Oh no. When I'm around my close friends, I feel very outgoing and extroverted. But sometimes, around everyone else, I feel like I'm not seen. My friends all have such dynamic personalities that they are impossible to miss. And my family, well... they have too much going on to really notice me. So most of the time, I feel totally invisible. Like a living ghost wandering the mortal plane, waiting for a chance to be real. But the admissions office at this school noticed me. And maybe, just maybe, getting a spot at this school, even if it's only for one semester, means that I might finally be seen.

"It's pretty crazy," I say to Vale, and he smiles and nods at me. The adrenaline from the email is starting to evaporate, and the sugar crash is beginning to take effect. A yawn slips from my mouth, and I blink several times, surprised by how tired I suddenly feel.

"Wanna stay over?" he asks me, reaching for a red rag and scrubbing the grease off his hands with it. "We can chill in the basement for a bit and watch a movie? Maybe finish off those cupcakes you brought over?"

It was so late. Or... early. I'm technically supposed to be sleeping in my own bed right now, but my mom never checks on me. And my dad is out of town for work. Plus, Vale's dad never cares if I stay over or not. We've been friends for so long, and we've had a million sleepovers. I find I always sleep better when I'm with Vale anyway. Usually I have insomnia, but when I'm with him, my brain can shut off, and I can finally get some rest. And with the news of my upcoming audition still lingering in the back of my mind, I know I need to be with the person I'm most comfortable with.

"That sounds perfect," I say with a smile. Vale grins back at me and tosses the dirty red rag onto the floor beside his tools. Then he put his arm around my shoulders, and together the two of us make our way inside the house, hitting the garage door button and shutting the light off as we leave the old pickup truck behind us.