The metal tray of cupcakes tilted in Jenny’s hands, and for a split second it felt like time slowed down. Frosting swayed in perfect pastel waves, sprinkles shimmered under the fluorescent lights, and the hot breath of the industrial oven blew against her face like a warning from the gates of hell.
Then one cupcake slipped.
Just one. It slid off the tray in slow motion, bounced off the oven door, smeared a streak of pink frosting down the stainless steel, and splattered onto the floor.
Jenny flinched even before she heard the voice.
“The cupcakes aren’t even in the oven yet!” Wanda’s shout cracked across the tiny California strip-mall bakery like a whip. “They’re supposed to be here in two hours to pick them up for the New Year’s Eve event. What is taking you so long?”
Jenny snapped upright, cheeks burning. Through the front windows she could see the familiar sight of a quiet suburban parking lot—Target on one side, a nail salon on the other, the faint glow of a Starbucks a few doors down. Inside, though, it felt like a war zone.
“Sorry,” she said, shoving the tray into the oven. “I just got off break. I was finishing up something. I’ll put them in right now.”
“Finishing up what?” Wanda stalked toward her, black bob swinging, red lipstick as sharp as her tone. Her eyes landed on the open notebook on the counter. “Wait, wait, wait. This does not look work-related to me.”
Jenny’s heart sank. “It’s not. It’s just my New Year’s resolutions. I’ll put it away.”
Wanda plucked up the notebook and read out loud in a mocking sing-song. “Lose five pounds. Go on a cruise. Ah. Start a baking business.”
She looked up with a smirk. “You’re cute. You start a business. Wow.”
“I don’t get what’s so funny about that,” Jenny said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’ve taught me a lot. I feel ready.”
“Oh really?” Wanda laughed, a sharp little sound that bounced off the display case. “You really think you have what it takes to start a company? You’re barely old enough to drive a car.”
“I’m nineteen,” Jenny said. “A lot of people my age have their own business. On Instagram, on—”
“Oh no, I highly doubt that.” Wanda snapped the notebook shut. “It took me ten years to get this bakery up and running, and I was twenty-seven when I started. Do you know how many bakeries there are in this town?”
Jenny hesitated. “Just… yours.”
“Exactly.” Wanda spread her arms like she personally owned the entire strip mall. “Do you know how many have come and gone over the years? Lots. It is a lot harder than you think. And certainly a teenager can’t do it.”
Jenny swallowed. The oven hummed behind her, radiating heat into the back of her legs.
“I’d suggest you get back to work,” Wanda finished, tossing the notebook onto the prep table. “Unless you want to lose your job.”
The bell jingled as a customer came in, and Wanda’s voice instantly flipped to honey. “Welcome to Wanda’s!”
Jenny stared at her resolutions for a second longer, the words “start a baking business” circling in her mind like sparklers. Then she flipped the notebook closed and slid it into her backpack. The smell of butter and sugar wrapped around her as she grabbed another tray.
“This is your year,” she muttered under her breath. “Whether she believes it or not.”
Behind her, Lauren leaned around a rack of cooling cookies, her curly hair escaping from a messy bun, flour dusting her apron like snow.
“You sure Wanda’s not gonna be mad about me using the oven?” Jenny whispered a little later, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.
Lauren shrugged. “No way. I use it all the time for my own stuff. As long as the orders get done, she doesn’t care. What are you putting in those cupcakes, anyway? They smell amazing.”
Jenny smiled despite herself. “I’m experimenting with some new recipes for my menu.”
“Oh, wow, look at you, ‘my menu.’” Lauren grinned. “If you need a taste tester, I’m available. So is my stomach.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Seriously, though,” Lauren added, dropping her voice, “maybe you should talk to Wanda about some pointers on how to start your business. She did start this place from scratch.”
Jenny snorted. “Did you see what she did to my resolutions? I don’t think Wanda would be down for that.”
“You’re probably right,” Lauren sighed. “I’ve been here, what, four years? And she still won’t make me a manager.”
“I was gonna ask,” Jenny said. “What’s up with that? You do everything.”
“Honestly? I have no idea. It seemed like we were going in that direction. She’s been having me find new recipes and dealing with vendors—kind of cool, kind of exhausting. But who knows.”
“Well,” Jenny said, scraping batter into cases, “maybe it’ll come sooner than you think.”
“I hope so,” Lauren murmured. “I really hope so.”
By late afternoon, the December sun had dipped behind the strip mall, and the parking lot glowed with a mix of headlights and string lights from the neighboring stores. The big New Year’s Eve order—two hundred champagne-swirl cupcakes for a downtown hotel—was due in a few hours. The entire kitchen smelled like vanilla and edible glitter.
“Where are the cupcakes?” Wanda burst through the swinging door, phone pressed to her ear, heels clacking on the tile. “The customer’s going to be here any minute. Don’t tell me they’re still in the oven.”
“Nope,” Jenny said quickly. “They’re right here, ready to go.” She pointed to the neatly packed boxes stacked on the prep table. Her chest swelled a little; they looked perfect.
“Then why is the oven still on?” Wanda demanded.
Jenny froze.
“Oh,” Lauren said, following Wanda’s gaze. “Those are mine. I was just—”
“Whose are these?” Wanda stalked to the oven and yanked it open.
A wave of heat hit them. Jenny’s heart dropped to her shoes.
They were hers. A dozen small test cupcakes, pale pink domes rising in shiny liners, the first batch of what she hoped would be her signature strawberry champagne flavor. Her “new menu.”
“They’re mine,” Jenny said. “I was experimenting with some new recipes for my new menu—”
“Oh,” Wanda repeated slowly. “You’re using my equipment to test out your own recipes.”
“I was told you let people use the oven,” Jenny said, looking desperately at Lauren. “So I thought I’d give it a try—”
“My kitchen,” Wanda said, voice rising, “is not for your recreational use.”
“I’m sorry,” Jenny said, feeling the heat of the oven and Wanda’s anger all at once. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but Lauren said—”
“I use the oven all the time for my own stuff,” Lauren cut in. “It’s never been a problem.”
“Well, that’s different,” Wanda snapped. “That’s because—what is that smell?”
A sharp, acrid scent cut through the sweetness.
“Oh no,” Lauren breathed. “It’s burning.”
They all turned at once. Jenny’s test cupcakes, forgotten while they argued, had gone from pale golden to a deep, menacing brown. A thin ribbon of smoke curled out of the oven.
“Oh my gosh,” Jenny yelped, lunging for the knob. She turned off the heat and yanked the rack out. The tops of the cupcakes were charred, little black domes of ruined sugar.
“They’re ruined,” she groaned.
“Who cares about your cupcakes?” Wanda shrieked. “What about my oven?” She waved her hand in front of her face as if she could fan away the smoke and her employee’s stupidity at the same time. “Do you want me shut down by the health inspector?”
“I’m so sorry,” Jenny said. “They were fine just a minute ago; I just—”
“You know what?” Wanda cut in, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Just stop. Stop talking. Now I have to get this entire thing cleaned. And you want to start a bakery? What a joke.”
Jenny stared at the blackened cupcakes. They looked exactly like her chances.
“I just got distracted,” she whispered.
“An experienced baker would not take their eye off the oven,” Wanda snapped. “If anything is broken, it’s coming out of your paycheck. Understood?”
Jenny nodded, throat tight.
“I’m really sorry about your cupcakes,” Lauren said gently after Wanda stormed out to deal with the front. “They… weren’t that bad.”
“It’s all right,” Jenny said, dumping the ruined cakes into the trash. The smell of burnt sugar clawed at the back of her throat. “Maybe Wanda’s right. Maybe I’m not ready to start my own business.”
“What?” Lauren said. “Because you burned some cupcakes? Come on, girl. Don’t let Wanda scare you. Every baker burns things from time to time. It’s part of the territory.”
“Have you ever burned anything?” Jenny asked skeptically.
Lauren stared at her. “Why do you think I keep a fire extinguisher here?” She pointed above the sink. “And I keep the fire department on speed dial.”
Jenny cracked a tiny smile.
“But seriously,” Lauren said, bumping her shoulder. “You’ll be all right. And Wanda? She’ll forget about it.”
“Sure,” Jenny said. “Until the next thing.”
“So I take it you don’t want a taste test?” Lauren asked, pulling one of the less burnt cupcakes from the trash and brushing it off dramatically.
Jenny stared. “You’re not seriously going to—”
“Girl, you clearly don’t know me at all.” Lauren took a huge bite. “Burnt cupcake is my absolute favorite.”
Jenny’s laughter loosened something in her chest. For a moment, the oven fiasco didn’t feel like the end of the world.
She had no idea that the real humiliation was still waiting for her. At her own birthday party.
“Happy birthday!” The shout ricocheted off the walls of Lauren’s small apartment that evening, twinkle lights reflecting off the cheap plastic champagne flutes. A homemade banner that read “HAPPY 19, JENNY” hung slightly crooked above the couch.
Lauren pushed a cake into the room, candles blazing. It was beautiful: smooth white frosting, delicate rosettes, a ring of fresh strawberries around the edge.
“And the cake looks amazing,” one of their friends cooed. “Where did you get it?”
“Are you really gonna act like you didn’t bake it?” Lauren nudged Jenny.
“Wait, you made this cake?” another friend said. “It looks super nice.”
“Yeah, Lauren had me bake it,” Jenny admitted, cheeks pink. “I didn’t know it was for me.”
“Well, I love everything you make,” Lauren said loudly. “And if it saves me a few hours, I’m all about it.”
“I didn’t know you were this talented, Jenny,” someone else added. “Seriously, it looks like something from a fancy L.A. bakery or something.”
“Thanks,” Jenny said, trying not to stare too hard at the frosting, half certain she’d find a flaw. “I hope it tastes as good as it looks. I tried a brand-new recipe, so… I’m sorry in advance if it’s—”
“I’ll get it!” Lauren cried as the doorbell rang.
Jenny hovered by the cake, candles dripping wax, friends singing a chaotic version of “Happy Birthday” that made her laugh. She closed her eyes, made a silent wish—please, let this be the year everything changes—and blew out the candles.
When she opened her eyes, Wanda was in the doorway.
Jenny’s stomach dropped.
“Hi,” Wanda said, stepping inside with a forced smile, her scarf thrown perfectly around her neck. “Sorry I’m late, I had to stop at the bakery to drop off some things.”
“Happy birthday,” Lauren said brightly, hugging her. “Can I get you a drink? We’re about to cut the cake.”
“Sure, why not,” Wanda said. “Just let me use the restroom real quick.”
“It’s right this way,” Lauren said, leading her down the hall.
“I am so sorry,” Lauren whispered to Jenny when she came back. “I invited her before everything that happened today. I didn’t think she’d actually show up.”
“It’s fine,” Jenny lied. “Don’t worry about it.”
“What happened?” one of their coworkers asked quietly.
“Wanda being Wanda,” Jenny muttered. “You know how she is.”
“Okay,” Lauren said, clapping her hands. “How about that cake?”
She cut generous slices and passed them around. Wanda reappeared, taking a piece like everyone else. Jenny held her breath as she took the first bite.
For half a second, Wanda’s expression was unreadable. Then her eyes widened, and she started coughing.
“Are you okay?” someone asked.
Wanda grabbed her water and took a huge gulp. “I’m fine,” she wheezed. “I just… my mouth…” She swallowed hard, face contorting. “Is so dry. What is going on with this cake?”
Jenny’s cheeks went hot. “I—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I thought I did everything right, but I guess—”
“Yeah, well, obviously you did not,” Wanda said loudly, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “That cake is drier than the Sahara Desert.”
The room went quiet. Someone let out an awkward cough.
“I was just experimenting with a new recipe,” Jenny said. “I probably should’ve stuck to—”
“Oh, God, not this again,” Wanda groaned. “Are you still considering opening a bakery? You just turned nineteen, and you can barely bake a basic cake right.”
Jenny wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
Wanda’s phone buzzed. She snatched it up. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be there. No, it’s fine.” She hung up and stood. “I have to get back to the office. Lauren, I need you to come in at five a.m. tomorrow to meet the truck.”
“No problem,” Lauren said stiffly. “I’ll be there.”
Wanda looked around at the uncomfortable faces. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said to Jenny. “Next time, let’s just buy a cake.”
The door closed behind her with a tiny click.
“The cake wasn’t that bad,” Lauren said immediately. “Seriously, it looks beautiful, and that’s the hardest part. It was just a little dry—”
“Just a touch of syrup glaze or soak in some milk and boom, fix,” another friend added. “We didn’t know she was gonna show up and judge it like it’s some TV competition.”
Jenny swallowed, the cake in her mouth suddenly heavy as cement.
“I shouldn’t have experimented that much,” she said. “I should probably never let anyone eat anything I make again.”
“Absolutely not,” Lauren said. “Actually, that might not be the case.”
“What do you mean?” Jenny asked.
Lauren’s eyes sparkled. “I have an idea.”
“I don’t know about this, Lauren,” Jenny whispered the next day, staring at the small “New Flavor of the Month” sign Lauren had propped on the counter at Wanda’s. On the tray beneath it, the small pink cupcakes Jenny had perfected late into the night gleamed under the glass dome like tiny jewels.
“Would you stop it?” Lauren hissed. “Wanda put me in charge of finding new recipes. You’re actually doing me a favor. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The bell chimed. A woman in a blazer came in with a boy in a Spider-Man hoodie.
“Welcome to Wanda’s!” Lauren called. “What can I get for you?”
“I’d like a red velvet cupcake, please,” the woman said. “And a hot chocolate for him.”
“Coming right up,” Lauren said. As she turned to get the order, she leaned toward the woman. “By the way, we’re doing this thing where we feature a new recipe each month. Would you be willing to try one of these cupcakes and give some feedback? It’s free.”
“Oh,” the woman said, eyes lighting up. “I love that idea. Sure. I’ll take one of those pink ones.”
Jenny watched, heart hammering, as the woman took a bite.
Her eyes widened. She took another.
“This is delicious,” she said. “What recipe is this?”
“It’s a new one Jenny just came up with,” Lauren said, beaming, jerking her head toward the kitchen. “She’s our secret weapon.”
“This is one of the best cupcakes I’ve ever had,” the woman said. “You’re really talented.”
Jenny felt her face flame. “Thank you,” she said.
“I have to say,” the woman added, turning to Lauren, “it’s really sweet of Wanda to let her employees showcase their work. She’s been my go-to for years, but this is next level.”
“Well—”
“Hi!” Wanda’s voice sliced through the bakery like a blade. “How are you?”
“Hi, Wanda,” the woman said. “I am great. Even better now that I’ve had one of these new flavors. It’s really sweet that you let your employees experiment. She’s amazing.”
“Oh,” Wanda said, smile freezing. “Well, I wasn’t aware that we were featuring Jenny’s recipes.”
“You should,” the woman said. “Definitely a ten out of ten. I’ve got to get going, but hats off to you. This cupcake is to die for.”
The bell chimed again as she left.
As soon as the door shut, Wanda’s smile evaporated.
“You have really crossed the line this time, Jenny,” she hissed. “This is not one of your high school home-ec classes where you get to test out your recipes. I am running a real business with real customers making real money.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Lauren said. “You put me in charge to find new recipes, so I figured, why not use Jenny’s? You heard the customer. She loved—”
“Jenny almost killed me with her recipes last night,” Wanda snapped. “We are not using them anymore. From now on, just stick to making things my way.”
Jenny stared at the frosting roses in the case, her dreams wilting one by one.
“You know,” Wanda added, turning to Lauren, “you’ve been extra… sensitive since you saw those New Year’s resolutions. You both think I’m being mean?”
“You are being mean,” Lauren said before she could stop herself.
“You think I’m being mean,” Wanda scoffed. “I am trying to save you from the heartache and loss you’ll have if you actually go through with this silly dream of yours.”
Jenny felt something snap.
“This isn’t me having a tantrum,” she said, surprising even herself with how calm her voice sounded. “This is me saying I quit.”
The room went quiet. Even the fridge seemed to hum in shock.
“Quit?” Wanda repeated. “That’s great. Go ahead and quit. I can’t wait to see you come crawling back here in a couple months, begging for your job. It’s going to be fun.”
Jenny untied her apron with shaking hands.
“Jenny,” Lauren said softly. “Wait—”
But she’d already pushed through the back door, the bell chiming behind her like a full stop.
“Jenny! Jen, wait up!”
Lauren caught up with her in the parking lot, breath puffing faintly in the cool California air. A grocery cart rattled by; somewhere, a kid argued with his mom about getting a toy.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Lauren said. “I had no idea she was gonna react like that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jenny said, staring at the faded lines on the asphalt. “I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting for her to see me.”
“I don’t blame you,” Lauren said. “She’s so old-school, and she can be a nightmare. So… what are you going to do now?”
Jenny looked down at her hands, flecked with dried sugar. “I’m going to start my own bakery,” she said slowly. The words felt huge and terrifying and right. “I don’t even know where I’m going to find my first customer. But I’m going to prove Wanda wrong.”
“I love that,” Lauren said. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t do it for her,” Lauren said. “Do it for you. That’s the most important thing.”
Jenny opened her mouth to answer, but the bell chimed again, and a familiar voice called out.
“Hey!” It was the woman from earlier, holding her son’s hand and a half-empty cupcake wrapper. “I was just coming to see you.”
Jenny blinked. “Me?”
“We were thinking about that cupcake you made,” the woman said. “If I’m being honest, it’s the best thing I’ve ever had at Wanda’s, and I’ve been going there a long time. I was hoping to get more for my son’s birthday party. I need about four dozen.”
“Unfortunately,” Jenny said, heart dropping, “I don’t work at Wanda’s anymore. I just quit.”
“Oh no,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“There’s plenty of other amazing things in there, though,” Jenny said automatically. “I’m sure you’ll find something. Happy birthday to your son.”
“Wait,” the woman said. “Is there any way I could hire you on the side to make more of those? I was really hoping to get the ones you made.”
Jenny stared. “Really?”
“Really,” the woman said. “I don’t care where they come from, as long as they taste like that. I’ll pay you, of course.”
Jenny felt the ground tilt under her feet.
“Yeah,” she said. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Amazing.” The woman smiled and pulled out her phone. “Let me give you my number. I’m Michelle, by the way. And this is Tommy. He’s turning eight and he’s very opinionated about frosting.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jenny said, fingers trembling slightly as she typed the number into her cracked screen. “I’m Jenny.”
“Can’t wait to do business with you,” Michelle said. “Seriously. Wanda’s always requiring forty-eight hours’ notice and she’s not always the most… pleasant. You are a breath of fresh air.”
They said goodbye and walked off toward the parking lot, Tommy chattering about how many cupcakes he could eat in one sitting.
Lauren turned to Jenny with a look that said, I told you so.
“Look over here,” she said, whipping out her phone. “What are you doing?” Jenny asked.
“Taking a pic for your new Instagram,” Lauren said. “I made your profile while you were quitting your job like a girlboss.”
“You did what?”
“Yeah, girl, you need social media marketing,” Lauren said, snapping a shot of Jenny holding the last pink cupcake up like a trophy. “Now smile. Come on.”
Jenny laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere that felt new.
That night, while the rest of their friends got ready for New Year’s Eve parties in downtown L.A. and watched the Times Square ball pre-game on TV, Jenny stood in her tiny apartment kitchen in a worn-out hoodie, the oven light a small, steady moon.
Her landlord’s 2010 calendar still hung on the wall. An old Yankees game played on mute in the background because the TV didn’t get good reception. Flour dusted the counter. Boxes from Costco were stacked in the corner, full of cupcake liners and sugar she’d bought with the last of her savings.
“Order number one,” Lauren said, reading off the scribbled notepad as she washed bowls. “Four dozen ‘New Year Strawberry Sparkle’ cupcakes for Tommy’s eighth birthday. Due tomorrow at three. We got this.”
“We?” Jenny raised an eyebrow, piping frosting in careful swirls.
“Yes, we,” Lauren said. “You didn’t think I was gonna let you have all the fun, did you?”
Between them, the first order came together. Then the second, and the third. Michelle recommended Jenny to her cousin, who was throwing a baby shower. The cousin recommended her to a coworker planning an office party. Jenny’s Instagram—@JennysSweetsLA—went from three pity followers (Lauren, Jenny’s mom, and a bot) to fifty, then to two hundred as people tagged photos of her cupcakes on their own feeds.
By February, Jenny knew the bus schedule by heart, riding across town with boxes balanced on her knees. By March, she and Lauren had turned Lauren’s tiny hatchback into a delivery vehicle lined with ice packs. Local moms in yoga pants and high school kids in hoodies would crowd around when she set up a folding table outside soccer games.
“Girl, you need business cards,” Lauren said one afternoon, fanning out the first batch they’d ordered online. “Look at this. Jenny’s Sweets. Custom cakes and cupcakes. We are official.”
They baked through heatwaves and rainstorms, through broken mixers and late-night supply runs to 24-hour grocery stores. They learned the best place to buy butter in bulk and which delivery apps took too much of a cut. They tested recipes until their tongues were numb.
And slowly, the city began to taste what Jenny could do.
Each new customer turned into three more. People started using her hashtag. A local lifestyle blogger wrote, “Forget Wanda’s. Jenny’s Sweets is the future.” A TikTok video Tommy made of Jenny frosting cupcakes to a trending sound hit fifty thousand views overnight.
Meanwhile, in the quiet strip mall on the other side of town, Wanda stood behind her display case and watched the door.
“Hey, um, there’s not much left for me to clean,” her lone employee said one slow Thursday afternoon, wiping the same spot on the counter for the fifth time. “Anything else you want me to work on?”
“No,” Wanda said, staring at the till. “God, I can’t remember the last time we didn’t see a single customer in four hours. This place is like a ghost town.”
She flipped open her worn-out ledger. The numbers didn’t lie. Her New Year’s Eve order had come in, sure. Valentine’s had been decent. But now, as spring rolled in and the sun stayed out later in the California sky, people seemed to be going somewhere else for their sugar fix.
“I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Business was booming a month ago.”
“Yeah,” the employee said slowly. “I think I might know what’s going on.”
Wanda looked up sharply. “Well? What?”
“Jenny’s Sweets,” the girl said. “She’s been really blowing up. Like, people at my sister’s school talk about her all the time.”
“I haven’t heard of another bakery shop opening,” Wanda said. “I would know. This is my town.”
“Her business runs through Instagram and delivery apps,” the girl said. “She doesn’t have an actual store. It’s kind of the direction a lot of businesses are going. Online first, you know?”
“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Wanda sniffed. “But I’m sure it’s not going to last.”
The bell chimed. Wanda turned, ready to plaster on her customer smile, then froze.
“Where have you been?” she snapped. “You’re twenty minutes late.”
Lauren stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt that said “Jenny’s Sweets” in pink cursive.
“I’m sorry,” Lauren said. “Traffic was bad. I was just—”
“And why are you wearing that T-shirt?” Wanda demanded, snatching the towel from her hands. “You are not going to be promoting some other business while you’re working here. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Lauren said. “I was just helping my friend. I’m sorry.”
“What you need to be doing is dedicating more time here,” Wanda said. “Then maybe my business wouldn’t be this slow.”
“You think I’m not dedicated?” Lauren said, a new sharpness in her voice. “I’ve been working more than sixty hours a week for years here, Wanda. And I’m not even the manager.”
Wanda laughed. “You? Manager? Come on.”
Lauren stared. “What do you mean?”
“You really thought that was going to happen?” Wanda said, amused. “Please. I just said that so you wouldn’t quit.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
“Wow,” Lauren said. “Okay. Now what. I don’t need this. I do so much for you and you don’t appreciate any of it. I’m going to work for Jenny.”
“Jenny?” Wanda scoffed. “If you want to throw your career down the toilet, be my guest. It’s going to be fun watching the two of you fail.”
“We’ll just see about that,” Lauren said. She untied her apron and laid it gently on the counter. “Take care, Wanda.”
The bell chimed as she left, the same sound that had marked the end of Jenny’s time there.
Spring swelled into summer. The hills around the city turned gold. Jenny’s Sweets hit ten thousand followers, then twenty. She hired her first official employee, a shy high school junior who loved decorating cookies. Then a second, a single mom who baked like a dream.
They rented a shared commercial kitchen in an industrial block near downtown, the kind with food trucks lined up outside at midnight and graffiti murals on the walls. For the first time, Jenny stood in a space that felt like a real bakery, stainless steel gleaming, multiple ovens humming in harmony.
“This is really happening,” she said one night, leaning against a rack of cooling cinnamon rolls, her hair escaping her bun, cheeks flushed from the heat.
“This is really happening,” Lauren echoed, flipping through a binder of orders. “And remind me to never doubt your crazy New Year’s resolutions again.”
By fall, they had signed their first official lease: a small storefront in a busy neighborhood, all glass and light and promise. Locals watched through the windows as they painted the walls, hung up a neon sign, and set jars of pastel-colored sprinkles on the shelves.
“Twenty-five locations,” Lauren read off her laptop one evening, eyes wide. “Between ghost kitchens, shared counters, and pop-ups. We have twenty-five locations listed online. Do you understand how insane that is, Jen?”
Jenny wiped her hands on her apron and stared at her friend. “We,” she corrected. “We have twenty-five.”
Meanwhile, Wanda sat at her worn-out desk under the fluorescent glare of the strip-mall office, a stack of unopened bills in front of her. The landlord, Alex, stood in the doorway with a folded paper in his hand.
“There you go,” he said, sighing. “By the way, this was on the door.”
Another notice. Rent due. Final warning.
“I have got to close this deal,” Wanda muttered to herself, staring at the numbers in her ledger. “Or I can’t pay the rent.”
Alex shifted. “Wanda… the owners are getting restless. It’s been months. Business is slow, and—”
“I know,” Wanda snapped. Then, softer, “I know. I just need a big order. A wedding, a corporate thing, something.”
“There’s another tenant ready to move in,” Alex said gently. “They’re willing to pay more. I’m trying to buy you time, but I can’t keep stalling forever.”
“Who is it?” Wanda asked, heart thudding. “Another bakery?”
“I can’t say,” Alex said. “But I can tell you this: you have three days.”
When he left, Wanda sat alone in the quiet bakery, listening to the hum of the refrigerators and the faint roar of the freeway beyond the strip mall. The Yelp page she was so obsessed with still showed her four-and-a-half stars. But the most recent review, from a month ago, said:
“Wanda’s used to be my favorite. Lately, the cupcakes taste dry and the vibe is off. Tried this new place called Jenny’s Sweets and I’m never going back.”
That afternoon, the bell above the door chimed again.
“Alex, I told you, I just need a few more…” Wanda’s words died as she looked up.
Jenny and Lauren stood in the doorway, framed by the bright California sun. Jenny wore a pale pink blazer over her Jenny’s Sweets T-shirt, hair pulled back, eyes steady. Lauren held a folder and a coffee, her partner in business now as much as in friendship.
“Don’t tell me it’s you two trying to take over my place,” Wanda said immediately. “Because I just found out someone’s trying to move in, and now it makes sense.”
“We honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jenny said. “We actually came to work with you.”
“Work with me?” Wanda repeated, thrown. “I don’t understand.”
“As you probably know,” Lauren said, “we’ve been expanding pretty quickly. Jenny’s Sweets has, like, twenty-five different locations now between pop-ups and ghost kitchens.”
Wanda swallowed, saying nothing.
“And what we’ve realized,” Jenny continued, “is that if we want to grow as fast as people want us to, we need to start partnering with other bakeries to keep up with supply.”
“We still bake a lot ourselves,” Lauren added. “But there are only so many hours in the day, and only so many ovens in one kitchen.”
“So we were wondering,” Jenny said, “if you’d be interested in helping make cupcakes for us.”
“I see,” Wanda said slowly. “So, in other words, you want me to work for you.”
“No,” Jenny said. “To partner with us. We’d agree to purchase a large volume from you in exchange for a small discount, of course. But the margin is great. And the best part is that we’ll pay you up front. You could get caught up on rent.”
Wanda stared at her. “Why would you do that for me?” she asked quietly. “I was so mean to you. To both of you.”
“Because you helped me,” Jenny said simply. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have never quit my job. I would’ve never been desperate enough to start my business. I learned a lot from you, even if it wasn’t always easy. Seriously. Thank you.”
“Come on,” Lauren said, nudging her. “Just say yes. You have no idea how many corporate orders we have waiting.”
Tears glistened in the corners of Wanda’s eyes. She blinked them away quickly.
“Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how much I needed this right now.”
“You’re welcome,” Jenny said. “And… for what it’s worth, I really am happy for you too. This place matters to people.”
Wanda looked around at the bakery she had built from scratch, the same way Jenny was building hers. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t look like a door slamming shut. It looked like another oven turning on.
“I guess,” Wanda said slowly, “you can start a business at any age after all.”
“And I take it you’re the manager of Jenny’s Sweets,” she added, glancing at Lauren.
“Nope,” Lauren said, grinning. “I’m a partner. Jenny gave me ownership. It was the least she could do.”
“Partner,” Wanda repeated, eyes widening. “Well. You deserve it, Lauren. I’m… really very sorry I never gave you that promotion. You deserved that too.”
“That acknowledgement,” Lauren said softly, “means more than anything else.”
Jenny’s phone buzzed. A notification: @JennysSweetsLA tagged in someone’s story. A tray of her cupcakes at a corporate New Year kickoff party in downtown Los Angeles.
She glanced at the calendar. December again. The year had come full circle.
Outside, the strip mall parking lot glowed with early Christmas lights. Inside, ovens preheated, batter whipped, frosting swirled. In one corner of Wanda’s office, Jenny’s old resolutions notebook peeked out of her backpack.
Lose five pounds. She hadn’t really managed that one—if anything, she’d probably gained a couple from all the taste testing—but she’d walked and lifted and carried and hustled herself into a different kind of strength.
Go on a cruise. Not yet. But a customer in Miami had reached out about flying her out for a wedding next summer. Close enough.
Start a baking business.
She smiled, running her thumb over the words. Behind her, Wanda and Lauren argued good-naturedly over frosting colors for a shared order.
The small TV in the corner played footage from New York, Times Square filling with people despite the winter chill, the glittering ball looming overhead. On the West Coast, the sun dipped lazily toward the Pacific, painting the sky in pinks and golds that looked exactly like her favorite frosting.
As the countdown in New York reached ten, Jenny slid another tray of cupcakes into the oven. The heat rushed out in a wave, warm and steady, like a promise.
Nine.
She closed the door, watching the little circles of batter through the glass.
Eight.
Her phone buzzed again—a new order, a new follower, a new review from someone who’d never even heard of Wanda’s.
Seven.
She thought of the girl a year ago, clutching a notebook, being told her dreams were a joke.
Six.
She thought of Tommy’s face when he bit into that first cupcake, of Michelle’s tip, of Troy’s hot dog cart in another story, of all the people who had believed in her before she fully believed in herself.
Five.
She thought of Wanda, of how easily she could have walked away and let the older woman’s shop die. Of how easy it was to turn a bad boss into a villain and how much harder—and better—it felt to offer her a hand instead.
Four.
The oven hummed. The bakery—hers, Wanda’s, both of theirs now—smelled like sugar and second chances.
Three.
Out front, a couple walked by with party hats and a bottle of cheap champagne, arguing playfully about resolutions.
Two.
Jenny wiped her hands, grabbed a piping bag, and smiled.
One.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered to the rising cakes, to the girl she used to be, to the women they were all becoming.
And for the first time, it really, truly felt like it.
