The Little Brooklyn Bakery: A heartwarming feel good novel full of cakes and romance!

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HarperImpulse

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Julie Caplin 2018

Cover images © 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.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

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

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Keep Reading …

Coming Soon From Julie Caplin

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

‘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.